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#and his robes still stay that pristine white
nwndrlndn · 8 months
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pregnancy
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pairing : anakin skywalker x pregnant!reader; | wc : 0.9k | 18+MINORS DNI
warnings : pregnancy kink ( but open to anyone with a womb ), possessiveness, anakin is a crep and perv, mildly objectifying, unhealthy relationships and worldviews, "mommy" is used once, mentions of oral
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for the last 6 months, anakin watched as you continued about your daily life in the short bursts of time you spent together. between missions and meetings, in the few days off, and every night he could come home to you. every moment he could spend with you he would. and when the days finally came where your clothes grew too tight and you needed looser outfits, he would offer to get you your clothes and fabric orders. in the mornings, he would pretend to sleep to watch you dress.
but it wasn’t enough. he waited patiently, smirking when people noticed the small and excusable signs of your current state. he knew you hated to lie but there was a certain wave of desire that washed over him, watching as you lied through your teeth as you claimed cravings were caused by a longing to travel freely and your irritable morning state on having rough nights. though he knew just how good your nights were, after all, he was the one helping you release after such long, busy days.
so when you finally started to show, his ego soared, especially as your bump seemed to grow faster than you could prepare for. ever the doting husband, anakin offered and advocated so that now he could help you get ready in the mornings and undressed at night. buttoning, zipping, brushing, smoothing, tying, and adjusting. and teasing, his hands had access to every part of you because you trusted him. but you also wanted to tease him. that had to be it. why else let him be the only one so close to you? to touch you each night and care for you? 
and thats why when he came home from a mission, exhausted and singed from blaster shots and swings of red lightsabers that got too close, his breath stopped when he was greeted with the sight of you relaxed against your pregnancy pillow and your pristine white robe stretched to cover your bump, with a sliver of your bump still visible. he walked over to you, hanging up his coat and kicking off his boots mindlessly, his eyes focused on you as he worked his way out of his jedi robes.
“ani, you’re home! i wanted to show you something, i was looking into a place to stay and-”
“just a minute, my love.”
anakin felt bad, taking you by surprise and silencing you, and once he saw you begin to pout he reminded himself to be extra doting to make up for it. he was on you in an instant, careful not to put any weight on your stomach, his lips kissing your neck and shoulders. he tugs off your robe, setting it behind him as he moves to cradle you from behind, easing his cock into you as he holds you gently. he was so scared to hurt you and he held himself up to watch your face for any signs of pain, and once he was fully sheathed, he returned to littering your face and neck with kisses. 
for a moment, he wanted want to hold onto your hips and your waist and squeeze as long as he could. but you would whisper to remember the baby. and anakin wanted to tell you he was, he was being so careful with you and your precious baby, so just let him kiss your soft, glowing skin. let him thrust into you carefully, no longer aiming to fuck into you as deep as his anatomy allows. just let him have you, not the parent he’s making you into. his words are punctuated with kisses, and thrusts, strong but slow. anakin’s lips lingering by your ear when he wants you to hear him.
“just three more months, im gonna put another in you as soon as i can.”
“you look so good, baby. you're glowing.”
“you’re just as tight as you’ve always been.”
“i bet you’re gonna be a great mommy, and i’ll keep putting more in you.”
“there’s gonna be so many little skywalkers running around, the council’s not gonna know what to do with them all.”
he was desperate, but he wasn't selfish. his hands knew you well, knew every soft spot and each place you needed to be touched. anakin knew you needed this, just as much as he did and he treated you like you deserved. you deserved better than this galaxy, he only felt content once he watched your face contort in pleasure and felt how tightly your hole squeezed him. anakin came in you with a grunt, holding you to him as he shuts his eyes for a moment. he promised himself that once he finally relaxed again, he’ll go down on you until your eyes are too heavy to hold open. 
he was like those royal brats he meets across the galaxy, so absorbed in their dolls and themselves that they were useless to the world around them. but he understood them now, because he had you, and you had his child. you needed the care he provided, you needed him and so would your children, it was more binding than your marriage, it was something deeper than that. 
he could listen to your endless fantasies for your child because he wondered and hoped the same things to a certain extent. only he wished for a girl who looked just like you, and you wished for a boy for some foolish belief that it would make him happy to have his firstborn be a son. he couldn't care less. he had you, and the child was the proof of it. and he would take as many children from you so he could see how happy an army of his brats would make you.
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Robe
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The number of times that you recalled a certain half demon placing his robe over you in protections were too numerous to count. It was only when you were in dire danger or need that the precious red fabric ever left his being. It was his armor, as you’ve come to recognize from every battle you’d witnessed, proving its worth time and time again as he fought countless foes. There were a few times when its protection could only do so much for him but he always treated it with care even when it had been rendered to tatters until it could return to its former completed shape.
Your gaze rose upwards to the darkened night sky. Another new moon had come, earning the little traveling group a much needed break for camp, along with a change over a certain person who now grumbled lowly under their breath as a town appeared in the distance. The change InuYasha befell never ceases to amaze you as he huffed when the little fox demon lightly poked fun. Long pristine platinum white hair was now a black that could rival tonight’s darkness, touchable ears that would swivel or perk had disappeared, and the sharpness of his nails that was rivaled by his eyes were now softer yet still profound that told of inhuman heritage.
“What are you looking at?”
A snap of your head back towards the road shifted your gaze forward. “Wonder if there’s an place that we can stay at.”
“Tsk. Nothing wrong with camping.”
The monk intervened before you could respond, stating that for everyone’s sake it would be best to take shelter, then departed once spotting several prosperous homes. None too surprising that Sango followed him closely with Shippo and Kilala up her shoulders. That meant it was just the two of you walking along the dirt trodden path.
As if pulled by a magnet your gaze drifted back towards the seemingly normal man beside you.
“If you’ve got something to say, than say it already.” His snap was halfhearted, earning a raise of your eyebrow. When you didn’t answer he quickened his pace until blocking your path which caused you to stop. It was rare to see this expression upon his face as the nearby lantern illuminated his features for you. It was concerned, worried maybe, but most of all it was sincere. “What is it? You’ve been awfully quiet since dusk.” This was another aspect that you favored about this time of the month. Honesty was a strong suit of his, ego and bravado being used as shields when someone managed to get beneath his skin, but it was during this change that he was more open with you in particular when in regards to certain topics. Patience wasn’t his forte yet he waited for longer than you expected for an answer of some sort until he cast a brief glance over your shoulder before encouraging you to stand closer to the source of light. “You know I’d do my best to protect you, right? Don’t be scared.”
Warmth entered your cheeks at the tone he used. “Oh, I know you will, that’s not why—” Your words were forgotten as one of his hands appeared from the robe’s sleeves to press its palm against your forehead. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you’re falling ill.” The hum that sounded from his throat reverberated slightly in your ears from its pitch, his expression becoming one of concentration. “You don’t have a fever so that’s good.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
At that moment a breeze blew past, tickling the bare skin of your legs and arms until the hairs stood upright with its cooler temperature, earning a shiver across your body. Your head hung as he sighed. All day you’ve been suppressing similar shivers down your spine with each breath of wind that whispered of fall’s coming frost. Guess you should’ve listened to mom’s advice about packing weather appropriate clothing. The school’s summertime uniform wasn’t going to cut it for much longer. Why couldn’t you have packed a jacket or some leggings instead of all those textbooks that threatened to break your back?
Silence filled the air between the two of you until the sound of shifting fabric caused your gaze to rise in curiosity only for it to become ensnared by a pair of warm sienna brown eyes that subtly shone with amber shards. His fingers were careful as they slipped the heavy backpack off your shoulders, easily swinging it up onto his own, then shifted so that you were nearly sandwiched between his body and the lantern. Not only was he blocking the wind but also attempting to combine his body heat with that of the lantern to help keep you warm until the others returned. And still his gaze remained locked on your own even when the subtlest of pink hues appeared within the tips of his ears. “It’s not much but better?”
A small smile lifted your lips as the chill in your skin slowly dissipated. “Much, thanks.”
It didn’t take long for Shippo to return with word that Miroku had found a place to stay for the night. After a modest dinner and sleeping arrangements had been made, you slipped off towards a quieter part of the residence where a little studying could be done. The head of the house had been kind enough to provide a few candles to offer better light for you but they did little to stem off the night’s chill as your nearly numb fingers fumbled to turn a page. Just as you were about to call it a night because it was becoming too difficult to focus from the cold, something happened that you never would have guessed or saw coming.
From behind you appeared two folds of familiar fabric that loosely enclosed you within a cocoon, a pair of legs folding neatly beneath you in place of the floor that were far more cushioned, and a firm toned surface meeting your back that had begun to protest against the slouched position you’d been in for the last hour. “Getting some studying done?” He asked softly, as if hoping not to startle you too much. A barely audible hiss slipped from between his lips as he drew you closer with a squeeze. “Damn, (Y/n), you’re freezing. How can you possibly get anything done when you’re this cold?”
Your answer was lost to the stuttering of syllables as your teeth chattered slightly, earning a chuckle from the dark haired man.
“Next time you’re this cold, just say something, ‘kay?” It was only when you nodded in agreement did his posture become more relaxed, hold loosening just enough that you could pick up the textbook again.
Now you had a completely different reason to be distracted.
Had he always been this warm or was that the robe? Either way it was so blissful that your mind slowly became a muddled mess the longer you remained within his hold. The sharp scents of Wind Scars or Backlash Waves that mostly dominated his being had given way to reveal faint traces of salty sweat reminding you of the beach, dry chalky remnants that were similar to mountains, and spicy cinnamon that tickled your nose in an alluring way.
“So what are you studyin’ this time? Is it that weird trig-no-metry thing?”
A chuckle came from your throat, shifting so that he could see the illustration of a bamboo forest. “It’s the story of a prince who wants to marry the bamboo princess but she has all these tasks for him to do before she agrees.” The tip of your finger rose when his expression became weary. “It’s similar to the Kaguya legend but this one describes the Robe of the Fire Rat to be silvery and beautiful.”
His eyebrows shot upwards as his chin fell to rest upon your shoulder, causing your cheeks to brush. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm. According to this, it was mistaken for common silk at first when an iron box had been dug up beneath a fallen temple. Only the prince of Japan at the time who had sent word to his dear friend in China asking for assistance understand what it truly once when he received it. So beautiful it was the he couldn’t wait to gift it to the princess but didn’t feel as though it would do her justice.” Your hand turned the page to reveal an illustration, eyes finding the sentence where you left off and continued to read aloud. “‘Across a bed of coals did the prince lay the robe, for it had been heard that the robe would become more beautiful to behold once kissed by flame’s lingering breath’. It said in a passage that it was as if silver had been spun finely to create the robe that could protect its wearer from any heat related harm.” From the corner of your eye you could see InuYasha’s gaze shift from the open book to his trusty coat, coaxing his eyes to return to the page courtesy of your nudge. “However, the prince made a mistake. He placed it on the coals twice more and it evaporated into silver smoke.”
The snort that sounded nearly made you smile. “Idiot. Should’ve just left it alone.”
“Well, he was trying to make sure it was in its peak condition before giving it to the bamboo princess. Nothing wrong with trying to ensure a gift is in its best condition.” You chided, noting how he rolled his eyes. “Yours was a gift from your father, right? Would you have been happy if he’d given it to you full of holes?” No sooner had the words come out of your mouth did you wish to take them back as his gaze darkened. Guilt filled your veins as his lip curled. “InuYasha, I’m sorry—”
“It was actually a gift to my mother who then passed it down to me when she died.” His tone was much softer than the expression made of stone he wore. “My old man knew he wouldn’t be enough to protect her so he’d asked the Fire Rat to make something for her. A lot of good it did her though.”
From within your heart came a twinge of sadness for him as he took a deep inhale through his nose. The book was closed with a snap, somehow not earning a reaction from him, then it was placed off to the side as you pivoted so that the two of you were facing each other. Only when the palms of your hands cupped his face did the dark haired InuYasha surface from the thoughts plaguing his mind. His gaze found your own, finding warmth and honesty, before you snuggled into his being while wrapping your arms around his torso. ���I’m glad your father had it made to protect her, you could almost say it was made from his love for Lady Izayoi, and it became full of her love for you after your birth.” From this angle you couldn’t see his face there was no mistaking the rhythm of his heart quickening when you gave him a squeeze. “You could even say that its their love combined that continues to protect you even during this time when you feel weakest.”
The stiffness within his toned muscular frame ebbed at your words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d been constantly on guard all day knowing what was to come once the sun had set. Sure there was Sango, Miroku, and even Kilala to help if a battle or opponent were to present themselves. Ever so slowly, his arms enclosed around you in a returning embrace until the entirety of your form was nearly pressed against his own. Tresses of his long hair intermixed with your own as his warm breath wafted the sensitive skin of your neck.
Not another word was spoken between the two of you as one by one the candles flickered than hissed before extinguishing until darkness settled over the two of you like a heavy curtain. Neither it nor the whispering chill on the breeze could force you two apart as warmth slowly grew between your forms. The robe was large enough to comfortably fit around your combined forms, although that might have been because you were practically cradled against his form with your face protectively tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rises and falls of your chests in harmony as sleep slowly claimed you both.
It was almost too soon that you woke to find the first few rays of sunshine filtering over the horizon. Unlike the first time you’d witnessed his transformation, you watched with awe as black gave way to silvery platinum and the sharpness returned to his features as he stirred. The lids of his eyes opened just in time for the sienna brown to be overtaken by brilliant gold and pupils to become oval shaped rather than circular, those shards of amber remaining but now becoming harder to see from the irises’ ring. And yet he didn’t move or say anything that suggested you should move away. So within his hold you remained, offering a smile of greeting when his pointed dog-like ears perked in your direction.
“Morning, InuYasha.”
His gaze flitted off to the distance, a huff sounding in his nose. “Yeah…morning.”
“Did you sleep good?”
“Tsk. Would you sleep well if something heavier than a pickling pot sat in your lap?”
A twitch settled within your brow. Standing, you gathered all of the books you’d meant to study last night and shoved the materials back into your bag as the chorus of your names came from within the residence. “Sounds like the others are up so we should get going.”
“Not like we got anything here to keep us. Better to move on.”
The muscles within your jaw clenched as he nonchalantly rose then disappeared around the main house’s corner in the direction of where your companions would likely be as you hurried to follow. It was then that you noticed not only was your bag suddenly missing but the Robe of the Fire Rat was secured around your frame in a similar fashion that it had been at the Sage Tokijin’s temple. When had he done that?
“Hurry up, (Y/n), we ain’t got all day!”
Though it was so fast the others had missed, or if they had seen they didn’t comment, the pink tinge that entered his cheeks when you’d appeared alongside them.
“Why are you wearing InuYasha’s robe?” Shippo asked curiously while hoping up to balance atop of your head. “Did something happen last night that made you not come to bed?”
A teasing smile raised your lips while catching the half-demon’s gaze before taking the lead from him from beyond the gate that was entrance to the residence. “Looks better on me, wouldn’t you agree, Miroku?”
Instantly, InuYasha’s expression became one of anger as the perverted monk made to comment. “Don’t you even start!”
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ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months
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The Heretic's Confession, Chapter One
CW: Captivity whump, some... implications... references to branding. This is just me getting a feel for the idea and character, though, really.
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The robes he once kept pristine are caked in dried mud around the hem. Grigory frowns as he inspects them, rubbing along the seam. It flakes away, leaving imprints of itself behind. 
Maudlin, certainly, but it feels like the stain of their sins painting his soul.
Maybe suffering can give even a man of the Goddess the sentiment of a poet. His lip curls in disgust at the very thought.
Please, please speak to me, Dromada. Tell your priest what he must do to escape this nightmare.
She is, and has always been, silent to his pleas for Her assistance. 
The Goddess the people worship may be a paragon of compassion and forgiveness, her sculptures solemn and grave with hands outstretched to embrace even the lowest-born of Her children, but Grigori is beginning to suspect the holy men have got it wrong. 
She isn't gracefully wise. She does not reach Her hand out to hold Her children. No, as each day passes without Her so much as whispering a reassurance, he begins to feel She is th goddess of laughter, and he is Her current favorite joke.
A knock at the door to his room - his cell, really, but of course they all like to pride themselves on keeping him in high style in his gilded cage - has him looking up, a little startled. The moon has only made half of its trek across the night sky, through the looping swirls of galaxies far, far beyond the reach of mere mortal men. That milky spin of stars, everyone knows, is where the gods live.
He wonders how many of them are looking down on him, sipping crystalline waters, and mocking his pain.
He would spit on every last temple step, if he could.
If he could just leave the fucking room-
“Brother Grigori,” His guest singsongs, half-dancing into the room. Grigory turns away from him, laying one palm over one of the iron bars that blocks any escape through the window. His fingers close slowly around it. 
“What do you want.” His voice is curt, it cuts short and sharp. “Bastard.”
“Oh, see you got my name all wrong again.” The leader of this little gang is tall - too tall - and all knees and legs, lean muscle making him heavier than he looks. Grigori is tall enough for a man, but he seems like he’s half-grown, compared to the bandit. The man’s hair is a shock of white atop his head, shaved on the sides, while Grigori’s curly brown grows to the bottom of his ears, as is prescribed for the priests. He swaths himself in black kohl around his equally dark eyes and shining black leather worn back to brown from age and ill-use at the knees and elbows. Grigori’s hazel and his dirtied robes look like a joke, placed next to the bandit’s appearance.  “It’s Bohli, remember? Or that’s what my mother calls me, anyway. Or she would, if she were still alive. She probably uses that when she curses my name from the heavens above, granted. I mean, probably, unless she really is suffering in the Dark After, like she deserves-”
“What do you want, Bohli?” Grigory’s head is already starting to hurt. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Nonsense. You have all the time in the world. You have nothing but time.”
“Not for… you. Please leave.”
“Nope. Not going anywhere. This is my house, remember? I just let you stay here.”
“Let me.” The words are sour in Grigori’s mouth. “Right, of course. Let me. Because I asked to be branded and trapped here in this room-”
“Hush. I take you for walkies every day, little god’s dog.” Bohli winks, and Grigori - who took a vow of pacifism, once - imagines stabbing his own knife through his eyeball until it comes out the other side of his head. “If you don’t want a leash, you just have to prove you won’t run off.”
He would, of course. Run. Outside, the woods stretch far and wide. There’s a path he could take to find a village, to find freedom...
Or… more realistically… to get arrested for being in league with Bohli and his bastards, which he isn’t, but everyone knows the goddess would save Her most faithful, and he’s been here too long. He would be branded a heretic. Everyone knows he’s a heretic. His own fellow priests would turn their backs on him. The people would burn him at the stake, for being defiled, degraded, a paragon of nothing but the filth they have covered him in. Little more than a bandit himself. 
Maybe he is one.
Dromada would have saved him if he were truly Hers to save. And instead, here he is, the infamous giver of absolution to the men and women who massacre whole towns in defiance of - in direct insult to - the power and might of His Majesty, the King.
No. he would be burned as an enemy of the King's, and he would have no standing to defend himself. A captive this long isn't a captive at all, in the eyes of the world.
Just a man who no longer wants to be saved.
Tears prick at his eyes, and he struggles not to let Bohli see them and mock him even more. It’s not like he hasn’t already been marked. It was one of the first things they did. Bohli had given the order and watched while they tied him down. Grigori himself had been made to look as they put the iron in the fire, made to watch them heat it to red. Bohli had been whispering in his ear when when they pressed it to his pelvis, and Bohli had cooed over him while he screamed, stroking through his sweaty hair.
“Just leave,” He whispers, the area aching all over again. They branded him over the symbol of Dromada tattooed, a mark of his vow of chastity.
Another one broken.
Maybe that was when She stopped listening.
“Oh, but I can’t, darling Grigori. I’ve come to make a confession.” Bohli laughs, and his laughter could make you bleed even better than his blade. But somehow Grigori can’t seem to die from the loss. “Isn’t that why I keep a priest of Dromada around, anyway? For to save my poor mortal soul?”
Grigori fights the urge to wish aloud someone would poison the asshole’s food. “You would burn if you touched the Hem of her robe.”
“Maybe.” Bohli shrugs, kicking a chair over and dropping down into it, loose-limbed. His eyes spark with delight as he takes in Grigori’s misery. “But you wear Her robes, and yet I never burn when I touch you-”
“Speak your confession,” Grigory snaps, his heart twisting and going briefly silent and still in his chest. He feels blood rush to his face, and Bohli’s peal of bright, brittle laughter tells him the flush isn’t going unnoticed. 
“Say it.” Bohli watches him, and it’s like being watched by one of the terrifying big cats that roam the woods just beyond this hideous prison. Unblinking, a predator’s stare. “Say the words, priest.”
Each time he does, they feel more bitter on his tongue. 
But still.
Grigori draws the ruins of his robe closer around himself, and sits up straight. He swallows and sets his jaw. “Bohlinde hir Maksma en Ygridsen, the goddess Dromada hears and forgives all from those who love Her. You have only to ask. Speak, child, and be forgiven.”
Bohli licks his lips, leaning forwards. Somehow, Grigori can’t make himself look away. The bandit leader’s teeth are sharp - those canines can rend skin from bone. He’s part-elf, they say, somewhere in his bloodline the half-mindless shrieking hordes of the elven race lurk. You can always tell, so it’s said, from the sharpness of their teeth. From how little they care for the lives of men.
Maybe he’s half-elf.
It would explain why he’s so fucking smug.
“Forgive me, Dromada’s Chosen, for I have sinned against Her,” Bohli says, and he doesn’t even try to feign sincerity. Why he even plays this game, when Dromada isn’t a goddess for the elves of their wretched offspring to begin with, is beyond Grigori’s understanding.
Grigori fights the urge to sigh. He makes Dromada’s Sign, wondering if it even calls to Her any longer. If She even feels the spark of a follower’s call, or if he’s cut off from Her entirely. Who hears him when he prays?
Does anyone?
“How have you sinned against Our Mother, She Who Gave the Waters?” 
Bohli licks his lips. His smile is a little too wide, shows too many of those sharp, sharp teeth. He'd be blisteringly handsome, if it weren’t for the sight of fangs where none should be. “I won’t lie, Brother Grigori. I set some stuff on fire yesterday. And I’m going to do it again. Will I be forgiven?”
Grigori imagines the mud climbing higher and higher up his robes, pulling him into the earth, forcing itself down his mouth and pressing over his eyes. He imagines the gods in the sky, looking down from their stars.
The image shatters with the memory of first sitting at the table with the dozen or so of Bohli's favorites, each of them smiling at him, while he sat in his pure white robes and felt himself bared, as if naked, before them.
Until Bohli had given the order for what to do with him.
“Dromada forgives all who seek Her,” Grigori intones, thoughtless. The words memorized before he was even thirteen years old, before he was old enough to take his vows. Before he was taken, and they were all broken, one by one. Bohli loved breaking Grigori's vows. “You have only to ask.”
“Good.” Bohli’s voice drops low. He has to focus to hear it, which is probably the bastard’s entire point. “Because I really, really love asking, and I love the sound of your answers.”
The bandit stands, walking over to him, putting one finger under his chin and forcing Grigori to look up - and up, and up, and up - to see the demon smile.
Grigori is sure, as Bohli watches him with his head tipped to the side and his black eyes as bright as the stars, that he can hear the goddess laughing.
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queenrileyrose · 1 year
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Falling for You
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Book: TRR/RoE
Pairings: Riley x ? (former), Liam x Riley
A/N: This is my submission for @moodmusicmonday Luck of the Draw. Thanks so much for hosting this event. 💕
Rating: T
TW: Sensuality, language
Song: Freaking Me Out-Ava Max
Thank you to everyone who likes, comments, and/or reblogs this. I appreciate it so much. ❤️
An achingly familiar, deep accented voice cuts through the din of the ball. Riley hears it over the heels tapping, the low music playing, the murmur of conversations around her.
Riley shakes her head firmly, attempting to center herself. She hasn’t eaten enough today. She’s hung over from the Beaumont Bash. It’s ludicrous. 
“You’re nervous,” Riley takes a deep, cleansing breath. Her shoulders relax, and she brightens the smile on her face. She must be hallucinating. “You are fine.”
Riley glances around, hoping no one heard her talking to herself. She takes another deep breath, ignoring the voice that bleeds through the noise again. It’s not possible. 
Alarm bells ring in her head, transporting her back to eighteen months ago.
The wail pierced the dark silence of the room, and Riley sat straight up in the bed, a pillow dropped to the floor.
It’s New York City; there was always a fire alarm going off. Riley waited, praying for it to shut off like it had so many times before, and she could return to the dream that played behind her eyelids. 
Instead, a knock shook her door, a loud voice instructing her that this was not a drill and to evacuate immediately. 
Riley pushed herself from the soft mattress. She slipped her feet into the first shoes she saw, a pair of Doc Marten ankle boots, and grabbed the white fluffy hotel robe from the bathroom door, fastening it over her satin navy nightgown. 
“I had to schedule the fumigation this weekend,” Riley grumbled as she stomped down the hall toward the staircase. “The one weekend I couldn’t stay with Daniel and had to get a room on the eighth fucking floor.”
Riley took the stairs as quickly as she could, other guests flying past her. 
“It’s not a fucking race,” she grumbled, pushing her hair behind her ears. 
“What are they trying to prove?” an annoyed voice beside her asked. 
Riley turned her head to the side, having to crane her neck to look up into the face of the man descending the stairs as grumpily as she was. 
She had to stop herself from doing a double take. He was beautiful. His dark blonde hair was perfectly tousled, his jawline so sharp it could cut.
“Those are the people that wanted to run extra laps in gym,” Riley sighed with relief as the last flight of stairs came into view. “And asked for extra homework.”
“Definitely,” The man chuckled. “But does that mean you don’t want to race me down the last few steps?”
“Not even a little bit,” Riley smirked up at him. He held her gaze a beat longer than polite, and she brushed off the feeling beginning to form in her stomach. The one that would definitely get her into trouble.
He held the door open, and Riley passed through it, joining the other guests on the sidewalk. 
“Lady Riley!” An ebullient voice shakes her from her thoughts. She’s never been more grateful for Maxwell Beaumont. “There’s someone you have to meet!”
Riley whirls around, her pristine white and gold gown swishing as she spins. Maxwell waves at her frantically, his other hand resting on the bicep of-
No. 
Riley suddenly feels as though she’s forgotten how to breathe; all the air in her lungs dissipates.
Their eyes lock, and his are still the deepest blue she’s ever seen.
Riley rubbed her arms, the night air chillier than she’d anticipated. Her nightgown was thin, and while the lightweight robe helped ward off the wind, she might as well not be wearing anything under it.
“Take this,” the man she’d joked with in the stairwell draped a heavy velvet robe over her shoulders. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”
“Thank you,” Riley smiled gratefully, tucking the robe around herself. “Are you sure? It’s freezing.”
The man spread his arms, palms toward her. He wore a dark blue pajama set. “These are wool. I was a bit too warm.”
Riley took him in critically, noticing his fingers trembled. He was cold. 
“Come here,” Riley stretched out one arm. “We can huddle.”
He didn’t hesitate, pulling the robe over his broad shoulders. Riley nestled into his side, his other arm coming around her. 
“I was trying to be chivalrous,” he joked. “I’m not used to this sort of weather.” 
Riley couldn’t place his accent. Mediterranean, she thought, but she couldn’t pinpoint the country. She’d taken a trip to Greece last summer and recalled hearing a similar accent there.
“I appreciate it,” The embrace Riley found herself in felt intimate, but instead of making her uncomfortable, it somehow made her relax. Like they’d done this before, and often. “What brings you to New York?”
“Business,” he said, rubbing her arms as a chill traveled through her. “What about you?”
“I live in Brooklyn,” Riley paused, not wanting to say her apartment building was being fumigated this weekend. “My landlord is fixing a few things in my apartment, and I couldn’t stay.”
“This is the first time I’ve been to the city,” he confessed. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”
Riley leaned her head back, trying to intuit what made the man’s back stiffen. He seemed to be lost in thought, staring down the dim street.  
“It can be,” Riley agreed. “The best thing to do is find your favorite places in the neighborhood you’re in. Favorite bar, restaurant, grocery store, all that, and stick to those until you feel brave enough to venture further.”
The man smiled, his eyes crinkling. Riley couldn’t help but return the smile. 
“That’s excellent advice,” his smile widened. “Do you-”
“You may return to your rooms!” The concierge shouted, waving his arms as he wove through the crowd. “The fire was a false alarm! There was a little smoke on the tenth floor from a guest’s cigarette! May I remind you that smoking is prohibited in this establishment!”
“We should go inside,” Riley made no effort to move from the man’s arms. “Sleep or something.”
His arms tightened around her for a moment before they slipped from her body. One hand trailed down her spine, resting on her low back before disappearing. Goosebumps raised on her arms, and Riley hoped he thought her flushed cheeks were from the cold.
Riley removed the robe from herself, their fingers tangling as she held out the fabric to him. 
“I’m not tired,” the man’s voice dropped an octave. “Are you?”
Riley shook her head, her eyes lifting to meet his.
Riley fights the urge to run from the room. He doesn’t get to have this effect on her. She lifts her chin and clasps her hands together, carefully maneuvering through the room to join Maxwell. 
He watches her with equal parts unabashed curiosity and confusion. Her deep brown hair is piled on her head. He remembers twirling it around his fingers, grasping it. Curly tendrils kiss her cheeks, her full pink lips in a forced smile.
He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. The way it moved when she spoke, the lifts and downturns that expressed her emotions. 
It wasn’t just her lips; it was her hair, dark, wavy, and midway down her back. It was the way she moved, confident and sensual. It was her voice; warmth seemed to exude from each word.
He was enthralled, hanging on everything she said, on the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, how she twisted her fingers together. 
He walked beside her, their footsteps muffled by the blue and gold carpet. 
“This is me,” Riley stopped abruptly, the brass numbers on the door lit by the lamp affixed to the wall. “Which floor are you on?”
“I am right there,” The man pointed to an identical door exactly two doors away, thankful for the close proximity. “I’m surprised I didn’t see you earlier.”
He’d have noticed her immediately.
“Why’s that?” Riley looked up at him through her lashes. Her fingers brushed his as she removed her room key from her pocket, and he grasped her hand in his.
“I would have introduced myself,” he said, leaning against the wall, so close to Riley she could smell his cedary cologne. “I would have asked you to get a drink.”
Riley’s breath caught as their eyes locked on each other’s. “I would have said yes.”
“Come to my room?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “For that drink?”
Riley’s mouth went dry, and she nodded. 
Riley is polished, her gown perfectly fitted. He finds himself missing her slouchy, off-the-shoulder t-shirts and tight jeans, the black boots she wore even in the summer. Her skin glows; it’s not as pale as he remembers. Her nails are long and painted a pale pink. A far cry from the short black manicure she favored when they were together.
A pang of regret he often feels goes through him. He’d convinced himself over the past year that he hadn’t meant as much to her as she did to him. That he’d been looking for a distraction, for someone to fall for. He’d fallen so completely, he still heard her voice and smelled her familiar lavender perfume when she was nowhere around.
Here she was, again. As he sees raw pain in her eyes before she blinks it away, he contemplates if he had been wrong. Had he meant more to her than a standing week-long fling?
A pile of empty bottles from the minibar are scattered across the white tabletop. Riley took a sip and added the now empty vessel to the lot.
“Where were we?” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Her robe keeps dropping from her shoulder, giving him a peek of perfect pale skin dotted with small freckles. 
“You were telling me about scaling a volcano,” Riley raised her eyebrows. “I said that was impressive, and there was nothing anyone could say to make me do that.”
“Not even a dare?” He teased. “That’s how I ended up there. Bas … a guy I worked with said I wouldn’t.”
Riley leaned back on her palms. “You’re telling me your weak spots. Very unwise.”
“Exploit them,” He sat back, squaring an ankle over one knee. He raised an eyebrow, challenging her. “Dare me to do something.” 
“I’m not daring you because I’m not twelve,” Riley made her voice light. “What you want is an excuse to kiss me.”
“I want to do more than kiss you,” he said in a voice straining with want. “You want the same.”
“Do I?” Riley stood from her perch on the end of his bed. She kept her face blank, refusing to give away that he was right. “Maybe I’ll go back to my room, get undressed, and go to bed.”
He shot out of his chair, encircling her in his arms. Their lips a hair's breadth apart, their breath mixing. 
“Kiss me,” Riley whispered, unable to stop herself. 
He pressed his lips against hers gently, his hands tangling in her hair. “Like that?”
“More,” she panted. 
His mouth parted her lips, and Riley pulled his body tighter against hers. It’s somehow familiar and new, and Riley realized she didn’t even know his name. 
“Wait,” she gasped, breaking the intense kiss. “We skipped a step.”
“We did?” He captured her top lip between his, sucking lightly. “What’s that?”
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “I’m Riley.”
His hands cupped her face, his eyes dark. “I’m Leo.”
“Who do I have to meet?” Riley keeps her lips curved upward, clenching her teeth so hard she knows her jaw will ache later. He’s wearing some sort of regalia, the blue sash across his jacket rather than underneath it. He’s a noble. Why would he hide that?
“Liam’s brother,” Maxwell utters the name she knew he’d say. At least he has the decency to look as shocked as she feels.
His brother. Liam’s brother. 
Leo was the one who abdicated for love. Riley forces herself to focus, to not look around the room, to see who she doesn’t know and determine if that’s who Leo fell for. 
Leo was meant to be king. She knew him even less than she thought she did. 
“Nice to finally put a face to the name,” Riley offers her hand. He shakes it, still looking stunned. “I’m Riley.”
Leo seems older. His shoulders are slumped, as though he’s carrying a weight no one else can see. He suppresses a shiver when Madeleine passes. 
Riley realizes he left Madeleine, too. She doesn’t want to have anything in common with the ice duchess, yet she does. Another thing to curse Leo for. 
He didn’t leave her so much as they simply ended. 
“I’m in the city for a week, every month for the foreseeable future,” Leo brushed a sweaty tendril from Riley’s forehead. His father’s orders, time for Leo to forge relationships with diplomats.  “Can we meet up again?”
Riley breathed deeply, trying to slow her heart hammering in her chest. “Generally, a one-night stand means no more seeing each other.”
“Is that what this is?” Leo’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. 
“You travel all the time, I’m starting culinary school on Tuesday, and I work crazy long weeks,” Riley said gently. She wanted more; of course, she did. But his proposal, only being together one week a month, didn’t seem like a good idea. It sounded like a distraction neither of them needed. “Could get complicated.”
“Not if we don’t let it,” Leo kissed the back of her neck. “I like you.”
“I like you, too,” Riley admitted. Leo’s arms slid around her waist, tucking her against his solid chest. He felt so good, and who didn’t want a week full of earth-shattering sex with no attachments?
“I will think about it,” Riley promised. “How much longer are you here?”
“Tell me tomorrow night; that’s when I leave,” Leo murmured against her hair. “You’ll say yes. You want more. You came so hard half the hotel heard you.”
Riley giggled, arching back against Leo. “Not just me. You were loud as fuck.”
Leo groaned, his teeth grazed her shoulder. “You’re so hot.”
“Liam’s mentioned you,” Leo swallows hard. Riley feels a spark of pity at his nervousness but quickly stamps it down. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Riley scoffs inwardly. She can’t cause a scene, not that she wants to. A wave of burning anger replaces her earlier feelings, and she lets it course through her. It’s been over a year; she shouldn’t feel this way.
“Good things, I hope,” Riley removes her hand from his, trying to shake the familiarity. 
Liam spoke of Leo, but she hadn’t connected the dots. It’s not a unique name, and though Leo’s accent is similar, he told her he was from Greece. What were the odds that Liam’s brother was the same man who broke her heart?
Riley paced in front of the weathered brick facade, checking her watch again. Leo was meant to be here at seven, like every other month. It was seven-fifteen. This would be easier if they hadn’t agreed to no phone numbers, no contact besides the week they were together.
Riley would give him ten more minutes before she went home. She could come back tomorrow; he could spend the night alone. If she came back at all.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that pavement,” Leo stopped in her path, forcing her to end the circle she’d been walking in. “I’m sorry, the plane boarded late. I called the concierge; they were supposed to look for you.”
His voice was a salve, and Riley’s irritation died as she uncrossed her arms. He looked good in his dark blue suit and khaki trench coat. His tie would be in his pocket, as previous experience taught her. 
“No one did, obviously,” Riley threw her arms around his shoulders. She felt his smile as he pressed his face into her neck. 
“I’m sorry you had to wait on me, but I like the greeting,” Leo said into her skin, his breath warming her. “It’s awesome to get off the plane and have your arms to look forward to.”
Riley’s stomach flipped. Leo did this; he said little things that made her believe maybe he wanted more. She can’t go down that road. Leo is blunt; he would have said if his feelings changed.
He isn’t scared like she is. Riley has been in love with Leo since week number four. 
“It’s good to see you,” Riley pulled back, not having to force the bright smile that crossed her face. It’s her favorite part of the month, seeing him. 
Riley was careful not to say she missed him. He can’t figure out that she’s desperately in love with him, that she stopped herself from saying they should keep in touch when they aren’t together. 
“You’re definitely a sight for sore eyes,” Leo threaded his fingers through hers. “Tell me you brought homework.”
“I did,” Riley patted the large tote over her arm. “Pear tart with dulce de leche drizzle. I have almost perfected it.”
“Why are we standing out here for?” Leo pulled her toward the large revolving doors. “Let’s get the two things I’m starving for upstairs.”
“Great things,” Leo smiles, that half smirk that used to weaken her knees. Riley won’t admit it still does. “I hear you’re quite the baker?”
There’s a question in the words; he wants to know if she graduated. He left before she completed the program.
“I should be,” Riley can’t help but narrow her eyes slightly. Not enough that Maxwell notices, but Leo does. “I graduated top of my class from the best culinary school in New York City.”
Once he left, she’d thrown herself even harder into her studies. She interviewed at almost every major restaurant in the city, but finally settled for being a part-time chef at the bar she’d waitressed at to get herself through school, convinced the perfect job was just around the corner. 
Instead, it had been Liam, one quiet night she wasn’t even supposed to be working.
Meeting Liam had felt like fate, different from the way she’d met Leo. Some loves weren’t meant to be, and some were.
Leo didn’t owe her anything, not really, Riley decides. Their arrangement was primarily sex. She and Liam haven’t even slept together yet; he wants to really know her.
Riley tries and fails to push away the thought that Leo seemed to want that, too. 
The late afternoon sun cast broken beams through the blinds; across the white sheets, their legs entwined atop them.
“What did you want to be when you grew up?”  Riley rolled over onto her side, resting her cheek against her hand. “When you were little, I mean.”
Leo traced shapes on her hipbone, his finger traveling to her arm. “A pirate.”
Riley can picture it a little too well, a small blond boy running around with an eyepatch and foam sword. 
“That makes sense,” Riley hummed in contentment as Leo’s hand caressed the side of her neck. “You love to travel, be a scoundrel. Why not get paid for it?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Leo chuckled. “What about you?”
“I wanted to be a vampire slayer,” Riley replied. Leo cocked an eyebrow, and she wrinkled her nose at him. “When I found out that wasn’t a job, I decided to become an artist. I can’t draw; that’s another problem.”
Riley has an eye for art but loves it as a hobby, not a profession. Leo took her to the Met last time he was in town and listened to her talk about the brushstrokes in a painting for twenty minutes. It made him fall for her a little more. 
“So you went into art history?” Leo asked, though he knew this part of the story. “Before getting burned out working at an auction house and deciding to be a chef?”
“Very good,” Riley’s face softened, the way she tried to hide from Leo, hoping he couldn’t see the adoration she was sure was in her eyes. “Now I work at a bar until I finish school.”
“Tell me more,” Leo sat up against the tufted headboard, draping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. 
“About the bar?” Riley traced the lines of defined muscle on Leo’s torso. “Not much to tell.”
“No,” Leo dropped a kiss on her head. “More about vampire slayer Riley.”
Riley feels tears prick her eyes as the memory fades. It’s not doing anyone any good to dwell. 
“Congratulations,” Leo’s face brightens, the pride evident. Riley wonders just how much he remembers about her. She’s tried to forget every detail she knows about him; his favorite movie, the way he dances when he’s had too much to drink; his hands on her body. “That’s impressive.”
Riley’s about to ask what he does now when she feels a hand on her elbow. Liam. Her heart drops so fast it leaves her breathless. She has to tell him. 
How has so much changed in a few minutes?
“Lady Riley,” Liam brings her knuckles to his lips. Warmth blooms in Riley’s chest. There’s a reason she fell for him. He’s everything Leo isn’t. “Is my brother filling your head with embarrassing stories of my childhood?”
“No,” Riley laughs, feeling a little lighter. “Nothing like that.”
She fell for Liam easily. It wasn’t all at once; it was like falling asleep almost. He lulled her with his kind soul. His sweetness made it impossible not to slip deeper. She never fought it, despite what happened in the past. She trusts him because it’s not pretty words. He means what he says.  
Leo pulls Liam into a hug, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ready for tonight?”
“I am,” Liam smiles broadly. “I’m anxious to get started.”
Liam gazes at her affectionately, his features softening. “I’m ready for the next step.”
“Amen to that,” Riley loops her arm through his, patting his arm encouragingly. “You’ll be a wonderful king, Liam.” 
Riley catches Leo staring at her hand on his brother’s forearm, and she drops it quickly without thinking. Why did she do that? 
“I’ll do my best,” Liam winks at her so subtly she almost misses it. “I recalled earlier that Leo spent a significant amount of time in New York City. You could have met him before me that night in Brooklyn.”
How had he gotten so close to the truth without even trying?
“That would have been interesting,” Riley fights to keep the smile on her face relaxed, though ice flows through her. “Liam, can we-”
“Pardon the intrusion,” Constantine appears at Liam’s side, interrupting Riley. “It’s nearly time for the announcement, son.”
Riley curtsies to Constantine, desperate to understand why he seems so cold to her. There’s something in his eyes when he looks at her as if she’s lost and shouldn’t be here. She’s worked so hard; surely, she’s gained a little of his favor. 
“Lady Riley,” Constantine’s lips press into a thin line, but Riley swears he’s fighting a smile. Maybe he’s warmed to her and can’t show that? “Lovely to see you.”
“You got your wish, Liam,” Leo quips. “Hey, pops.”
The air seems to thicken, tension coming off both men. Riley can’t imagine Leo growing up under Constantine’s tutelage. 
Riley assumed Leo was in finance. He dressed the part and was never worried about money. He didn’t like to talk about work or his family, and she never pressed. He didn’t even give her a real last name. He said it was Abrams, not Rys. 
Riley chides herself and repeats the same thing she’d been saying since Leo abruptly stopped coming to the city. He didn’t owe her anything. She felt more for him than he felt for her. She wasn’t brave enough to tell him.
“Leo,” Constantine nods stiffly. “We shall speak later.”
“Looking forward to it,” Leo salutes his father, earning a scornful glance from the king. 
“Forgive me, Lady Riley,” Liam smiles apologetically, following his father until they are out of sight.
Riley realizes she won’t be able to speak to Liam before the announcement. She doesn’t want to accept without him knowing about her past with Leo, but she has no choice. If only she’d realized the connection sooner. 
“Fuck,” Riley curses under her breath, prompting a chuckle from Leo.
“Still swearing like a sailor, I see.” Leo laughs. 
“Still?” Maxwell frowns. “But you just met her.”
Riley pinches the bridge of her nose. Leo always was careless.
“You should go grab some food,” Leo ignores the question. “There’s a long night ahead.”
Riley wonders if Maxwell can hear the slight shake in Leo’s voice. Is he nervous? He should be; he’s the one who left without a trace.
“I already ate,” Maxwell looks at Riley, confusion wrinkling his forehead. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Riley stares daggers at Leo. “He misspoke.”
Maxwell screws up his face but shrugs before veering off into the crowd.
“Lady Riley,” Leo holds out his arm. “Would you mind accompanying me to get some air? It’s awfully stuffy in here.”
Riley hesitates. They did need to speak. She can’t fill Liam in right now, but there’d be time for that once the coronation ended. He was choosing her; he’d broken the news earlier this evening. 
Why did Leo have to show up just as she was about to begin her new life? It was painful to love a man who didn’t love you back. Riley should have ended things, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She felt more herself with Leo than she’d felt with anyone. 
Even Liam, she hates to admit.
“Uh, okay,” Riley takes the arm Leo offers, goosebumps pricking her arms. She ignores the reaction. It was nostalgia, nothing more.
As soon as the glass door shuts behind them, Riley drops Leo’s arm.
“You will keep a smile on your face in case anyone looks out, do you understand?” Riley hisses.
Leo’s eyes widen, but he did as she asked. “Look at you, cut out for this life already.”
Riley’s eyes flash in the moonlight and Leo bites his lip. He is fairly certain she’s not the choice, judging from his father’s demeanor. He was relieved to say the least. He will apologize, for more than his words. 
“No,” Riley snapped. “You don’t get to say that to me. I haven’t heard from you in a year! You stopped coming to the city. You didn’t even give me your real last name. Or tell me that you were a prince!”
Leo’s face falls, and Riley points to her smile. He lifts his lips joylessly.
“I am sorry,” Leo reaches for her hand, and Riley moves back a step. “I could be myself with you, just Leo. I was convinced you didn’t … that you were content with our situation and didn’t …”
Riley waits breathlessly. Did he feel the same? Does it even matter now?  
“I never meant to disappear. I got called back here because of my dad’s cancer and-”
Leo realized then that he had to abdicate. He wasn’t cut out to lead anyone. He didn’t want to. He didn’t love Cordonia the way his father and Liam, even Regina, did. He loved Riley.
“What?” Riley cut in. “He’s sick?”
“He went into remission,” Leo explains. “It came back a few months ago. That’s why Liam’s being crowned earlier than expected.”
Riley remembers Liam looking so down that day in the garden. He couldn’t tell her what was wrong, he said, but he wanted to. 
“I’m sorry,” Riley stops herself from touching his arm. Even after all this time, she wants to reach for him. “That’s awful.”
So many details she’s pushed away, tried to forget, are flicking through her head. His cologne reaches her nose, and she closes her eyes and breathes in. 
Riley wiped the sweat from her forehead, setting the towel down on the bar. She had ten minutes left in her shift. She was so close to going home and sinking into her bathtub.
The bells on the entrance tinkled, and Riley fixed a smile on her face before turning. It’s him. Three days early.
Riley rushed around the side of the counter and jumped into his outstretched arms. She probably smelled like grease, but she didn’t care. Her exhaustion lifted. 
Leo held her tight, tipping his head back to gaze into her face like he always does, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Or that’s just Riley’s wishful thinking. “That’s quite a hello.”
Their lips crashed together, and the sounds of the bar faded away. Riley clung to him as his arms tightened around her.
Riley touched her nose to Leo’s. “You’re early.”
“I had a few days off,” Leo kissed her forehead, her cheeks. “I thought I’d fly in, wine, dine, and dot dot dot you.”
Riley snickered. “You’re a poet.”
“Thank you,” Leo’s voice pulls her from the memory. Riley feels uncomfortably warm, as though what happened in the bar so long ago just occurred. 
“You could have contacted me,” Riley crosses her arms over her chest. “You could have told me something, anything. I never really knew you at all, did I?”
All those hours they spent talking, and not one word. She thought she knew him, almost better than she knew herself. 
“You knew the important things,” Leo insists. “I didn’t want to say I was a prince, that I hated being one. I used my mother’s last name.”
“Well, you couldn’t have me googling you,” Riley laughed wryly. “I never did, even after you stopped coming to New York. I decided it didn’t work out, and I had to get over it. You.”
Leo’s quiet a moment, trying to decide if giving her more information will help her or hurt her.
He’s not wasting this moment. He’s waited long enough. 
“I went back to New York to find you,” Leo explains. “Daniel wouldn’t tell me anything. He wouldn’t even give me your number. I came by a few times, but you weren’t there.”
“It must have been my week in the kitchen,” Riley’s eyes widen and fill. She sniffs and turns to the side to wipe a tear. She wasn’t supposed to cry. “I always went through the back, you wouldn’t have seen me.”
A muscle in Leo’s jaw ticks as he bites the inside of his cheek. She was there, and he’d missed her. 
“Daniel never told me you came by,” Riley blinks rapidly. “He was trying to protect me, probably.”
Protect her from what? Leo wonders. Riley didn’t love him the way he was in love with her. She had been okay with their arrangement, hadn’t she?
“Why would Daniel need to protect you?” Leo’s eyes dart to the ballroom behind Riley. The nobles are dancing and mingling; no announcement yet.
“I was so in love with you,” Riley shakes her head in exasperation. “I knew it was pointless, that you didn’t feel that way for me. But when you didn’t come back … I fell apart a little.”
Leo’s heart lifts before a heaviness overtakes him. So much had been left unspoken, and had he summoned the courage and said it- well, he wouldn’t be talking to the love of his life after she’d spent six months competing to marry his younger brother. “You were in love with me?”
“Yes,” Riley’s head snaps up. “I was too fucking scared to say it. I decided having some of you was better than having none of you.”
It’s as if she pulled the words from Leo’s thoughts.
“I’m so sorry,” Leo presses her hand to his heart. “I was, or I am, in love with you, Riley. I was so goddamn stupid.”
Riley’s breath catches, the words she’s wanted to hear are finally being said by the person she wanted to hear them from. 
Yet, not an hour ago, Liam uttered those very words. They’d been interrupted before she could reciprocate, but she planned to say them the next time they were alone.
“Liam told me that you made him believe in love, that it could be transformative,” Riley should move her hand from Leo’s chest; the thrumming of his heart against her palm is too familiar. “You abdicated for love.”
“I was talking about you,” Leo cups her cheek. Riley instinctively leans into his hand. “You inspired me to abdicate. I realized I didn’t love this country enough to lead. I love you, more than I will ever love anything.”
Leo steps closer. “That night Liam met you in New York, I was supposed to be there. I couldn’t bring myself to go back because I knew I wouldn’t leave until I found you.”
“And that was bad?” Riley whispers. Leo’s so close she can feel his breath on her bare shoulders.
“I told myself I didn’t mean anything to you,” Leo rakes a hand through his hair. “I didn’t deserve you, and you didn’t feel the same way I did.”
“Leo,” Riley begins, but another familiar voice wafting through the stillness stops her. 
She whirls around, and there he is. Liam’s at the podium. A small smile touches his lips, and as he scans the crowd, Riley knows he’s trying to find her.
She can’t do this, not now.
For the first time in six months, Riley feels apprehensive. She came here for Liam, she fell in love with him. She’s going to marry him.
Why can’t she open the door?
“Riley?” Leo’s voice washes over her, and it breaks her from her stupor. 
Riley twists the doorknob and re-enters the ballroom. She doesn’t push to the front like she wants to, but moves to the side, right into Liam’s eye line. His face relaxes, and his smile grows.
Riley returns the smile. Part of her is utterly confused. Leo loves her. He loved her when she thought he didn’t. Why couldn’t she have told him? If she had, maybe she would have known when his dad was ill. He wouldn’t have disappeared from her life so abruptly.
Part of her is riddled with anxiety. What is she going to do? What will she tell Liam? Can she accept his proposal now, that her feelings for Leo have resurfaced and are threatening to drown her? 
When did everything become so complicated?
As Riley weighs whether Leo’s declaration means anything, she hears several phones at once emit a series of beeps. She frowns. People couldn’t silence them for tonight?
Leo is beside her, but she’s unsure if he followed her in or took a moment. Riley needs to take a moment. 
Leo’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He retrieves it, brow furrowing. Riley hears more phones go off, until the whole room seems to be filled with the sound. 
“Riley,” Leo angles his device at her. “What’s going on?”
Riley peers at the photo, her mouth dropping open as she realizes when it was taken. “That’s Tariq, the night he came into my room while I was changing. Drake had to punch him to get him out.”
Riley glances around for Drake, spotting him with Hana a few feet away. His face is crimson with rage, and he catches her eye. “Bastards.”
“I don’t understand,” Riley frowns, “what does that have to do with anything?”
Riley was photographed wearing less at the beach party. Her expression is panicked, it’s easy to see she wasn’t expecting Tariq. Surely no one can think this is anything salacious.
“The story is that you and Tariq were having an affair,” Leo growls. “That you were unfaithful.”
“But it’s not true!” Riley argues, her throat constricting. “I need to talk to Liam.”
Riley closes her eyes, trying to center herself as hot tears of humiliation roll down her cheeks. Liam couldn’t believe the story, that she’d do this.
“Lady Riley,” Bastien looms before her, blocking her vision. “I’ve been ordered to escort you out,” Bastien takes her by the arm. “Immediately.”
“Let her go,” Leo growls, shoving Bastien’s arm. Bastien murmurs something only Leo can hear, and the two begin to have a heated exchange.
Riley looks back to the podium, Liam still standing behind it, searching the crowd.
Regina says something into the microphone, but Riley can’t make it out. Riley peers around Bastien as Liam, pale and shaken, stoops slightly to speak into the microphone.
“I choose Lady Madeleine,” Liam says in a flat tone. Riley tries to catch his eye, but he’s focused on trying to find someone in the crowd. Madeleine, perhaps.
“What just happened?” Riley whispers. The same question she fired at Leo earlier rushes through her head. Did she know Liam? The Liam she thought she understood, the man who confessed his love for her wouldn’t do this.
How could he believe she’d betray him like that? How could she be so wrong, again? Riley’s head is spinning and she wants nothing more but to leave this room.
Bastien begins to lead her from the crowd, and Riley snatches her arm from his grip. “I don’t need to be escorted. I’m all too happy to leave.”
Riley misses Liam’s eyes on her, her back is to him. She doesn’t hear him call her name.
“Riley,” Leo darts in front of her, his arms at his chest, hands outstretched. “Wait.”
Riley can accept her part of the blame for not telling Leo how she felt when she should have. Not for whatever has happened tonight. Her heart aches, and she isn’t staying in this country a second longer than she has to. 
“No,” Riley says so coldly Leo actually steps aside as if she’s struck him. “You’ve both broken my heart now. Maybe you can bond over that.”
Riley strides from the ballroom and into the taxi idling at the entrance, no doubt summoned by the guards. She doesn’t want the few changes of clothing she packed, or the dresses she had to dip into her savings to buy. 
She’ll go home and start over. Again. She was foolish, she keeps jumping when there isn’t anyone to catch her. 
Riley doesn’t turn to look at the palace one last time.
Leo watches the car’s taillights fade into the distance. Leo was trying to tell her he’d help her find out who leaked the photos. He’d do whatever he could.
He sits heavily on the stone steps. He’ll fly to New York first thing tomorrow. Had she … loved Liam? Her parting words only made sense if she did. He wouldn’t think about that now. There were more important things to focus on. Like killing Tariq.
“The Beaumonts have gone after Riley,” Liam sits beside him, yanking his suit jacket off and crumpling it into a ball before tossing it beside him. “I hope they reach her before she boards a plane.”
“You hope?” Leo asks angrily. “Why does it matter? You made your choice.” 
“I was protecting her,” Liam snaps. “Riley was my choice. I have a plan, it’s going to take some time.”
Leo feels as though he’s been punched in the stomach, the wind knocked out of him. His question was answered, and he wished it wasn’t. He saw the glances they exchanged, how she touched his arm earlier tonight, but he was too focused on the fact that she was simply there. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d fallen for his brother, simply because Leo still thought of her as his. 
Leo thought he was being given a second chance. He should have tried harder in the first place.
“What if it doesn’t work?” He asks weakly.
“We can bond over breaking her heart,” Liam’s voice is steely and Leo tears his eyes from the horizon, sure the lights he follows aren’t the same vehicle Riley left in. “That’s what Riley said, before she left, wasn’t it? Care to explain exactly how you know the woman I love?”
———
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Leo x Riley: @mywildheartremains
TRR/TRH: @jared2612 @malblk21
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Everything feels so beautiful. 
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Sometimes even feeling the sun on your skin after staying inside for too long feels like getting blessed. And meeting those beloved to you too.
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Wc: 980
As soon as your eyes close and your head hits the pillow a small ray of sunlight tickles your sight. Looking for the source, expecting it to be an open window you are faced with the reddish tinted wood that exchanged places with the plain white walls of your bedroom. 
Looking around the old bed that squeaked with each movement was the almost totally new one that was identical to the one you used during your stays in sumeru, 
To confirm your suspicions you quickly open the wood framed windows, now looking at the multitude of people living their day to day life on the streets, the mother soothing her baby, the eremites patrolling and the small bakery that would humor your craving of your world's pastries, the owners being the nicest elderly couple and their daughter.
Breathing in the smell of cinnamon, cardamom and many sweet spices manage to peak your appetite, especially given that your dinner was an instant noodle soup and half a toast. Feeling the saliva pool behind your teeth at the thought of buttery and sweet pastries with a nice hot chocolate.
Quickly opening the door to the street you march outside, not caring that you were barefoot, even if sumeru was in the middle of a forest of sorts the worst thing would come out of it would be dirty feet but, if your memory doesn't fail you, there isn't any glass or metal shards to cut your feet with. If only your city's streets could be half as clean.
The warm air fans against your skin and white robe as you walk to the familiar bakery, by the sun and how little people were outside it must be past lunchtime. Hopefully there might still some candied nuts left from breakfast 
Rushing to the shop you speak with the employee, who seems stiff like a statue
" hello!~ Do you have any candied nuts left? The ones I always buy?-" as you keep talking the young girl didn't seen to know how to react
" i- uhm- yes-"
" Teka, why aren't you attending to the customer?" A masculine voice comes from behind, supposedly the kitchen " I'm sorry for my daughter, I don't know what got into her. What can I help yo-?" As he looks at your face he stays still for a second
" Hi, yes, I want two portions of candied nuts? I have been craving them for a while" silently nodding, the man goes inside the kitchen and five minutes later gives you a paper bag with some pieces of the desert " thanks! I left my wallet at home but please add this to my tab~ thanks!" 
Skipping down the roads to the port, the salty sea smell greeting you from your trip. The distant memories of the traveler and paimon catching and roasting fishes the first few weeks you arrived, the lantern rite and the stands of games and trinkets. Such nice memories
Sneaking under some roots and sitting down to hide in the shadow you dip your feet on the cool water and eating the warm nougat-like dessert sticking to your teeth. How kind of him, he must have made a batch just for you
Looking at the clouds lazily grouping and dissolving you feel your muscles loosen and you lean backwards, not caring to dirty the pristine white robe with dust or dirt
A heavy sigh leaves your chest, only one thought in your mind 'so I'm back'. It's a relief. The constant dread of not meeting them anymore no longer hanging on the back of your mind 
Feeling someone approaching you look at them, seeing nahida's surprised face and aether's gold eyes. Only a small smile forms on your mouth 
Aether is unsure of what to think, he should be happy that you finally appeared again, yet he can't help but shake the feeling that something is amiss
Looking over his shoulder to see you on the back of the boat as he and paimon go to Fontaine seeing you totally sprawled over the two seats sleeping with paimon cuddled up on your stomach. This certainly reminded him of the late night fishing sessions on Inazuma so he could get a polearm
" hey aether?" You mumble softly, fingers reaching for his braid and playing with the tip
" yes?"
" would you believe me if I said I returned to accompany you to Fontaine?"
He gulps, swallowing the tension forming on his throat " no. I wouldn't" he replies simply to which you only hum
A thick silence forms, each one of you focused on something different. Aether on getting there and you on the sway and bone chilling wind of the sea. 
Aether breathes in deeply before spewing something that he regrets saying as soon as he finished "I was scared you weren't going to return!"
 Paimon jumps on your stomach before being soothed to sleep and mumbling things about mora meat and chicken skewers. 
His cheeks redden, his heart anxiously beating " other than paimon you are one of the few true friends I made since losing…' aether can't bring himself to finish but you understand what he means
"I also missed it here… missed seeing such beautiful landscapes, missed chatting with such interesting people, missed spending time with such a cute traveler… I'm sorry. Really"
He stops the boat and turns to you, seriousness plastered on his face. He sticks out his pinky and looks expectantly at you
 " then make a promise with me. Promise to never disappear like that again" 
Giggling at how childish he can be you wrap your pinky around his, shaking your hands
 " I promise to never do that again " and aether smiles warmly before setting off again, even if it was only words and there is no way to confirm or make sure you stick to your words aether is content with just trusting your word
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gothdaddyissues · 6 months
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The Devil Came to a Small Town
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Catch up here: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
A Ghost AU Fanfic - Cardinal Copia/Female OC
The Satanic Church of Emeritus moves into an old Abbey on the outskirts of a bougie small town. Sister Imperator and the shy Cardinal Copia strike up a business relationship with Isabelle, the local witchy shop owner. This sets in motion a series of events that uncovers long-hidden secrets, solves mysteries, and unites the town and Church against a common enemy. And also: two lonely people fall in love...
TAGS: Glacially-slow slow burn. Lots of OCs. Romantic fluff. Mutual pining. Sex. Violence. Humor and melancholy in equal measure. Ghoul hijinx. All the Papas are alive and well, and very silly. Small-town weirdness. Drug and alcohol use. Bad language. Marginally accurate witchcraft. Very-likely-inaccurate religious imagery and practices. Magic, psychic abilities, and prophetic visions. Intolerance and discrimination. A happy ending will happen...
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Chapter 7 is now up!
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Read on Ao3 or below the cut... (~5100 words)
October 7
She ran, her feet pounding the frozen ground. The light dusting of snow on the forest floor was illuminated by the moon above, bathing everything in an iridescent blue glow. The trees soared high into the clear night sky, cradling the stars in their bare, spindly branches. It had been a night of celebration and reverence - a night of worship under the full moon - quickly transformed into a night of terror when they came looking for her.
So she ran, deep as she could into the woods, hoping they would not follow, hoping they would never find her. She could barely catch her breath, her heart slamming in her chest, but she dared not stop. She was running for her life.
The chill air bit at her cheeks, her ears, her fingers. She was so, so cold. She was further into the forest than she had ever been. Nothing familiar here, no bearings. And still, she ran. It was her only option.
"Bella...."
It was his voice. Whispered, drifting through the trees on the wind, meant only for her to hear.
"Bella!" More urgent this time.
He was close. She slowed herself as she came to a small clearing. Gasping, frigid air searing her lungs, she leaned against a tree trunk to hold herself up. She couldn't see him, but she sensed his presence, surrounding her like an embrace. Calm. Safe.
"How did you find me?" she asked, breathless.
"We are connected, you and I," he replied from the emptiness, "I'm with you always."
"Copia, help me."
He stepped out of the darkness — majestic in his long, black and gold military jacket, his skull paint crisp and pristine. Gloved hands reached for her, pulling her close. She melted into his strength, his warmth... his love. He wrapped her in his arms, resting his chin upon the top of her head, stroking his fingers through her tousled, wind-blown hair. The steady thrum of his heartbeat soothed her as she lay her cheek against his chest.
"Mia ragazza coraggiosa," he whispered, "Mia bella principessa. We cannot stay long. They are coming."
She could see the congregation far off through the trees. Their white robes shone in the moonlight, the orange flames from their torches shimmering pinpricks of light in the distance. They were chanting, their combined voices a dull, incomprehensible drone that grew louder and louder the closer they came. Like a poorly edited film, they were suddenly closer. Glitching again, closer still.
"Slut. Witch. Whore. Slut. Witch. Whore."
Copia took her hand tightly. "Come, my love. We must go. Rapidamente."
Together, they sprinted through the trees, but no matter how fast they ran, their pursuers were always right behind. Their voices were amplified by the wind, filling her with panic: "SLUT. WITCH. WHORE. BURN!"
She sensed another presence in the woods. Something animalistic. Demonic. A dozen shadowy figures paced in the darkness just beyond her vision, claws scraping against trees and frozen earth. Gurgling and growling. Angry. But they were not her enemies - they were guardians. They were at Copia's command, and he was leading their pursuers right to them.
Copia let go of her hand and pushed her ahead. "Go!" he ordered as he came to a stop. "Keep running. I will find you."
She turned back, reaching for him. The men in the white robes were almost on him, their faces covered with Venetian Bauta masks, their torches held high. "Copia, please!" she cried.
The demons emerged from the shadows around her, ready to protect their master and his lover. A pack of horned beasts with fangs and talons and long pointed tails. Their eyes and skin glowed incandescent in the pale light, various shades of purple, blue, orange, and green. They flew past her, tearing into the flesh of the white-robed men, snarling and vicious. There was blood. There were screams. She heard Copia again telling her to run, and this time, she obeyed.
She ran for what seemed like forever, but the screams still rang in her ears, the demon guardians chasing down every last villain who took after her. The forest grew dense as she sped blindly through the underbrush, branches scratching at her skin. Even without leaves, the trees blocked out most of the sky, with only thin slivers of moonlight cutting through here and there. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, lost in the darkness. She had to trust in Copia's promise that he would find her and return her to safety.
Finally, the screaming stopped. She slowed her pace somewhat, taking the opportunity to look back behind her. Nothing but pitch black night. 
A sudden thump sent her flying backward, hard onto the ground with the wind knocked out of her. She had run headlong into something solid concealed in the dark. Dazed, she pulled herself onto her hands and knees, and reached out her hand; it brushed against hard stone. She slid her hand up to feel more stones, bricked together and covered with fuzzy moss. A solid mass in front of her. A wall? She had no idea how high it rose or how wide it spanned. She’d reached a dead end. 
Her entire body ached and she was shivering in the cold. All around her was silence, save for her shuddering breaths. Terrified, disoriented, she wanted to cry out for Copia but thought better than to draw attention to herself. Instead, she wrapped her shaky arms around her torso in a feeble attempt to keep warm.
Then she heard the footsteps. The soft crunch of boots on the snow behind her. Copia? She scrambled to her feet and spun around. Her stomach dropped. A lone man, clad in a hooded white cassock, his face hidden behind a masquerade mask, had found her. "Slut. Witch. Whore." She tried to scream, but the man was on her, his hands around her throat. "Slut. Witch. Whore."
She clawed futilely at his wrists as she gasped for breath, and when that didn't work, went for his face with fists. She punched at him hard, dislodging the mask and sending it to the ground. The hood of his cassock obscured his eyes, but she could just make out his dark skin and white beard. "Slut! Witch! Whore!" he roared.
She was dizzy, losing consciousness, going limp under the man's grip. But his chokehold suddenly loosened, distracted by the sound of branches breaking, pounding footfalls, and beastly growling getting closer fast. The burliest demon yet, its skin pearly grey, burst through the brush and tackled the robed man, dragging him to the ground and tearing into him with its razor-sharp claws. Screams filled her ears again, and she was falling, faint, spatters of blood wetting her face from the carnage beside her.
Before she hit the ground, Copia caught her, lifting her into his arms. He cradled her against him, his hand on her cheek. "Bella? Wake up. Wake up!"
Isabelle's eyes shot open to see Poe sitting on her chest, licking and pawing at her face. The cell phone on her bedside table was ringing and vibrating, the 'old phone' ringtone blaring at full volume. The cat meowed angrily, annoyed by the shrill sound.
"Okay, okay," she grumbled, fumbling for the device in her half-awake state, the dream still clinging to her. She was bleary-eyed, couldn't make out the number on the call display, wasn't quite sure what time or even what day it was. But she managed to answer, her voice hoarse and barely working. "Hello?"
"Uh, Izzy?" There was a man's voice on the other end, "Hi, it's Alex, across the street. I woke you up, didn't I? I'm so sorry. I tried calling you a little while ago but there was no answer."
As he spoke, she nudged Poe off of her, struggling to sit up and look at the clock. The sun was up - it was morning. Her first thought was that maybe she overslept. But Ari would have called her if that was the case, not the man who owned the antique shop opposite her. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and saw it was just after 8 a.m. "Oh... uh, hi Alex. Yeah, it's okay, no worries. I'd be getting up soon anyways." She rubbed at her face, willing herself to wake up faster. "What's up?"
"I guess that means you haven't been outside yet?"
His words broke sleep's spell hard and fast, hitting her like a bucket of cold water. Something was wrong. 'Good news sleeps 'til noon,' her mom always said. "No. Oh no... what happened?" She shuffled out of bed and to the window. It faced Main Street and Alex's shop. All seemed normal outside from her vantage point; she could see Alex standing outside his door, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he looked across the street.
"You got hit with some vandalism overnight," he said, his voice soft and apologetic.
"Shit," Izzy muttered, "Again? Is it bad?" She raked her fingers through her hair to tame the bedhead and grabbed a zip-up hoodie off of the chair nearby. She needed to see the damage. At least her pajama pants were somewhat respectable.
"Well," Alex began, "You've had worse, but it's definitely not good."
In the living room now, she stuffed her feet into the closest pair of shoes and took her keys off the hook by the door. "I'm on my way down. I'll see you in a sec," she told him, ending the call.
It was a chilly morning, and thankfully the streets were mostly quiet. She hoped that not too many people had gone by and seen the aftermath; she'd already suffered enough public embarrassment at the coffee shop the week prior. By the time she got down the stairs and around the front of the building, Alex was on her side of the street, giving her a sympathetic look as she took it all in.
An entire carton of eggs had been thrown at the storefront. The metal gate did its job of protecting the windows - nothing broken that she could see. Eggshells and gooey debris splayed across the glass, in the crevices of the gate, and all over the sidewalk. But more distressing were the slurs spraypainted over the gate itself, in giant letters: slut, witch, whore.
Slut. Witch. Whore.
"Oh..." Izzy whispered, her voice trembling, "Oh my god..." Panic, confusion, and anger all welled up inside her, and she put a shaky hand over her mouth. A nasty mess. Plus the words from her dream plastered on her storefront, distressing her more than anything else. What the fuck…? But it wasn't like she could tell this to the nice man across the street without making herself sound completely unhinged.
She felt Alex’s hand on her shoulder. "This is awful Izzy, I know. I'm so sorry. I just got to the shop and saw it. Not a great way to start your day. But I thought it better to let you know as soon as possible. I hate having to be the one to tell you about it."
"No, hey, don't apologize. Thank you for letting me know, I do appreciate it. Really."
"I can help you clean up if you need a hand," he offered, "I know you don't open for a couple of hours yet."
She was grateful for his invitation but was reluctant to accept it. Alex was a kind soul, a bow-tie-wearing, nerdy, goody-two-shoes type, always ready with a dad joke or some historical trivia. The string of expletives she wanted to unleash over this situation would likely shock him to his very core. Probably best for their acquaintance if she saved him from witnessing it.
"Alex, you're so sweet," she began, "But I know you open soon and I don't want to keep you. Let me call Ari and get him over here... if we need any extra help, I'll let you know."
"You sure? I don't mind, really!"
"Yes, I'm sure. I really do appreciate the offer though. If I get stuck, I'll call you." She didn't want to sound rude... but fuck, she needed some time to scream into the void before she could even begin thinking about cleaning up. "And I should probably call and make a police report first too, in case there’s anything they can do." It would be a futile, useless endeavor - chances are they wouldn't even show up when they found out it was her shop - but it did buy her a little more time to calm down.
"Oh yeah, good idea," he agreed, before giving her a nudge with his elbow, "Good luck with that, eh?" He knew as well as she did how the entire police force was bought and paid for by a certain group of people in this town. "I'm right across the street if you need anything - anything at all - okay?"
"Okay. Thank you again." She managed a wave and a feeble smile as he returned to his shop. With a sigh, she turned back to the disaster on her doorstep. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." I bet it was those fucking punks that harassed the Sisters yesterday, thinking they were getting me back for giving them shit.
She scanned the area, looking for signs of anything she could use to prove who did this - footprints or something left behind. Nothing. She took out her phone and snapped a few pictures up close, then backed onto the street to capture the whole storefront at once. From there, she could see Poe sitting in the bedroom window upstairs, looking down at her with the disdain of a cat whose breakfast was late. It unsettled her to realize this happened right underneath her while she slept - with the windows open, even - and she didn't hear a damn thing...
Before she stepped back onto the sidewalk, she noticed the security camera on the nearby light post. The previous year, the town council had convinced residents that installing cameras all along Main Street was needed to discourage petty crimes and keep businesses safe. She’d been skeptical, considering the ineffectual Police were the ones doing the monitoring, and also because the company hired to do the installation was a subcontractor of Andrew Francis' land development company. And Andrew Francis was best buddies with the town's mayor - it was all blatant cronyism.
Regardless of her feelings on the matter, there was a camera every 15 feet or so on both sides of the street, and the one closest to her was aimed right at the corner of Main and Richmond, directly in front of her shop. That was the best chance to prove who had vandalized her property. But it was going to mean getting the police involved.
She made her way back upstairs and dialed the non-emergency number. An extremely disinterested woman answered the phone: "Police."
"Yes, hi," Izzy began, "I'm calling to report some vandalism that occurred at my shop overnight. There were slurs spray painted onto my storefront."
"Okay." Izzy heard her begin typing. "Address?"
"The corner of Main and Richmond. Shadow and Light Metaphysical Boutique."
The typing stopped. "I see," the woman replied. "Were any other businesses affected?"
"No, just mine."
"Hmm.... so you were targeted. Sounds like something personal," the dispatcher said, the hint of a sneer in her voice.
Izzy figured the call would go this way, but she persisted as calmly as possible. "Be that as it may, it was still an act of vandalism. Will you be sending someone out to investigate?"
"All of our officers are currently dealing with other matters. I can pass your information along when someone becomes available."
"Any idea when that might be?" Izzy asked through gritted teeth.
"It will be when someone becomes available," the dispatcher repeated.
Izzy squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to quell a rapidly blossoming headache. "What about the cameras?" she asked, "One of the town's security cameras is aimed right at the front of my shop. Would you be able to pull the footage off that and see if we can identify who did this?"
"That would be up to the officer who investigates the incident. Who is yet to be determined. I will pass the information along..."
"...when someone becomes available, yeah, I got that part." Izzy interrupted. "I've taken pictures of the damage. Can I start cleaning it up, or do I have to wait for Officer Yet-To-Be-Determined to come?" Oh, she was so close to losing it.
"Suit yourself," the woman replied, "And mind your tone, ma'am."
Mind MY tone?? "Oh, I do apologize," Izzy said sarcastically. "Thank you ever so much for your help. Your assistance has been invaluable, ma'am." She stabbed the phone with her finger to hang up the call and flung it down on the couch beside her with an exasperated growl. She instantly regretted being so snarky. But being nice wouldn't have mattered  - the dispatcher’s attitude was set the moment she heard the shop name. FUCK. 
The stress had her head throbbing. She reached for the joint she’d left in the coffee table ashtray the night before, a calming blend she enjoyed when she needed to settle her mind after a long day. She lit it, closed her eyes, and took a few small hits; not enough to get high, but just enough to take the edge off. Would it help? Maybe. Definitely wouldn’t hurt.
She heard the pitter-pat of paws, Poe jumping up on the coffee table and plopping himself down, blinking his big green eyes at her. Then a soft 'tap-tap' on her knee, the cat trying to get her attention. When she opened her eyes, she was met with an inquisitive "Mmrrrow?"
"Yes, yes baby, I know. Let's get your breakfast," she sighed, scratching his head. For now, she could focus on something else: getting the cat fed, brushing her teeth, putting her hair in a ponytail, and finding some clothes. An old pair of paint-stained jeans and a worse-for-wear Metallica t-shirt was her standard uniform for grunt work like this. And she needed to call Ari and start the cleanup before the whole town saw the debacle.
Izzy dialed his number and it rang at least five times before he finally answered. "Hrgrarlo?" he croaked sleepily.
She was pacing her living room, back and forth in front of her altar space. His awakening was about to be as rude as hers. "Ari?"
He groaned. "Iz? What time is it?"
"8:30-ish. I need..."
"Too early," he slurred, "Call later."
"Aristotle! Wake up!" she snapped. "The store got vandalized last night. I need your help to clean up."
"Wha...?" He cleared his throat, finally rousing now, "What happened? You ok?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. But it's a fucking mess. We got egged, and the gate got spray painted."
Slut. Witch. Whore. It echoed in her brain, filling her with dread.
"Shit, okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Give me 20 minutes.”
"Okay, I'll meet you out front. Thanks."
She hung up the phone and continued to pace, images from the dream consuming her. The white-robed men chasing her down with torches, wanting to burn her. Demons protecting her, killing for her. And Copia in his skull paint, right in the middle of it all, infiltrating her dreams again.
Slut. Witch. Whore.
"Why is this happening?" she asked out loud. "I still don't understand." She looked at the statue of Lilith on her altar as she paced, rolling the anxious thoughts around and around in her head. Things were going so well. Things were calm, people were finally leaving us be. Then I met Sister Imperator and everything's been fucked up since then! The weird dreams. The coffee shop last week, the Sisters yesterday, now this… I'm trying to be kind. Friendly. The people from the Church seem like good people. I want to help them. And Copia. I want… Ugh! How much shit will I have to eat? Is it worth it? Why am I putting myself through this?
As she passed the altar again, Izzy saw movement out of the corner of her eye, something falling from the top of it to the floor. A piece of paper. She stopped, bending down to pick it up. 
It was the Cardinal's business card. 
She’d placed it under Lilith's statue the week before - completely underneath the statue, she was sure of it. His familiar energy danced around her as she held the card, the same frisson of pleasure she felt when in his presence. That feeling of calm and safety she’d felt in her dream when he embraced her…
Or maybe it was the weed kicking in.
"I'm with you always.”
 She wanted a reason why this was happening, and Lilith answered: Copia.
“Okay then,” she mumbled, sliding the card back underneath the statue’s base. If her goddess was conspiring to bring her and Copia together, she wasn’t about to argue. But she hoped it was worth it… “Message received,” she kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to Lilith’s feet, “Thank you.”
With a resigned sigh, Isabelle put on her work boots and made her way downstairs to begin dealing with the mess. She unlocked the shop’s back door, turned off the alarm system, and went to the storage closet for cleaning supplies: gloves, rags, scrub brushes, garbage bags, and spray paint remover. She also needed a bucket full of hot, soapy water to wash away all the dried-up egg gunk. The buckets were under the sink in the tiny kitchenette, and as she crossed the length of the back of the shop, she glanced through the doorway that led to the shop floor. People were outside the front windows, on the other side of the gate. She did a double take, thinking it was a crowd of gawkers. 
But no. Six Ghouls in their shiny silver masks were there, scrubbing and scraping, hard at work cleaning on her behalf. The Church of Emeritus had come to her rescue.
Incredulous, Isabelle went out the back door and made her way around to the front of the shop. They turned to her when she came around the corner. “Uh, hi,” she said tentatively.
She recognized Aether right away. He put down the rag he was using and greeted her with a happy wave. The five others joined in. They’d brought their own cleaning supplies, including a heavy-duty paint remover far superior to the kind she used. 
“What the heck are you guys doing here? I mean… I appreciate you coming to help, but how did you even know this happened?” she asked.
Aether pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing quickly before turning the screen to her.
“One of us saw the mess this morning,” it said, “And so we came to help clean up. We’ve had to deal with this sort of thing before too, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately,” Izzy sighed. They had already made great progress, doing a faster and more thorough job than she and Ari could have done on their own. After all the stress and anxiety of the morning, this simple act of kindness brought all her emotions to the surface. “You guys,” she said, her voice breaking, “You didn’t have to… this is so wonderful of you. I don’t know what to say.”
Aether typed again: “You don’t have to say anything, Miss Izzy. It’s our pleasure to help! You’ve already done SO MUCH for us, we’re just paying it back. Like you told the Cardinal, we take care of each other.”
She blinked back tears. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? And I meant it.” Aether gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder and she felt relief for the first time today. “Thank you so much, Aether, and all of you, for the help.”
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Aether typed. He went down the line of Ghouls, giving her the names of each: “Rain, Mountain, Sunshine, Cirrus, and Dewdrop. But you can call him Dew.”
“Hello,” Izzy greeted. “I think I recognize you, Dew. And Cirrus too. I met you both in the coffee shop last week, didn’t I?”
The mention of the word “coffee” made Dew hang his head and cover his face with his hands. Aether gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder. “We don’t talk about coffee around Dew anymore,” he typed, “It doesn’t agree with him.” 
Izzy nodded, sympathetic. “Honestly, I understand… Since that day, coffee hasn’t agreed with me either. But I still want to thank you for your kindness.”
Dew placed his hands over his heart and bowed, the same gesture that Aether often used, acknowledging her thanks.
“I had no idea there were so many of you,” Izzy remarked. 
“There are 15 of us all together, for now at least,” Aether told her, “More wanted to come and help but Sister Imperator needed some of us to stay behind this morning.”
“I hope the Cardinal is managing alright without you,” she teased. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him, wondering if maybe he had encouraged Aether to go as a way of checking up on her…
The sound of hurried footsteps approached from around the side of the building, and Izzy saw each of the Ghouls perk up, on alert. Aether stepped in front of her, shielding her from whomever it was, while the others surrounded her protectively. She felt the tension radiating off them as they stood guard, and the faint rumble of… growling?
Ari burst around the corner, still disheveled from sleep, and skidded to a stop, face-to-face with Aether. “Jesus fucking…” he gasped, startled, “What the fuck?”
The Ghouls closed in around her. None of them, save for Aether, knew who Ari was or that he was her friend. She saw Aether touch Ari’s arm to steady him before he waved off the other Ghouls, showing them there was no threat. Aether pointed to Ari, made motions with his hands like he was drawing in the air, and then mimed pinning something up on a wall. He then pointed back and forth between Ari and Izzy and brought his hands together to make the shape of a heart. The others nodded, backing off as their wariness eased. 
“I ask again: what the fuck?” Ari looked at Izzy, confused.
“It’s okay, Ari, it’s okay. They came here to help clean up. They’re just being extra protective because of what happened and because they don’t know you. Aether told them you’re the artist that made the poster we gave him, and that you’re my friend. Right?” Aether nodded, happy that Izzy interpreted him correctly.
Ari was in disbelief. “You understood all that?” 
“Yes, of course,” Izzy said, unsure as to why he didn’t. “You just have to pay attention.” She grabbed Ari’s wrist and pulled him closer as she turned back to the Ghouls. “So this is Ari, he’s my best friend and he works here with me. He’s cool, okay? No need to worry. Ari, this is Rain, Mountain, Sunshine, Cirrus, and Dew. And you already know Aether.” She nudged him in the side and whispered, “Say hi.”
“Uh, hello,” Ari said with an awkward wave. “Nice to meet you.”
Aether typed quickly and showed his phone to Ari: “They like your art!”
“Oh… well, thank you!” he replied, “And thank you for coming to help, we appreciate it.”
“Listen,” Izzy began, “I’m going to go inside and get some soap and water to help clean all this off. We’ll be right back, alright?” 
Aether and the Ghouls all gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and returned to their work as she ushered Ari to the back of the building. Before she could say anything to him, he pulled her into a tight hug.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he swore as he embraced her, “You’re okay, right? I can’t believe this happened *again* Iz.”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she replied, hugging him back just as hard, “I’m pretty sure it was those rotten teenagers that messed with the Sisters yesterday, trying to get back at me. But I’ll never be able to prove it, though.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Yeah…”
“And?”
Izzy pulled away then and gave him a telling look before opening the back door for him. “It went about as well as you’d think. They’re doing jack shit. Even though there’s a camera right outside the shop. I may as well not’ve bothered. But, at least we’ve got some help cleaning up…” She motioned to the front window where the Ghouls were working away. “If I had known they were coming, I would’ve let you keep sleeping. Sorry…”
Ari seemed as stunned as she had been. “So they just showed up on their own?”
“Yep, and they’re doing an awesome job.” She squirted some soap into the bottom of a bucket and turned on the hot water, watching them through the doorway while waiting for it to fill. 
“Getting by with a little help from our friends, huh?” Ari observed.
Isabelle nodded. She was so grateful for their kindness. But now she had to worry about what sort of repercussions this would bring. If word got around town that the Satanic Church was at her service, would her haters be less inclined to hassle her, or would they double down on their hostility? How was she going to play this?
A fleeting recognition, familiarity, prickled down her spine as she observed the Ghouls. The protectiveness they’d had over her? She recognized it, felt it before. Images from her dream - those demon things saving her from the torch-wielding mob - flashed through her mind, her brain attempting to connect the dots while ignoring the rapidly filling bucket. Ari reaching around her to shut off the kitchen faucet jolted her back into reality.
“I’ll take this outside,” he said, not noticing she had spaced out, “You bring the sponges and stuff, okay?”
Oh, uh… yeah, okay,” she stammered, “I’ll be right there.”
Isabelle took a moment to collect herself. It was almost nine o’clock. The town was coming to life. People would see her and Ari outside with the Ghouls. People would talk. Her association with the Church of Emeritus would be indisputable. This was the tipping point; she’d have to choose her allegiance…  
She recalled the feelings of safety and calm that enveloped her in Copia’s presence. The Ghouls had gone out of their way to come to her aid. Even her Goddess had given her a definitive sign. It all felt decided on her behalf.
I guess I’m on Team Dark Side. I wonder if they like cookies?
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devilfic · 1 year
Note
ok but Edward when he was still in the orphanage falling in love with a kid he constantly sees when he goes to church, like a childish and innocent love (I just want edward kid to receive a little affection) 😔
❝first snow❞
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plot: life wasn’t all pain, there was you. there was you. pairing: child!edward nashton x child!gn!reader. cw: fluff, light angst, choir boy eddie, mentions of bullying, childhood trauma. words: 1.9k.
a/n: ever since I received this request I’ve just fawned over how sweet it is. here you go, anon
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Edward is aware of how timid his voice sounds. It was a reflex, the wobbly authority of it, because he’d learned early on that he wasn’t much of an authority on anything except dodging the older kids’ punches. He could pretend he hadn’t said anything if you turned around and gave him that look he was so used to getting. Meant for squirmy vermin like him.
But you don’t snap at him or look at him like he’s used to. Your eyes are shock-wide and frantic when his words finally settle in: “You shouldn’t be here.” But your eyes shoot up at first, taller than himself (were you expecting someone else?), and when they land on him shivering in his choir boy robe they all but melt. He’d never been looked at like that. Your little hands grip the massive church door a little less tightly and then you smile, “It’s snowing.”
Edward blinks. Of course it’s snowing. It’s December in Gotham. It always snows in December.
But by the look on your face, Edward could‘be been convinced it had never snowed before. That snow had been a construct of childhood, like Santa for the kids who got to be lied to about Santa, and that all kids your age knew by now that snow wasn’t real. And then you’d opened that church door and suddenly it was.
The breeze coming in would be enough to make the orphanage’s scary wardens shiver and complain about wanting to go home early while Edward’s fingers go numb for the night, but he finds himself moving closer to you.
You pull the door a little wider and suddenly you’re waving him over, beckoning him beside you. He can see the snow past your head. “You’ll catch a cold.” He tries, a little louder, a warning with experience. “They’ll notice we’re not in service.”
Still, he comes closer.
When Edward is right beside you, he can hear the chatter of your teeth and see your breaths clouding the space between you both. For a moment, he thinks that this might be a trick and turns quickly to catch some burly monster of a teenager before they could shove him out into the cold to freeze to death, but no such thing happens. It’s just you two in the foyer, and the echo of the priest in the main hall.
“Does it always snow like this?” You bypass his warning.
Edward looks out at the white coating the Gotham streets, adults rushing through the light snowfall knowing what would await if they stayed in it too long. Even beautiful things in Gotham were deadly. “Yeah, it’s winter. It always snows in winter.”
Your eyes narrow a little indignantly, “Not where I’m from.”
Edward remembers. Your father, the imposing figure he was, had mentioned a place warm and very far away from Gotham. He also remembered wondering why anyone from such a nice place would move here. Your pristine clothing had told Edward you were from a much, much better place, but he hadn’t had it in him to be as upset about that as he usually would be.
In fact, he finds himself a little nervous standing right next to you. “What’s it like where you’re from?” He asks, as if he hadn’t gone to the Gotham Public Library weeks ago and asked one of the librarians about it after you’d first arrived. The other kids would only ever tell him it was somewhere he’d “never get to go”.
“It only ever gets cold really late in winter, and it never lasts long. Mom had to get me new clothes for Gotham because it gets too cold here and it never snows back home.” Then you make a face and correct yourself, “Back there.”
You hadn’t looked too fond of your new situation upon moving here. Your father had said your family was joyous at joining the church, and yet your face had been filled with grief. As if it had only settled in on that Sunday that you would never be leaving Gotham.
Your eyes start to fog over with the same grief again, and… it’s strange. Edward doesn’t like seeing you like that. He finds himself fumbling for something to talk about that other kids his age would like, something he wasn’t very good at, and settles on a memory, “When the wardens feel generous, they sometimes take us to Gotham Square. They put a really big Christmas tree up and give out free hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. If you sing,” his body had long since accustomed to the Gotham winter, but only now does he feel his cheeks warm under your curious gaze, “they always make us sing.”
“Why do you call them wardens?”
“Huh?”
“You’re from the orphanage, right? Why do you call them wardens? It sounds kind of mean.”
Edward blinks, having never had to think about it. That was one thing the other kids could agree on, “Because they’re mean.”
He should hate it, the flash of sympathy on your face. He doesn’t need sympathy from people like you or Bruce Wayne or anyone. What he needs is a jacket. It’s getting really cold standing by the open door with you.
“You’re a pretty singer.”
Edward actually makes a noise. It’s strained, like the cats that loiter outside the orphanage for scraps that’ll never come, “What?”
“You’re a pretty singer, you have a pretty voice,” you clarify, using the word pretty, pretty, pretty, you’re pretty, pretty, “my mom thinks so too. She said I should sound more like you.”
“Can you not sing?” His voice stutters as does his little, gentle heart. Not used to the kindness.
You shake your head and push the door closed a little, the cold getting too much for you, he thinks, “Apparently, I sound like I’m in pain.” And then, to Edward’s surprise, you demonstrate with a little shriek you call holding a note.
And he doesn’t mean to because it’s impolite to laugh at others (as if it ever stopped anyone from laughing at him), but he bursts into such an uncontrollable fit of giggles that his glasses fog up and he can only just see your mouth turn from an “o” into a smile. He grabs at his stomach to stop the shaking of his laughter but it barely helps.
He should be more worried that someone will hear. But you don’t look bothered. He feels safe right now. Something else he’s not used to.
“See! That’s unfair. You have a pretty laugh too.” You complain, though your tone is playfully annoyed.
“No, I- I don’t,” he wheezes through heavy breaths, “you’re crazy.”
“Am not!”
Edward wipes under his glasses at the small tear forming in his eye, coming down from his fit to see you proudly smiling with your hands now behind your back. It comes out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself, “You must have hypothermia.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, confused, “Hippo- what?”
“Hypothermia… it happens when you get too cold. You can get confused.” Edward winces explaining, wondering if you’d catch on that you actually didn’t like talking to him soon, “Delirious.” He tries instead, as if the word would be any more familiar to you if you didn’t pore over books and word puzzles like he did all hours of the day.
“Oh.” You blink, your silence a tiny trigger on a shotgun pointed at his self-esteem. He shouldn’t have confused you, brought you out of the fun. You’d think he was dull now. Like the other kids do. “Is that why I feel this way?”
“What?” It’s Edward’s turn to be confused now. You don’t clarify this time, jaw clenching like you’d said the wrong thing. He worries suddenly that he’d been right on the money.
He steps closer and presses his hand to your forehead on instinct like he would the babies at the orphanage, checking warmth through the night and hoping for sunrise. Out from your mouth escapes a little peep at the contact and he pulls his hand back very quickly, now worried he’d overstepped the boundary. Crossed over too quickly into familiarity, into fondness. Your skin was burning warm. What had you meant by “this way”?
Your mouth opens to form a word when the door you’re leaning on suddenly shuts under a heavier weight. The two of you hadn’t even noticed your mother now standing there, furiously concerned and wrapping her coat around your shoulders, “What are you thinking? It’s freezing outside! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Edward feels a pang in his heart when your mother cups your cheek, feeling for what he’d felt for moments ago. He gets that nasty little feeling twisting in his heart again. Remembering who you are and who he is.
You have a mother to keep you warm. Why should he worry?
He’s halfway in a turn when your mother suddenly looks at him, and then touches him on the cheek too and he jolts away from the unfamiliar (soft) contact. Her hand retracts with quiet concern, “Are you alright, dear? You look flushed. You both really shouldn’t be out here.”
Edward presses the back of his hand to his own face and notes that she’s right.
You look up at your mother and then back at Edward, “Sorry. It’s my fault. I wanted to watch the snow with Eddie.”
Eddie? You knew his name?
The kids in the home called him that with condescension, because “Edward” was too dignified and full of itself and there was nothing Edward needed more than to be knocked down a few pegs. Of course.
You, on the other hand, said it like a friend. Like you two had known each other forever. Like you knew him too well to just keep calling him “Edward”.
“Well, service is almost over. Shall I escort you both back to your pews?” Your mother’s sweetness is so strange to hear. When she holds out her hand to him, he is too shocked to jump away this time, “You can sit with us if you’d like, Eddie.” She has a glint of out-of-place warmth in her eyes just like you.
Edward wants nothing more than to accept, but the other kids would notice and the warden would drag him by the scruff into the old, rickety orphanage bus and tell him that he’d get no dinner tonight for embarrassing them. His stomach turns at the thought. “No thank you, ma’am.”
“At least come get warm.” She beckons, ushering you both back to the main hall.
Edward follows you, a step behind, until he simply can’t and must return to the pews with the other church boys who watch him with wide eyes. One of the wardens looks furious when she finally spots him off with you. He feels her eyes burn into the back of his head even when he sits down, rigid with his hands shoved between his thighs to warm them up again. He stares ahead, unmoving, not even answering the boys nearest him and their questions about where he’d been.
Edward stares ahead until he just can’t anymore. You’re staring right at him from across the aisle, hands cupped around your mouth as he watches you make out a word: Hippo-term-ia.
It’s hard to pass off his laugh as a cough.
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taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry
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tiredassmage · 9 months
Text
@jupitcrising | staring back at me
It laces like ice through his chest: this isn’t right. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.
The hall’s as familiar as it can be, wreathed in something that rolls like smoke, panels low to the floor and set into the harsh, stone-toned tiles snaking flashes of red and stark white up polished black boots and fitted uniforms. A little slice of Dromund Kaas, wherever you go.
Tyr shifts uneasily in sleep, brow twisting. 
Something’s… not right. It’s familiar… It’s not. Uniforms. A glint of sickly green-tinted light off a metal inlay. That’s…
Sparks at the back of his neck - lightning, but physical this time, and racing down his spine, splitting his lips in a silent, but roaring hiss, teeth flashing white in the slim lighting, stark against the looming black halls, sweeping black robes, the dull gray of a uniform jacket.
Wait. The grip around his arms settles in heavy. Two bodies on each side. At least two more - at least one in front, at least two or three behind. His eyes widen. His heels can’t dig against the pristine floors. The resistance is stronger in the durasteel grip tightening around his arms. His grimace turns into a snarl, draws his lips back farther over his teeth, masks for a moment the fear in a bloody kind of defiance.
“Keep him still.” He twists, writhes, tries to throw a shoulder to throw off the way he’s being all but herded, dragged along.
Restless eyes underneath closed lids. Uneasy grip adjusting around the pillows. A sharp jerk of an arm. Twist. Turn. Try to wrench away from the pain.
“Get off,” he finds his voice. A sharp stop, a gloved hand thrown squarely back at him. Heat, a sharp pain, a metallic tang floods his mouth. The restraining hands steady his shoulders from the way his head snaps with the blow and then fingers twist into his hair. The pull’s not gentle. Instinctively, he throws that snarl back across his split lips.
“Spirited this time, are you?” A faceless mask, but he can hear the threat of a smile prowling over the words like a vine cat in the jungle. Robes on this one. Black, red lacing through, long fabric sweeping down shoulders and adding to a solid silhouette still half-shadowed by the lights.
Not for much longer. From smoke and shadow to almost blinding, sterile light.
Three days. Approved for limited use.
“I said, let go of me!” His feet feel solid against the floor this time when he throws his weight back against the push of his would-be captors.
“You were busier than expected, agent. You’ve become quite the liability. Did you think we wouldn't notice your new... alliances?” It doesn’t stop them. There’s too many of them. Resistance hurts, sends fire down his spine, metal biting at the back of his neck until he nearly falters in their hold.
And once he’s down, there’s nowhere else to go.
“Stay the fuck away from me! What are you doing?!” He hates it - the desperation that starts to leak into the words. The restraints bite back at his arms when he pulls. Flared nostrils. Wide eyes. They fix on the threat of a needle glinting in the lab light.
“Settle down. It’s faster if you don’t fight it.”
“Back off! You can’t-!”
“Welcome home, Cipher Nine. Codeword-”
The mere threat is enough to lock up his muscles, the next breath stuttering in his lungs. “Don’t you-! You can't- Not again! Not again!”
It’ll light up like fire in his veins, if they-
Where is he? Where are they? Where is he? If he wasn’t alone. If he wasn’t-
“STAY AWAY-!”
Pressure. Something - another hand? - trying to hold him down. Again. Again?!
Tyr’s eyes fly open, throat aching around the incoherent rage. Void-shrouded faces and blinding lab lights block out his vision. He claws at the first shape he can settle on - technician? Overseer? Inquisitor? Merely the restraints? “I’m not going back! I’m not-!”
They can't take him. He can't take it. Not again.
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xiaos-daddy-issues · 3 months
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Hands Of Old
A/N: Late holidays, I am not sorry.
Zhongli x GN! Reader
Warnings: Angst No Comfort, OOC Zhongli?, Death, Insanity, Depression, Murder?
Characters: Yun Jin, Zhongli, Traveler, Paimon, Guizhong (Mentioned), Nameless Hunter OC 
Songs: Artemis By AURORA, The Willow Maid By Erutan 
You met him long ago, you had met him when you owned the shiniest of jewels, the ones adorning your body in the most gentle of ways catching the sun while you played your Erhu, your white robes drifting like waves as you played a soft tune, one that would calm even the most restless souls. Your tattoos that wrapped around your arms held a pristine blue mirroring the noctilucous jade that adorns your crown of poppies held together in beautiful harmony, even the clouds held envy for your beauty. You were simply something to cherish from afar a being no one could obtain fully for your heart belonged to you, as you would play birds would flutter around you eating the feed you’d put at your feet, you were something mysterious and here you stood in your domain where you were trapped for eternity. Your legs were forced in their spot by the amber that slowly grew around your shins every day. You were alone until Morax found you, but no matter what you never told him your name, never told him why you stood here stuck in the amber, as Morax asked you every time he visited hoping you would give in and answer one day but you never caved in you just continued playing your Erhu playing harder when he’d persist, you knew you mustn't answer for you’d be doomed and not even celestia could stop the harm. Every day someone would wander trying to break you free from your prison to take for their own, anything to make you theirs but you would only stay silent and play your Erhu. One day when you went to feed the birds your arm grabbed the bag you heard a gasp, your eyes widened stopping you in your tracks when you saw Morax in your vision when he saw you move from your instrument for the first in centuries. As he watches you for your next move, he watches you go back to spreading the feed staying silent as usual. Since that day he would try and catch you off guard to see if he could figure out your mystery, but every time he was met with failure. Eventually, he gave up and stopped coming after a while. You felt saddened for your one company to be gone, although he was pushy he never tried to break you free, he was simply curious and wished to know why you stood on that mountain ledge slowly being encased in petrified tree sap. So you waited every day playing a sorrowful tune the people eventually gave up when they realized you would not budge from your prison, you looked down one day and found the amber was to your waist you shed tears knowing in only a thousand years you would be the forgotten beauty stuck on the mountain top stuck in your beautiful prison, every day you would watch the sun rise and set. And every day you would lose hope in the prophecy of someone breaking you free and ending your life painlessly. Every day until you discovered your hair had reached the ground. Still, you played your sorrowful tunes as if crying for mercy, you lost your strength one day and dropped your Erhu, as the instrument fell to the ground shattering over its years of use. You finally let out a sound after that day weeping into the night as you had lost the one thing keeping you sane, you cried and cried, you cried for freedom from your shackles to be freed from your hell. One day an avid hunter approached your garden hearing your cries he rushed to you finding the beautiful being trapped in the amber, he fell in love with them he tried to break them free but they continued crying repeating the words “Stop, go away” he left that night and came back with an axe trying to break the deity free. He would return every day but they would only cry. One day the hunter was gone and the god of geo stumbled across the beauty once again searching for glaze lilies for his beloved, the tears kept falling to the ground watering the daisies that had grown through the bird feed. The jewels had been polished once again the once shoulder lengthed hair nicely braided and resting upon the
ground and yet he couldn’t place where he met them all he knew was they were familiar. He heard the sobs as the deity cried to whoever was merciless enough to trap them here for eternity “Let me go, show me mercy!!” he heard them rasp from the endless shouting, their arms stuck to their side as the amber-trapped them to their sides, their tattoos hidden under the orange of the petrified sap, he approached the poor soul grabbing their shoulder but they ignored him continuing to cry and shout. They ignored how he drew his polearm and struck the amber not until they fell to the ground they finally meet his eyes their blown pupils meeting his, he stood there watching until they rasped “Kill me. End this before I harm someone” Their eyes were full of sorrow as they lay there defenseless “Take my life Morax” he heard them call his name striking him back to back when he tried to coax the deity to say his name his eyes full of recognition, his heart skips a beat “Morax please. . .” they plead grabbing onto his robes with cracked palms tugging while shedding tears upon his feet “Kill me, end this. Save me, save me please” he blinks back tears before raising his polearm above his head and striking them instantly killing them, he watches as they slowly turn to ash the only thing remaining intact was a single jewel. He bent down to grab the jewel admiring the emerald in his palm. He heard someone run up to him, he turned over his shoulder to find the avid hunter with wide eyes “What did you do!? Where are they!?” He demands “They’re gone. . . I killed them” he sighs pocketing the gem in his pocket “What do you mean” the hunter demands “I put them out of their misery,” he says emotionless while his brain shuts down any thoughts. He pushes past the hunter he stops when he hears the hunter cry as he holds the last of the ash. While in Morax’s hands, he holds the purest emerald to exist, he holds your heart in his hands for he was the one to fulfill your wish. 
Zhongli finishes his last sip of tea observing the traveler's face. Their eyes tear up as Paimon covers her mouth “And that is the story of the Nameless Deity” Yun Jin says at the end of her opera bowing to the crowd, Zhongli refrains from grabbing the emerald in his pocket, he closes his eyes breathing in a soft breath as he takes in the smell of silk flowers and the faint perfume of poppies. His heart tightens as he remembers the troubled soul he met long ago, and how he has the purest emerald in his hands of old.      
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floral-force · 1 year
Text
Code of Honor - Chapter 8
The Morning After
summary: the morning brings light to the village, and a hunter goes after a quarry of their own.
warnings: 18+/MDNI (I am not responsible for your media consumption, please be responsible and do not interact if you are a minor), canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and injury during a ptsd flashback, non-con innuendo/touching.
words: 3.9k+
read on ao3 | series masterlist
previous | next
PART 1: YOU
The breakfast in front of you was one of the most lavish spreads of food you’d ever seen. It all probably cost more than you were worth.
It took all your self-control to avoid devouring the golden rolls of bread and steaming waffles and held yourself back from taking more than two helpings of green pearberry toast. You smiled at the prince as you poured a glass of orange juice, trying to maintain the fake persona you crafted to draw him into your claws.
He sat across from you in a dark green velvet robe, cutting into his breakfast meat pie while keeping his gaze on you. A few times, you noticed his eyes trail down to your cleavage and you made sure to lean forward the next time you grabbed another piece of food—this time, a spherical red fruit that dripped with blood-red juices when you bit into it. You felt the liquid trailing down your chin, threatening to stain your nightgown, and you rushed to catch it with a napkin. You were quick enough to prevent it from dripping onto the silk gown, but unfortunately, a drop trailed down your neck and nestled right above your chest.
The prince chuckled at you, getting up from his seat and walking around to your left side, a white cloth napkin in his hand. You couldn’t even get a word out before he was dabbing your lips and chin with it, the red staining the pristine fabric. He was staring down at you with something devious in his eyes—something that made your muscles tense.
The fruit was forgotten on the white porcelain saucer plate to your right, your right hand clenching your napkin. You cleared your throat and forced an embarrassed giggle and smile.
“I’m so sorry for my mess, my prince.”
“Nonsense,” he said, gripping the edge of the table as he lowered himself to one knee. “You still have a little on you.”
“Oh, I can get it,” you protested, bringing the napkin to your neck.
The prince clicked his tongue and wrenched the cloth out of your tight grip. You looked down at him, and when he gestured for you to turn and face him, you did so slowly and reluctantly. 
As he slowly dabbed the fabric down your neck, following the sticky red trail, you felt your heart start to race. Suddenly, you felt like a caged fathier: anxious and restless, itching to escape. You stayed still, frozen under the prince’s calculating stare. 
He reached your cleavage and stole a glance before looking back up at you and chuckling, a smug smile painting his face. 
“I should ask for your permission first,” he surmised. “But something tells me I don’t need to.”
All you could do was bite your lip when his hot tongue met your skin, dipping only a little into your cleavage before licking up to your right clavicle. The cloth dropped to the floor as he went to grip your thigh, sharply squeezing your flesh. 
He sat back on his heels and simpered, looking up at you as he ran his hand up and down your thigh.
“I’m—I’m flattered,” you said, forcing another smile. “But I really should be going. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, Your highness.”
You quickly swung your legs over to the right side of the chair, nearly jumping out of it. The prince rose to his feet and marched over to you as you took quick steps toward the dining hall door. As much as it unsettled you, you faced him, not wanting to take your eyes off him lest he pounce.
“My dear! How could I ever tire of a beauty like you?”
You nervously laughed and fumbled for the doorknob, grasping at the cold metal and trying to turn it before he got too close, pressing your body into the wood. 
You nearly tumbled into the hallway when the door swung open, barely staying on your feet. The prince’s brow furrowed, so you stood straight and began your cautious backward walk to the nearby staircase, the slippers on your feet tapping against the marble. You kept a smile plastered on your face, trying your best to remain calm and coy on the outside. 
“My family is probably wondering where I am. I don’t want to worry them any longer,” you stated, throwing your hands up in the air with a shrug. “I’m sure my grandmother is already starting to fret.”
The prince stopped his pursuit, pursing his lips and looking you up and down from where you stood, perched on the first step of the marble staircase that would carry you to your holding cell. He clenched his fists and sighed. You noticed a hint of anger slip across his sharp features before he flashed a toothy grin at you, finally closing the distance and taking your clammy hands in his.
“Well, who am I to make someone’s grandmother wait for their darling?”
“I hope you don’t think ill of me, my prince.”
He shook his head, his greasy black hair moving with him. “How could I be mad at such a divine creature?”
You gasped when he pressed your knuckles to his lips, forcing a coy smile on your face before thanking him and hurrying up the marble staircase to gather your things and flee.
He was a sickening creature, possibly the worst one you’d ever encountered—and you’ve had to seduce a Hutt. As you threw on the plain trousers and blouse one of the maids had left you, you couldn’t help but shiver. The prince’s touch lingered on you even though you shed the white garment and threw the slippers across the room. 
You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and noticed there was still a very faint sticky residue trailing down your neck and under the fabric of the blouse, making your skin itch.
You shook your head, walking into the bathroom to try to scrub it off. There was a washcloth neatly folded on the edge of a large pearl sink, and you ran it under hot water, wringing out the excess before bringing it to your sticky neck.
You dropped the used washcloth in the sink, shuddering again when you saw a small area of the white fabric was stained pink.
Hopefully, that was the end of it.
You knew you had to return to the palace and hunt, but you needed to escape for at least one night to nail down a plan beyond seduction. Of course, you assured the prince that you’d return soon for him, maybe in a day or two if your family allowed, and you narrowly avoided his lips falling on yours, instead collecting the nauseating kiss on your cheek.
The hard part wasn’t seducing him, you decided as you finally exited the palace gates. No, the hard part was stomaching the slimeball.
PART 2: DIN
Din woke up frustrated and rock hard in his underwear—a combination that demanded his attention almost as much as she had in that dress she wore to the ball.
Fuck, that dress. He closed his eyes and remembered how good it looked on her as he took his cock in his hand, guiding it out of his underwear. It really wasn’t fair that she made him suffer like this; one day, he’d make her pay. Din bit his lip and groaned as he stroked his cock to the thought of taking her in that palace, fucking her in some empty hallway because he couldn’t wait any longer to feel her. He imagined what it’d be like to silence her with one of his hands covering her mouth, only feeling the vibrations of her moans against his gloved hand with each thrust of his cock. Din groaned and sped up his strokes, imagining how hard he’d fuck her just so he could hear her whimper and beg for more.
It was pathetic how hard and fast he came, ropes of white painting his stomach, all the way to his collarbones. He didn’t even need to think that hard when it came to her; her name was enough to incite frustration and arousal within him. She always left a mess wherever she went, too—whether it was a beheaded Trandoshan, or the cum painting his torso, she was the cause. She was the persistent thorn in his side, the itch he could never scratch, the rock in his boot. 
And, despite it all, he found himself…wanting her.
He huffed as he wiped the mess off himself, erasing the evidence that pointed to his secret desire. Satisfied, he tossed the used towel to the side with the slowly growing pile of dirty clothes near his rack. Ever since Grogu left, he’d cared less about keeping the Crest pristine. It was only when he tripped over something and cursed that he picked up a stray blaster or pair of cuffs, and he only washed things when the pile grew too large or started to smell. It was entirely unlike him, and he should be better by now, but he hadn’t been the same since his tiny companion left.
As he put on his flight suit, he felt a little pang of guilt for mentioning your past partner. Everyone in the Guild knew what happened—vaguely—and he was sure there was a fair amount of anger and grief left inside of you, even years later. 
“I’m no better,” he said with a grunt, sitting down on the cold metal floor to tug on his boots. He saw that he’d left the ammo belt that went on his calf was tossed haphazardly to his left, and he nodded and raised his eyebrows. “And there’s the proof.”
The only thing holding him together was the heavy beskar he was meticulously putting on. His armor was the only item on the Crest that was regularly cleaned and put away in its proper place, no matter how tired or worn out he felt. 
He remembered how sometimes, he’d catch Grogu looking at his warped and muted reflection in it, his big green ears grabbing his attention the most, reaching for them with a tiny, clawed hand. Din would chuckle, the sound muffled to a volume nobody would be able to hear by his helmet, but somehow, Grogu would turn his head and stare at him, startled by Din’s chuckle. He always figured the kid picked up on it with his powers, but he never really got the chance to figure out if his guess was right.
Din shook his head, strapping on his jetpack and pulling on his gloves, balling his hands into fists then stretching his fingers out. He repeated the motion a few more times as he walked over to his armory, opening it and scanning for what he needed—more ammo, more whistling birds, his blaster and vibroblade—and he nodded when he saw that everything was in its place. 
The only thing left after his reload was his helmet, which sat on a shelf in his rack, patiently waiting for him. The familiar hiss as it locked into place helped him shrug off his thoughts of her and the kid, leaving them behind so he could move on. 
He was going on a hunt today, and he needed every ounce of strength that he had.
PART 3: YOU
The woman in the hangar saw you hurrying to your ship and stopped the work she was doing on a droid. You nodded at her and she furrowed her brow.
“Y’know, I actually got a little worried when you didn’t come back from that ball.”
You stopped at your ship’s ramp, turning to face her instead of punching in the access code. Your red dress from the night before was balled up carelessly in your arms, and you were sure you looked odd wearing heels with the bland clothes the prince had given you. Luckily, you hadn’t been forced to wear the necklace home—you’d stuffed it in your pockets, along with some of the fancy toiletries from the bathroom in your room. Apparently, the prince was always ready for visitors.
“Well, I’m sure you weren’t too worried since I paid three days in advance,” you said with a smile, trying to escape a potential conversation before it began.
She crossed her arms and sat up straighter. “I just didn’t know the prince took kindly to strays.”
You scoffed at her remark, rolling your eyes and turning back to the entry pad. “Is everyone on this planet as hospitable as you?”
“I woulda done the same if I were you, let’s be clear.” You heard her stand up and take a couple steps over to you, making you pause again and notice your increasing impatience. “Women like us do what they can to get ahead.”
She crossed her arms and you took a moment to look at her and scan her appearance. Though she was old, her long hair gray in its ponytail, she had an intriguingly gorgeous face, and despite all the lines on her tan skin, it was obvious that she had been a beauty when she was younger. Her eyes were the color of peach stones, and her gaze made you feel both seen and judged all the same. 
“Just watch which beds you lie in. One day, you could end up makin’ it.” She chuckled to herself, walking back to the crate she was sitting on and picking up a tool. “I don’t know about you,” she said, a mischievous smile on her face, “but I hate makin’ mine, and kriff, I sleep in it by myself!”
You laughed, finally entering the code for your ship, the short ramp lowering so you could enter and get the reset time you needed. The “reset” was, of course, you dumping your ball gown on the floor, kicking off your heels, emptying your pockets—you couldn’t wait to use that fancy imported body wash from Coruscant—and flopping onto your rack, settling in for a much-needed nap.
I can get you out of here, you screamed above the blaster fire. 
Both of your hands were stained with fresh, red blood. As you shot at the pirates, you felt the hand you pressed right below their left rib cage get warm with each shallow breath they took. You could barely apply the pressure they needed—your bicep had been shot just minutes before they were. You glanced down at them for a moment, firing a few haphazard shots. Their eyes were closed, mouth agape.
Stay with me, you screamed. Stay the fuck with me!
Don’t you die on me, you yelled.
You grunted as you dragged them up to their feet, trying your best to support them while providing enough cover for you both to run out the way you’d entered.
You woke with a start, your entire body shaking you awake. You took a deep breath and swore, slamming your fist into your rack’s thin mattress.
Your blaster had smelled like iron for months, you recollected, jumping off your rack and rolling your shoulders a few times, rubbing the arm you’d injured that day as you walked to your fresher. Eventually, you pawned it off to some Toydarian on Tattoine. He’d given you a shit amount of credits for it, but it was one of the few times you wanted to be rid of something more than you wanted money for it. If it meant you would be haunted less during the day, it was worth the shit deal.
You stripped out of the palace-provided clothes, kicking them away with a yuck and a grimace. You were so anxious to be rid of the grime from the palace that you didn’t even wait for the water to heat up; besides, the cold water would distract you from your nightmares, and your insidious thoughts about the Mandalorian.
He was getting in your way far too much lately. The thoughts swirling around in your head were constantly invaded by him—after his departure from the palace balcony, you had to lay in bed and quell the arousal that pooled in your belly. 
It was sick the way you wanted him to grab your wrists like he did on Jakku and look you over like you were one of his bounties, his masked gaze only adding to the fantasy. It had been a test of self-control to not touch yourself to the image of him staring down at you as his cock filled your mouth and threatened to force itself down your throat. Denying yourself release to the idea of his voice coaxing—no, demanding—you to orgasm while he curled his fingers inside of your dripping cunt was one of the hardest acts of self-discipline that you’d ever executed.
You’d fallen asleep frustrated and aroused, and as you inhaled the sweet floral scent of the body wash from Naboo, you decided that it had been for your own good. 
You turned off the shower and started to dry yourself off, noticing that your thorough scrubbing allowed the floral scent to linger a little bit. Maybe there had been a perk to spending a night at that palace after all—aside from gaining access to the quarry, of course.
Tonight, you needed a few shots of spotchka and however many drinks you could handle. Looking out your ship’s viewport, you saw the sun was beginning to set, and you decided to see if this weird little moon had any cantinas worth going to. You tossed your towel on the fresher floor, enjoying the perk of walking around your ship completely naked; as much as you enjoyed having a quarry onboard and knowing the bounty you were going to get would be hefty, you also relished the solitary moments you got, too. You had a nice pair of tighter pants that made your ass look impeccable, and you grinned when you found the shirt shoved in the back of one of your drawers that always made people’s eyes drift away from yours. As you got dressed, you hummed a made-up melody, excited to explore a bit. You never minded the attention you got when you wore these clothes; you felt sexy and confident, and you also loved the free drinks that came with the outfit and the sultry smile you flashed at whoever fell for you.
You pulled on your boots, thanking your past self for not taking out the knives you had hidden in each. You stood up and walked over to your rack, jumping up and reaching in, your hand searching wildly for your holster.
“A-ha!” you exclaimed, grasping the leather and dropping to the floor, triumphantly holding it.
You wouldn’t bring your blaster with you tonight, thinking that these people might mind it a bit more than the people in Tatooine cantinas did. You were wearing it as your own silly form of a security blanket; you’d gone nearly an entire rotation without it and you had felt jittery the whole time with only your vibroblade holster strapped to your thigh. You click the belt on, then strapped the thigh band on, taking a few steps to make sure it wasn’t too loose or too tight.
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you took a deep breath. You needed and deserved this little outing. Even if it was a bust, you could at least get a few drinks and unwind before forcing yourself back to the palace to collect your quarry. You smiled at your reflection and then walked to your dresser, filling a small bag with enough credits to pay for drinks before lowering your ship’s ramp and walking into the cool night air.
You were a little surprised to see the old woman still tinkering away with the R2 unit, yellow light from a lamp the only thing illuminating her work area. She looked up at you, then smiled knowingly.
“Take a left outta here, then a right at the first intersection. Walk a little bit, and the cantina will be on your left.”
You nodded, silently thanking her. She shook her head, the smile still stretched across her aged face as you walked past her and onto the street.
PART 4: DIN
The uneven brick road Din walked down was dimly lit, the storefronts lining it closed and some of the apartment windows above them glowing with yellow light, showing that life existed on the moon even after dark.
He was taking a gamble by heading into the village: he risked missing his target and losing out on a bounty that would allow him to take a little time off from hunting. Something in his gut, though, told him to wander the village streets. 
He walked past a small arched entryway with a sign that read “Osha Hangar.” He tilted his head to the side. He doubted that it would be this easy, but if it was, he wouldn’t be mad. Anything that made his life a bit easier amid the almost constant anger and confusion was welcome.
Din walked down the alley and entered a small hangar, large enough for only one ship—and it was currently occupied. He smirked under his helmet, then turned on his thermal sensor, looking around, his hand hovering over his blaster. He picked up a life form behind a wall, and he stalked over to the closed door it was behind, blaster at the ready. Din was sure his arrival would be unexpected, and he relied on that when he gave the door a few quick raps with his gloved knuckles.
“Whaddya want?” 
Din was startled when the door slid open to reveal an old woman with wavy gray hair, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
When he didn’t answer, she looked him up and down, her eyes settling on the blaster in his hand. She scoffed and stared into his visor. “I thought Mandalorians killed quickly. This is the longest anyone has ever taken to threaten my life.”
He took a step back and straightened, maintaining his grip on the blaster. “I’m not here for you.”
“Then what are ya here for? I was just about to get some kriffin’ sleep.” She leaned against her doorway, her stern expression unwavering.
“Who’s staying here?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s asking?”
“A Mandalorian bounty hunter.”
She clicked her tongue and nodded, a sly smile slowly etching across her face. She looked at the ground and chuckled, then met Din’s visor again. “Alright, what are ya, a jealous lover? Someone who’s angry they missed the morning after sex and wants payback for the snub?”
Din huffed in frustration at her pointed questions, growing impatient with her. “I told you, I’m a Mandalorian bounty hunter, and I know my quarry isn’t here.”
“Whatever you say, Mandalorian.” The old woman stuck out her palm, waving her fingers. “But in my hangar, nothin’s free.”
He scoffed and tilted his head back, digging in his utility belt for the sack of credits he kept on him in case of shitty situations like this. He placed some credits in her palm, and she peered down at them, squinting. She straightened and took a step back, wrapping her fingers around the credits.
“Go to the cantina.”
“Where is it?”
She smiled. “You didn’t pay enough for that, Mandalorian.”
The door slid closed in front of Din, and he growled as he turned around and headed back to the street. Of course this hunt would be a frustrating one—he should have expected it when it came to her.
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kachawo · 2 years
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Have you heard? There's a ghost in the forests of Cloud Recesses.
He's been there since the siege of the Burial Mounds.
A beautiful man with long white hair, tied up in a ponytail with a bright red ribbon, wearing pristine white robes that looked unfit on him.
"How do you know so much? That sounds awfully detailed!"
"That's because I've seen him before!"
He wasn't harmful. If he was, the ghost would have been eliminated a long time ago. Unwelcome in the realm of the clouds.
Rather, he was quite.... gentle.
The ghost was quiet, it was already rare to catch a glimpse of him. Maybe it was shy?
Despite all the rumors within the Cloud Recesses, this ghost was actually very kind.
He wasn't evil like the Grandmaster had said. Not dangerous like the sect leader has heeded.
In fact, he was just like Hanguang-jun had described him as.
The first time a-yuan came in contact with the ghost, he was in the bamboo forest crying.
He scored the lowest in his swordsmanship class, he struggled to hold his wooden sword that he caught splinters.
Instead of getting it treated by the healers he left and hid in the back hills. He sat in front of a river, dipped his wounded hands in the colt water and hissed.
It wasn't a big wound, so a-yuan thinks it'll heal easily.
But it doesn't stop the warm droplets that fall from his eyes.
He stays like that, hugging his knees with hurt hands and sniffing his sobs, when suddenly he hears a rustle of the leaves.
The ghost watched him with unfocused eyes, it felt a bit eerie, he stared at a-yuan silently that the child almost forgot abot his own tears because of fear.
A few minutes later, the ghost continues forward, away and out of the child's sight.
A-yuan sighs in relief, but then winces when he moves his hands, he grasped them too tight, now they're bleeding a bit more.
Suddenly he finds himself a bunny dropped into his wounded hands.
Surprised, he almost flinches, but afraid of frightening the young animal, A-yuan forces himself not too.
Ghostly hands take the bunny into their arms and move them to a-yuan's lap, then they find themselves softly hovering over the child's hands.
When A-yuan looks up, he finds the same ghost from earlier, kneeling on the grass and looking at his wounds with faceless concern.
His finger, the child thinks, are cold. Just like Hanguang-jun's.
But at the same time it felt the warmest a-yuan has ever felt, it was soft, gentle. It was comforting.
A-yuan finds that his lap was now two bunnies full, then three, then four. Then as he looks at the ghost again, a fifth. It seems the ghost had come back with company, maybe to comfort the crying child.
The bunnies seem to agree with this plan, happily sitting in his lap and staying still as the child stroked their white fur.
With his lap and hands occupied, the ghost seems to decide that he should place a bunny on his head, and does exactly so.
A-yuan laughs into his now drying tears.
He could get used to this.
There's a ghost in the back hills. He's kind and harmless.
The ghost helps guide children back to their homes.
When they don't have one, he makes one for them.
There's a ghost in the back hills of Cloud Recesses, he accompanies the bunnies so they aren't alone.
He makes the birds sing for someone who cries.
He gives homes to those who don't have them.
There's a ghost.
[Inspired by @yinyuexielie 's ghost wei wuxian au]
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euphoriacafe · 2 years
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Somebody I Used To Know: Elvis Presley Series 2
All For Us ; Chapter 2
Austin!Elvis Presley x Female Reader
Summary: A group of Diverse adults who are singers that traveled through other countries, some would call them hippies and others would call them abominations. Alexis, who is one of the main singers for the band, met Elvis Presley when he was barely starting his career and only fate can decide whether or not Alexis will save him.
Warnings: Lots of Swearing, Yelling, Sexual content, Twisting of history and angst/mentions of death.
Note: This series is purely inspired by the songs, I wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys & Somebody I Used To Know by Gotye.
PS. THIS STORY WILL HAVE SOME DETAILS SUCH AS HOMOSEXUALITY, TRANSGENDER, DRAG QUEENS, DIVERSE GROUPS ALSO SOME SONGS USED BY THE "BAND" WILL BE 21ST CENTURY.
Chapter 1
(I RECOMMEND LISTENING TO SHE KNOWS BY J.COLE FOR THIS)
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     Those baby blue eyes have haunted me ever since that night. As well as feeling sick to my stomach, I was also feeling dizzy. Alcohol may have played a part or maybe we never separated our eyes from each other. All I could do was lean my back against the wooden bar while everyone danced, laughed, sang, and partied like there was no tomorrow. I don’t want to be attracted to him, I dislike his little smug face. There is a woman who is in love with him. I have to hate him if I don’t and just sleep with him. What does that make me? Where do my morals go after that? One moment I was staring at him when he sat at the window drinking a beer and the next I was in the bed of the hotel laying next to Cherry. The sunshine was peaking through the blue curtains glaring at my dark brown eyes. 
Do I remember much towards the end of the night? No, I drank till I felt my body felt light to get rid of these emotions. 
One thing I do remember though is before I went to bed I saw that Elvis had a hotel room next to Hank Snow that was on the other side of the lot from me. What else did I see? Well, just a pretty little whore that walked into his room after he opened it.
Did I imagine it?
No.
I couldn’t. 
Any boy or man is the same. Sex is what drives them and when they want it they get it no matter what the cost is. I slowly sat up feeling groggy and dizzy from the drinking. Pushing the blankets off of my body I turned my view to Cherry’s body. It wasn’t unusual for any of us to sleep in the same bed. It was more of a comfort to us if anything. We were like a tight mixed family that never left each other's side. “Cherry wake up babes.” I stood up and began to stretch a bit. The only clothing I had on was a pair of black panties that hugged my waist well.
Cherry mumbled under her breath still laying down and most likely it was a simple “no, not yet please.” She pulled the covers over her head and I chuckled. 
“Fine, stay in bed but remember that we need to start getting ready for tonight for that hayride shit.” I walked over to the blue chair grabbing my white robe and tightened the tie around my stomach. 
Even though it was hard for me to lose weight and god knows i’ve tried too. That one would notice over time is that real men loved women who had a little bit of weight on them. Especially girls who looked foregin, it was more of a weird awful fetish that men loved and to a certain point would pay to hide away. The world could only change so much and for us -Velvet Pristin- well we forced the world to accept us despite the sexism and racism. I was taught by Mother Dani that we should never be afraid to embrace our bodies or sexuality and that is something I held deep to my heart. 
Being a short woman when most people are tall as fuck and having somewhat dark skin was something that definitely drew in the weird people. Men pictured me as innocent till I’m on stage and since I’m a woman they didn’t have a problem with it till other women get jealous. I don’t want their men, but to make other women flustered I would usually sing to them. It usually rings out which women held in their deep desires to just be with another woman instead of the typical man. 
Have I slept with another woman? Yes.
Have I slept with a man? Well…
“Good, you're finally awake.” Scartella came through the door bringing me out of my thoughts. 
Scartella has always been an early bird ever since we got back to touring the country again. Before we came to Tennessee she was residing in California doing films left and right, even got a role to be Snow White. That was aside from the point though. 
“I am and I am starving.” Before I could leave the room Scartella put a hand on my shoulder stopping me.
“Listen I saw that boy you were staring at last night,”Scartella’s voice went soft and gave me a small smile. “Are you seeing him?” She was completely interested in this type of topic, a little bit too much for my liking. 
“No, I wouldn’t involve myself with a southern boy and especially when all men are the same,” I squinted, shaking my head displeased. Her smile faded and grew a small pout. “I would rather marry a horse or geese than a southern boy.”
“Well that’s not true, not every boy is the same.” Kira interrupted and brought Steven and Hunter into the room with her. “I mean Steven and Hunter are from Tennessee and they are perfect gentlemen.” Kira placed her purse on the couch sitting down. 
“Now I think I won’t even be able to eat now.” I whined under my breath walking back to the edge of the bed.
“I mean some men can be trashy.” Steven spoke, taking his spot next to Kira. 
“I mean well any person can be trashy but it just all depends how you treat them.” Hunter explained taking a sip of his Coca Cola bottle. Of course, the people who were actually in relationships were giving me life advice again. At this point I felt as if this was being planned to talk about. 
“Is there a point to this,” I looked at them just over it all already by now. “I really just want to eat and finish my day so then I can sleep away.” I clasped my hands together and rocked myself a bit back and forth. 
“We saw you talking to Elvis Presley and we got curious to what you both could possibly be talking about,” Hunter asked but was cut off by Scartella getting hyper again shouting “Or what you both possibly could be doing?” She winked. 
Oh my god. 
They think I slept with the Presley boy. 
The silence grew and the tension became unbearable. What kind of answer did they want from me? I sighed and stood up looking at all of them in the eyes. They leaned in for my answer and I couldn’t wait to actually disappoint them at this moment. “You really want to know?” I smiled bending over to them with my hands on my knees. I scrunched my nose and while they nodded frantically they grinned as if they knew the answer. 
“I told him I never want to see his pretty little self again.” I whispered, yet it was so loud of them that their smiles slowly faded and went into disbelief.   
I chuckled and stood up straight. “He has a girlfriend.” I turned on my heel and opened the door. “Also take in mind that even if I had sex with him, it wouldn’t be in a dark room nor would be around anyone to hear.” I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I took a deep inhale and exhaled seeing Greyson standing outside his hotel room already smoking. “Your food is in my room.” I smiled once those beautiful words came out of his mouth. “You are a fucking saint, did you know that?” I asked. 
Greyson scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a saint, just someone who didn’t want to hear you be cranky.” 
I nodded and gave him a goofy grin saying “Good man. You’ll make your wife very proud someday.” 
He scoffed at opening the door to the hotel room for me and I saw Skye doing Dani’s hair as he stuffed his face with a muffin. “Good Morning sunshine.” Skye blurted going back to Dani’s curls. 
“Morning hun’s.” I bit my lip going wide eyed seeing eggs inside a small food box. “Seems like mama just scored.” I snatched the box, opened it and grabbed a fork. I took a small bite of the delicious food and moaned. “Gosh, this is all I wanted.” I sat down in the chair feeling Dani gawking at me.
“Why are you staring at me?” I spoke, keeping my eyes on my food. 
“No reason.” Dani spoke quietly; his accent was thick and heavy.
“Are you going to stay for the Festival tonight Alexis?” Skye proposed. “I mean everyone is going to stay except for Rory and I since tonight is our anniversary.” 
I grew irritated, love is all around me yet no one fitted my standards enough to be with me. I closed my eyes and licked my lips. “Do I have to stay at the festival?” I shot a glare at Skye who never once looked at me this entire time. Some would call me an asshole, others would call me an honest woman, others would call me scary, but in reality I was just mentally tired. “You don’t have to but it would be appreciated if you do stay.” Dani butted in eating one last piece of the muffin off the plate. 
I sighed, dropping my fork and closing the box. I didn’t want to be alone… no one wants to be alone but that’s just how the cookie crumbles. I nodded my head standing up fixing my robe. “Yes I’ll stay as long as there is food or alcohol.” I put the box in the small black trash can.
“Good now go to practice. I'll make sure to get you ready before the festival.” Skye spoke again, never breaking eye contact with Dani’s hair. I inhaled deeply and walked out the door.
Across the hotel lot, I saw the female giggling as she walked out of Elvis' room. It was at this point that my ears felt dead, and my eyes got blurry as I saw Elvis leaning against the door frame watching the girl leave.
There was no doubt in my mind. I knew.
His focus went from the girl to across the lot almost freezing once he saw me. “I know what to write now.” I whispered to myself.
I walked into my hotel room opening the door wide and then looking back to see him still standing there still frozen at his door frame.
-Elvis POV-
  Throughout the entire night it was hell for him watching Alexis laugh and touch other guys arms. Her soft brown eyes, the way the blue dress hugged every curve she had, the soft tan complexion, even after the brief discussion inhaling her intoxicating scent and touching her small gentle hands. Elvis almost felt bad if he accidentally tightened his grip on her when pulling into a different room. He had a girlfriend, Barbara Hearn, his sweet angel. Although the relationship was always on and off he still cared about everything she would think and say.
Why was he thinking about another woman? It wasn’t like him to do that. 
Truth be told the only reason why he knew of Velvet Pristin was due to Barbara loving them and giving her the confidence boost. Barbara was always open to things and that’s what Elvis adored about her. Yet, once Elvis laid eyes on that woman the first time she performed for the Hayride he couldn’t remove his eyes from her.
His blood would boil and continued to drink all night long but it was never enough to get him drunk. He left the event before anyone could notice and went back to the hotel. Colonel Parker set everyone up in hotels while we traveled and well he couldn’t be more thankful for that. God knows that even Elvis couldn’t be able to afford this type of hotel. 
“Yes Mama, I’m stayin’ in at the hotel I’m not leavin’ I promise.” He was cut off by a sudden knock at the door. Elvis thought it was probably Hank Snow asking for him to quiet it down which to his defense he did feel bad here and there. “I’ll call you right back mama. Love you too.” He hung up the phone. 
“Hank I’m,” Elvis opened the door to find a pretty girl standing at his door. Black hair, white skin, red lipstick. Elvis could’ve sworn the devil sent her to tempt him. 
“Hi there.” Her accent was high and southern she gave a seductive smile with fuck me eyes. She walked past Elvis into the room swaying her hips side to side. His breath hitched in the back of his throat looking down and following her steps. This is wrong, Elvis, ask her to leave Elvis. 
No.
He closed the door behind him, missing the shadow that stood at the balcony on the other side of the lot. The girl started to strip from her dress and kicked off her red heels. Elvis this is your last chance, ask her to leave, Elvis. His mind grew cloudy, filled with lust and swallowing hard.
Elvis walked to the window curtains and shut them quickly before turning his view to the girl, observing the way her skin looked soft. Strolling over to the girl he stood towering over her. It was too late. She grabbed his planting small delicate kisses on his knuckles before trailing it down to her chin, neck, then finally to her chest. 
“Well aren’t you just a naughty little thing.” Elvis' tone was husky and filled with want. Laying her back against the bed as her short hair touched the pillow he climbed on top of the girl. She placed her hands on Elvis' shoulders pushing off the shirt he was wearing; he looked down to her waist only for a split second then looked back to her face. Suddenly it wasn’t the same girl he let into his hotel room. It wasn’t Barbara's face he saw. 
Alexis.
This wasn’t real, he had to be drunk even if he swore he wasn’t.
Either way his chest started to puff more and more not wanting to let it end. “You so pretty Mama.” He let those words fall out of his mouth. As the girl giggled he was memorized by the pretty white lie his mind was pulling. The girl lifted her head up smashing both of their lips together. 
His lips became hungry and even though his body knew it wasn’t Alexis he forced the imagination.
The pulled away and watched as he rubbed the wetness between his thumb and pointer finger that was left on her pink panties before looking back at her. 
“Do I turn you on that much, mama?” He gave a wicked grin. All the girl did was let her body answer by nodding, unbuckling Elvis’s belt, exposing the bareness of his lower waist. 
“I’m loving the feeling that you’re giving me more than anything else,” She responded. Elvis allowed himself to sink further into the girl's body so that he could get more comfortable. The girl watched Elvis adjusting his body and feeling the bulge growing in his pants, pushing down his pants. 
The girl flipped them both to where she was on top of his now exposed crotch. She slipped her panties to the side and let her folds be split by his throbbing dick. 
“Lay tight baby. Be a good boy baby,” She pleaded breathily, she spat on her fingers and brought them to her pink clit, rolling it in circles. She exhaled, throwing her head back, shutting her eyes as she grinded against Elvis' long dick. Elvis watched as she was relaxing her body on top of him. “Don’t you wish you could be inside of me, Elvis?” As she continued to finger her sensitive clit. 
“Oh mama,” Elvis groaned loudly.
“Tell me what you’d do to me, Elvis” She moaned. He stared at her, half-lidded with hunger. He watched as his erection was now swollen and fidgeting under between her folds.
“Trust me baby. I’d take care of you.” She moaned. 
She raised her body a bit  still rubbing spirals into your clit, feeling her body reflexively arch against her own fingers as she worked. She couldn’t help but moan loudly, keeping her eyes locked onto his.
All he could picture was Alexis’s tan body, every little thing she could see as an imperfection but would be perfect to him. All Elvis could hear or at least imagine was Alexis' little cries and moans that would sound like music to his ears.
He grabbed a hold of the girl's waist digging his nails as she started to tease the head of his dick against her clit. Letting out a groggy groan he panted.
“Since you want to tease, I’d teach you a lesson.” He shook his head to give her an answer.  
The girl bit at her bottom lip as he spoke, enjoying the way he was still in control even without having to do any work. She let the tip of his dick enter only, inserting it slowly inside. 
“Oh you’re so big, Elvis.” She murmured, her voice falling apart as she went further down his erection. Elvis loved the warmth that was surrounding her erection but all he could picture was how tight he would want Alexis to be. 
“Can I touch you?” He begged, springing forward holding a small piece of her back. She  nodded her head with a toothy grin but moaned out loud when she felt him moving inside of her.
“You’re so good, mama.” He spoke, placing his thumb on her clit, rolling lazy circles. She held her breath as he kissed the girl flicking his tongue against her tongue. She felt the heat from his breath, while her core was in need for him to move inside of her more. She grinded her hips into his feeling him move and twitch more. She shut her eyes tightly moaning into his lips. 
“Open your eyes, mama.” Elvis questioned, breaking up the kiss and flipping her back to when she was laying on the bed. 
In a quick response, quickening his speed inside of her, He dived into her neck, flicking his tongue and biting onto her skin. He was using the fullness of his lips to close around her neck shooting more pleasure to her core.  
“oh–” She cried out, bringing one of her hands to his shoulder and the back of his head, squeezing. He continued slamming his hips into hers going deeper each time and taking the opportunity for his hand to sneak up to find hers, lacing his fingers. She brought her hands up to her chest, pinching her nipples, doing anything she could to keep herself from coming too soon. She was in full bliss that she must’ve forgotten her name. Moans slipped from her throat. “Oh my lord, please, Elvis,” She shouted. Elvis began to chuckle lightly. 
“Don’t worry baby. Keep still,” he groaned. His face was flushed. The girl did as he instructed her, staying in position as he pulled her legs towards her body, burying himself further and deeper. Elvis increased his speed and pressure. 
“Oh Elvis!” She blurted out in a moan, “I’m so close Elvis!” She said, letting her eyes roll back.
She felt him breathing heavily against her neck, and knew that he was just as tired as she was. He was moaning in pleasure as he felt her squeeze around his erection, soon following her as he pulled out cumming onto her stomach. She closed her eyes and let herself fall apart against him, as her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Elvis rose from being on top of her. She watched as he went to the restroom to grab a wet towel and came back to wipe off her stomach.
Once Elvis came back and looked at the girl he didn’t see Alexis’s face anymore. He took in a deep breath and exhaled deeply.
For her it filled her with euphoria and bliss just getting to say she slept with the hottest man in the south. His face was sticky with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, showing obvious proof of a shared journey. 
After wiping off the stickiness of the cum he laid in the bed as she cuddled herself into his side. He regretted every moment of this, this wasn’t him. Thinking of another woman, sleeping with another woman. 
He dozed off and as time flew past through the night he woke up to the girl staring at him lovingly. He wanted her gone. He sat up and smiled “I’m sorry but you have to leave,” he was cut off. 
“Mary.” She said after all this time he barely learned her name. 
He didn’t care. He wanted her out. He gave a small smile and chuckle. “Well thank you for the loving night, Mary. But I have to get ready for my day.” She nodded and as she got undressed she picked up her outfit quickly fixing her hair and just threw on the outfit. 
Elvis stood up putting on his trousers with no shirt, he walked Mary to the door and opened it. She gave him a small kiss on the lips and began to walk away biting her lip. 
He was mad at himself and he eyed the girl. 
Turning his sight from the girl he looked across and saw Alexis. 
His breathing stopped and mumbled a small “No…” He straightened his posture and watched as she closed the door to her hotel room. 
Great.
______________________________________________________________
I hope you all enjoyed it, let me know if there is anything I could improve on!!
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elspethdekarios · 2 months
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Faerûnian 29 Day Writing Challenge: Day 5
I took some creative liberty with this prompt, so instead of writing Elspeth seeing companions/Gale in a battle for the first time, I wrote about her reminiscing at camp after their first day adventuring (including battle). Just a sweet little conversation between her and Gale as they get to know each other 🥰
SFW / fluff / Gale x Female OC
Feb 5. In camp after their first day of exploring and fighting
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Calm waves rippled in the moonlight as Elspeth sat on the shore of the river where they made camp. The night was warm, crickets chirped in the grass, and the smell of a burning campfire lingered in the air. El stared ahead, letting the moon’s shimmering reflection on the water lull her into a mindless trance. How could she even begin to process the past 24 hours? The shock of learning that her ex was engaged to her sister hardly seemed noteworthy in comparison to all of this. Kidnapped. Parasitic tadpole in her head. Having a strange, pale elf hold a knife to her throat. Said elf tagging along in their group of oddballs all inflicted with the same terrifying condition. Pulling a handsome wizard out of a portal. It would take someone years to process all of it. 
The strange skeletal being they found in the tomb floated ominously at the edge of her peripheral. Withers, he called himself. He seemed useful, but it was still off-putting to see him. He didn’t talk much, but Elspeth got the sense that he was always watching, taking note of everything they did. He posed no threat, and, if anything, seemed rather peaceful. Somehow, he was still the least remarkable part of their day.
The challenge of finding Withers was another story. Upon entering the abandoned temple, they were met not only with a group of bandits, but several undead skeleton scribes guarding the tomb where Withers resided. She didn’t have any weapons–neither did Gale–but thankfully, their spells were efficient enough to not need them. Lae’zel and Astarion, on the other hand, took turns stabbing and shooting with the weapons they had stumbled across. Lae’zel was terrifying in general, but even more so with a bloodied sword in her hands. Astarion had incredible precision with his shortbow, sending arrows flying before the target could even blink. She and Gale stayed behind them, her casting guiding bolts and giving sanctuary to anyone who needed it while he shook the ground with thunderwaves and hurled chromatic orbs of fire at their enemies. His hand gestures and incantations were meticulous and calculated, and El couldn’t help but admire the ease with which he seemed to command magic. 
Muffled footsteps moved through the sand as Gale approached, as if he could sense her lingering thoughts about him. He looked remarkably pristine for the day that they all had. He had removed his purple robe to reveal a white wrap shirt and brown pants that buttoned almost to his waist.
“Are you opposed to some company?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Elspeth said, motioning for him to sit next to her. He stayed a respectful distance away, which was probably for the best, though she wondered if he felt the same spark that she had when she first saw him. Probably not. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. If they were likely to be mindflayers within the next tenday, there was no point anyway.
“Quite an eventful day.” Gale leaned back on a rock and watched the rippling waves as she did.
“That’s certainly one way to describe it,” El said. “I keep thinking that this must be a terrible dream. I’m still not entirely convinced it isn’t.”
“It does feel rather nightmarish, doesn’t it?” he toyed with a small stick in the sand, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and gods, if forearms weren’t her uttermost weakness, she didn’t know what was. “Either way, I’m just glad not to be navigating this on my own. A parasite shared is a parasite halved, or… something to that effect.”
Elspeth giggled, her first actual smile since being abducted. “I suppose that’s reason enough to be thankful.”
“Speaking of gratitude,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Thank you for saving me. I’m not sure I would have survived if you hadn’t stopped to help.”
“Of course. I couldn’t just leave you. Plus, I’ve been enjoying your company.”
Even in the dim moonlight, his eyes were enchanting. She could have sworn she saw a hint of surprise in them at her last statement, but it dissipated quickly.
“And I yours,” he said. “So, you’re from Baldur’s Gate?”
“Born and raised.”
“I’ve visited a few times. It’s no Waterdeep, but it’s a close second on my list of the Sword Coast’s great cities… well, maybe third ....”
“I take it you’re fond of Waterdeep, then?” Elspeth asked.
“Oh, yes. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Do you feel the same? About Baldur’s Gate, I mean.”
Elspeth shrugged. “Honestly, I’d love to move somewhere new. I think I’ve probably outstayed my welcome.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head with genuine interest.
“It’s…” Elspeth hesitated. She didn’t exactly want to relive her past mishaps or tell them to strangers. She shook her head. “It’s a long story. I just want a fresh start.”
Gale nodded and she took the opportunity to change the subject.
“Tell me about your library.”
His eyes lit up at her request.
“It’s my favorite place in the world,” he said, looking off in the distance like it might help him imagine the room. “I have thousands of books–academic, fiction, poetry–from years of collecting. A case of rare tomes I’ve secured from various places. There’s a balcony that overlooks the sea, a fireplace to relax in front of… a far cry from our makeshift tents.”
“It sounds lovely,” she said as she watched him reminisce. “I’d love to have a room like that someday.”
“I presume that means you enjoy reading.”
“I do,” she said. “But I only have a meager bookshelf, I’m afraid.”
“Better than nothing,” he said. “Every great library starts that way, after all.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, letting the serenity of the night settle around them. The chaos of the day began to quiet in Elspeth’s mind, and with the newfound calm came an overwhelming drowsiness.
“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” she said as she stood up and brushed the sand from her pants. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
“Thank you for allowing me to keep you company,” he replied, still seated. “Goodnight, Elspeth.”
Something about his voice, the way he looked up at her, or maybe just the gentle stillness of the night made her heart swell and ache at the same time. 
“Goodnight, Gale.”
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sparrowandbee · 3 months
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Chapter 5, Part 1 | Chapter 6
The Sparrow: Chapter 5, Part 2: Attachments
Synopsis: Marian is greeted by a surprise on the night before the interview.
Warnings: Mention of alcoholism and substance abuse.
Author's Note: I’ve legitimately have had the best time posting this past week! So excited to keep sharing Marian and Haymitch’s story in the new year. Stay safe, have fun, and I can’t wait to see you in 2024! - Lu 🪶
Word Count: 847
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After dinner we continued our routine as usual, mutually abstaining from acknowledging that afternoon.
We spent a few hours in the living room, sharing just one bottle of whiskey (though he had drunk most of it) and more stupid jokes, before I called it an early night since the televised interviews were tomorrow.
I treated myself to another delectable shower- this time orange and calla lily scented- and adjusted the room lights to my preferred warm yellow as I cozied up in my toasty bathrobe, thanks to the heated robe closet I had learned how to turn on.
Sure, a small part of me feared these luxuries were going to spoil me before the scarcity of the arena, but I’ve lived my whole life in scarcity. Plus, chances were that I’d be dead in a few days time, so I refused to deny myself a cucumber scented face mask (yes, I tried to eat it at first) and a cup of fresh mint tea.
I knew all that stuff was temporary, and it didn’t bother me, but that night there was a particular sting as I reminisced on my time at the Capitol.
I could live a normal, full life without scented showers and fine china but I could no longer fathom a day without Haymitch by my side. It was only then that I realized how much I’d come to rely on his stupid jokes and boisterous laughter. How he woke up every morning before the sun to make sure I had enough to eat before training, even though he knew I’d just spend another day flailing around. The way he nodded and whispered to me “it’s okay” when I scored a mere three on my training.
I was becoming attached at that scared the shit out of me because I didn’t know who I would become if I had to fight for someone other than myself. There are lines I would never cross for my own survival, but how far would I go for Haymitch’s sake?
The question lingered as I idled my way to the writing desk. I didn’t have much of anything to note today but I still wanted to honor my routine. Next to my usual gold-rimmed teacup sat a lacquered wooden box wrapped in the most beautiful pink silk ribbon, joining in a tight, asymmetrical bow right at its centre. Attached was a white tag which read- in messy handwriting- a simple “M.”
I smiled, despite myself, and realised that it was far too late to detach now. The damage was long done.
I giggled like an overexcited child and pulled the bow apart, setting the tag and ribbon off to the side. The lid was heavy under my touch, it was quite the luxurious feeling to lift its gold hinges open. But the opulence of the box could have never prepared me for its contents. For the first time since my reaping, I allowed warm, wet tears to roll down my face. Gratitude flowed through my body as my wet eyes scanned the first true gift I had ever received.
The box contained a set of pristine golden needles nested inside a brand-new embroidery hoop. The other section of the box held more thread than I could count in vibrant colours I didn’t even know existed.
“How did you know?” I whispered to myself, as if he was right there beside me. Clearly I wasn’t being as sneaky as I thought with my pastime, but Haymitch wasn’t as aloof as he came off either.
I took the box and set it down on the bed, not even hesitating to place a square piece of plain cloth into the hoop, thread a needle and work mindlessly, leaving my pad of papers untouched on the desk, just for one night. I forgot all about the Games and strategy and the impending exhibition of the interview. The world fell away as I worked with delicate blue, white, and gold threads, creating something beautiful in an atmosphere that was so intent on destruction.
Nearly everybody knew how to sew in District 12. It was a basic skill, necessary for when clothes were the exact opposite of disposable or replaceable. Every house had a small sewing kit, and my mother’s one-bedroom in the Seam was no exception. The kit had probably come with the apartment as her hands were never steady enough for a needle and she was never lucid enough to realize her skirts needed stitching. It was one of the few things I was adamant to keep after she died and I was evicted- I embroidered flowers on every piece of clothing I owned (granted, it wasn’t much). As dirty or tattered as my blouses and trousers got, those flowers made them beautiful to me. I suppose I never really tried to conceal them and Haymitch must have remembered the flowers when he saw me around the Hobb. It made me smile to think of him noticing that at a time where I felt so alone in the world.
Even then I wasn’t.
Next Chapter
Masterlist
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ghcstchild-a · 6 months
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𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @hetaoren // LAN QIREN
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Wei Wuxian has lived with them for years now. It's taken time for the two men to come to a sort of peace, both needing to meet the other somewhere in the middle. Maybe Wuxian has changed or maybe Lan Qiren is actually getting old and too tired to be upset and worried. Or maybe he has realised that Lan Wangji isn't repeating the mistake of his father. Perhaps it's a little of all three options. Lan Qiren has invited Wei Wuxian for tea, having poured it for them both. Before he takes a sip from his own cup, he slides something towards the younger man. "I thought this might come of use." It's a jade token, which he already has, but this isn't the regular token. The Lan jade tokens comes in three kinds: for guests, for sect members and for Lans by blood. However, the third comes in two groups, the one most blood-Lans have and one that's only for the clan leader's family: Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren, and now also Wei Wuxian. A sign that the oldest in the family has now fully accepted him as that: family.
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THE INVITATION STILL manages to surprise him, delivered to the doors of jingshi when he wakes, not too early — perhaps all these years of him complaining about the Lan routine finally took their effect. Wei Wuxian is a mess during most mornings, finding himself in an empty bed yet somehow he still puts on his husband's under robes by sheer force of habit, white sleeves peeking shamelessly from beneath the reds and blacks of his hanfu, a striking contrast he's grown too comfortable with. He tries his best to look respectable nonetheless. Decent to a certain extent. He doesn't want the old man to have more reasons for the usual grumbling.
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❝ Shufu, ❞ he bows upon entering, the warmth of a smile tinted slightly darker with caution — it's been weeks since they saw each other last, at a family dinner that felt like a chore and he tried, he really tried to be on his best behavior now that Lan Qiren seemed finally willing to cut him some slack, but then again. A prolonged offering of peace should never be mistaken for the end of a war. A cold one, mostly. Quite idle on both sides. It's quite graceful when he lowers himself in front of the older man, everything about his demeanor pristine and proper, as he's been learning from the best. ❝ You wished to see– ❞ his voice trails off at the sight of a jade token, the kind he once tried to steal from Lan Zhan only to discover that the majority of them are far less intricate and ornate. It should be obvious enough, yet disbelief still settles in his eyes as they rise to meet the other's gaze, warmer now it seems, or HE'S IMAGINING THINGS. Lan Wangji insisted on making one of these for him once, but Wei Wuxian found it redundant as he rarely left the Cloud Recesses on his own and could do well enough with a simpler sect token. Coming from Lan Qiren, however, it's entirely different. His tea untouched, forgotten as eyes dart from the man to the beautiful stonework, and it feels like he's imagining things once more. ❝ Shufu, I— ❞ he repeats, voice laced with shock and softness as fingers finally reach for it, barely grazing the ornate details to ensure it's real. And he smiles, gently, contagiously, like a child who cannot find the right words, before arms wrap around the man in a warm and unexpectedly tight embrace. So much for filial piety, and yet, it feels right somehow. He's never seen either of the twin jades act so carefree, but Wei Wuxian was never a Lan, never learned the solemn austerity of one and wouldn't trade his name for his husband's despite the profound love and respect for him. He wishes to stay himself. He retains that right. And it seems like this time, even the clan's elder has begun to warm up to the fact. ❝ Thank you. ❞
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fortune-maiden · 1 year
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As you asked for suggestions... Fluffvember day 18 (Sweet Dreams) with the Shiblings? Or three tumours and 17. Something like that.
Thank you for the prompt!! <3
I really wanted to fill both of but brain was not cooperating for Day 17. What I pictured for that was something like Ling Wen: I didn't know you could cook. Shi Wudu: ....how exactly did you think Qingxuan and I survived by ourselves?
But anyway! Day 18! Shiblings! :D (no one has sweet dreams in this story though i'm sorry i failed orz)
AO3
Shi Wudu’s nightmares start out no different from his dreams.
In his dreams, he is happy. He is outside, near a large body of water. Sometimes he’s swimming in it. Sometimes he’s fishing. Sometimes, a boat ride.
Always, his brother is with him.
Shi Qingxuan cannot swim in the waking world and it’s no different in the dream one. He always stays at the shore but calls to Shi Wudu excitedly.
This time, he’s calling him for a picnic. They have a blanket laid out, and plenty of food. The spread is something out of a painting, that Shi Wudu hasn’t seen on a real table since before their parents died. Shi Qingxuan rattles off the names of the different dishes, and Shi Wudu scolds him for spending so much, but in his dreams, they can afford it, so the scolding has no force behind it.
Then the laughing starts.
“Wretched beginning, wretched end!” The words chase the sun behind clouds, turn warmth to ice, and dream to nightmare.
“Gege!” Shi Qingxuan cries and Shi Wudu holds him. They’re almost the same height but Qingxuan feels so small and fragile, clinging to his brother’s robes as be begs him not to let go.
Shi Wudu never wants to let go.
The Reverend of Empty Words never gives him a choice.
“You will never save your brother!” it mocks him and rips Shi Qingxuan out of his arms and throws him aside. Where Qingxuan falls, Shi Wudu doesn’t see. He never does, only hears his deafening cries and pleas for help.
Shi Wudu gnashes his teeth and swipes at the monster in front of him. The Reverend of Empty Words is an immovable stone, leaving behind a stinging black sludge on Shi Wudu’s hand.
“Your brother’s fate belongs to me!” it tells him and begins to laugh, louder and louder until Qingxuan’s desperate wails are completely drowned out.
That laughter is the last thing Shi Wudu hears before he jolts awake.
His head smacks against the wall he’d leaned on at some point as the outdoor scenery fades back into their small mountainside shack. The picnic spread has turned back into Shi Wudu’s desk, an overturned inkstone running a thin black river over the edge dripping black dots onto previously pristine white robes. A black streak on the back of his hand reveals the culprit immediately, the vague sensation of the immovable creature Shi Wudu had swiped at flashing faintly across his vision.
Shi Wudu regards the mess on the table in disdain. He stops the dripping ink with palm, dirtying his hand even more, and stands up to begin cleaning away the mess. His body is stiff from the poor sleeping posture and pricks uncomfortably from the dread he has yet to banish. The house is dark, the last candle having melted and gone out while he slept. Only familiarity and the glowing streak of moonlight from the window let him easily find his way.
He scrubs his hands free of ink, then downs a few gulps of cold water to douse the suffocating heat in his chest, before taking a worn-out rag back to the table.
Swift back and forth motions help Shi Wudu forget the nightmare. Forget that shadow constantly hanging over them to tear down their happiness. The Reverend of Empty Words in the nightmare isn’t real and the real one will never tear his brother from his arms so easily on his watch.
The forceful scrubbing slowly makes the dark stain on the table fade away, but it does not help him forget the laughter, nor the reason he’s up so late in the first place.
Shi Qingxuan still isn’t home.
-----
Shi Qingxuan knows he is in trouble.
He’s lost his sense of the hour somewhere with his ability to walk in a straight line, and the moon is well past its highest point when he finally finishes the dizzying journey home.
His heart skips a beat when he sees no lights in the window – a sign that can only mean his brother isn’t home or asleep. He hopes it’s the former. Unless he isn’t home because he went out looking from him. Then, preferably the latter.
Shi Qingxuan fumbles his way inside, a thrilling glee bubbling in his throat at the thought of reaching his bed without lecture, but a movement near the window crushes those hopes instantly.
“Where have you been?”
Shi Qingxuan jumps. He’s always been the type to jump at shadows, his brother emerging from one in a mood being the most terrifying one of all. Shi Qingxuan doesn’t even have the chance to form a thought about waking the neighbors (that they don’t really have), before his brother has his shoulders in his tight grip and shakes him as he yells.
“Do you have any idea what time it is? Where is your sense of shame? Who said you could go out drinking all night? How dare you pull this stunt again?”
The familiar questions blur together, making it easy to tune out most of what Shi Wudu yells. It’s not the first time Shi Qingxuan has broken his curfew (though despite what his brother thinks, he does feel some guilt about it!), and it’s easiest to let Shi Wudu have his say, then hug him, apologize, and go enjoy the much more fonder embrace of sleep.
Shi Qingxuan nods where appropriate, and does his best not to accidentally smile, but to his surprise the yelling does not stop when it’s supposed to, and his brother’s grip on him actually starts to hurt.
“Ge, you – you can let go now,” Shi Qingxuan suggests.
“So you can go running off again and leave me to die of rage? You will stay put.”
His nails dig into Shi Qingxuan’s arms, a faint tremor passes through his hands. Shi Qingxuan winces. His brother is really wound up this time. He glances around, trying to think of something to say, when his eyes land of the black spot ruining his brother’s normally immaculate robes.
“A-ah gege, your robe! How did it get so dirty? Ach, no wonder you’re so upset. Don’t you worry, I’ll do the laundry in the morning!”
Assuming his head isn’t pounding too much then. With how loudly his brother yells, it probably will. In the afternoon then, once he’s able to stomach a light lunch. As long he finishes before his brother comes home in the evening, it shouldn’t matter much.
Shi Wudu’s gaze flickers to the dark stain, an even darker expression crossing his face.
“We’ll see if you ever leave this house again,” he grumbles, the first thing he’s said at a normal volume, and the darkest.
Shi Qingxuan finds it in him to chuckle. Like his brother would ever really confine him to the house. It’s precisely the wrong thing to do at this moment though, triggering his brother into a new round of lecturing.
Shi Qingxuan wishes he had more wine. Wait, no – wine was what got him into this.
“Ge, I’m sorry already,” he finally says. “I was having some fun and got a little carried away. You don’t have to stay up waiting for me, you know. It’s not like anything ever happens.”
Shi Qingxuan doesn’t realize how bad that sounds until the words are out. His brother looks like he’d been slapped, and finally lets go, all but shoving Shi Qingxuan away from him.
“You’re right. Nothing bad ever happens to you. Certainly not when you don’t listen. Why should you care about the brother waiting around, mad with worry? What does it matter that gege doesn’t even know where to find you?”
Shi Wudu doesn’t yell those words. He mumbles them instead which somehow makes it worse, and for the first time Shi Qingxuan notices how upset, rather than mad, his brother is this time. His late-night truancy isn’t anything new. His brother’s lecturing also isn’t anything new. But what’s supposed to be a routine of angry barbs and empty promises now feels genuinely distressing.
“Gege,” Shi Qingxuan tries cautiously. “Did something happen?”
“Don’t pretend you suddenly care.”
It’s as close to a “yes” as he’ll ever get. Shi Qingxuan steps forward, stumbling drunkenly in the process (and earning another glare), and finds his way to Shi Wudu’s side, slipping his arms around his. He pretends not to notice his pounding heartbeat.
“Gege, I’m sorry. I’ll be more mindful in the future, honest.” He says, leaning his head on his brother’s shoulder. “I won’t drink as much, and I’ll pay attention to the time. I’ll even show you my usual haunts. We can go drinking together!”
It’s not an offer Shi Qingxuan expects him to ever take (his brother hates the smell of alcohol and scrunches his nose in distaste at Shi Qingxuan’s breath so near his face), but he hopes its enough of a peace offering.
He pats his brother’s arm, coaxing him to go to bed and sleep, offering to tuck him in and read him stories until he does.
“Can you even read properly in that state?”
Probably not, but Shi Qingxuan is a master storyteller even without a book in front of him.
“Forget it. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”
It’s what Shi Wudu always says when he’s in a bad mood, despite always saying that they have to look out for each other otherwise. Shi Qingxuan wants to point out the hypocrisy, but he wants to calm his brother more.
“Okay then, take care of me. Tuck me in. Tell me stories. Ge, I’m tired. It’s so late already.”
“Whose fault is that?” Shi Wudu snaps, but without the harshness from before. He uses his free arm to take one of Shi Qingxuan’s hands, the tension in his shoulders dropping and something resembling a sigh escaping from his lips.
“We will be talking more in the morning,” he warns, but Shi Qingxuan knows he has won this round, as he’s led towards the bed. Despite his anger, Shi Wudu is nothing but gentle as he settles his little brother down, bringing him water to wash his face and have something to drink and avoid the worst of the morning’s hangover. Shi Qingxuan follows his instructions readily.
Shi Wudu’s posture is rigid, and the darkness hides his face, but Shi Qingxuan can imagine a little smile finally poking through the gloom. There is nothing that makes his brother happier than being allowed to fuss and dote as he pleases.
He doesn’t have any stories to tell though. The sheer relief of seeing Shi Qingxuan home at last has brought out all his exhaustion, so he just sits silently at the edge of the bed and runs his fingers from Shi Qingxuan’s hair.
“Ge, you should lie down too,” Shi Qingxuan whispers, slipping his hand into his brother’s. His brother has his own sleeping mat that he prefers, but once in a while, if Shi Qingxuan asks, he’ll lay down next to him. Usually, it’s only for a short spell in response to his little brother’s nightmares; it’s too hot otherwise and Shi Qingxuan likes his independence.
But for tonight, if it helps his brother calm down, Shi Qingxuan will let himself be held however long is needed.
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