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morgana-ren · 9 months

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I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference.

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction.

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does.

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne.

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name.

His real name.

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet—

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance.

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.”

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity”

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.”

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom.

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe.

He lashes out at her.

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all.

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness.

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–”

Because that is what he’d taught her.

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished.

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?”

Her head cocks. She does not understand.

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question.

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something.

From him.

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest.

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest.

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her.

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you."

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night."

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair."

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent.

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued.

He can’t.

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death.

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow.

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded.

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight.

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct.

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?"

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love.

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried.

“Darling?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her?

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall.

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes.

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed.

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic.

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that.

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely.

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time.

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #literally whatever you want it to be #very bad implications here do not read if sensitive #bad mean astarion #sort of #lots of mistakes here fellas #i TOLD yall i was having a tough time writing #this needed more time and work but man I just CANNOT focus #you get the gist right #this needed more detail and to be longer but i was struggling here #god i need medicine or something #one down about 399 more to go lmao

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edenesth · 2 months

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MOOT GAME: " make up a trope for your moots and their biases. doesn’t need to be romantic. can be crackfic/funny/anything you want ^ㅇ(๑>◡<๑)ㅇ^ "

Dear Soulmate

I'm sorry it took me so long, anon! I didn't know how to approach this and was waiting for a friend to do it first🙈

For my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast💖

Choi San — soulmate au (idiots to lovers)

In a world where soulmates exist, most people discover their other halves before reaching twenty-five, you struggle to find yours, even when he had been right in front of you all along. You've witnessed those around you revelling in the bliss of finding their destined partners, all the while blindly awaiting your own.

"I cannot believe this, I'm dying alone!" you cried.

"Pooks, he'll come when the timing's right, I just know it," Eve, your closest friend and platonic soulmate, reassured you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace as you poured out your frustration. Despite being on the cusp of turning 26, your soulmate remained elusive.

"How did you and Hwa find each other again?" you asked, desperate for answers.

Eve sighed, "Whenever one of us gets hurt, a flower tattoo appears on the other in the same spot of their body. You know how clumsy I am, he found me through those blossoms. But each soulmate pair has their own unique connection. Haven't you felt anything special?"

See, in this world with soulmates, each pair discovers their connection in their own way. There's no universal formula, and you despised that fact vehemently. It only added unnecessary complexity to the already challenging quest for love.

Your parents had found each other through their inner voices, where their internal voices are the other's instead of their own. Your sister had found her soulmate through a compass on her body that led her to where her other half is.

And then there was you. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Absolutely nothing at all.

And as your birthday drew near this year, panic set in. You'd soon be a year older than the age when most people found their soulmates. Maybe you didn't have one, maybe he died, maybe he got aborted as a foetus, maybe—

"Woah, woah, just take a deep breath, everything will be okay," your friend reassured, trying her best to help in any way possible, "Hey, didn't you say you've been having a lot of dreams lately? And it's always that same dream?"

You blew a raspberry in frustration, "Yeah, but I doubt my recent dreams have anything to do with my soulmate, assuming I even have one. They're always about that art museum I go to on weekends. I think it's just because I spend so much time there."

She pondered for a moment, "Wait a minute, didn't you mention that San guy you always see there? What if—"

"Oh, hell no," you exclaimed, shuddering at the possibility of that annoyingly gorgeous mountain of a man being your destined lover, "I'd rather be alone forever than end up with someone like him."

It all happened on a day when you sought solace at the museum after a taxing week at school. Exhausted from dealing with incompetent classmates and antagonistic professors, you longed for a moment of peace as you approached your cherished spot in the corner. But to your dismay, you discovered an ignorant man occupying not just one seat, but the entire bench with his belongings. And not just any bench, your bench, the one everyone knew better than to occupy.

So you did the first thing that came to mind, you might have uttered some unkind words out of irritation. Looking back, you acknowledge it was all very unnecessary, considering it was likely his first visit to the museum and he clearly didn't realise it was your spot. However, your pride prevented you from admitting fault.

Consequently, he responded with equal unpleasantness. Even the museum guards had to intervene before things escalated into a fight. Like dealing with children, they persuaded both of you to share the bench since there was clearly more than enough space for two.

You adamantly refused to yield your spot and relocate, asserting your presence since you were here first. Similarly, it seemed his foolish pride prevented him from budging as well; thus, you both found yourselves locked in a silent standoff, exchanging wary glances as you engaged in a weekly silent war.

"Ugh, was hoping I wouldn't have to see your face today," San sneered, earning a glare from you as you settled down beside him. You were running slightly late, having trouble getting up after yet another frustrating dream, one slightly more annoying than usual.

Deliberately nudging his bag aside with irritation, you narrowed your eyes, "You wish, loser. This spot is mine, and it's staying that way."

He smirked in response, "Someone's in a foul mood, but then again, when are you not? Hope it's not because of that dream where your precious bench gets snatched away for good."

"Shut the hell up—"

You stopped short, a sudden realisation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You hadn't shared that dream with anyone, not even Eve. No one should know about it except... No freaking way. He couldn't possibly be the one you've been waiting for all this time. It seemed too absurd to be true. Why, out of all people, would fate pair you with this insufferable, infuriating, irksome yet undeniably attractive, bastard?

"Surprise, genius. It's me, your soulmate."

"I knew," he confessed, his voice carrying frustration and resignation, "I knew from the moment I saw you that you were my other half. That's why I came here in the first place, why I was in this exact spot."

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. All this time, he had known, yet he had still chosen to engage in your petty conflicts.

"But when I met you," he continued, "I was excited, hopeful even. But your attitude, your stubbornness... it's unbearable. As much as I feel the pull towards you, I can't ignore how immensely annoyed I am by your behaviour."

His words landed like a punch to the gut.

"I know that if I had a choice in who my soulmate is," he admitted, his gaze intense, "it would never be you."

After a moment of processing his words, you gritted your teeth in anger, "Well, joke's on you, buddy. I don't want you either. Maybe it would be best for both of us if you stop showing up here from now on."

Days turned into weeks, and true to your request, San ceased his visits to the museum. At first, you felt a strange sense of relief, but soon, that relief morphed into a tumult of conflicting emotions.

You didn't know how to feel. Did you truly mean what you said, or were those words simply born out of anger? Your emotions were a tangled mess. On one hand, you had just turned away your soulmate after yearning for his presence for so long. On the other hand, you couldn't shake the resentment that it had to be him, of all people. Part of you longed to be near him, to reconcile and embrace your destiny. But another part recoiled at the thought, recoiled at the frustration his presence brought.

Unbeknownst to you, San wasn't doing much better. His heart felt hollow, the absence of your presence leaving a gaping void. He tried to carry on with his life as before, but the weight of your rejection hung heavy on his shoulders. But his pride also kept him from reaching out to you.

He suppressed the pull towards you, buried it beneath layers of denial and indifference. But no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, your essence lingered in his dreams, haunting him with visions of what could have been.

Then, one day, fate intervened in a way neither of you could have predicted. You fell ill with food poisoning and ended up in the hospital. In a panic, San saw it in his dream, a vision of you lying pale and weak in a hospital bed. Without hesitation, he raced to your side, his heart pounding with fear. As he stood in the hospital room, watching over you, he realised the depth of his feelings. Despite everything, he couldn't deny the truth any longer. You were his soulmate, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

You furrowed your brows at his unexpected appearance, "What the hell are you doing here? Who invited you?"

His heart sank at your coldness, but before he could form a response, Eve intervened, giving you a playful smack on the shoulder, "Stop it, you! He came all this way, and you're still going to be mean to him?" Turning to San with a warm smile, she continued, "You must be San! I'm Eve, her best friend. It's nice to finally meet you. Oh, and please don't take her words to heart. She likes to pretend as if she hadn't been dying to see you again."

Blushing furiously at her blunt revelation, you shot her a glare, but she simply tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "Behave yourself. I'll be back shortly after settling the bill with Hwa," she said, brushing past San. As she passed him, she gave a polite nod, "Please take care of her for me, won't you?"

"Of course, Eve," he replied, nodding in return.

As soon as your friend left the room, he took a step closer, his tone serious, "Listen, I'm tired of playing games. I came here because I realised I can't bear to lose you again. So, tell me if you feel the same right now. If you still want me gone, I'll leave and never show my face around you ever again."

His words struck a chord, and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. He couldn't resist the pull any longer, sitting down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you. Relief flooded through him as he felt you relax in his embrace.

"I don't want to lose you again either. I'm sorry I was an idiot," you whispered.

"You should be," he teased, planting a kiss on your hair, "But I'm sorry too. Perhaps I should have told you who I was from the start. Let's just... not say things we don't mean and hurt each other again, okay?"

You nodded, squeezing him tightly, "Okay, Sannie."

#edenesth #lovely asks #my pookie #itstheghostofmypast #ateez fanfiction #choi san #ateez san #soulmate au #choi san x reader #choi san x you

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cveasie · 4 months

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My haikaveh headcanons:

- Haitham falls first, during the academia years, but he just kinda... accepts it? He's not the type to voice his feelings, he'd rather show them through his actions - even if they aren't clear enough for the other person to understand. He doesn't need Kaveh to know. He just needs Kaveh to... feel appreciated, in any way. For him, love is another language to master; not only for the sake of Kaveh, but also for his own. He cherishes the feeling and never denies it.

- Kaveh on the other hand, falls harder. I'd like to imagine that it happens some time after he'd moved in with Haitham. Somehow, through this sense of normalcy, domesticy, he starts to dig deeper into Haitham's actions. More importantly, gradually, he starts to notice: he starts to notice how his heart clenches in this burning feeling of appreciation, of belonging. It just feels right - Haitham feels right - they, together, feel right. And, oh, he loves him, and he has for some time now. His love for Haitham feels right as well.

- While Haitham knows Kaveh like the back of his own hand, he doesn't even consider that his feelings are mutual. Kaveh has always been focused on the academics, driven, passionate – romantic relationships didn't concern him during their academia days. While a romantic at heart, reality just often... fell flat, and Kaveh didn't mind it whatsoever. So, Alhaitham has never seen Kaveh crushing on someone. Of course, he notices the architect's sudden nervousness around him – Kaveh tends to bite his lips when anxious. Of course Haitham sees the way Kaveh starts to spend more time on his hair and make up. How could he not? How could he not, when his braids look more perfect than ever (though the scribe finds Kaveh's messy hair equally beautiful – the sign of his hard work, of his passion), when the jewelry matches the blouse perfectly, every day. Mere noticing however, doesn't equal with knowing. And Alhaitham hates the feeling of uncertainty, this weird, almost uncharacteristic anxiety for him. Something has changed. Why? What has caused Kaveh to feel such devotion, that even his dark circles have almost disappeared under a neat layer of concealer? So, he starts to pry. Subtly. He takes an extra minute to get ready, just so he can talk to Kaveh a little more, hoping for any kind of information. In the evenings, he starts to sit unusually close to the architect, watching him sketch – maybe its a new project? A new client? Why wouldn't Kaveh tell him? To his absolute misery however, the architect only seems to draw further and further away. He starts to stumble on his words, starts leaving for work earlier, as if embarrassed, as if he couldn't even look at Alhaitham. That's when it strikes Haitham – maybe he is the one making Kaveh uncomfortable?

- It starts with a question:

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Asks Haitham one day, during a seemingly peaceful evening. Kaveh's cheeks are dusty pink, and he's smiling to himself. With the question, his expression changes almost completey.

"Is my junior suddenly insecure? It's so unlike you to ask about such things..."

There is a hint of teasing in the architect's voice, but even that cannot hide a clear nervousness in his behavior. There is a sudden tension in the room, and Alhaitham also starts to feel anxious.

"Well... you've been acting strange, that's all. After observing you for quite a while, I've come to the conclusion that the problem must be in my presence – it's the only logical option".

Then, Kaveh's lips are on his. Things happen so quick, he doesn't even have time to respond, to kiss him back, when the architect is looking at him with teary eyes and a hand over his mouth. He looks terrified, ashamed, suddenly so small, despite his usual confident face. All of this takes Haitham a bit too long, because Kaveh is suddenly standing up.

"I'm... sorry, I didn't mean to. I didn't think, I just acted, I..." he doesn't get to finish, when his hand is grabbed in a gentle grip, and he's lead to sit on the couch once again.

Then, they talk. For this whole time, Haitham doesn't let go of Kaveh's hand, looking at him with gentle eyes, full of disbelief. He doesn't even notice the tears on his own cheeks until Kaveh makes a snarky remark about it. After two hours of talking, he kisses Kaveh back. After few years of waiting, he kisses Kaveh back. And to Kaveh, this feels right.

#haikaveh #kavetham #kaveh x alhaitham #kaveh #alhaitham #genshin impact

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beautifulmadnesss · 1 year

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"Maybe I'm Better Off Dead" Part 2 Velaryon!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Visenya is married to Aemond, who tries to keep her safe, but she is still a prisoner in a war just beginning.

Part 1

When I woke up, the sun was shining in brightly from the windows, which were now covered with bars. The bars were only a few inches apart, so there was no chance of slipping through the gaps.

"Are you hungry?" I turned to see Aemond sitting on the sofa where he slept last night.

"No." I replied, shifting in the bed slightly so I was sitting.

"It's not poisoned." He said, taking a bite of the bread on the tray in front of him. When I didn't respond, he took a bite of the porridge as well.

"Not all poison is immediate. You could just be waiting for an antidote while I suffer a slow death." I challenged.

He sighed, "very well. My mother brought some dresses for you if you wish to change while we wait."

"So you can take the antidote while I'm changing behind the screen?"

"You're quite impossible." He remarked. "Though, I never said you had to go behind the screen." He added with a smirk.

"It's not as if you need to ask anything of me."

His face hardened immediately, "I told you, I will never touch you without your permission."

"Aegon will not allow that. He will expect you to take my maidenhood."

"I already have a plan for that." He replied. I raised an eyebrow at him after he didn't elaborate. "Has your mother explained to you what happens?"

My cheeks flamed and all I could do was shake my head softly.

We were both spared the embarrassment of further conversation by the announcement of his mother at the door.

"You may enter." He said and moments later the doors opened to reveal the Queen Mother in a long velvet green dress.

"Aemond, your brother would like to discuss some things with you before the ceremony." He bowed to his mother before flashing a quick glance at me and leaving myself alone with Alicent. "Shall I help you dress for your wedding?" Her tone was not one of questioning, so I simply stood and followed her over to the pile of green dresses. "You needn't be afraid. Aemond has always been my gentle and kind boy." She said while selecting the most ornate of the dresses. One embroidered with countless tiny flowers and golden beads.

"He murdered my brother." I replied once again.

"The same brother who maimed him?" She challenged.

"We were children. Luke never meant to-" I paused realizing I had said exactly what she wanted.

"Just as Aemond never meant to kill Lucerys." She continued to speak as she helped me into the heavy dress. "Your grandsire was always terrified that his own family would go to war against each other. I think he was right and I'm sure your mother prepared you for that. You have the opportunity to prevent that by marrying Aemond and keeping peace. I know you don't want to and I know you're scared, just as I was, but I promise, no harm will come to you. You can still live a happy life with children you adore."

"You used to be my mother's closest friend." I said through teary eyes as she lead me over to a seat and began running a brush through the tangles in my hair.

"I did and I wish we would not have grown so far apart. Women follow the lead of men. I chose to follow Viserys and do my duty to my country. Your mother chose to follow her desires with your father rather than her husband."

"My mother chose to be happy, to find love and to allow Leanor to do the same. I understand that it was wrong, but it never had to become this. You could've chosen to be happy too." I caught her eye in the small mirror.

"You are a clever girl, but you are still young. You cannot break tradition that has lasted thousands of years. Thousands of men, women, and children will die in this war because your mother decided that her heart was more important than their lives. You can chose to follow the same fate or you can chose to find happiness in the life you have been given." She carefully pushed the last pin just a little too far and I felt it scrap my scalp. A threat that did not go unnoticed. She always hated me and that would not change as I married her son.

My stomach twisted into knots and my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest, but I forced my emotions down and held my head high. I would not cry in a room full of my enemies. The Usurper held my hand on his arm as he led me toward the man who murdered my brother. The blood pounded in my ears as we were married. I couldn't hear anything the Septon was saying. I wanted to scream and run, but I knew I would never be allowed to leave. I considered killing Aegon and ending this war, but I knew Ser Criston Cole, the man my mother had given a job to, would cut me down before I came within inches of victory. Aemond studied my face carefully as our hands were bound together. His eyes seemed to hold concern and pity. As much as I wanted to close myself off to him, I knew Alicent was right, if I did my duty, then perhaps the rest of my family could survive this. I couldn't let anyone else die. Aemond was gentle as he placed a hand on my cheek and slowly leaned forward to kiss me. My first. It seemed to last an eternity as he held our lips together before pulling away and taking my hand in his as we walked through the crowd of people out the front doors.

Once the doors shut behind us, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry." I looked up at him in confusion, he was my husband now, he could do as he pleased, why would he apologize for kissing me?

"Let us go feast and celebrate the end to this fighting!" Aegon announced as he marched through the doors. He seemed to be the only one under the impression this would end the fighting, but as the King, no one challenged him.

Aemond stayed by my side for the rest of the evening, though apart from dancing, he never touched me. I started to become slightly comforted by his presence as many men who would be generals in the war to come approached me with thinly veiled threats of what was to become of my family. I was comforted until Aegon proudly proclaimed that it was time the bedding ceremony.

"My King, as we discussed, I would like the privilege of bedding my wife in privacy, if it pleases you." Aemond replied.

"Ah, yes, of course. My brother wishes to conquer alone. Very well." He waved us off and as we walked closer to his, or I supposed as it was now, our chambers I began to feel more and more afraid. The moment I stepped inside the room and the doors closed, I completely froze and the tears I tried so hard to force back came tumbling down my cheeks.

I could see Aemond out of the corner of my eye begin to strip off his clothes and tossed them next to the bed. I turned away before he took off everything.

"Once you change into your night clothes you hand me your dress." I didn't respond, but simply took off my dress and handed it to him, sneaking a quick glance only to find that he was also wearing his night clothes. He took the dress and tugged hard, tearing the fabric around the neck of the dress and tossed it on top of his clothes. I still hadn't moved from the spot I was glued to. "Visenya." I snapped my head up to meet his gaze. "I truly meant it. I'm sorry for today and I will not tonight, nor ever, force you to lay with me."

He walked over to the couch without another word and laid down. I was unable to completely relax, but I made my way over to the bed and settled into the sheets. Perhaps, he was right, maybe I wouldn't be harmed here.

I woke up to someone gently shaking my shoulder and immediately shot up, slamming into someone. He grunted softly, but still was the one to apologize. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's okay."

"Aegon will be here soon, so you get dressed, while I take care of this." I noticed he was bleeding from a small cut on his torso. He noted my confusion. "When a maiden lays with a man for the first time, she bleeds. Aegon will expect to see that we consummated our marriage."

"Oh."

"It's alright. Toss your night dress over when you change, I'll need that too." He was quiet and also clearly uncomfortable. I nodded and climbed out of bed to go put on one of the green dresses from Alicent, tossing my night dress over as he asked.

I came out and saw that he was now dressed as well, but our clothes from last night and this morning were in a messy pile next to the bed. The sheets were all tangled together and I saw the blood on them.

"Thank you." I said softly, chancing a glance at him. He looked as though he was going to say something else before the doors burst open and the King entered.

"I trust you enjoyed your evening, brother." He said, coming in and walking toward the bed. His lips spread into a wide grin as he took in the scene before him. It turned to a smirk as his eyes found me. "and you, Princess. Did you enjoy yourself?" I wanted to remain brave, but something in his eyes caused me to shrink back, almost instantly bumping into Aemond, though I didn't remember seeing him move toward me.

"Can I help you with anything else, my King?" He said from behind me.

"Yes, I would like for you to fly to Storms End and inform Lord Baratheon that I require the presence of him and his men here to begin preparing for battle. Lord Hightower expects the bitch to attempt to rescue her little girl." He directed the last part at me.

"I did not expect to leave my wife so soon."

"When you return you will have plenty of time to make little lords and ladies. It will be a quick trip." His request was given as a King and therefore not one to be refused, so Aemond left. "I shall have your meals brought here until your husband returns tomorrow." Aegon added to me before he left the room.

It was a relief to finally be left alone and not feel constantly on guard, though as much as I was unsure at the beginning I was starting to feel even a little safe with Aemond. Perhaps he truly didn't mean to kill Luke and maybe he did regret it. I spent the day reading books that were left in the room, though I was not truly absorbing the words I consumed, it helped to pass the time until the evening.

The sheets were changed when the servants brought dinner, so they were clean as I settled into bed. I missed my family, but I now had some hope that I would see them one day.

Once again I awoke to the touch of someone and for a moment I thought it was Aemond until I remembered he was gone. I tried to sit up, but quickly realized I was pinned down. I screamed when I realized it was Aegon.

"Perhaps we will make some bastards of our own." He sneered as he roughly kissed down my neck and forced my dress up. I kept screaming and violently thrashed, trying everything in my power to get free, but it was no use. He was the King and as such, no one would be coming to my aid. The more I fought back, the harder he hit me until eventually I couldn't fight back anymore, all I could do was cry.

The next day no one came to bring me food or change the sheets. There was no bath and no new clothes. I didn't move, because everything hurt and I realized how stupid I had been to think I was ever safe here. Sleep came in short periods if terrible nightmares and the waking world was no different. I was terrified he would return, so when the doors opened again, I scrambled off the bed and shoved myself into the corner, ignoring the ripples of pain throughout my body.

I heard him inhale sharply before calling out my name, but I didn't move or make a single sound until he came around the side of the bed and saw me.

"Stay away from me." I croaked my throat raw.

"Who did this to you?" He growled.

"You know. That's why you left, so he could have his turn. You lied to me and tricked me so I would think I was safe, so I would trust you."

"I didn't I swear." He stopped "Did Aegon do this to you?"

I didn't bother to respond.

"I'm going to help you escape. Stay here. If you want to change clothes, you can. I'm going to figure out how to free your dragon and then tonight I'm getting you out of here." His voice held an uncharacteristic edge, but I wasn't naive enough to believe him again.

The only thing I did was take one of the new dresses and change out of the clothes I was wearing before sitting on the sofa. This time, I didn't get a book, I simply stared at the window, watching as night fell. When Aemond returned he didn't let the doors close behind him, but instead waited in the doorway and asked if I wanted to go for a stroll. The guards on either side of the doors reminded me that I did not have a choice, so I stood and made my way over to him. We walked in silence for a while before we rounded a corned and he pulled me into a secret passage.

"I know you have no reason to believe me anymore, but I had no idea. I am so sorry for what my family has done to you, for what I have done to you." He pulled a cloak over himself and handed one to me. "Some of the dragon pit handlers are loyal to your mother and when I told them what Aegon had done, they agreed to help you escape. It's this way." He held up a lamp and I followed behind him as we made our way through the passage before finally coming up just outside of the Dragonpit where my beautiful dragon was already waiting. "Go quickly." He said while looking around for other people.

"He's going to kill you when he finds out what you did." I said, causing him to turn to me.

"I know, but I'm going to do my best to stop this war from happening."

"Thank you, Aemond." I truly meant it. For the things he had done, I should hate him, but I could see that he hated himself just as much as I did. He was trying to be different and risking his own life to save mine.

"I am truly sorry." I wanted to hug him, but I was also still so scared, so I just gave him a smile before mounting my dragon and taking off. Aemond had given me enough of a head start that I knew I could make it home, but I still kept going as fast as we could until I landed in the courtyard at Dragonstone.

I must've looked as bad as I felt because the guards rushed me inside and several took off to wake my mother and Uncle, though it was Jace who found me first. As soon as I saw him, I collapsed into sobs. He held me gently as I cried.

"Visenya!" My mothers voice broke halfway through my name and I turned to see her sprinting towards me with my Uncle just behind her.

"I left him. I'm so sorry. I-" My words were incoherent, but she shushed me and pulled me into her arms.

"Oh my sweet girl, it isn't your fault. You're home now. You're safe." I was so exhausted after hugging each member of my family and after some time, my mother sent them off until only Daemon, Jace, Rhaenys, and Corlys remained.

"I know you're tired and hungry, but we have to ask you what happened. Can you tell us?" Daemon asked as I sat next to my mother who hadn't let go of me the entire time.

I nodded and told them everything starting from Luke's death at Storms End, all the way through Aemond helping me escape.

My mother wrapped an arm around my shoulders as I told her what Aegon had done. Jace's face hardened with anger, but Daemon only made on small movement as his hand reached for the hilt of Dark Sister.

"We will speak soon of what we will do, for now, you get some rest." Daemon said, only the slightest edge to his voice.

Corlys and Rhaenys left first. Daemon hugged me and then Jace, each one reminding me how happy they were to have me home. Then, my mother and I left, making our way to my room where a feast was already waiting. She helped me bathe and dress in my own clothes. As I ate, she brushed my hair, softly running a hand over it each time.

"I think Aemond truly was sorry. While I was there he protected me. Thats why Aegon sent him away, I think he knew, Aemond never would've let him hurt me." I said to her.

She sighed, "Aemond is a clever man."

"Alicent said the same of me." She paused for the slightest moment before continuing to brush my hair.

"Do you care for Aemond?" She asked, catching me off guard.

"No, of course not, I just-" I stopped. It was far too complicated to describe how I felt for Aemond. He killed my brother and took me hostage, but maybe a part of me did care for him.

"It isn't anything you need to decide for tonight. For now, you sleep for as long as you wish. You are safe at home." She tucked me into the bed and kissed the top of my head before walking toward the door.

"Wait!" I stopped, feeling too silly to speak my thoughts aloud. I was brave and strong. "Never mind."

My mother smiled knowingly and came back to the bed to lay next to me. She ran her fingers through my hair and softly sang songs of Old Valeryia until I fell asleep.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support on Part 1. I had no idea so many people would enjoy it! I can continue it if people want that or this could be a good place to end it as well.

Taglist: @bellameshipper @malfoytargaryen @castellomargot @toodlesxcuddles @jennifer0305 @1950schick @minttea07 @bogwaterswamp @deadunicorn159 @shygardengalaxy @siriusdumblittlepuppy

#imagine #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #velaryon!reader

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fairuzfan · 5 months

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Tbh this may just be me but my patience for certain people getting mad at being accused of being zionists, and specifically pointing at how they have said that they want Peace and Freedom and it's important to focus on the Humanity of People has become fucking negative (which is all different from when Bibi says he's securing Peace and Freedom as he focuses on the Humanity of Israelis, I guess. Or any time the US has tried it in Pick Your War).

Either explain your material goals or accept that people will get mad at you when you refuse to elaborate on your puddle-deep statements. Politics is material conditions all the way down and the current material conditions are that Palestinians are being massacred by a genocidal state whose heads have repeatedly affirmed that intent!

Badly paraphrasing Kwame Ture here, but any analysis that excludes the oppressor will blame the oppression. The presumption of a need to make Both Sides Understand And Communicate assumes that Palestinians hold significant structural power here and have the ability to come to some theoretical political table—that they are thus doing this, effectively, to themselves, because they don't prioritize Humanity and Peace and Freedom enough. That's what good vibes politics gets you.

(I am so sorry for this being long, I am just, so furious with it, especially after I learned today that an old classmate was hurt by former IOF soldiers w/skunk spray during the Columbia University SJP protest. Just. Goddamn.)

I think you put it into words really well in that there are no material analysis of actual concrete steps theyre providing or stating that Palestinians haven't already said better and more often and they tend to pass it off as their own ideologies rather than... you know... recognizing Palestinians have been fighting this fight for 3-4 generations. Like a guarantee you any discussion you've had we've already had amongst ourselves. So like actively excluding us from those discussions — which is nothing new btw we've always been excluded from them but this time it's easier to push back — is in fact doing harm and refusing us a way to advocate for ourselves.

Truly I've seen it all — there is no way to "peacefully" live under occupation and subjugation for Palestinians. Like no, man that doesn't exist. Even within Israel, Palestinians aren't referred to as "Palestinians" they are referred to as "Arab Israelis" like we cannot even claim ourselves as Palestinians.

You have to acknowledge that at a certain point you yourself are contributing to the dangerous atmosphere by making everything "too complex" to get anything done. I remember there was a talk with Amjad Iraqi (a contributor to al-shabaka who grew up in israel but is palestinian) and another podcaster who is... peak liberal zionist lol but i listened to it cuz amjad was there — that the Podcaster was saying (paraphrasing) "there's an equilibrium of 'freedom' for Palestinians and 'security' for Israelis, and one side pushes the other side further and further away from the center where they could meet so how to you think we reconcile differences" and amjad responds in a way that I admire (paraphrasing) in that he mentions that from the beginning of this equation, zionism has always had the upper hand in that all their demands have been met and self determination for Palestinians have never been recognized (end paraphrase) so it's not equal to say "well we want peace for both Palestinians and israelis so let's block off Palestinians from discussing definitions for these terms" that fundamentally impact them in ways they will never impact nonpalestinians who would BENEFIT from maintaining the status quo.

Within the article from Alma they say "do something vulnerable and ask the other person what their definition of zionism/antizionism is" as if there aren't very transparent people in this world that want "peace" and don't want a ceasefire. Like that's actually the predominant opinion in the world. They straight up say "the only peace in the middle east is if we get rid of hamas so we can't allow a ceasefire" and people run by that definition and say "sorry Palestinians :( we gotta get rid of hamas :( there's nothing we can do about this.... its for peace :("

So I think you're doing far more harm by pretending there's a cognitive difference between zionist and antizionists that theyre just not communicating, which, zionists are very obvious about communicating (which also, it's necessary to boost Palestinians when defining antizionism in this case because when we point out the very real harm of things affecting us we would like a say in how people define the movement meant for our liberation). But the article never said that throughout the entire thing. It just said "maybe you guys have a cognitive dissonance of words" but like.... at this point, if you still ally yourself under the term "zionist" with literally all we have been screaming these past few months then no, I don't think you're necessarily operating in good faith.

And like I don't think tri*utary is a zionist necessarily but they're certainly a zionist sympathizer and like I don't trust them either.

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blueraineshadows · 1 year

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Thank you so much for responding to my request last time, it was so good! I have another concept that's also inspired by something else if you don't mind?

Sebastian and MC are married, but he goes missing (due to his dangerous job) and is thought to be dead for years. MC is still grieving, but trying to move on. She gets engaged to another wizard, but Sebastian finally returns after trying his best to get back to her. They have a huge fight when Sebastian finds out (it'd be nice if it had a happy *smutty* ending, though).

"Where do you get off letting him think he can have you? You're mine and I'm yours. That's it!"

Great Request! 😃 Thank-you 💜

This has angst! It's also long! NSFW 🌶 🔥

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (Mrs Sallow) as adults.

My beloved, Sebastian,

They tell me you are gone, forever, lost to me...dead. I haven't seen your face for over two years now, and my deepest fear suspects they may be right. But in my heart, safe for always, you will remain. As much as it hurts me, I could never let you go completely, for that would mean the end of me also.

I know our friends mean well, they wish to see me happy, at peace perhaps. But it has been hard to hear their insistent pleas for me to move on. Of late, I have had to succumb to their pleas. I'm not sure I can handle another visit to the morgue to identify another poor soul, the guilt of my relief that it is never you under the cloth, but some other lost loved one. I don't envy their family's pain, but it is another desperate scrap of hope that you are still alive.

We are holding a ceremony for you, to say goodbye, to let you go. I cannot say goodbye, merely farewell, for one day I know we will be reunited. How could we not? Whatever awaits beyond the mortal realm, I will find you there, my whole soul is destined for it. It always was.

It breaks me that you had to go before me, and all I have left are my memories, precious moments that are a comfort during dark, lonely nights.

Forgive me for having to let you go, if only for a time. I will love you forever, just as I promised you.

Wait for me. I will wait for you.

Your wife, MC.

Six months later...

"Matthew has proposed," MC said. Her fingers clutched her teacup a little tighter. The words sounded so terribly real when said out loud.

Poppy paused as she went to take a sip from her own tea cup, her eyes widening. She quickly put down her cup and put a hand on MC's arm. "Oh my goodness," she said. Concern clouded her face. "How...I mean...what did you say?"

"I told him I needed to think about it," MC said. Which was the truth. She looked down at her left hand, the silver band symbolising her eternal promise to Sebastian still there on her finger. Her voice became a whisper. "I can't help but feel like I am being unfaithful."

"Oh, MC," Poppy said. "I know it must feel strange, and of course it's so very difficult. But, you deserve to find some happiness, MC. And, Matthew is so lovely, I know he would take care of you."

MC nodded. "That's what makes it so difficult, Poppy. Matthew is wonderful, so understanding. He told me to take all the time I need to think. He would make a wonderful husband, but..."

The pause lay heavy between them. Poppy nodded knowingly. "He isn't Sebastian."

MC took a swallow of tea to loosen the restriction in her throat. She took a deep breath. "However, I did make a promise to try and move on, didn't I? Maybe a new beginning would be the best way to go about it."

"I agree," Poppy said. "It would gladden my heart to see you happy again, MC."

....*....

The fire crackled and dipped in the hearth. MC sat cross legged before it, her eyes watching the flames dance. Passion, and heat, unpredictability, fire had always reminded her of Sebastian.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up. Matthew smiled down at her, handing her a wine goblet. She took it with thanks. He folded to sit on the rug beside her. "Are you cold?" He asked. He wrapped an arm about her, rubbing her arm with his hand.

"No, just unwinding," she smiled. She leant her head against his shoulder. He was sturdy, safe, comforting. Traits that had made her gravitate towards him. It kept the edge off her loneliness.

He pressed a kiss to her head, his thumb making lazy circles on her arm. He had never pushed her to be physical with him, knowing how fragile her heart was. He had been an exemplary gentleman, and she was grateful for it.

She sipped her wine, the firelight glinting off the diamond she wore on her ring finger. She had accepted his proposal. Sebastian's ring was now on a chain around her neck, close to her heart. She rubbed a hand absently against it through the fabric of her blouse.

"I thought perhaps we could take a boat trip tomorrow," Matthew suggested. "We could get some fresh air, maybe take a picnic. It would be good to escape the city for a while."

"That sounds perfect," she smiled. She looked up at him. He had lovely, blue eyes, blue like the sky. His hair was fair, neatly trimmed. He was nothing like Sebastian, and that was how she wanted it.

Matthew's gaze was warm, loving. He tightened his hold a little, his gaze dropping to her lips. MC felt a little breathless and wondered if perhaps she had drunk too much wine. His kiss was soft, testing. He did not want to pressure her.

MC felt her body respond. It was weak, just a flutter, but it was the first time she had felt anything remotely close to desire in years. She kissed him back.

As the kiss deepened, the warmth of it seemed to ease back the cavern of loneliness that had carved itself in her chest. So, she let him lay her back on the rug, his mouth claiming hers more deeply.

There was a war going on inside of her. Half was opening up, reaching out for the closeness, the warmth, after so long in the dark. The other half of her was screaming, no, this was all wrong. She was wrong, a betrayer, she was betraying Sebastian.

She pulled back from Matthew's kiss, her hands flat against his chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart.

"Are you alright?" He asked. The concern in his gaze made her want to scream and rip at her own hair. She was being so unfair to him. She would be a terrible wife. He deserved so much better.

"A little overwhelmed," she breathed. She winced. "Forgive me. I think I need a minute."

"Of course," he said. He immediately sat up, adjusting his trousers.

"You must think I am a terrible tease," she grimaced. "That is not my intention."

"No, MC, I don't think that at all. I think you have suffered a terrible loss, and I do not ever expect to fill the hole Sebastian left behind." Matthew said. "I wish I could take the pain away for you, truly I do. I only hope that, one day, you can love me even a fraction of what you felt for him."

MC felt her heart squeeze painfully. Matthew was a good person. She did not deserve him. She reached out and took his hand. "How are you so perfect?"

A sharp rap on the front door made them both jump and turn. "Who on earth could that be at this hour?" MC asked.

Matthew frowned. "I will see to it." He got to his feet and MC couldn't help lift her eyebrows. He was sweet for thinking that she needed protecting, after all, she was a far more powerful witch than most.

She heard the door open and the surprise in Matthew's voice. "Ominis!"

MC immediately got to her feet. It was very unlike Ominis to call upon her so unexpected like this. Her heart kicked up a notch and she twisted her fingers together as he appeared in the living room doorway.

"Good evening, MC. I am sorry to call on you so late, but this couldn't wait," he said. He looked grave, a little flustered even. He tilted his head trying to locate her.

She went to him, reaching for a hand. "Ominis, I'm here, it's alright." He squeezed her fingers, his usual cool fingers hot and sweaty. She swallowed. "What is it?"

"I don't know where to start," he said. He pressed long fingers to his brow. "I had word through the Ministry that a stronghold of slavers has been discovered in America. There were many prisoners, witches and wizards from all over the world, Aurors, Unspeakables..."

MC felt his grip tighten on her fingers, his bones grating against hers. She didn't even feel the pain. Her vision was starting to tunnel. All she could see was his face, her eyes fixed on his lips as the words came out. "Go on," she urged.

Ominis took a deep, shuddering breath. "The list of survivors, the ones they brought back..."

"Ominis," she said. Her voice was a strangled plea. She was clinging to his hand, her other hand reached out to grab the front of his immaculate robes. Hope was being dangled in front of her eyes. Years of agony were twisting harshly in her chest and her ears were screaming for what he had to say next. Oh, Merlin, please!

He nodded and got a hold of himself, his eyes blinking back the sudden shine in them. "His name was on that list, MC. Sebastian...he has been found."

She could hear someone wailing, a terrible, wrenching sound and then all was quiet. Soothing blackness wrapped around her and then there was nothing else.

....*....

She blinked. Once, twice, the living room swimming into view. She felt heavy, sluggish, her mouth glued shut. MC tried to sit up on the settee, and then hands were there steadying her shoulders. Matthew's face was a picture of worry.

She turned her head, and there in the wingback chair sat Ominis, looking anything but his usual composed self. His fingers were clutching the arms of the chair, his face rigid, his hair a little ruffled.

They had found him!

"Is it true?" She croaked.

Ominis turned his face her way, his lips trembled, and he nodded. "The survivors were brought back to England three days ago. I made some enquiries and Sebastian was placed in a safe house. I had trouble believing it myself, and so I made arrangements to go and make absolutely sure it was true."

Her heart was a wild thing in her chest, it hurt to breathe. "You've seen him?"

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "I saw him not two hours ago."

Her breath left her in a rush, a tear slid from her cheek. She shook, uncontrollably, and shifted, fully facing him now. "Can we...can I," she gasped. She put her fingers to her lips. "Is he alright?"

"He is alive, and not badly wounded. I can't say much about his state of mind, of course. He is...understandly, traumatised. But he did ask for you. It was one of the first things he said to me." Ominis said. He hesitated, his fingers flexing. "He wanted to know everything...about you. I...filled him in a little. I apologise."

She flinched and slid from the couch to her knees, literally crawling across the floor to clasp Ominis' hand. "Take me to him, please."

Ominis held her hand, but his head turned in the direction of Matthew, a pained look on his face. MC gasped and swung her gaze around to Matthew, horrified that she had completely forgotten he was standing there. She began to stutter out an apology, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Don't say another word," he said. His eyes were sad, but his mouth was firm. "Go, go to him. It's only right." He faltered. "He is your husband, after all."

....*....

Ominis and MC Apparated to the location of the safe house. The road was dark, quiet, a chill breeze tugging at the trees. Set back from the road was the house, an Auror standing guard near the door. A light glowed in a downstairs window.

MC was clinging on to Ominis' arm, too afraid to let go lest she just collapse to the ground. None of this felt real. He led her through the gate and towards the door, her feet stumbling along the path.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Ominis asked.

"I will crawl through that door if I have to," she said through gritted teeth. "I need to see."

The Auror guard gave a nod to Ominis. "Gaunt," he said, respectfully. His eyes took in MC. "Mrs Sallow, I take it."

"I think Mr and Mrs Sallow need some time," Ominis said. "By all means, keep your guard, but perhaps at a distance. I will be nearby as well, but they need some privacy just now."

"Understood." The Auror gave the door a long look before he made for the gate. "I will be along the front of the property."

"Why are they guarding him?" MC asked.

Ominis frowned. "Not all the slavers have been caught yet, and every survivor is a witness. It's for Sebastian's protection."

"Anyone coming for him will have to get through me first," she growled. It gave her some of her strength back to think that anyone might be about to snatch him away from her again, and she hadn't even seen him yet.

Ominis held her close for a moment. "I don't doubt it," he said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she looked up at him in surprise. Ominis was not one for overly displaying affection. "Will you be alright, now?"

"Yes," she said. "And thank you. Thank you for bringing me here."

"It's only where you belong, MC," he said. He moved from her grip and knocked on the door. "I doubt you will need me, but I won't be far away. He...he did not take the news well that there is another gentleman in your life."

MC could well imagine it. Sebastian wasn't the sharing type, especially when it came to her. But then, she would have felt just the same if another woman had laid a hand on him. She opened her mouth to reassure Ominis, but the latch sounded on the door.

The door opened, the light from inside spilling out onto the front step. MC stared, eyes wide, heart pounding as Sebastian stepped into view.

"You have a visitor, brother," Ominis said. He gave MC a gentle nudge forward.

Sebastian and MC looked at each other for the first time in almost three years. Her eyes devoured his face, ogling the shape of him, lines and angles she knew so well, but they were oddly strange to her now. He looked leaner, shadows under his eyes making him look weary, and there was a scar on his forehead that disappeared into his hair line.

Her name whispered from his lips. She took a faltering step towards him, and then another. He just stared, his eyes trying to comprehend that she was truly there at all. Her hand reached up, her fingers trembling so badly, that she missed on her first attempt. But then, she was touching him.

Her fingers trailed from his forehead, down over his nose to brush against his mouth. "You're real," she breathed. "It's really you."

A tear slid from his eye, rolling over his cheek. Her lips trembled. And then she was in his arms, crushed against him, as a sob ripped from her throat.

He held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe, but she didn't care. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing him in with small gasps, her fingers gripping at whatever she could get a hold of. He was solid, he was warm, he was here, alive.

Ominis slipped quietly away into the shadows, leaving husband and wife to find each other again.

....*....

The inside of the cottage was sparsely furnished but warm, a fire burning in the grate. The remains of a half eaten meal was on a tray, and a blanket was hanging off the edge of the settee.

MC wandered in behind Sebastian, her eyes constantly checking he was still there, feeling a little adrift since he had released her from that choking hug. He hadn't looked at her since, his face tense as he began to pace before the fireplace.

"I can't believe you're actually here," she said. "It's like a dream."

He spun to face her, his eyes hard. She flinched as he strode towards her, snatching up her hand to look at Matthew's diamond on her ring finger. He dropped her hand as if it burned him. "Some fucking dream," he hissed.

"Sebastian..."

"Do you have any idea what it was like!" He snapped. His face was so harsh, so cold. "Night after night, the screams, the beatings. An endless loop of nothingness. I thought I was going to go mad, I felt myself slipping away, but I kept hanging on. It was you! Your face, my memory of you, that kept me going. And now, now I find out that you replaced me! You're wearing another man's ring on your finger instead of the one I gave you!"

His voice had reached a pitch that made her press her fingers to her face, the fury in his eyes so much to bear that she gasped, her heart breaking into a thousand splinters.

He growled viciously and kicked out at a chair at the table. It clattered to the floor.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "Let me explain..."

He glared at her. "Does he touch you? Does he make you feel good?"

MC remembered the kiss her and Matthew had shared mere hours ago and flushed, but she shook her head. "No, Sebastian, please..."

"You're lying," he spat. He began to pace again, his hands raking through his hair. He swore harshly.

MC gritted her teeth. Her own shame at accepting Matthew gnawed at her, had she not felt like she was betraying Sebastian? She had not wanted to let him go, but had tried to, tried to please her friends, tried to be happy.

This was not how she had envisioned a reunion taking place. She watched Sebastian pace, his fury darkening his face, the pain flickering in and out in his eyes. "Stop this," she said. "I never stopped loving you."

He lunged for her arm, holding her hand up between them. The ring shone brightly in the firelight. "This says different."

His face was close and her heart ached for him. She felt the sting of tears. She fumbled her chain from out of her blouse, his ring hanging from it. "I never let you go, not really," she said.

He eyed the ring and then her. He shook his head. "You were all I thought about." He sounded broken.

He released her arm and turned away.

"I had to bury you!" She wailed.

He stiffened.

Her hands curled into small fists. "We had a ceremony, each of us saying how much we loved you. We put momentoes in a box and buried it because there was no body to say goodbye to. I wrote you letters, hundreds of them, but I had nowhere to send them. I had to bury them in the ground, with all the hope I could barely hang on to that you were still alive."

He turned to face her. She was really crying now, huge, fat tears of despair. She jabbed a finger at him. "You were gone. I was alone, so fucking alone, and I tried to find you. Searching, begging, pleading, driving everyone mad with my nonstop hope that you would be found. I almost threw myself into death's arms at one point, I thought it might be the only way to escape the pain of you not being there when I woke up every day."

Sebastian swallowed, some of the fury fading from his face. "You...you were going to kill yourself?"

She was panting, sucking in deep breaths, chest tight. She swiped the tears from her face and turned away from him, her cheeks colouring with her shame. She had never admitted that out loud until now. She calmed herself, smoothing her hands over her hips

"How was I supposed to go on without you? It was a really low point, but I was lucky. I had friends who cared enough to pick me up. And then...and then I met Matthew."

Sebastian scowled. But MC continued. "He was kind, he tried to help me. He works at the Ministry and he tried to help in my search for you. He took care of me, he never pressed me for anything in return."

"Sounds like a right hero," Sebastian muttered.

"Maybe he is," she said, whirling to face him. "He was certainly there for me. After we all said goodbye to you, he asked me to marry him. I agonised over it, but eventually accepted. But do you know what he said when Ominis came to get me tonight? He told me to come to you, that it was only right that I did. He didn't try to stop me."

"He wouldn't have got far if he had tried," Sebastian growled. He stalked towards her, his hand catching hold of her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "How could you ever think about letting him touch you?"

MC was breathing hard and fast again, her heart hammering in her chest. Their gazes were locked, the fire in Sebastian's eyes shifting from fury to pure desire, a hunger so deep and vast she was starting to drown in it. A flame flickered into life deep inside her, trails of fire spreading thick and fast through her veins.

He could still do it. After all this time apart, he made her blood sing, made her melt into the merest touch. "We didn't...he hasn't..." She swallowed hard. "I wasn't ready."

He lowered his face to hers. "Good," he breathed into her mouth. "You're mine, and I'm yours. That's it!"

MC lowered her eyes to his mouth. Slowly, agonisingly slow, he leant in and pressed his lips against hers. A moan, relief mixed with need, sounded in MC's throat.

He gripped her hair at the back of her head, kissing her deeply, stumbling back towards the table with her. Desperate groans fell from their lips as he lifted her skirt, parting her legs as she sat up on the edge of the table.

He stroked his fingers against her heat, finding it pleasingly wet. "Oh fuck," he groaned. He shifted, opening his trousers and pulling his arousal free.

Need came before anything else. He pressed inside of her, thrusting deep, greedily. She cried out at the immediate stretch. It had been a long time, his thickness burning along her walls, but she didn't stop him. Instead, her hips lifted to meet him, needing to feel him fill her up. His eyes were glazed, drunk on the very feel of her, he began to thrust, deep, desperate, like a man starved.

His fingers dug into her flesh, his lips were parted and his breaths came harshly as he fucked. He wasn't violent, but neither was he gentle. His release came hard and fast, his hips bucking desperately and a growl tearing from his mouth as he collapsed over her. She held him, her hand stroking through the unruly locks of his hair, calming him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His head was buried against her chest. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. It felt so good to be holding him again. It had been a long time, she had understood his need, let him take what he longed for.

He straightened and took hold of her hand. "Come on," he said.

"Where are we going?"

He smirked. Her heart glowed at the sight of it. The memory of that smirk had haunted her dreams, but there it was, for real. "I'm taking my wife upstairs to my bed," he said. "I am far from done with you."

....*....

MC couldn't have told a soul what that bedroom looked like when she first entered it. So intent were they on each other, removing every barrier of clothing, tossing it all to the floor without a care, just desperate to feel skin against skin.

The blanket was cold against her back, no fire up here, just the moonlight gleaming through the window. She arched her back, welcoming the feel of Sebastian's lips as he kissed her breasts, learning every curve again like it was the first time.

Her heart beat for him, her pulse skittering madly as he sucked at her neck, his hands exploring the curve of her waist. Her nipples brushed against his chest hair, hardening into desperate peaks. Fuck, she was aching with the need for him, it was almost a pain that only he could heal.

"Sebastian," she whined.

"I know," he whispered. He kissed her, his teeth tugging on her bottom lip. "Patience, my love, I need to taste all of you. Trust me, I will give you what you seek, and more."

MC moaned, her fingers seeking greedily through his hair, massaging his scalp, drawing moans from his lips. Every sound he made was a balm against the pain in her chest. He was alive. He was here.

Her fingers traced new scars on his chest, hurts he had endured so far from home. She kissed them, her tongue trying to soothe the pain inflicted on him. She caught a nipple in between her teeth and tugged, his cock twitching and dripping onto her thigh.

She reached for him, teasing fingers drifting up the silky hardness. "MC..."

She smiled against his skin, breathing in the scent of him, feeling like she was finally at peace. She began to stroke up and down his length and his hips bucked. He groaned and pressed her back down onto the bed. "No," he breathed. "It's your turn."

His mouth worshipped her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, swirling hotly. She found herself lost in a haze of fire, only his mouth, his hands, the sounds of his breathing mattered. She reached up to grip the blanket behind her head, her thighs separating, her hips grinding as his hot tongue slid luxuriously up her slit.

Oh, he knew what she liked!

Waves of delicious flame circled hotly at her core as his tongue swirled over her clit, his fingers teasing cries from her lips as he fucked her, slow, and with a knowing touch. She whimpered, her thighs beginning to tremble, as her release began to build.

Three years without him, three years of yearning, and now he was here, driving her over the edge again, sending her spinning outwards to see stars. Her fingers gripped his hair, holding his head right where she needed him most as her climax hit.

She was shaking, tears flooding her eyes, and he held her. His kisses warmed her cheeks, her neck, his hands smoothing up her back and over her hips. "That's my girl," he whispered. "Gods, I have missed you."

Barely having caught her breath back, Sebastian rolled them, settling her above him. "Fuck me," he begged. "Show me how much you missed me. I want to watch as you fuck me."

Aftershocks tingled through MC, her cunt pulsing with a need to feel him deep inside her. She caught his arousal in her hand, pumping him softly, her thumb sliding over his tip. He held her hips, his hungry eyes watching as she lined him up against her soaked entrance. He parted his lips, anticipation thick on his tongue, a delicious groan leaving him as she slid on to his cock.

She rolled her hips, her head falling back, her hair trailing down her back, the moonlight soft against the sweat on her skin. He let her move at her own pace, licking his lips at the sounds coming from her throat, at the hot slickness of her walls sliding along him.

MC still had a hunger for him, a need to feel out of control, lost in him. She angled her hips, ensuring that his throbbing tip was stroking just where she needed him. The pressure began to build and she began to bounce harder. His hands caressing her breasts as they jiggled with her efforts.

He was appreciating every move she made, his hips bucking to meet her, his own fire building to the limit. "Cum for me, MC," he said. He slid a thumb to press against her nub. She cried out, her hips twitching. He looked down, saw the slick shining on his cock. He licked his lips. "Mine, all mine."

She clenched around him, desperate cries echoing around the room. Sebastian knew the Auror was still outside. He hoped he could hear her, let the whole fucking world hear what he did to her. She was his wife, his love, his fucking everything. He wanted everyone to know it.

Driven mad by his utter need to claim her again, he flipped her, her hair fanning out across the blanket. He grabbed her hand, tugging the diamond free and letting it tumble across the bed. He linked their fingers, his eyes roaming over her as she panted below him. He saw his ring, attached to the chain around her neck, pooling in the dip of her throat.

He bent to catch it up into his mouth, rolling it on the tip of his tongue. He bent to kiss her, softly, his cock aching to fuck her, the ring caught between their mouths.

"I love you," she breathed. "I've never stopped."

He smiled, the ring slipping to fall onto the bed near her ear. He would be putting that right back on her finger where it belonged. But first...

He slid into her, rolling his hips, revelling in the way she clenched around him, sucking him deeper. He couldn't hold it off any longer. He fucked her, hard, unforgiving, burying her into the mattress under the fire of his need. She clung to him, her nails scraping against his flesh and he savoured every scratch.

The sweat dripped from his face, the room was filled with the slap of their skin, the grunts and cries of their pleasure, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, hips bucking. Hot release spilled into her, and she squeezed her muscles, drawing every last drop from him.

They collapsed into a breathless heap of limbs, mouths seeking and finding each other in a long, slow kiss.

As their breathing calmed, and their flesh cooled, he drew the blanket over them both, holding her close. She looked sleepy, content. He kissed her forehead. As he settled onto the pillow beside her, holding her warmth close, he thanked every star for letting him get back to her.

His nightmares hovered over his shoulder, but he grit his teeth, willing them to stay away. Let him have tonight, just tonight, to hold her, to remember.

Tomorrow, the healing could begin for real.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #blueraineshadows #sebastian sallow smut

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saccharinesunsetretired · 6 months

Note

Okay disregard my last revivebur blurb i have a better one

After Wilbur death, his partner goes to live out of the smp

there is an incident, but it is relatively more peaceful

instead of UTAH, Wilbur leaves the SMP to go travel in other servers, and gets caught up in some weird shit idk idk. Point of the story— he’s in disguise

he meets the reader as the new neighbor in town! Reader doesn’t recognize him since their sight is balls after the incident, and maybe Wilbur is wearing a mask

wibbbbber is afraid of revealing himself as Wilbur due to fear of rejection so he tries to get close to you while still under the “neighbor” role

yall become friends, and the reader confides in [Wilbur] about her late fiancé, Wilbur soot!

”he was a lovely singer but a hopeless dancer…”

”our poet”

”I wish I had been there for him in the end, at least more often.”

speaks very highly of him, clearly loves him still while Wilbur is actually there and just 💘

OKAY I am responding to this one and probably the last one (later) because I have THOUGHTS

First of all, I love everything about this. Maybe reader is essentially blind after the incident (a fire? a final battle? idk). Reader has a service dog, and they “meet” Wilbur when he compliments how adorable the dog is (mans has a soft spot for animals and you cannot convince me otherwise). Wilbur recognizes you—of course—but how could he speak to you after everything? He doesn’t deserve redemption (he never did quite forgive himself), but maybe he could at least be close to you.

Meanwhile, reader can only sort of see Wilbur (maybe they’re the sort of blind where you can only make out shadows/light), but something about his presence feels warm and familiar. His voice sounds familiar too, but just a little off. Reader can’t quite place it, but they feel safe with Wilbur in a way that they themself don’t fully understand. This means, of course, that Wilbur visits a lot.

It’s a late night conversation, one held over warm tea as the rain patters gently on the roof. You’re sitting on the loveseat in your living room, dog curled up beside you, dozing off. Wilbur sits across from you in a chair, and you can barely see his silhouette. He’s asking you about your life before you arrived in town, asking less like he’s curious and more like he already knows. You write your suspicions off as your own paranoia as you begin telling him about Wilbur.

“He was too ambitious for his own good, sometimes,” you say wistfully, setting your tea on a side table. “That’s why I loved him. He wouldn’t take a ‘no’ from anyone. He had an idea of how the world should be, and nothing could deter him from that.”

Wilbur is quiet for a moment. “Sounds foolish,” he says. His tone is somewhat bitter, and he regrets the words as soon as they’re spoken.

“Maybe,” you reply thoughtfully. “Maybe sometimes…but I think his heart was always in the right place.” You pause. “Even at the end.”

You continue telling him about Wilbur, about himself, though you may not know it. How he was a terrible dancer, how he would apologize for stepping on your toes with a kiss pressed to the back of your hand. How, even when his mind was slipping, he held you at night whenever he could (so tightly, as if he feared you would slip away). How he always spoke highly of you. How he would recite poetry and respond to your light teasing with mock offense before showering you in kisses. How, during the fighting and whenever he was away, you’d receive his handwritten letters.

And then, you reach his death. “I would have done anything to save him,” you say. “Even then. Even at his worst, I would have done anything.” Your voice trembles, and you try to calm yourself with another sip of tea. When that doesn’t work, you find yourself sighing. “I wonder if he knew that. I was never good at telling him. I just wish…I wish I would have told him I loved him more, especially at the end.”

Wilbur’s heart breaks at the words, at the solemn expression on your face. He finds himself asking the question that he’s been dying to ask this whole time. “And…and did you forgive him? For all of it?” His breath hitches in his throat. He desperately wants a yes, but part of him wants a no. Part of him wants you to affirm what he’s believed about himself the whole time—that he’s unforgivable. That it’s a good thing that he died, and that you left.

Instead, you pause. “Yeah. For all of it. And I would do it all again, if I could go back. I would relive every painful moment just to be with him.”

Wilbur slowly gets out of his chair to kneel in front of yours. Hesitantly, he takes your hands in his. “I think he knows,” he says softly. “I think he knows that you loved him. Even at the end.” His breaths are short, and his legs tremble. He knows that you’ll recognize him now, and it terrifies him. The thought of losing you again is unbearable, but how can he watch you be in so much pain?

Your brows furrow slightly as you feel the steady weight of his hands in yours. And then, all the pieces fall together. These are familiar hands. These are the hands that held yours the day his nation gained independence. They’re the hands that held yours again in a dark cavern as he plotted a second revolution. You know every callous on these fingers.

“Wilbur…” His name has hardly left your lips before you’re pulling him close. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around you. The embrace feels like home. “It’s you.” You can hardly get the words out, too much in shock and disbelief.

“It’s me,” he confirms. He buries his face in your shoulder. “I’m sorry—I’m—I’m so sorry, love. I would redo it—“

“Shh,” you say. “Please. Just…” You pull back slightly and cup his face in your hands. You may only see his silhouette, but you know exactly how he’s looking at you. You can see those brown eyes in your mind just as clearly. “Don’t apologize. I know you’re sorry.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” His voice is slowly crumbling, and he feels your arms around him once more.

“I know.” There are so many questions in your mind, so many things you want to ask. How is he here? Why has he said nothing about his own identity?

But those can all wait. “Make it up to me,” you say quietly. “Stay this time.”

He nods. He presses a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek, then one to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

And this time, you know he’s telling the truth.

#I LOVED THIS ASK #if anyone else sends me asks you get a free kiss (platonically)#asks <3 #listenheresweaty #revivebur x reader #wilbur soot x reader

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daemour · 1 year

Text

The Corporal's Wife

Pairing: maybe Mingi x f!Reader, past Jongho x f!Reader

Word Count: 2309

Warnings: Mentions of war, mentions of death, that's all

Genre: Angst, fluff(?)

Summary: You're still hanging onto the hope that your husband, Corporal Jongho survived the war, but with six years and not a peep from him, you're starting to lose hope. When a mysterious young man turns up at the cafe you frequent, your days of quiet sadness may be coming to an end

TY to @sanjoongie for helping me choose a title lol <3

also if u want a sequel with what happens with yn and mingi lmk

After the war ended six years ago, you visit the café in front of your house daily. Perhaps it’s fruitless to hope, but you don’t know what you’d do if you stopped believing.

Your husband’s body was never found, and some days you wish they’d never told you that so you wouldn’t have a reason to stay in the same town you’ve always been in. Maybe you should attempt to move on, but there’s always a lingering feeling of guilt if you even think about it.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the chain in front of you scraping the floor. “Do you mind if I sit here? All the tables are full.”

A tall figure in a plain shirt stands before you, a large covering his hair and eyes. Warning bells sound in your head but against your better will, you shake your head. “Go right ahead, I don’t mind,” you say, gesturing to the empty seat. “May I ask your name?”

The man hums. “Mingi. And yours?”

“I’m (Y/N). What brings you to this town? I’ve lived here all my life and haven’t seen you around.”

Mingi’s lips pull upward into a small smile. “Hm. That’s a private question ma’am, but I’ll answer it if you limit your questions to one a day.”

You cock your head to the side. “You’re awfully sure that I’m that invested in a stranger’s life,” you respond cooly.

Mingi laughs hard and you can’t help but notice his adorably crooked teeth. “Fair enough. I’mm answer your question in good faith. I’m here to live a more peaceful life. Better?”

Your brows furrow. “More peaceful life?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Mingi sing-songs, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face,” next question is for tomorrow.”

You gape at him but all he does in return is tip his hat and offer a smile before getting up and leaving. He intrigues you, and you are always in the café in the afternoon, so maybe you will take that offer. With a shake of your head, you return to your usual cup of tea and the book that had laid forgotten on the oaken table.

“You’re back!”

“You sound too pleased about that,” you grumble as Mingi takes a seat in front of you once more. “I usually come here around this time anyway, it wasn’t because of you.”

Mingi chuckles. “Still, you’re here. So I’ll let you ask another question.”

You sigh, but you can’t lie and say you aren’t even a little curious about this strange man who sits with you. “How old are you?”

Mingi smiles. “Safe question. I’m almost thirty, turning in four months.”

You cock your head. “You look young for your age. In fact, you’re actually younger than my husband,” you laugh quietly, looking down into your teacup. “You would have gotten along.”

Mingi hums, voice low in his throat. “Is he not living here with you?”

You shake your head, your breath catching in your throat as you try to avoid the subject. “Ah, he’s not here at the moment, it’s just me in this town.” You offer Mingi a weak smile. “Please excuse me, I must head home and finish some chores.”

Before he can say anything in response, you book it out of the café. You don’t want to face the truth just yet. You check the road before crossing it in a hurry to get to the safety of your empty house.

As you catch your breath just inside the wooden door, your eye catches the last picture you took with your husband. Jongho smiled so peacefully in the picture, with you standing right by his side and a matching smile on your own face.

Tears well up in your eyes and you rip your eyes from the picture. You cannot continue wallowing in your overwhelming love for him, but are you truly ready to move on? As the wetness blurs your vision, you kick off your shoes, stumbling towards the kitchen.

He’s more endearing than you had thought, with his bright smile and warm laugh. You’re getting more attached, you can feel it in your heart. You don’t know if you’re ready to handle the feelings that come with it, but you cannot dwell on that now, not when you’re just getting to know him. Maybe it’s just platonic.

You take another deep breath and fumble for the cabinet where Jongho kept his whiskey. You need to calm down.

“I’ve realised…” you start to voice the thought that had been plaguing your mind for the past few weeks. Although you’ve known Mingi for only three months, you’ve grown to enjoy his company and the insightful answers he offers of himself. However, one thing had been sitting pretty in your subconscious. The tension in your gut will not go away until you get your answers. “Why don’t you ask questions about me, Mingi?”

“...What?” Mingi asks, noticeably stiffening and pulling his hat further down his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we have his whole system of me asking you questions, but you never seem to want to get to know me. Why is that?”

Mingi sighs. “I suppose I can’t continue hiding. But here is not the place. Take a walk with me, (Y/N)?”

Your eyes widen You’ve only known Mingi in the comfort of the café. Although it is trivial, it feels like a big step to by anywhere but here with him. And yet, he’s still waiting patiently for your answer. “Okay…” you whisper, slowly standing and brushing your long skirt off. “Where to?”

Mingi smiles. “Not far. There’s a park a few blocks away.” You know that palace all too well—your husband proposed there. If that is your destination, you’re less worried.

The walk doesn’t take too long—Mingi’s stride is long and you practically scuttle after him. The park is just as nice as you remember, with a few couples milling about. He leads you to a pavilion and before you even have a chance to catch your breath, he starts to speak.

“To preface, I was a soldier in the war almost six years ago,” Mingi says slowly as if trying to choose the right words. “I was stationed in Inhon City. Sound familiar?”

The name tugs at your memory but you can’t recall it. “Not really…I’ve heard of it.”

Mingi sighs, pulling off his hat, and you gasp at the sight of zig-zagging scars decorating the upper half of his face. “Jongho was my commanding officer. I’m sure that name is familiar.”

“Jongho…” you whisper. “If you’re looking for him, he’s not here, I’m sorry.” Your voice sounds foreign even to yourself. You don’t know how Mingi knows your husband or their history, but if he’s here to kill you, he won’t get any satisfaction out of it.

Mingi shakes his head, pity in his eyes. “I know. That’s why I’m here. He loved to talk about you, you know.” Your eyes tear up “That’s why I never really had to ask about you, although it would have gotten suspicions off my back.” He smiles bitterly.

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s dead, (Y/N).” Mingi smiles sadly, but you shake your head.

“No.” Your voice is quiet as if it would shield you from Mingi’s words. “He’s not.”

Mingi takes a step closer to you, almost reaching out to comfort you but deciding against it. “(Y/N), he’s been gone for six years. Do you really think he wouldn’t have found his way back to you if he was still alive? Jongho loved you. He wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting for a man who couldn’t come back.”

You shake your head once more, but deep down, you know what Mingi said was true, even before you had met him. “His body was never found, Mingi. Please leave me alone,” you hiss, perhaps hoping your anger would reverse time and you never would have met this tall stranger. And Jongho wouldn’t be gone.

“(Y/N),” Mingi starts to say, reaching out for you, but you take a step back.

“I want to go home.”

Mingi frowns, retracting his hand. “At least let me walk you home,” he offers but you shake your head.

“What, you want to know where I live?” The harsh words come out against your better judgement and Mingi flinches. “Oh, wait, you probably already know my address.”

“That’s unfair,” Mingi frowns but you shake your head.

“That’s unfair, but you getting to know me from a lie isn’t?” You raise an eyebrow and Mingi cowers.

“It wasn’t a lie…”

You glare at Mingi’s sorrowful voice. Like he has a right to sound so pitiful. “A lie of omission is still a lie, Mingi. Just…please leave me be. I need time.” He finally acquiesces and you escape back down the path.

You don’t know why you’re so affected but his words sent a sharp pain into your heart. Deep down, you knew that Jongho was not going to return after the first two years, but you needed that hope to keep you going. You don’t know what you’d do without the idea of Jongho returning. You’ve waited for so long that you don’t know if you could ever move away.

With a sob, you slam your front door shut behind you and fall to the ground. The last time you cried was when you heard the news of Jongho missing. All the pent-up frustration and sadness are finally being washed out of your soul.

In a way, it’s refreshing, but there are so many conflicting emotions that you don’t know what to do but to let it all out. As you wipe your teary eyes, you look over at a picture of Jongho’s siblings hung on the wall. You hadn’t seen them since Jongho’s parents’ funeral which was right before the war started. Maybe they could offer insight.

With a last wipe of your eyes, you head to the study to call ahead and ask to visit. You know they won’t mind, but it’s the polite thing to do, and maybe just talking on the phone will help ease your worries.

A few days later you’re currently in the midst of packing for when you finally go to visit your in-laws as they graciously invited you to stay for the weekend. However, a knocking on the door interrupts your task. “(Y/N), can we talk?”

Your body stiffens at Mingi’s voice. Why is he here? You knew you shouldn’t leave without telling him where you were as you would have felt bad otherwise, but you were planning on asking the café owner to pass the message on, not to confront Mingi directly. “No.” You hate how shaky your voice is, and Mingi can hear the uncertainty.

“(Y/N), please.” You bite your lip as you stomp over to the door to give Mingi a piece of your mind.

“Mingi, I told you to please leave me alone,” you start to scold but stop short as you swing the door open and see Mingi’s face. His eyes are red and the dark circles under his eyes invoke regret in your chest. His hair is a mess as he holds his hat, turning the brim round and round in his hands.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” Mingi says, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I didn’t want to bring it up on our first meeting and just…never got around to telling you. The more time passed, the more worried I got about bringing it up. Jongho may have been my commander, but he was also my friend. I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

You close your eyes to try and stall the tears. “Mingi…I’m not mad. Maybe I was back then, but I understand now.” Your words are thick with emotion. “I wish you told me before but I can understand why. I just…do need some time. It’s hard to not want to wait for someone I’ve been with for over ten years.”

Mingi nods. “I understand. I just couldn’t wait any longer before apologising. I should have told you sooner.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, Mingi. I don’t hold it against you, bubt I need to finish packing. I’ll be visiting my family for a few days, but we can talk more when I get back, okay?” You offer him a smile which he returns, albeit shakily. “Thank you again for coming to chat.”

With a nod, he turns away and replaces his hat on his head. You watch his back as you feel a tightness in your chest at seeing him leave. “Mingi!” You call after him, and he stops in his tracks. “Would– would you like it come with me?”

He turns back around, confusion evident in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’m visiting my brother-in-law and his wife. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet one of Jongho’s friends.” Mingi’s lips twitch and you fear you’ve gone too far. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were busy. I just…thought you might like it–”

“I’d love to,” Mingi cuts you off. “Thank you for inviting me, really.”

You tilt your head. “It’s no issue, really. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea? I’m almost finished packing and we can leave soon after.”

Mingi nods carefully. “Thank you, (Y/N). Really.”

You get the feeling he’s thanking you for more than just tea, but you won’t point it out. Instead, you just open the door wider to let him in. It’s time for you to let Jongho go, and maybe Mingi will be the one to fill the void left in your life.

#pirateeznet #kvanity #wkcnet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez mingi #mingi #mingi fanfiction #mingi fanfic #mingi x reader #mingi angst #mingi fluff

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starry-blue-echoes · 1 year

Text

so it has been. Literal months since I last talked about Neutral Ground but a Thought just hit me with all the subtly and delicacy of a brick and I can’t get it out of my head

so after Tonio adopts Giorno, he’s definitely going to be MUCH more aware of the danger Passione presents. Yes he knows he technically has a deal going with the Boss and Doppio, but this is the fucking mafia and he now has a kid who could be put in danger. No matter how much protection they given them, someone is always going to be after them for their connections ad Tonio isn’t going to risk his child’s safety for his mistakes

so what if he starts preparing to leave. Not obviously, of course, he treats this with more delicacy and secrecy than the most valuable ingredients because he CANNOT afford to fuck this up. It takes months of meticulous planning, of covering his tracks, of ensuring that no matter what they'll be safe. Money thankfully isn't an issue, and he and Giorno don't really have anyone to worry about leaving behind.

(and if Tonio at some point asks Giorno if he could visit any place in the world and the boy responded "Japan" well that was just an innocent question for curiosities sake)

Then finally the day comes. With all of their most important essentials packed, they flee Italy, and after taking a VERY long roundabout route filled with more fake names and IDs than either can fully remember, they make it to Morioh, Japan

The first couple years are very anxious, paranoia filled ones. Months of looking over their shoulder, of not unpacking their bags, of working small part time jobs and keeping their distance from the locals

but then they start to relax. They start to get more comfortable. They unpack their bags, Giorno starts to make friends with the neighbors, Tonio starts cooking again and even starts making plans to open a new restaurant

sure there's a small hiccup when the issue of Kira pops up, but they gain so much more in return. A community, other people with abilities, a support network they can trust, and eventually their family of two becomes one of four with the addition of Okuyasu and Stray Cat

Life is good and they're happy

but of course, not all good things can last

Passione finds them. They don't know how, but one day Okuyasu and Giorno come home to find the restaurant trashed, their home destroyed, and Tonio on the floor battered and beaten and bloody, on death's door yet just barely clinging to life

They'd had a feeling this was coming, and yet they'd allowed themselves to grow complacent

Logically, Giorno knew they should run. That Morioh wasn't safe anymore, that Passione would come for them again, that they needed to leave before any more damage was done

but they had a life here. Giorno had friends, a family, people he cared about and selfishly didn't want to leave behind. Morioh had been the happiest he, the happiest Tonio, had been in years. He'd seen his papa laugh and smile and sing, when he cooked he swayed and hummed, such a stark opposite to the methodical silence when he cooked in Italy

And Giorno was angry. Angry that Passione tried taking this away from them, tried killing his father who wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life in peace, tried tearing apart the family his father had built with his bare, bloody hands

he wasn't going to let that stand

and well....... Okuyasu certainly isn't going to let his little brother do this on his own :)

Giorno has the calculating mind, Okuyasu has the raw power, and both are fueled by protective vengeance. Needless to say, Italy was not ready for these two

(also this is. Completely separate from what I was talking about but as I was thinking I wanted to possibly experiment with somehow putting Volpe into the AU, since he's Tonio's little brother in the Purple Haze Feedback novel and also part of Passione and according to the wiki is resentful of his brother for his choices. I'm not fully sure, I just think it would be neat and add a bit of fun and some conflict.

Maybe Volpe was one of the people Diavlo sent after Tonio after doing a bit of digging and learning about their connect? Maybe there was a bit of non consensual drugging, which led to Tonio being landed in the hospital in a way that Crazy D couldn't fix and could then lead to Giorno and Okuyasu's loathing of drugs and add more to the desire for revenge upon learning that guy was their uncle)

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ionely-galaxy · 1 year

Text

Last Chance

Starring: Zhongli x Dead!Readers

CW: Angst, mentions of crying, and past memories, some deep words too. Let me know if I miss any!

Summary: It is just like two days after your leave. But even every hour he missed you. Which … makes him feel some kind of hallucination.

WC: 0.5k

A/N: This is a continuation from the past fanfic 'Last Moment', in here! But please remain that English is my second language, and I'm still new in Genshin and the fanfiction world, please forgive me for some mistakes or misunderstandings I made. Reblogs are appreciated!

How much time has been spent?

Do you remember the last time you're still in his embrace?

The time when breathing wasn't that easy again when you couldn't even feel your leg, when all the silence is the only noise.

Your 'leave' causes a mark that cannot be erased or accepted by the people, even him.

Bet that this timing was leaving the worst mark in his heart. But it wasn't your fault. After all, you're not as high as he is. You are the mortal.

And he is immortal.

Usually, in the Mt. Aocang the seat is taken by a couple in the warm afternoon waiting for sunset.

But this day, the seat just taken by one gallant-tall man with brown suit, at least that's what 'mortals' see.

Your smile always brings a peace for him, just like a field full of beautiful flowers with the wind passing through it.

But it feels like something has make that smile gone, something weird happened to you.

He sips to his tea, staring at you, until realize something strange. You're always looking down to the grass, feel so sad and quiet.

"Are you okay, Love?"

Your gaze eventually meets his. You blush a bit in shock, then turned away your head. Shaking head quietly, "Nothing."

His eyes soften in respond, he looked down at his drink, then said. "Don't worry about anything, Y/N. Everything has its own end. It is all my fault, my fault to be the first one asking your name. But please remember that ...," he sighs, lift his head to faced you.

"You'll continue to shine like--" he paused; you weren’t there. Reality slapped him very hard, maybe this was the thousand times it happens but, you. He loses you.

"--Gold in my memories, Darling." He continued, maybe you weren’t there, but he knows you're still listening to him.

Staring at the last place he sees you; he sighs. Closing his eyes as tears start streaming down his cheek. How is it? He’s loses more, even the special one. He didn’t what to think of anything,

The wind came crossing the mountain peak, and the wind blew a sheet of paper. Curved and beautiful handwriting is written on that sheet, and I’m pretty sure the content is as beautiful as it looks.

Born from the zero

'Till fly to the skies

It is all framed on the horizon

Shining brightest among the light

Just like how it is used to

Lighting the darkness in this heart

Warming the cold of emptiness

Farewell doesn't mean goodbye

Neither 'to be continued'

But a delayed ending

All you need to get is

Everything will be alright until the true end

From past sacrifice

Formed an endless love

And this recorded history

Creating a constellation of stars

You left as a rock, a nobody

But will be the most shining gold

In my memory, especially

You're mortal, and he is immortal.

You're blessed to meet him, while he cursed to meet you.

Immortality is a curse, that cannot be cured.

Do NOT repost, share, copy, or translate WITHOUT my name/permission.

#eve's writ #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin x reader angst #zhongli #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli angst #zhongli x reader angst #genshin fanfic #fanfic #wwwww valentine #i have fallen into a rabbit hole #send help

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swanmaids · 2 years

Note

👀 if you're still doing the tolkien horror prompts, may i request uncanny/i do not know you/came back wrong? <3

Nimloth’s husband and sons have gone where she cannot follow. But she can still be with her daughter.

—

About half way between Menegroth and the Mouth of Sirion, Elwing smiled for the first time since her nurse roused her in the dead of night.

“Mummy”, she said in her soft little-girl voice, “Mummy’s here.”

The now-refugees did not respond. The poor child had just lost everything. If imagining her mother by her side gave her some comfort, there was nothing to be gained by breaking her illusion.

—

“But why am I the queen,” Elwing sniffled through tears, “when Mummy’s still here? Mummy should be the queen!”

All of a sudden, Círdan felt very, very old. He knelt before the child, still in her pink nightdress and with the violently bright jewel looped around her neck like a noose. “Child, I know this will be very hard to understand-”

—

“My mother likes you,” lisped the thin, wide-eyed child that the Iathrim had introduced to Idril as their queen. “So be welcome, Idril Silverfoot.”

Idril, thirsty and exhausted, bowed to the girl-queen and thanked her effusively. She had no energy left to wonder what she meant. She wished she had something more than thanks to offer her- and later found out that she did.

“The circumstances bringing you here are indeed terrible,” Círdan the shipwright told her, “but one small silver lining is that Elwing will at last have a friend her own age. She has so many responsibilities, and I am afraid the fall of Menegroth still hangs heavy upon her. Often, she speaks as though her mother is still with us. I think she must be very lonely.”

Idril nodded. She thought she could understand - hundreds of years after the fact, she still missed her own mother with an ache that waxed and waned, and the recent loss of her father was a raw wound. “I’ll introduce Eärendil tomorrow.”

—

Eärendil and Elwing were two-thirds done with a bottle of stolen rice wine when his best friend asked, “Can I tell you a secret?”

Eärendil was sixteen and in love and would have done anything she asked. “Of course.”

“Sometimes I still see my mum. I know she’s dead. When I was little I didn’t really understand that, but I do now. So I see her…ghost, I suppose? Especially when I’m lonely, or I need help. You probably think I’m insane.” She took a long swig of wine, and Eärendil could see her eyes misting. He fumbled to save the situation- he could not stand to have made her cry.

“I don’t! Actually, I think I understand… when I was ten, I used to see Salgant. Apparently he’d been taken to Angband, after… everything, and I suppose he died there. He’d come to me, and he used to kneel at my feet. He never spoke. I guessed he was sorry for me, for his part in everything.

I didn’t blame him, not really. With my uncle, it’s a different story. But Salgant was easily led… I told him I forgave him, and to go in peace to Mandos. I didn’t see him again, after that.” It was true, though he had not thought of it for many years.

Elwing lunged forward and hugged him fiercely. Eärendil felt hot tears fall on to his shoulder.

“Thank you. I thought I’d never be believed!”

Eärendil smiled. “Of course I believe you. Even if the same thing hadn’t happened to me, I’d never doubt you. You’re my best friend in the world.”

Elwing pulled back and smiled, wiping away the last of her tears. “And you’re mine. I’m glad Salgant found rest, too. But do you think it’s awful that I don’t really want my mum to go?”

“Of course not. She’s your mum!”

—

Elwing tasted blood and her lungs burned as she ran through the burning wreckage of Sirion, the snarling and howling Fëanorians at her heels. “I have it!” She shouted as she held up the hideous jewel, her voice snatched away in the chaos. “Come and take it!” Then she ran on. She knew where to go.

She knew where to go, because her mother was with her, guiding her, as she always had been. In life, she had offered warm hugs and soothing words and kisses to the forehead. In death, the shade who had been Nimloth could not touch her daughter, nor speak to her. It did not matter- Elwing always knew what she meant.

When Eärendil had first come to the Havens, Nimloth had smiled upon him. When the letter from Maedhros Fëanorian had arrived, she had gestured to the fireplace.

Now, Elwing’s mother pointed silently towards the cliffs.

#nimloth #elwing #earendil #legendarium kids #peredhil #my post #my fic #tuserosie #outofangband #the silm

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dragonmuse · 2 years

Text

Get your fresh au of the au!

Prompt found! @weirdnatasha asked what would happen ifLucius met Izzy and Eddy in the Hornigold era! Ages are adjusted here, we start with Lucius at 21, Izzy at 23, Eddy at 24. This bulleted list is known as ‘find a place to make a stand and take it easy’:

-There’s a job. There’s always a job. Izzy hasn’t done time in his crapbox apartment in weeks, isn’t sure he can reliably remember the color of the drapes. He has a deep gouge of a scratch from one shoulder to the middle of his back where Eddy had dug in and every time he shifted his wait, it reminds of the way she’d half-moaned his name. It’s distracting.

-”Witness protection?” Eddy asks, bemused.

“It’s a blackmail play. The kid was somewhere he shouldn’t, saw something he shouldn’t and he’d make a good witness. Linus wants us to hold him until he makes a business deal, hold it over his the guy’s head.”

“We liquidating at the end?” Izzy frowned. Killing other people with weapons was one thing. He hadn’t killed a bystander before and he wasn’t planning on starting now.

“No,” Hornigold shook his head. “We’re not assassins.”

“Just babysitters,” Eddy made a face. “A wait and see, really? Can’t we stick O’Brien or Mark on it?”

“It’s a top dollar, client,” Hornigold said with the kind of patience that let you know it was almost at an end. “He asked for round the clock security. I laid out specifications for a location and he’s provided a very nice place for you to cool your heels. Consider it a vacation.”

Eddy and Izzy exchanged a very brief look. Whatever this was going to be, vacation would not be in the top ten words they’d put to it.

-They pack bags and go though. Not a lot of choice there. The building is definitely upscale, the apartment when they step into it, is fucking ridiculous. Huge living space with big windows, a kitchen that’s clearly never been cooked in and bathrooms that echoed with marble.

“Windows are a problem,” Izzy says right away as Eddy drapes themselves over a big couch with a sigh.

“Nah, they’re tinted to hell and back. Checked before we came in.”

-They sweep for bugs, for cameras, disable existing systems, put in their own. Then there’s a knock. Izzy checks the door, gun out, but there’s their package with Hornigold behind him.

Eddy opens the door, Izzy falls back.

-The guy isn’t an actual child, thank fuck. He’s apparently in college, some bullshit art program. His clothes are oversized, but in a way that suggest intention rather than second hand. His dark hair is mussed and he eyes up Izzy and Eddy with about the same amount of suspicion Izzy is giving him.

“Lucius, these two will be your loyal guards,” Hornigold gave them both heavy looks. “They’ll be making sure no one kills you.”

“Thanks,” Lucius gritted out. “I’ll be...in a room. Where am I sleeping?”

“Right this way,” Eddy gives a little bow with a laugh that usually makes people back up slowly from them.

Lucius looks wide-eyed, but didn’t give up ground. Points to him.

Hornigold gives Izzy a slap on the back. “I’ll probably call Eddy in now and again, but you’re my boots on the ground. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, sir,” Izzy has his eye on Lucius’ retreating back. Eddy puts him in the middle bedroom which happens to also be the biggest. Smart. Farthest from the windows, centered him between the two of them.

-The first few days are just what Izzy expected. Lucius sticks to the bedroom, barely speaks to them and responds to inquiries about meal as shortly and clearly as possible. He’s eating, no one’s tried to kill him, all is well. Eddy climbs the fucking walls, but on day four, Hornigold blessedly calls her in and leaves Izzy to read a book in peace for fuck’s sake.

Not that he doesn’t enjoy Eddy’s boredom to some extent, but he needs some time to recoup.

-Lucius takes that exact moment to decide “I cannot spend another fucking second in that room. Please tell me there is something to do in this monument to Linus’ wallet.”

“There’s books,” Izzy says vaguely.

“I’ve been reading and sketching for the last three days. Please. Anything. Say human words to me, I know that’s not your thing, but I’m going to need you to try.”

“What do you mean it’s not my thing?” Izzy’s attention drawn away from his book unwillingly.

“You let the other one do most of the talking. You mostly say swears and gesture from what I can tell.”

“I talk,” Izzy says, annoyed at this entirely accurate description.

“Prove it.”

“I’m talking to you right the fuck now.”

“About something. About...I don’t know. How the hell are you passing the time here?”

“Guarding you.”

“Thrill a minute, but I know you’re doing other shit, the walls aren’t that insulated.”

Has Lucius heard them? That is...troubling. Izzy shoves that to the back of his head. They were usually pretty quiet, considering how intense things got, so probably not. Probably he’s heard them doing the thousand other things they did to keep from going stir crazy. Cooking, playing cards, talking over movies and sparring in the clear space by the windows.

Most of that wasn’t going to fly with Lucius, who looks like fighting was beneath him or at least something that took place very far away from him if he has any say in it.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

-Izzy teaches Lucius the few basic recipes he knows. Meat and potato kinds of dishes. Izzy likes cooking, but there's rarely time and he doesn't own anything half as nice as what gets stocked in a posh place like this. Lucius seems happy enough to chatter about college at Izzy while they cooked like Izzy knew shit about it. Only stops occasionally to prod a response out of him.

“Guess that’s all over now though,” Lucius realizes as they put everything into the oven.

“Why?”

“You guys will leave me alone eventually and what then?” Lucius stares blankly at the oven. “Wolkski won’t let the same trick work twice. I’ll be dead, won’t I?”

“Nah,” Izzy says, but he’s not actually sure of that. He doesn’t know what Lucius saw. Doesn't know how time sensitive it is. Doesn’t know how Wolkski from a hole in the wall. “Killing someone is a good way to make more blackmail. He’ll probably just buy you off.”

“You think?” That actually perks him up and Izzy has a small treacherous thought. Hope I’m not lying to him.

-Eddy comes back and finds them both on the couch watching some weird comedy reruns that hasn’t made Izzy laugh once, but he’s laughing anyway because Lucius is a catty asshole and has a lot to say about the leaden acting.

“You two are getting on,” Eddy glances between them warily. Like they’re up to something.

“Come sit with us,” Lucius scoots over. “Do you think they put her in that shade of pink because they hate her? I bet she’s a pill to work with.”

“What’s wrong with the pink?” Eddy frowns, but drifts over and sits down between them.

“Washes her out completely,” Lucius tsks. “Pastels in general would. She needs jewel tones.”

And as Izzy watched, Lucius gathers Eddy’s complete attention, gets an arm around the back of the couch, circling them in and more than once gently touched their knee. Eddy let him do all that, apparently enthralled.

Almost one touches Eddy casually anymore, except for Jack. Sometimes Izzy did, but it's less and less welcome if it ever had been at all. Maybe it was Lucius' whole affect which yells ‘I’m not a threat, but don’t try anything anyway’.

“What got you out of your room?” Eddy asks at last as the commercials rattled at them,

“Izzy’s cooking,” Lucius grins over at him. Like they're sharing a joke. Like Izzy had had anything to do with it besides the food bits.

“Oh yeah?” Eddy glanced over at Izzy. “Is that so?”

“Everyone’s got to eat,” Izzy shrugged. “Left you a plate if you want it.”

“What is it?”

“Meatloaf. Mashed potatoes.”

“With a pound of butter,” Lucius puts in. “It’s sitting in me like a brick, but it was great.”

-Eddy does eat her plate. That’s fifty-fifty when Izzy presents her with food, so he’ll take the win. Lucius goes on loosely flirting with Eddy, who’s not giving it back the way she would if she was totally sold, but isn’t running away either. It’s weird to watch. Unsettling.

-They sleep in shifts, one of them always awake, just in case. At 2 AM, Eddy comes out of her room to relieve him and they rut on the couch, her hand over his mouth, his teeth worrying at the meat at the base of her thumb.

It’s almost gentle. When she comes, she presses her other hand to the mark on his cheek.

Izzy wants to ask questions about that, but he’s never managed before and he apparently won’t be starting tonight. Instead he says,

“Lucius is worried about being murdered once we’re done with him.”

“Yeah,” Eddy drops her full weight on him. Just for a moment, just for two breaths. It feels like Heaven. She doesn’t offer anything further, and then she’s gone and Izzy goes to bed.

-Lucius stops hiding in his room altogether. It should be annoying. He’s full of questions, teasing and prodding.

“Wait, you’re how old?” Lucius asks Izzy as they wash dishes. It feels bizarre, domestic.

“Twenty-three. Why?”

“Because I thought for sure you were in your thirties or something. Not a looks thing, just the way you both carry yourselves. Eddy too?”

“Year older.”

“But you said you’ve been doing work like this for a while.”

“Four years. Eddy is longer, five or six.”

“Huh,” Lucius gives him a long look over. “Looks good on you.”

Izzy has no idea what to do with that. He just scrubs harder at the dish.

-Eddy and Lucius disappear for a few hours into Lucius’ bedroom at one point and come out, flushed and giggling like children. Izzy doesn’t ask. Won’t give them the satisfaction. Either of them.

-”What’s with the ring?” Lucius sits so close that Izzy can make out the places he’s dotted concealer to cover a zit. Like anyone here gives a damn. Where did he even have the damn stuff? It’s right along his jaw and Izzy’s filled with a dark temptation to rub it off with his thumb. To feel the prickle of stubble against his fingers. His palm.

“What ring?” He mumbles, distracted.

“The one around your neck.”

Izzy reached up and yeah, it slipped out of his shirt. He tucks it back, tries to keep it casual, but Lucius watches him sharp-eyed. Izzy’s been slipping. Acting like this place is his own instead of a job. Wearing t-shirts instead of the crisp button-ups that he’d adapted in the last two years to make people take him more seriously.

“Just a ring.”

“Uh huh,” Lucius lifted his brows. “Your mom’s or something?”

“No,” he snorted.

“Oookay, So mystery girl? Or very fine-boned boy?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Just curious,” Lucius drew a single finger over the back of Izzy’s hand where it lay between them on the couch. “You’re a bit of a closed book, you know.”

“I don’t need to share shit.”

“There’s not much any of us need to do,” Lucius sighed. “But it’s so much more interesting when we do the things we want.”

“You used to getting the things you want?”

“Less often than you might imagine.”

-Eddy brings home booze, bottle of vodka, bottle of rum.

“Oh thank fuck,” says Lucius so Izzy doesn’t have to.

They all get beautifully, completely stinking drunk. It’s bad protocol, but this job has gone on for tedious weeks. Lucius and Izzy are practically prisoners, Eddy only a step better, released occasionally to fetch and carry for Hornigold or check in. There’s a half empty container of orange juice in the fridge and they just pour the vodka entirely into it and pass it around. Izzy though Lucius would object to such a delivery, but he keeps up with them for a good long while without complaint.

“I’m going to die,” Lucius announces to the ceiling. “And I won’t even have had a hot threesome with my guard dogs.”

“Is that what you’ve been gunning for?” Eddy laughs over the container, now mostly empty.

“Yes. I think I’ve been pretty obvious. I know you two are banging it out. Please tone it down for my delicate sensibilities. Walked in on some hellicious shit the other night. I don’t do blood.”

“What do you say, Iz?” Eddy glances over at him, impossible to read like this. Especially when Izzy was flush and woozy.

They didn’t do this. It wasn’t something they shared with anybody. No one knew. No one even really suspected. If anything, it's talk about how pathetic he is for trailing after hoping for leftovers. Eddy never put words to what they did. Izzy never dared.

This is words. This is someone else. Is it a test? He can’t fucking think.

Only Lucius is pretty, pink lips even pinker when he’s drunk and he has touched Izzy so many small times. Asks him things. Tries to pry him open. He’s so...interested. Interesting. He draws these real looking things, art that Izzy understands. He’s drawn Eddy a dozen times already, beautiful Eddy with her hair spread out behind her, doing her morning routine of situps and pushups or just sleeping.

Lucius silently gave him one of those loose sketches and Izzy hadn’t even protested. Taken the few lines that conjured Eddy stretched over the couch and tucked it safely away.

Lucius is all the things they aren’t and more besides. He’s going to be someone, probably. He’s beautiful and not theirs. Certainly not Izzy’s.

Izzy loves stealing.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “Okay.”

Lucius crawls over to him. To him and not to Eddy. Why not to Eddy? He levers himself up, then captures Izzy’s face in both hands.

“Oh, we’re going to have fun,” Lucius informs him and then kisses him with intent, keeping him right where he wants him.

-Eddy watches for a long time. That’s what Izzy remembers the most, her eyes on them, silent, and intense. Then suddenly they’re everywhere. Lucius gasps into their kiss, Izzy writhes under their touch. Everything oozes together.

-When it’s over, Eddy claims the couch and falls into a deep sleep. Lucius stands and holds his hands out to Izzy.

“Come on.”

Izzy takes them, bemused. Lucius leads him into the bedroom, doesn’t turn on the lights.

“What’re we doing?” Izzy mumbles.

“Sleep. Come on.”

Distrustful of even the thought, Izzy goes slowly, but Lucius really does just curl up on his side. The bed looks good and has the advantage of being right there. He feels a little unsteady still. He gets in. He closes his eyes. Lucius turns and he tenses, but it’s just a hand landing on his arm, not even holding, just resting.

Fuck.

Izzy falls asleep.

-It becomes a problem quickly. Lucius enjoys sex quite a bit and shares neither of their reservations in discussing it. Eddy, always quick to learn something new, takes to this readily. Izzy feels like he’s under attack as they discuss positions and things to attempt, but when he tries to get away from it, they turn their eyes to him like he’s the one exhibiting bizarre behavior.

He doesn’t add anything, but he stops trying to leave. He has quite a lot of sex.

-”You’re getting so good at that,” Lucius praises him once. “Anyone would think you’d had a lot of practice.”

“Of course he has,” Eddy says off-handedly.

Lucius glances down at Izzy, “That true?”

And Izzy wasn’t in a lying position.

“No,” he admits and at least he was already flushed, not betraying himself even more by turning scarlet.

“No?” Eddy sits up a little.

“Go on,” Lucius says gently. “You can tell them.”

“Fuck off,” he tosses his arm over his face. Fuck the both of them. Maybe he could flip Lucius off him and make it to the bedroom, bar the door before someone caught up with him.

“Tell me what?” Eddy asks, a growl in her voice which means no one is going anywhere. Goddamnit.

“There wasn’t anyone else,” he grinds out. “Just you.”

“Oh,” Lucius says. “I didn’t think it was that hard line. I guessed maybe something close, but uh... sorry, Iz.”

“That was your first time?” Eddy’s voice is raw.

Fuck it. Izzy does get up though he just nudges Lucius aside and he goes. Lucius is easy like that, rolling away without complaint. Giving him the space he needs. Soft little punk.

Izzy walks away and no one stops him as he quietly closes the door to ‘his’ bedroom. The one he hasn’t used in days because somehow Lucius has convinced him to share.

He sits down against it, presses his back to it. He holds onto the ring for dear life and thinks about nothing at all.

-Eddy comes for him in the end. He expects Lucius, but later he’s not sure why. She doesn’t try to get in. Doesn’t even knock. He just hears her sit down on the other side of the door.

“You let me in when you’re ready, Hands. But then we gotta talk.”

He can’t remember a time either of them waited for each other. It’s not what they do. There’s no time to wait. There’s never any fucking time for anything. But right now it’s endless days. Ticking down until Lucius is free. Until they’re all released from this prison that’s also been a cradle to something Izzy doesn’t know how to name.

He doesn’t mean to make her wait long, but the minutes tick by until he feels even halfway to ready. He stands up, walks to the bed and sits on the end. Rubs his palms over his jeans.

“Yeah,” he says, not sure if it’s loud enough to carry. “Come in.”

-She stands for a second in the doorway, blocking out the light, and she’s so beautiful it makes his chest clench. The space between them yawns, but she closes it with a few long strides, sits down beside him. They sit like this often, pressed thigh to shoulder. There’s barely any room where they have to go sometimes. Barely any way to stay quiet unless you’re whispering right into each other’s ears.

“Do you think we’re broken?” she asks him. “Not us as in me and you, us as in whatever we have between us.”

Izzy wants to say no. He wants to believe that this is what should be. Wants to practically kill Lucius himself for proving them both wrong.

“Yeah,” he says roughly instead. “I think we are. A little.”

She nods vaguely, “He is going to get killed, you know that?”

The longer this goes on, the more likely that seemed. “Yeah.”

“I think you should take him and go,” Eddy says.

“What?” Izzy stares at her.

“He needs a guard dog, we need to stop.”

“The job is all I’ve got,” Izzy blurts. “If we’re not...I don’t have anything else, Eddy.”

“You do,” Eddy says firmly. “You’re smart, you’re fast. He’ll be with you. You run.”

“No,” Izzy reaches out, hesitates and then decides that if she’s knocking down walls, he can too. He takes her hand in his. When she doesn’t resist, he holds on, probably a shade too tight. “Eddy, if we go, Hornigold will know you were in on it. You can’t just walk back in there.”

“I’ll say you knocked me out while I was sleeping or something.”

“He’ll never believe it.”

“You make him believe shit like that all the time.”

“You don’t,” Izzy says. “You’re a great liar, but it’s different with him.”

“It is,” Eddy concedes. “He always knows.”

“So come with us.”

“Maybe.”

-Lucius, does not like any versions of the plan.

“I’m not leaving my life behind.”

“Then you can stay here and get picked off later.”

“Izzy said they might not kill me. That it would be too messy.”

“He was being...optimistic,” Eddy settles on, giving Izzy a look. He shrugs.

“What are the odds?”

“I’m not a computer,” Eddy rolls their eyes. “You can stay here and take your chances or go and take your chances.”

“With one of you with me,” Lucius looks between them. “So...what? You give up everything for someone you met a few weeks ago? What are you getting out of it?”

Izzy scrubs a hand over his face. He waits for Eddy to put words to it. She doesn’t. Hung out to dry.

“We get to not be the kind of people that let innocents get murdered over rich people’s business deals,” he says.

“You care about that?”

“Yeah, Luc,” Eddy says softly. “We care.”

“I don’t actually, in general,” Izzy amends. “But I care about you and I don’t want you to fucking die.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to die either. But I also don’t want to give up on college.”

“You can finish college. Somewhere else,” Eddy says. “We’ll figure it out.”

Lucius does not agree. Does not agree as they argue, does not agree as they eat dinner in sullen silence. Does not agree as Eddy stomps out to report to Hornigold.

Izzy has no wiles, no charisma to speak of. He’s not Eddy, who can spin castles in the clouds. He can only sit down next to Lucius and pick up his hand because that works a little, apparently, and say,

“The ring belongs to a dead girl. I don't want another one."

“Yeah,” Lucius drops his head onto Izzy’s shoulder. “Yeah, all right.”

-They take their time. Three days of planning. Eddy gets them fresh papers, Izzy finds a clean place and siphons money off the accounts he’d just started keeping for Hornigold. That part is dangerous, but he hides his tracks, only taking enough to give them a head start. Doesn’t get greedy over the horde of dragon’s gold.

-They leave all at once, crossing the threshold that Izzy hasn’t stepped over in weeks without fanfare. It’s a gray day, the air oppressive. Lucius has a hood pulled up over his hair, a ridiculous pair of sunglasses on. He keeps them on until they’re so far away it barely matters.

-They go south because Eddy wants warmth. Izzy drives the car (stolen, plates switched, abandoned and replaced before the settle). Eddy stares out the window, fingers drumming on her thigh. Lucius lays down in the backseat. None of them talk much.

-They find a place in a different city. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at once and Izzy spends a lot of time walking around and around, mapping the streets with his feet. Their apartment is small, two bedrooms. Eddy claims one. Izzy hangs outside both doors until Lucius puts a hand on the small of his back and guides him into the other.

That feels like that. The end of something. The start of something.

-Eddy makes good on their promise. 'Luke Spangler' goes to art school, finds a bar gig after work. Izzy figures he’ll find something too, he knows grocery stores if nothing else, but Eddy just turns up and hands him a book on week two of their escape.

“CPA. You were doing half this shit anyway. I can cook a fake degree up for you, but you’ll need to pass the exam.”

“What about you?”

“It’s a port town. I know some shit about boats.”

Izzy hadn’t known that, but isn’t surprised. Eddy is always pulling out new skills like it just occurred to them they could do something, so they could.

-It takes a long time for them to relax. Months go by. Lucius draws and draws, talks about his day, takes Izzy to bed and figures out how to manage Eddy’s hair, brushing it out at night until she’s practically a puddle. He’s nervous, ill at ease, but the never complains about it. He’ll complain about a lot of things, but not about them. Not about the life he’s come to lead.

“I’m taking off the beard,” Eddy announces, eyes a little wild. “Too recognizable.”

Izzy finds a place to be while that happens. He can’t watch.

When he comes back, she’s transformed. The beard is gone and she’s in Lucius’ things. Softer things. Lucius is brushing out her hair and she doesn’t look wild at all.

“What do you think?” she asks without opening her eyes.

The wall is down. It may never go back up. He cups her jaw. The skin is perfectly smooth beneath it.

“You look yourself.”

She smiles against his palm and what the hell is he supposed to do with that? Lucius beams at him too like he got a hundred on a quiz. Fuck the both of them.

He makes them dinner.

-A knot comes undone between Izzy’s neck after a year. A year is a long time. Long enough for someone to find them if they were looking hard enough. Long enough for Izzy to build some clientele, unsavory types maybe who don’t care so much about his credentials and more what magic he can do with their taxes. He works out of the apartment, mostly sitting at the kitchen counter. Eddy leaves behind the boats, then a security gig, then finally settles in at a florist shop. She seems pleased by the flowers, bringing the wilting unsellable ones back with her, settling them in the vases that seem to multiply.

Lucius draws her over and over surrounded by flowers.

-She and Lucius still fuck sometimes, Izzy’s fairly sure. He misses it. Misses Eddy’s body beside his. Lucius is good though, and Izzy knows he’s changing under Lucius’ influence. Becoming something new and he’s not sure what.

-At two years, it’s becoming clear that no one is coming for them. They can’t go back, that’s just ludicrous, but they can maybe unwind a little here.

“I could get my own place,” Eddy ventures.

“Oh,” Lucius frowns, then looks to Izzy. “No, right?”

“I-” He doesn’t want to trap her there. Not anymore. Not really. But...”Do you still think we’re broken?”

She gives him a long even look. He makes her dinner most nights when she gets home. Lucius is home too late for that. He otherwise stands back, watches her do everything on her own unless she asks deliberately for his assistance, which is rare. She manages her own moods, she figures out her own schedule. She remembers Lucius’ birthday.

Eddy never needed him. Not really. It hurt in a way he couldn’t describe, didn’t even try, not even to Lucius, who held all his other secrets.

“No,” she decides.

“Then you should stay. If you want to.”

“Agreed,” Lucius says with some relief. “Stay with us.”

Eddy stays. Or rather, she goes, but they go with her. First to another apartment with more room for them to spread out. Then another when they start what becomes an incremental migration back North. They follow jobs, Lucius learns to work on the road, taking commissions and picking up bartending gigs. Eddy finds work as easy as breathing and Izzy’s business moves online too.

-After the third move, Eddy arrives unceremoniously at Izzy’s side of the bed.

“My mattress sucks donkey dick, move over.”

They start fucking again within two nights of that. Lucius, precious dictator that he could be, straightens out any misunderstanding with a careful,

“He’s mine now. Break him and you owe me.”

Eddy doesn’t glare or laugh, she just nods. Izzy apparently has no say in that and he’s grateful for it.

-They make it home a full decade after they left. Lucius may look a little the same, but he moves through the world differently. He’s picked up their wariness and some of their menace and can even back it up if push comes to knife. Eddy has not only left behind the trappings of her former self, but she moves through the world like it can be kind and smiles easily. No one would recognize her.

It’s Izzy that could be a problem. His changes are seismic, but internal. For the first time, he lets his beard grow in, itchy at first, but then just another thing about his face. He lets his hair grow out too, catches it back in a ponytail that Lucius is forever picking out to run his fingers through.

-Eddy walks into a new flower shop, walks out a manager because that’s how it goes. Izzy finds new clients, slowly slowly. Lucius draws beautiful things, beautiful people and makes drinks at a bar by their new place. Izzy goes down there after dinner, sometimes Eddy comes with him. They sit at the bar and he flirts with them, with everyone really, but dotes on them especially and they tip him as a joke and he always takes their cash, then uses it to buy them little gifts.

-They don’t know why they’ve come back, except that this was their home. The city belongs to them, even if only Izzy was born in its limits. They will not be driven off forever.

Maybe Izzy, very late one Saturday night, slips out of the apartment. He ghosts across the city. He finds one old man in his bed. Then another. Maybe they would’ve never come looking. Maybe he could’ve kept his hands forever clean. He prefers not to live with maybes. He prefers certainty.

He comes back to bed, freshly showered and still damp. Eddy grabs his wrist, holds him there. Accesses him. Then scoots over, lets himself fold down into their arms and doesn’t ask a follow up question.

-Lucius gets a new job at a new bar.

-Izzy watches Eddy fall in love and it’s new and beautiful and he hates it and he can’t look away.

“You going to be okay?” Lucius asks him, holding his hand in the dark of the bar. The Revenge is kind in the dark. It kills you with glitter and song, instead of a bullet.

“Yeah,” he says with no confidence. “I always knew-” he stops dead with realization. “Wait. Will you be okay?”

Because Eddy has been in their bed. Not just Izzy’s, not for long years. Lucius and Eddy have their own thing, their own dance that Lucius relishes. They spar verbally a lot, make out like it’s breathing and no one has graced Lucius’ sketchbooks more.

Eddy is Lucius’ muse, if not a million other things.

“I don’t know,” Lucius confesses, tiredly. “But I don’t know that we can stop whatevers happening either.”

They both watch Eddy talk to Stede, her entire body straining towards him. It’s not how Eddy treats either of them. It’s another new side to her, another face catching the light.

But she’s a diamond. She’s a jewel and they have a lot of angles.

“We don’t have to stop it,” Izzy decides. “We just...we talk about it.”

“You want to talk?” Lucius asks incredulously.

“No,” he sighs. “But I don’t see a way around it.”

-The conversation is scheduled. No one is ambushed, but Eddy still looks hunted when she sits down.

“We want you to be happy,” Lucius says.

“We want you to go where you want,” Izzy agrees.

“But we’d miss you terribly if you left.”

“Where am I meant to be going?”

“Don’t do that,” Izzy shakes his head. “Stede is...okay he’s not fine, he’s awful, but not in a bad way. So. If you want him, you should go after him.”

“Just maybe come home after,” Lucius says softly. “Please.”

“Like you do?” Eddy gives Lucius a soft smile.

“Yeah, sure. Or less often if that’s what you want. Never got a taste for sleeping over,” Lucius shrugs. “But you do you.”

Eddy does go. But she also comes back. Lucius actually makes friends with Stede, so Izzy is forced to socialize with the man and...he’s so fucking weird and off-putting and goddamnit, Izzy winds up liking him too.

The kids are unexpected, but interesting.

-They’re moving again, closer to the Revenge since two-thirds of their party works there and Izzy might as well for how often he’s there.

“Hey, look at this,” Lucius stops packing one of his boxes. He holds out a sketchbook to Izzy.

“What is it?”

“It’s from when we started. Haven’t looked at it in ages.”

Izzy sets it aside. There’s no time just then, but he thinks about it some, makes sure to tuck it on the top of one of the easy to reach boxes.

When they’re all in the new place, furniture mostly where it’s going to be and wiped out, Izzy plucks it back out and hands it to Eddy. She opens it at random, stares, then flips back to the beginning and takes it slower, tilting the pages to Izzy.

“Ugh,” Lucius says as he sees it. “Look at that linework. Awful.”

“It’s not awful,” Eddy counters.

The pages are full of them. Not just Eddy like Izzy always thinks of those books, but both of them. Together, sometimes. There’s one close to the end, Izzy lending over the back of the couch, looking down at Eddy with a hunger in his expression. Eddy is talking, her hands waving wildly in the air, a fraction of a smile on her face. Her hand is almost cupping Izzy’s face, just a bare fingertip away.

“Maybe we weren’t broken,” Eddy says softly. “Maybe we were lost.”

Izzy leans against their arm and looked at younger faces, at those strangers. “Yeah. Think we’re found now?”

Eddy took the hint, wrapped that arm around him and drew him close, kissed his temple.

“Yeah. I know exactly where we are.”

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #au of the au #find a place to make a stand and take it easy #lucius black #izzy hands #eddy teach bonnet

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