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#and the golden hour with a drink at a terrace in the city when there’s ppl all around
doll-r-t · 2 years
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The Lost Pearl Part 4
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Moodboard by me but pics found on pinterest
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 5
Masterlist
TW: Some internal angst like anxiety, some nudeness (non sexual)
Viking x fem!reader SLOW BURN
Finally, after a grueling ride, exhaustion and soreness plaguing your body Syverson informed you that you would be there in under half an hour. He pointed to something on a hill, that shined almost golden in the evening sun. You could not make out more than a shine on top of the mountain and what looked like a wall of wood surrounding the hill. Once you got closer you could see spears surrounding the wall pointing outwards to any enemy who dare come close to it. But for one region where an entrance was built. Atop of it were guards looking down and watchtowers on each side. It was different from what you were used to. It was, what your people would call, primitive.            
     Syverson slowly rode up to the gate calling out for it to be opened, and promptly it was. Once you were inside you could see wood cabins and the little herb gardens attached to almost every run-down cabin. People outside working, looking up as you passed by. Suddenly you became aware of your position sitting on a horse with a man, the leader no less. Looking disheveled and a little dirty. This was no way to make a first impression as a Princess. Maria would probably faint if she could see it. Yet, all thought off your appearance left you once you saw the fallen in the faces of the people. Mostly elderly folk, or women. Not too many men. All looked tired and almost hungry. A kingdom destroyed by war. You had not realized how badly the Woodlands were hit. Especially since they came to your aid in the final battle. The Pearl had rough patches for sure and saw its fair share of battle, poverty, and destruction but not like this.                    You held your head high, putting on a pleasant smile and nodding in greeting to the people you passed. They greeted Syverson enthusiastically but looked at you in question, some in wonder, some in wariness.                                     You rode up a hill, houses scattered around, in no particular order but never one aligned with the other. It was different from the Pearl where everything was connected through the white stone the city was made out of. The hill was steep and a path from long use trampled towards Warhorse but the hill unevenness made it exhausting in your state. Finally, you could see what was shining golden in the sun. It was the Hall of Warhorse itself, atop the hill overseeing everything. The wood had a slight golden shimmer to it and you wondered how it had happened. A terrace made of stone was in front of the entrance. It was the only stone thing you saw for now. But what caught your eye was a beautiful woman standing there, holding a drinking horn. Her hair was swaying in the wind in sync with her white, plain dress, cut under her clavicle and fitted around her waist with a belt made out of golden plates. She was truly a fair maiden and her eyes were as blue as Syversons.                
You did not even notice the big hands encasing your waist and pulling you down from the horse. Too entranced with the woman in front of you, Syverson’s sister. You had found out about her through the whispers of the maids. She was the Lady of Horns. She snuck onto the battlefield in front of the City of Light defeating the most dangerous warrior of the enemy's army called the Horned. Believed to be immortal, never even touched by his enemies. He wrote to battle on an Elk, when his creature was slain by her uncle, she protected her mortally wounded uncle by picking up the splintered horn of the elk and killing the Horned. She looked so fair, so different from what you had imagined. But now stepping towards her you could see the strength in her shoulders, the cleverness in her eyes, and her assured posture. This woman, the leader of shielded maids, of whom you never believed truly existed, was the maid you were supposed to make a Lady out of. This would be… interesting to say the least.                                            
Syverson let go of your hand he had intertwined with his arm while leading you up the stairs to his sister. Several servants, men, and women were lined up behind the sister, with trays of mugs and bread. You stepped slightly to the side when Syverson took the cup stepping forward and looking out over the village. An elderly woman came up to you giving you a drinking horn as well. You could feel the eyes of the sister on you and many others. But you ignored it stepping up next to Syverson taking your rightful place as the leading representative of your people. Raising the cup Syverson drank first before you followed his lead.     You had not noticed but a smaller girl was next to the sister, you guessed around twelve. Her hair was wild orange, and her cheeks flushed. She had a bright smile on her face her green eyes sparkling. You thought her adorable. Once Syverson had drunk all his mead, which left a sweet but unfamiliar taste on your tongue, but was familiar and welcoming to him, he turned around. He opened his arms wide, smiling at the young girl, she launched forward springing into his arms. He caught her easily twirling her around before positioning her on his hip and walking forward to his sister hugging her to him as well. She smiled breathing out burring his face into his neck. He kissed the top of her head. You wondered at this display of affection. Looked around for judgmental eyes but all you saw was affection in the eyes of his people. It confused you even more, you had never seen a leader so affectionate. It made you feel awkward and you averted your gaze. Syverson cleared his throat turning to you. The girl still in his arms. “Princess Y/N, this is my sister Ceallach, and my cousin Rosamund,” You bowed your head in respect. “So you are the woman that will make me into a proper Lady.” Ceallachs voice was tight and she mustered you quickly. Her lips quirked at your dirty hem and you felt anger and embarrassment at the same time. But then she laughed. “Then thank the Gods you are here, as my brother thinks me a scoundrel, and when he says that then the pompous court will think especially so.” She came over lacing her arm with yours. “And please call me Cella, not Ceallach, Princess.” All at once the anger and embarrassment left you and you could have almost given her a genuine smile, had you not forgotten how to do it. “Then I insist on dropping all formal titles, please call me Y/N.” She smiled at you pulling you into the hall. “My Gods Sy you have no manners, look at the girl she does not want introductions she wants to rest, she is half-dead on her feet.” She sent Syverson a glare, shaking her head. “You have to forgive my brother he has no manners, our Uncle tried but oh well some just cannot be helped.” This was the second time you had to suppress a genuine smile. You were right, after all, this was going to be interesting. Looking at Syverson from the corner of your eyes you could see him roll his eyes at his sister and pinch the little girl still in his arms giggling at Syverson being scolded. Cella, left her brother in the hall, walking you down a corridor. A door with dark wood, and ornaments of a cat atop a lioness, woods surrounding them with an owl in the tree was carved in it. Intertwined lines were circling the picture. You had never seen such wonderful and skillful craftsmen ship. Cella opened the door pulling you in. “This will be your chamber, mine is across and my brothers is down the hall.” You nodded looking around. The room was not as big or bright as the one at home but it was adorned with warm colors, red green some yellow, and warm wood. To your left was a fireplace staked with wood ready to be lit, and to the right, a closet, made out of dark wood and intricate ornaments surrounding the outside. In front of you was a big bed, with red covers. The bed was made out of warm wood with yellow paintings. A carpet made of fur was underneath your feet. And two chairs next to the fireplace, You walked into the room observing the differences in culture. You turned looking over your left shoulder at the sister of Syverson she was watching you intensely but your face was blank. You were taught early in your life not to let emotions show. Out of the corner, you could see a room divider and a washbasin. You longed for a bath. Smiling at her you said: “I fear my trunks got lost along the way but it seems I have everything I need, a warm bed and somewhere to wash. Thank you.” You nodded at her. “The maid should bring your bathwater shortly, so-.” She walked towards you, pulling you to a chair at the fireplace. “Let me help you get started. I am sure you are tried.” She started pulling out the pins in your hair. Your back going stiff, normally you let no one touch your hair maybe sometimes Maria wa sallowed to. She pulled the net of your hair and started picking some leaves still stuck in it off. The door opened and a tall woman with long hair, tied at the back stepped in. Her arms were big and muscular, heaving a bucket of water. She pulled a bathtub over to you and fill it with steaming water after leaving again. She came to a couple of times more to fill the bath completely then she pulled the room divider in front of it, nodding and leaving. Callea had detangled your hair during that time. She walked over to the bath pulling a flask from the table next to it. “Here it will help you, a couple of drops and some leaves from it in the bathwater work wonders for a sore body.” You stood up walking over to the bath. “Thank you.”                                                    
Finally, she took her leave, leaving you alone in the room. Breathing out deeply you let your shoulders sag. What had you gotten yourself into? Slowly you pulled the string at the front of your dress, discharging the first layer of your dress and then pulling the second dress off before discarding your shift. You looked at your body, with bruises and small cuts littering it. They had begun to burn on the ride to warhorse after the fight but you were too tired to care. They were nothing serious so you chose not to complain. Now stepping into the warm bathwater you hissed in pain and delight. Once you were fully soaked you picked up the flask again. It was a greenish color with leaves in it. Hesitating you opened it. The smell was immediate the herbs wafting your way. It had a burn to it but the more you smelled it the less intense it got. Sighing you put some drops in the bathwater. You had no other choice your stuff was still on its way. Leaning back you tried to relax, the heat relaxing you and almost lulling you into another nap. The door opening pulled you from your haze. The woman from before rounded the corner, her dress sleeves rolled up, exposing more of her muscles. “Welcome to Warhorse Princess, I am Gisla I will take care of you while you are here.” “It is a pleasure to meet you Gisla.” She pulled a wooden stool over sitting next to your bath. In her hands, she had a couple of bottles. “I was informed your trunks are not here yet. So I brought you some of my people's bathing utensils.” “Oh thank you so much. I am sorry I must smell horrible.” Gisla smiled. “Like a rose.” She countered. Gisla picked up a washcloth and dunked it into the water before putting some of the scented oil on the cloth. She looked at you hesitantly before picking up your arm and starting to rub you down. You leaned back again too relaxed. Gisla was cleaning you for a while before reaching for your hair. “Oh, that will not be necessary thank you.” You reached for the bottles yourself and started to clean your hair. Gisla thought it strange but did not comment on it. She only nodded and stood up. “My Lady Cella gave me this.” She held up a simple shift. “For the dressing.” She then walked over to the bed pulling back the covers. “You can sleep for a while, the feast will be in a couple of hours I will get you.” She hesitated before leaving. “I will call for Beren our healer.” You looked at her questioningly. She just nodded at your cuts and bruises and left. You continued to clean your hair putting oil into your scalp and ends.             
  Once you were sure you were truly clean you got out of the bath, patting yourself dry, putting on the white shift. And not a second too soon, once you have dressed a knock sounded at your door. Gisla came in. “The healer is here.” She opened the door wider seeing that you were presentable and an old man with white dreadlocks and dark skin stepped in, his hands were weathered but his eyes sharp. He nodded at you grunting as he walked over to you with a bag in his hand. “Sit down child. Let me look at you.” You had never been addressed so informal but you did what he said sitting down on the bed. He took your hand in his looking your arm over before moving on to the left. He spoke something underneath his breath and opened his bag. He pulled out a bottle with yellow color and big leaves in it. “Lay down child.” You did as he said laying in the middle of the bed. He leaned over you lifting your left arm and dabbing some of the water in the bottle onto your smaller cuts before pulling out a leave which he laid onto the bigger cuts you had. He wrapped a white cloth around it. Then walking around to the other side he did the same on your right arm. Then moved on to your legs doing the same. Once he was finished he turned to Gisla. “Put the water on before she goes to the feast and then again in the morning.” He turned back to you. “Your body is exhausted. You need to sleep now. The water will soothe the sting and the leaves will prevent scarring. It will heal in no time.” “Thank you, Beren.” Your eyes were closing the tiredness taking over and before you could see the surprised look on his face, of you, knowing his name, you fell asleep. He gave Gisla the bottle and told her to call him if she needed anything and left. Gisla smiled at the old man. He was known for being a bit rough around the edges but Gisla knew he was secretly a sweetheart. Not that she would dare say it out loud. Gisla came over to you, putting the covers over your body and filling a mug with water bringing it to your bedside table. Then she also left.                     You slept well into the evening. When you woke your room was dark and it took a minute for you to realize where you were. Sitting up you noticed the soreness of your body was almost gone. You wondered at it. The smell of the stinging herbs was still in the air. It made sense, the Woodland people were hard-working, and horse people were used to riding for a long while and a sore body. So they had tinctures developed to soothe their ache. You laid back down again, staring at the ceiling. The covers were thick and warm. Different from the silk you normally slept on. Snuggling deeper into the covers you wished to stay here for a while. And a light so you could read a bit.               
  You were denied such pleasure as Gisla came into the room. She held a candle in her hand and went over to the fireplace. You observed her for a while until the room was lit. “I hope you had a good sleep.” “Yes very much so.” You sat up. Looking at your room. It was illuminated in warm light bouncing off the red, green, and yellow colors in your room.       
 The relief you felt when you were informed that your trunks had arrived was immense. You had forgotten all about what you would wear tonight if they did not come. Gisla helped you into a silver dress, tightening at the back. Then she pulled another dress over it that was cut out in the front laying atop the silver only covering the back. The blue complimented the silver perfectly and made you shine. You pushed the last Pearls into your hair, covering them in a blue lace netting when Gisla told you the feast was starting. You dabbed on a red mixture made out of berries on your lips giving them a bit of color.       
 Gisla led you down the corridor back into the big entrance hall. It was bustling with people, with several tables, and benches. It was so different from the ordered, delicate, and precise structure at home. Gisla leads you along the side of the hall, tapestries decorating it. She lead you to the high table which oversaw the room. No clothing was on top of it. Only the bare wood and a hand full of wildflowers. Which you guessed was for your benefit. Syverson was already sitting there. He had cleaned up, which was the first thing you noticed. He had a white tunic on the arms rolled up and a green vest with a horse embroidered on it. Next to him was his niece, Rosamund, rambling on. Syverson had a slight smile on his face, looking at her affectionated. It made a cute picture, her orange hair all wild and a green dress almost sitting on Syverson’s lap. A chair was free on his right side, it was where Gisla was leading you to. Next to the empty chair was his sister, her hair in a braid. Syverson stood when he saw you bowing his head, you did the same before stepping towards your chair, he pulled it out and shuffled it back in for you. He stayed standing leaning over the table and lifting a drinking horn. Promptly a servant came filling your own mug. Syverson gave a short speech that you pretended to hear. But mostly you were watching the people. They were simply dressed and scattered around the tables. Once Syverson mentioned your name you turned your head to him smiling up at him. It was time to act the part of the thankful guest. Lifting your mug you kept looking at him. His gaze caught yours for a second before returning to his speech. Once everyone said “Hail” they drank, and you followed the lead. The liquor was strong, stronger than the one you had before, and you wished you could drink the sweet honey-laced liquor from before. You swallowed it, trying not to let the harshness of the wine affect you too much. A server brought a plate with some meat cuts. Before you could even see what there was Syverson’s and his sister's plates were full. Gosh if the ladies of the court could see this they would have a heart attack. You had to suppress the urge to be appalled too but somewhat it was amusing. “Here.” Cella put on a cut of meat on your plate, some potatoes cheese fruits, and bread. You were overwhelmed with the amount. “The meat is good but if you like it well done you have to say it to the cook yourself. I am not angering him.” She stuffed some potatoes in her mouth. You smiled, “I will keep that in mind.” Taking up a fork you cut a small piece of the meat. You had never eaten something like this. It was tender and tasted very good. “What is this?” “Rumstake with herbs.” You took another bite. “It is very good. I never had anything like it before.” She looked at you with surprise. “My people mostly eat seafood, fruits, lighter food as it is very hot where I am from.” Cella seemed to think for a while. “I never had seafood.” You looked at her shocked. “Do you not have it here?” “Well, some fish sometimes but that is it.” She put the fork down. “Will I have to get used to eating seafood?” You took a sip of the wine again, it paired well with the stake. “Not necessarily. You will be living in the City of Stones or City of Lights depending on whom you speak to. They have both meat somewhat like this and heartier food. As they are further away from the sea. But they do import some pickled food from my people. So do not worry as long as you do not come to the Pearl you will get around eating it.” She seemed less worried. “Besides I can show you tricks on how to avoid the food you do not like without offending anyone. Trust me I have practice.” She smiled at you satisfied with your answer. She started talking to someone next to her, leaving you to your food.                
You were more than full but Cella had put so much on your plate that half was still full. You were set on not disrespecting anyone so you tried to keep eating. You could hear a chuckle next to you. Looking up you saw Syverson lift an eyebrow smirking at you. “Enjoying your food Princess?” You felt your face heat up embarrassed by the amount of food on your plate. “Very much so Captain.” He watched you for a while forcing some more food down. When a loud chatter broke out at the other end of the hall and the people were distracted he quickly swapped your plate with his. You quirked an eyebrow at him. He just shrugged digging in. The rest of the feast passed slowly, not a lot of people paid attention to you, you sat straight looking around nodding or smiling. You were used to this, at home you would usually be ignored until you could walk off with some of your girlfriends leaving the men to business. You forgot how isolating it felt and now watching people behave in a manner so different from yours you felt it even more. You sipped on your wine wishing you were back in bed reading.                      Once the eating part was over some tables were pushed to the side. The crowd got rowdier and a couple of people started playing instruments and others started dancing. Well, it was more wild spinning and stomping than dancing. Cella had gone off somewhere and Syverson was talking to a man with Rosamund on his lap. You sight, looking at all the people talking and having fun. You must make a weird picture, hair tightly put back, silver and white dress instead of warm earth color. Your glass was empty and you could not find a servant to refill it. So promptly you got up, you would not be missed anyways. You walked down to the table with carafes. Red liquor splashing at the top. Taking a deep breath you refilled your mug. Normally your father would not allow you to drink more than one glass, two tops. You understood the last thing you needed was the court gossiping about you being a drunk. But from what you could see these people were so well into the barrel they would not see you sneak a third glass. They were twirling and singing, well trying to, it looked more like animals trying to be human. You took another sip. Gods, why did you come here at home you would at least dance lightly over the floor, enchanting with your long years of practice. The longer you drank the more rage came out of you, the rage of being a woman, being put aside, looked at but not talked to, dismissed as less. You slammed your cup on the table breathing hard, panic bubbling up in you. You were losing control, your emotions taking over. This cannot be, and not here of all places in the open. You quickly made your way to the exit, walking down a corridor and then another and another, not looking where you were going. You just wanted to be as far away as possible. Your hands were shaking and your heart was racing, there was an ache in your chest and you wished you could rip your rib cage open freeing whatever was inside of you causing so much pain. You had not noticed that you had found your way into a garden. The fresh air snuffed all the emotions out of you, you sunk to the ground just breathing. You had no idea why you were losing control lately, you had gotten so good at keeping your emotions hidden but ever since the war ended you felt something in your chest that made it so tight you felt like being suffocated.                 
   You sat outside for a while, you would not be missed anyway, and the people did not care much for manner. Getting up you walked around the bushes, the air was cold far colder than you were used to it bit at your skin but the sting felt good it made you sharp and aware again. The moon was bright in the sky illuminating the garden. It was big and the change of season was visible, some flowers had lost the shine of the summer and the colors were slowly turning dull. Nonetheless, it was beautiful. You touched one of the pink flowers watching petals fall to the ground. One by one until only a couple were holding on, gripping onto where they should be. Your hand fell in sync with the last petal, your hands stained with water from the flower. Stepping back, emptiness settled into your body. You could deal with the emptiness you were familiar with it, your constant companion the last years.          
  Straightening up you turned walking back into the corridor. You had no idea where you were but you kept walking trying to listen to the sounds surrounding you and following them. It led you to the great hall again. The people were still dancing, drinking, and singing. Syverson stood with some of his men, a flush on his face and laughing loudly. He seemed so relaxed, and comfortable. So different from the tension he carried with him before. A tug on your skirt pulled you out of your thoughts, the girl with the wild orange hair was standing there. You smiled turning to her. She said something but you could not hear, she was so different from earlier, shy and timid as supposed to loud and giddy. You looked around for a spot that was a little less crowded. To the side by a pillar was a bench. You offered her your hand, walking her towards it. Sitting down you made sure your dress was properly fanned out. You caught in the corner of your eye that she tried to follow your lead by doing the same to her dress. But it did not quite have the same effect with her sturdy one opposite to your flowing gown.                                           
 “I am sorry I could not hear what you were saying before.” Turning towards you you waited for her to gather her thoughts. She was still figgiding with her dress avoiding your eyes. “Sy told me you were the princess of the sea,” she mumbled, still not looking at you. “Well, I guess you could say that. My people build their houses by the sea.” She frowned. “But how can you be a Princess of something so small?” You raised your eyebrows. but before you could respond she went on. “We have a sea near here, it only has a handful of fish and one cabin. Sy doesn’t let me bathe in it, says it is too dangerous since I can’t swim.” “That is very wise of him, water is a wonderful thing but it can be dangerous if you do not know how it behaves.” She looked up at you for the first time, confused. “Behave?” “Yes well you see, water is not a still standing thing like trees. It flows and follows its own path. Water has no other master. And when you do not know where it will go, you can be swept away in it.” She pondered over this, her eyebrows drawn and her lips moving as if she was repeating your words in silence. You let her be for a moment. When she looked up at you you went on. “And there is a difference between my and your sea. What I assume is more a lake than a sea.” You looked ou in the crowed, seeing but not seeing. You remembered the softness of the sand beneath your feet, the white foam sticking to your legs from the waves. The gentleness of the breeze and the strong will of the water to wave back and forth. How were you to describe something so beautiful and terrifying at the same? You remembered the field you passed on the way here. Vast and swaying in the wind like green water. It was not so different from the sea as you thought at first. “Have you ever stood in a field with high grass, the wind blowing around you?” She nodded. “Remember how wide it is as if it goes on forever, even wider than the horizon. The gentle tickle of the grass on your leg and the swaying back and forth.” Rosamund had closed her eyes trying to imagine all of it. “Now picture it being blue instead of green. Remember the noises you hear by the lake. This is my land. Big and vast.” You looked at your hands, it was fiddling with the pearls stitched in your dress. Pearls of the sea. “The wind is most prominent at the sea. The air is warm almost pressing but the breeze gives you some relief. The sand is soft and bows to your steps. The moon makes little diamonds on the water with its light and the water sways to the pull of it as if they were in love. Every time you think the rocks surrounding parts of the water has been captured it draws back flowing to its own will. Nothing can ever capture it, change it, or form it into something it is not. It will provide you with everything you need as long as you do not ask for too much.” You broke off for a second your hands still caressing the pearl from a shell.                                                   
 You had not realized that you had attracted an audience, the little girl Rosamund was so captured with your tale she was sitting crosslegged fully turned to you. Other people stood to the side mug in hand. Some younger people were sitting on the ground. The old man Beren sat to the side on a stool, half turned away but clearly listening. You looked at all the faces, recognizing non besides, Rosamund, Beren Cella, and one of the men who brought you here. “Well go on what happens if you take too much of the sea?” One of the younger girls with blond hair, sitting on the ground asked. You were overwhelmed, you had not meant to attract an audience you thought you were far enough from people so they would not hear you. You did not even know why you told all this, probably because it was so weird to you people not knowing about the sea. It was such an important part of your people. Looking around you did not know if you should say more. It was improper to do so. You were merely here to show your face and that your people and the Woodlands were friends now.              
  “What happens is that young girls need to go to bed.” Syverson stepped out behind a pillar, his strong voice sounding out. “Common Rosamund it is far too late you need to go to bed.” She immediately began to complain. But you felt relief, the people scattered. “No buts and you Filla should be home by now. Your grandma said only an hour-long it must be at least two by now.” She huffed and pouted but did as she was told. Cella sidestepped Syverson taking Rosamund by the hand and guiding her from the hall. Only Syverson and you were left, well, and the old man Beren a little further down the corridor on his stool. “My apologies.” You rose from the bench. “I did not mean to keep her up longer than allowed.” He nodded at you there was something in his eyes you could not quite pinpoint. “No need to apologies.” He turned to where Cella and Rosamund went. “She is not good with strangers but a curious girl. She likes learning and stories but is too shy to ask someone to tell her.” You nodded understanding, a smile playing on your lips. If she was so shy then why did she come up to someone who was not only a stranger but also not of her people?            
Syverson cleared his throat. “Is the sea truly like you described?” You looked at him in wonder. “Of course, I would never lie about the sea.”  “Then it sounds beautiful. I heard that your people have sea salt in your body instead of blood.” You laughed slightly at that. “Yes, people believe that we came from the sea, created by the collision of moon and water, born of their love. I do not know if it is true but that does not stop me from believing it.” Syverson still had this look on his face. Nodding he turned to leave. He took a few steps before looking over his shoulder. “Then the sea is truly beautiful.” With that, he walked away. Looking around you were alone again, standing to the side with no idea how to fit in with these people. There were no specific rules or structures they followed. Before you could do anything a hand clasped your elbow. “Common child we need to change the bandages and put some new water on the cuts.” Beren led you away from the hall to your bedroom. You were relieved you had an excuse to go. “Then you should rest, your body needs it. I will tell Syverson it was my order to leave.” You followed suit without complaint, your body was still aching and it had been a long journey. You glanced one last time at the great hall, catching Syverson’s eyes. You bowed your head a bit and walked down the corridor with Beren. Syverson watched you go, even after you rounded a corner his gaze was fixed there still.
PART 5
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COMMENT PLEASE!!
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lightskinrry · 3 years
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pls i can’t wait to share popcorn and chocolate at the cinema again or try my friend’s different drinks at a bar 😌
This pandemic really ruined the simple pleasures of life,,, the way we are all gonna appreciate the little things more 😔
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nikethestatue · 3 years
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The Heirs of Shadow
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Prompt: here
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Language and Fluff
Part I
Calanmai
 The shadows danced along the obsidian walls of the chamber, jumping and fluttering across the marble floor and the intertwining carved beasts that scaled the width of the room, waving across the walls and the ceiling.
Behind the doors, Elain could feel the pulsating throb of the revelry that was taking place in the opulent halls and loggias of Hewn City. Fire Night. Calanmai. Beyond the onyx-black bowels of the city, up, up, up somewhere in Night Court, the night skies were streaking with falling stars. Starfall.
Starfall was somewhere else though—they had glimpsed it, taken in its beauty, but now, Calanmai was in full swing.
Azriel’s powerful, muscular body strained over hers, his arm gripping her hip so hard, she was sure that it would leave bruises. Not that Elain cared—she loved the marking of his love on her flesh. She loved the lilac bruises that he left on her neck with his lips and teeth, and the outline of his hands on her thighs, her waist, her…everywhere. For a man who was known for his self-control, and who embodied cold, calculated sophistication and cruelty to all those who did not know him well, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, loved Elain Archeron with an uncharacteristic degree of unrestrained passion and blind, all-encompassing adoration. He was not above kissing her with uninhibited ambition in public, or slipping his scarred hand into her jacket and cupping a handful of her soft breast or pinching her behind when fancy struck him. It struck him frequently. His love was reciprocated, at last, and there was no limit to his indulging of his gorgeous female. His betrothed and his Lady. The glittering band of her betrothal bracelet was testament not only to their mutual love, but also his wealth and the degree to which he was willing to spoil her. In fact, he had picked out every diamond, every amethyst, every pearl that comprised the intricate flower design of the bracelet himself. Gone were the days when he had to hide his love and desire for her, when the only acceptable gift was a dainty necklace of stained glass. In fact, he designed a very similar necklace for her yet again, only instead of glass, it was rubies and pearls and pink diamonds.
The glint of the necklace in fact, bounced against her creamy skin, the pendant sliding between her swaying breasts. He kissed her, slow and hot, watching her body arch beneath him. The kiss was slow, but not gentle, their mouths fusing together in desperation, as if they’ve been apart for too long, that the previous 500 years were unbearable for him and he needed to fill his lungs with her, with her breath, her very soul, as he sucked and sucked on her lips.
Elain’s nails sunk into his broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and Azriel dipped his head, groaning into her throat, dragging his tongue from her hot, pulsating vein back to her lips, sliding back into her mouth. She kissed him back, sloppy and heated, her lips swollen and ruby-red, before pressing the heel of her palm into his chest and pushing at him.
“I want to look at you,” she moaned, her eyelids heavy with want.
He pulled up and did as he was told, settling on his knees and allowing her to trace the skin of his cobbled abdomen with her fingertips. He was running hot and volatile, his dark brown skin gleaming like dirty bronze beneath the faelights, his wings spayed and open behind him, casting shadows on his sculpted, inked shoulders. His soft, inky-black hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to his damp skin, and she smiled at him and rubbed her thumb between his eyebrows.
His thick cock glided in and out of her tight glorious heat and he pushed inside of her with an obscene, wet sound, feeling the smooth thrust of his shaft in her.
“My good girl,” he murmured, extracting loud, explicit moans from her parted lips, while his thumb settled on her pulsating, engorged clit, rubbing firmly, with precise, firm pressure. Elain’s head rolled back, her honey-golden hair fanning out over the dark-gray satin of the pillows. She felt overflowing, torturously stuffed with him, which was the most glorious, gorgeous fullness that she could ever imagine.
“Open up for me, beautiful,” he ground out, “so I can ride you like you need,”
Elain obliged compliantly, wordlessly splitting even further for him, as Azriel gripped her thigh and pulled her deeper onto his shaft, while hoisting her leg onto his shoulder.
“Look at us, my love,” he urged, thrusting harder into her, his gaze gluttonous with pleasure and utter satisfaction. Elain could barely lift herself up on her elbows, but she looked between their bodies, watching her splayed pink folds, his member disappearing in and out of her, glistening with their arousal. His long brazen finger thrust alongside his shaft, the fit impossibly tight, but so wonderfully pleasurable.
She squeezed her breasts in her palms, absently fingering her nipples, watching the explicit show between her legs, while Azriel smiled at her and kissed her foot that rested on his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, enjoying the indecent scrutiny with which his eyes skimmed over her body, as both of them watched the workings of his cock inside of her.
“Do you want to taste, my sweet?” he offered, his midnight voice smooth and sensual, encouraging even more debauched behavior from her, and she nodded eagerly.
Licking her lips impatiently, she murmured, ‘yes’ and he rewarded her with a smile, while slowly pulling out of her stretched passage.
“Az, my love,” she moaned, emptied of him, instantly missing the presence of his thick, long member in her, her hole twitching at the loss. But he pulled her up gently by her back of her neck and instantly fed the shaft in her mouth, thrusting deep and far into her throat. She choked softly around him, but swallowed compliantly, sucking his length down into her mouth.
“That’s my girl,” he approved, holding the back of her head and pumping between her lips, watching her watch him. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, blinked rapidly, as she struggled against the girth of the member, but sucked on his bravely and eagerly. He enjoyed the sucking, noisy and wet, her tongue working on him constantly, licking their intermingling juices, but then he patted the corner of the bed, and Elain knew what he desired. She scooted over, and lay back on the cool sheets, never releasing the cock from her mouth, holding it tightly in her hand, as she lapped on the broad head of it, playfully dipping the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit.
They’ve been at it for hours now. Calanmai. Fucking, eating, drinking, fucking, fucking. That’s what people did on Calanmai. Elain figured that perhaps, this would be her new favorite holiday. Always to be celebrated here, in Hewn City, her new home.
The Lord and Lady of Hewn City, feared and venerated—that’s what they were. Who would have thought that Elain would love Hewn City, its obsidian beauty, its marble and granite lined ‘streets’, its unbridled opulence, its soaring columns, its ceilings lit up with faelights that were ensconced in chandeliers that were dripping crystals and silver.
They had begun today’s festivities by following its ancient custom of the Great Rite. As the Lady and Lord of the Underworld, they did not need to ‘choose’ each other, for they were already chosen—chosen the moment the Darkbringers acknowledged Azriel as their Commander General, and Rhysand how no other choice but to pass the crown of Stewardship to his shadowsinger. With Keir dead, all assumed that the magic and the power of the Hewn City and the Darkbringers would pass on to Mor, or one of the sons, yet, it skipped the family entirely. The magic of Hewn City left the bloodline of the High Lord, moving over to Azriel’s line. And just like that, Azriel became Prince of Velaris, the Lord of Hewn City, and Elain, his chosen Lady.
Today was the first year they presided over Fire Night, and while Azriel worried about Elain, she reminded him that she was the Lady of Hewn City and therefore, would participate in all rites and rituals, just like Feyre participated in them as the High Lady of the Night Court.
The entire population of Hewn City, tens of thousands of them vibrated and pulsed in anticipation, gathered in the Great Hall, hundreds spilling outside, thousands crowding the balconies and terraces above.
For Elain, it was the initial walk that was the most nerve wrecking. Naked, she was expected to enter the hall and await Azriel’s arrival. But she squared her shoulders, and draped in nothing but jasmine and moonflowers that cascaded down her unbound hair she made her walk, regal and unhurried, as any queen. When he’d arrived, the new Lord and master of the place, the place shook with a different kind of energy.
And then, they joined together on their throne, in front of their subjects, and Azriel rode her long and hard, until she barely remembered that she was being watched by thousands of eyes. She was eager and willing, taking him in any position that he desired, until he filled her with seed and spilled the rest of it upon the stones of his domain, signifying the start of Calanmai.
The insemination was met with wild cheering and Elain felt nothing but prideful satisfaction after the ritual was concluded and his seed dripped down her thighs, for all to see. She was their Lady, the benevolent one, the kind and just one, while Azriel still inspired fear and trepidation in most. The seed that filled her and poured out of her as she walked through the throngs of people, all of whom looked at her with admiration and excitement, was a sign of good things to come. After centuries, perhaps millennia of stagnation, Hewn City would rise again to its former glory. Lady Elain would be the catalyst for it.
Azriel settled atop of her, her head thrown over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the head of the member over her lips, tugging on it slowly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of pleasure.
“I love Calanmai,” she vowed with a joyful sight, and he laughed.
“Indeed?”
She nodded, licking the tip of the member. “You aren’t tired?” he asked, for they’ve been entangled for a while now. She shook her head no. “Tired? Until you, my lord, render me unable to walk tomorrow, then I might consider myself tired!”
“Is this what you want, my girl?” he asked, his voice gravelly and breathy with lust. Beads of liquid dribbled onto her tongue from his straining member. She whined with anticipation, nodding impatiently, while he guided the shaft into her mouth, her position allowing him to slide deeper and deeper and deeper.
There was nothing that Azriel didn’t love about Elain. Nothing. There was no word ‘no’ in his vocabulary when it came to her. She was his strength, his rock, the one person in this world who offered him complete understanding and acceptance, who supported him gently and lovingly through every peril and cataclysmic change that had taken place in their lives.
Sexually, Elain was brave and tolerant, experimental and curious. Every part of her was enticing and sensual, but nothing excited him more than her willingness and ability to take him in her throat, usually, without him even asking for it. Elain surprised him daily, but her voracious sexual appetite was a marvelous, unexpected gift for him. Because it matched his own perfectly.
He gently cupped her hollowed cheek and rubbed his thumb over the warm, flushed skin of her face, murmuring, “you feel so good, my love. So wet and ready for me.”
Elain hummed against his member and gasping and panting, and the vibrations of her mouth against the head of the member had him moaning, his head thrown back. She stroked his muscled stomach, running her palm over the hard, defined ridges, while he began thrusting between her lips, the tip striking the back of her throat with each push.  He gingerly cupped her head, her soft, messy locks a tangle in his fingers, and kept it steady, while she allowed him to use her mouth the way he liked it.
Azriel was not a talkative man, and because he was quiet and reserved and cerebral, most assumed that he was a tender lover. He was not.
So when he plunged into her mouth, it was not gentle, though he was always considerate and acutely aware of all her emotions and reactions. Spymaster, after all.
“My good girl,” he began a litany of praise, “you feel so good. My sweet, beautiful Lainey—are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he looked over his shoulder for a moment and a smirk played on his lips. She was clenching her thighs in desperation, gurgling and panting softly around his member, and he pumped harder, clasping her jaw and muttering, “is sucking my cock making you even wetter?”
She attempted to nod, but it was virtually impossible, though he didn’t need confirmation seeing her rosy folds bathed in her arousal. Taking pity on her, he slipped three fingers in her, and they slid in easily and fully, the walls of her sex clutching at them strongly.
“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand working inside of her with quick, deep thrusts, while he used her mouth brutally, watching tears spill down her cheeks from the pressure. She did not respond in any meaningful way, indicating that it was up to him to find his pleasure within her, wherever he wanted. He smiled and caressed her sweaty, flushed face, while she chocked lightly against him, stroking his balls with her usual tenderness. He moaned, especially when he glanced lower and gritted through his teeth, “Love, I can see my cock in your throat,” he gasped, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, cloaked in oily lust. Every time he pushed, the member bulged and imprinted in her throat, and he couldn’t help himself and gently lay his scarred hand on the spot, feeling the vibrations of his dick against his palm. He almost came right then and there, himself panting and gasping for air, and even if this certainly wasn’t the first time he saw his cock protrude in her throat, it never failed to cause some instinctual male reaction in him. His wings flared and snapped open, uncontrollable, guided by nothing but base instinct to show his female who was inside of her. By the Cauldron, if he could stay like this forever, he would.
Alas, he could hold back no longer and with a few well-placed thrusts, he felt Elain’s throat contract on him and that was his undoing. His release swept like a tidal wave over him and came in her mouth, making her groan with feral pleasure as he spilled and spilled into her. He was thinking that maybe Calanmai was his favourite holiday as well.
He collapsed alongside her, his wings a mess beneath him, but he didn’t even care. His breath was ragged and heavy, but she lovingly fed her nipple between his teeth and he sucked, tucking her beside him, murmuring an endless string of ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ into the soft, wonderfully comforting globe. She held his head against her breast, moaning sweetly, delighted at his steady sucking, wiggling against him to get more.  
Once they’ve calmed down a lit, she kissed his neck, while twisting her wrist before her eyes, watching the sparkling and gleaming bracelet explode with a thousand tiny lights in the shadows of faelights and the fire in the marble fireplace.
“Do you really love it?” he murmured, kissing her hand.
“Being yours…your bride and your Lady is all that I want,” she admitted, “but,” she smiled, “yes, my love, I love it. Isn’t it stunning?!”
He nodded, “I think I did well.”
“I can’t believe that you designed it yourself!” she kissed his chin, then his lips. “What other incredible talents do you possess that I am not aware of?”
He turned onto his back, rearranging his wings in some semblance of acceptable order and tugged her next to him. Running his finger over the bracelet, he said, “well, let’s see—I sing.”
“Uh-uh,” she pouted. “But never in front of me!”
“One day, my sweet, one day,” he teased.
“What else?”
“I enjoy building things…carving wood. I think that deep down, I am just a humble carpenter.”
Her brow furrowed, “have I seen any of your work? Or are you being stupidly humble as usual and refusing to show it to anyone?”
He laughed, amused by her indignation.
“No, I don’t believe that I am stupidly humble when it comes to my work. You might have seen it. Most of it is at Rosehall,”
“Oh, speaking of which—I promised your mother that I would visit!” Elain snapped her fingers, frowning at having forgotten.
He kissed her brow and said, “I am sure she’ll understand. Her daughter-in-law is a Lady of Hewn City,”
Elain smiled at the title.
“Even though,” she insisted, “I love her and I want to visit her. She said that she and the girls had made spice blends and mulled wine over the winter break and she wanted us to have it. And she also promised gifts for Calanmai,”
“You are my gift for Calanmai,” he whispered tenderly and kissed her. “My gift for every day. My gift for life.”
Elain cupped his cheek and kissed him back, running her tongue over his lower lip. She smelled and tasted of him, and he shuddered from the sensation, from the realization of how thoroughly his she was. His gift indeed.
Remarkably, it also made him hard.
Elain smiled and ran her finger down his chest, then his stomach.
“I am sorry, Lainey, I know you are tired,” he scrambled quickly, embarrassed by his response to her. Even by Fae standards, he was no spring chicken—not a green youth to be hardening at every kiss of these sweet, soft lips. Yes, he was a male in his prime, but,
“Once more?” she requested softly, batting her lashes at him and he grinned.
“Whatever my lady wishes,” he nodded with a courteous flair. The he kissed her and whispered into her lips, “tell me what you’d like, sweetheart?”
She chewed her lower lip, contemplating, the action making him ever harder. She found that very hardness at the ready for her, and wrapped her hand around him, rubbing him tightly, as she settled in the crook of his arm and he kissed her again.
“In my bottom, please,” she requested shyly.
Her secret, intimate pleasure that only Azriel was aware of. It thrilled him to know that she found pleasure with him, in him, in many different ways—from the simplest and most mundane, to the very intimate and personal, and only he could provide it for her.
“If that’s alright with you?” she added and he laughed, bringing her closer to his chest.
“I don’t think that I need to be pressured, sweetheart,”
She smiled and he parted her thighs, settling just behind her, muttering in her ear, “will you be a good girl for me? My good girl?”
She nodded, breath hitching in her chest, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation and she flicked her plump nipple with his fingers before biting it softly. She squirmed and her legs fell apart of their own volition, while he pressed his thumb into her clit and ground into it, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure, while he lined his member with her little opening. It was well-stretched from their previous bout, as he’d taken her everywhere in front of their Court, and then again, when they returned here, to their private quarters.
He pushed into her, easing slowly and carefully, and her back arched in his arms, as she pressed her face into his neck, moaning loudly. There was always a bit of pain, especially in the beginning, at the initial breach, and the sharp bite that he received on his clavicle was an indication of just that. She gripped the immense muscles of his shoulder, grunting and moaning into his neck, squeezing his arm so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. He was inside of her, his cock enveloped in such mind-boggling tightness that he ceased all movement, just to avoid coming at once.
He clasped her jaw and made her look at him. Her eyelids were heavy and a love-addled, blissful look settled on her face, while he lightly kissed her parted lips.
“Does that feel nice, my girl?” he asked, finally sliding a bit deeper, each shallow, easy thrust opening her up a little more.
“Az, Az,” she groaned breathlessly, “I can’t…it’s so…ohh,” she swallowed his thumb, still wet with her slick, needing to suck on something while he plunged forward, rocking his hips into her.
“Elain,” he hissed low and winced at the sweet, torturous friction that the walls of her bottom offered to his invading shaft. He pressed her to him, slowly bringing his hips against hers, and finally settling fully inside, while she went still and pliable in his arms.
The ache inside of Elain was particularly wonderful right now, even if she felt like she was being split inside—it always happened for a few moments—while her body spread to accommodate him.
“I fucking love you,” he moaned into her mouth, pulling his thumb out so he could ravish her with his tongue, while he returned back to her clit and stroked steadily.
He did not set an unreasonable pace, but rather moved languidly and deeply inside of her, kissing her to his heart’s desire. She nestled into his arms, stroking and kissing him lovingly, mewing and panting against his thorough, merciless thrusts.
“You feel sublime,” she confessed, watching him squeeze her breast, toying and tugging on the nipple.
“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked, placing light, tender kisses all over her face. She laughed. “About a minute ago.”
“Good. Because I love you.”
“I love you too, Az,” she wrapped her arm around his neck, and then shuddered in his embrace, stuttering into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes…like that…”
“You like that, my beauty?” he pumped harder now, knowing that the discomfort and pain were gone and she stretched wonderfully around him, taking him to the balls.
“Yes, yes,” she nodded, eyes shut, pleasure settling and growing somewhere inside of her. She milked and squeezed his cock frantically, urging him to move and give her more, and he did, pounding deeper into that marvelous tightness, against the lush silkiness of her quivering, trembling behind.
“Azriel,” she almost screamed, and then turned and swiftly straddled him, impaling herself with unstoppable determination, her wet, gleaming sex played widely in front of him, her other opening swollen and bursting around him.
Her plump tits bounced as she rode him, unconcerned about anything at this moment, her hair hanging limply over her body, her nails dug into his chest, her hips undulating on his cock.
“Baby, come for me,” he urged her, mesmerized by the wantonness of her creamy, pale body atop of him, the rhythmic bounce of her beautiful ass on his thighs, her determination to take what she needed from him.
With a roar that awoke the beasts, she shuddered and trembled over him, her rectum twitching and squeezing him so hard that he was unable to even work her through her climax, as he arched beneath her and his ecstasy was complete, as he spurted hot and thick inside of her. She went limp and he caught her in his arms, gently squeezing her against his chest and then waiting until the waves subsided for both of them, before kissing her hungrily.
He lay her down and then carefully withdrew, dragging his seed out of her with one long pull.
“Happy Calanmai,” she giggled and kissed him.
“Happy Calanmai, my love,” he stroked her damp hair.
He took her to the bathing chamber then, and they cleaned each other up quickly, for even the stoic Azriel was tired and all he wanted was to snuggle with his love and sleep. With her, he slept. She was his miracle.
By the time they returned to the bedroom, the bed was remade, the sheets changed and the subtle scent of jasmine perfumed the air. The wraiths who served at their court were nothing but efficient.
Elain’s beasts, two creatures who sat in stone for millennia, while Hewn City awaited its true master, and slumbered in its decadence, under the rule of the Night Court’s High Lords, awoke when the magic and power descended upon Azriel.
The creatures, and there were many of them here, awoke. But two, the ones who guarded the entrance to the City, were touched by Elain’s hand and released first. She freed them all, though some she put back to slumber, to be awoken when needed, though unlike before, they fed regularly, as opposed to once a decade.
But the two—Asterin and Sorrel—were Elain’s perpetual companions. The great fanged beasts, with powerful slithering bodies clad in impenetrable scales and with massive claws, not to mention keen intelligence and perfect understanding of language had made even Azriel a bit uneasy at first. Asterin was more physically powerful, but also playful, if volatile and temperamental, while Sorrel was calmer, if more brutal, and extremely overprotective of Elain.
Hewn City, especially during the transition of power, was not the friendliest of places, its new Lord well-known, disliked, feared and resented by a swath of its population. Even Elain, with her kindness and good-natured character, was not immediately successful in turning the tide of public opinion. Therefore, Azriel was more than concerned about leaving her here, if he had business elsewhere, but with Asterin and Sorrel, even his worries were put to rest.
The beasts were not exactly wyverns, or dragons, but creatures of their own. Like Rhys, they were able to summon their wings at will, which was perhaps something specific to Rhys’s bloodline, or somehow connected to Hewn City, but whatever the reason was, it was very, very useful. Elain had noted that having not one, but three winged creatures in the bedroom would be…excessive. Hence, when she and Azriel went to their palace atop the Court of Nightmares’ mountain, the beasts were free to fly and frolic about as much as they wanted. They also offered winged transportation to Elain.
At last, all three sisters were able to fly. Feyre simply summoned wings just like she always did. Nesta received her white mare pegasus, which she named Marena, from Helion (who still held out hope that she and Cassian would join him in some erotic escapade), as a mating gift. And lastly, Elain flew on her fanged beasts. Their three males could barely keep up.
Luckily, the beasts also went into hibernation when ordered, becoming stone-like, just like the sculptures that they once were. Because they insisted on sharing the quarters here, it was rather imperative that there was some privacy—because Azriel did not need to suddenly glance at a pair of slanted green eyes while licking Elain’s pussy.
Azriel deposited Elain on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hearty hug.
The shadows had returned—they left when they sensed that their master was about to engage in something private with the mistress—while Asterin and Sorrel coiled around the bed.
Even though their private apartment was located far inside the Hewn City Night Palace, they could still hear the partying occupants of the underworld Court. Azriel rolled his eyes and Elain laughed in return. He threw a shield over the bedroom, blocking the noise.
“Who knew that you’d fit right in, with Calanmai becoming your favourite holiday?” he muttered, squeezing her behind.
“I suppose the Cauldron doesn’t only make stupid mistakes,” she shrugged. “And once in a while gets something right.’
 Part II
The Heirs of Shadow
 Spring was in full bloom across the Night Court territory, slowly but surely crossing into summer.
The wind in Elain’s hair was sweet and scented with roses and pine. Asterin was like an enormous scaly snake-like puppy, swooshing through the air, making all sorts of unnecessary maneuvers beneath Elain’s saddle. “Hey! I will be going on Sorrel when we return,” she warned her beast and Asterin gave her a petulant snarl, but slowed down. The flight made Elain queasy and she was glad to see the cypress and pine-covered hills, and beyond them, a flower-covered meadow and a glittering, turquoise lake.
The stucco-covered villa stretched along the banks of the lake, one wall covered in ivy, and the other, in pink and white roses. As Asterin and Sorrel approached the villa, two children rushed out of the wrought iron gates, waving their arms in the air, jumping and yelling. Elain smiled at them, waving back.
“Elain, Elain,” the children rushed towards her the moment Asterin touched down, “we missed you so much! You came! Can we play with the wyverns? Can we go flying?”
Elain dismounted and squatted in the grass, opening her arms and then getting tackled onto her back, once the two children slid into her arms, hands and legs flailing about, smiles and at least one mouth with missing teeth grinning at her. She kissed soft cheeks and thick black hair, so alike to that of their oldest brother—Azriel.
“You two are such hooligans!” she laughed, finally managing to sit up, but they wouldn’t let get up, so they remained in the grass.
“Where is Az?” asked Nataliya, playing with Elain’s braid and closely inspecting her emerald earrings. “These are pretty! Do you have presents for me?”
“Nat, it’s rude to ask that!” at nine years of age, her brother Riad was the voice of reason and propriety. More than any other child, he reminded Elain of Azriel—a uniquely handsome boy, with a contemplative and scholarly attitude and yet remarkably swift, agile and fast. She’d watched him climb the old oak tree that grew on the property in under a minute. Sometimes, he and Azriel would go for a run, and the boy would keep up the entire time, without complaint, steadfast and determined, just like his brother.
“Why it’s rude if I want a present?” demanded Nataliya, shrugging. Elain kissed her head and said, “Lucky for you, I do have presents for everyone!”
The girl squealed, her round face breaking into a happy smile. “That’s good. I want them! You wanna see our baby?”
“Of course,” Elain nodded and then gave each one of them a hand and they tugged her upwards.
“Come on, Elain! You can do it,” Nat encouraged her, grunting.
“Is Az gonna come?” asked Riad quietly, once Elain was up, and they walked towards the villa, holding hands.
“Not right now, my loves. He is very busy,”
“He is High Lord!” exclaimed Nat, squeezing her chubby hands in delight. “He is busy, Riad!” she added confidently, “so he can’t come visit.”
“Maybe you can come and visit us in Velaris?” proposed Elain.
“Be careful what you ask for, darling!” a laughing voice interrupted their conversation.
Azriel’s stunningly beautiful mother was smiling at them, standing by the gate. Her lustrous black hair cascaded in rich, ebony waves around her, and the bright green eyes were in fine contrast to her dark golden skin. Her eldest son inherited her sensuous full mouth and every time Elain laid eyes on the woman, she could see Azriel’s visage in her face.
“We’d love to have you all,” insisted Elain, throwing her arms around her mother-in-law.
“Ma, we gonna go play with the wyverns!” announced Riad.
“Yes, with wyverns!” Nat nodded immediately. She was not yet five, and basically repeated everything that Riad did and said. “Which one is good?”
Elain chuckled, “they are both good. Asterin, the green one, likes to swim, so maybe you can go to the lake with her. And Sorrel, the gray one, she may even fly you about, if your mother permits,”
“Ma!”
“Ma!”
Rosamunde winced a bit, but Elain murmured, “they’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Alright, but,”
Before she could even finish her sentence the two ran off towards the beasts.
“Ellie, you look wonderful,” Rosamunde locked arms with Elain and they slowly made their way inside Rosehall. A riot of flower beds greeted them and Elain sighed with delight. Who would have thought that she and her mother-in-law possessed the same interest and passion? Though Elain felt that Rosamunde’s gardens put hers to shame.
“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around.
The villa was a tranquil and stunning place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by low mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Azriel had purchased the estate long ago, while he was in love with Mor and had hoped that they would have a blissful future together. While he knew that they would always be tied to Velaris and Hewn City, he had imagined that Rosehall would be their escape, their private place to enjoy.
It was stunningly picturesque, with a mild tempered climate year-round, and a town a few leagues away, which supplied the estate with everything that it needed. However, things did not go as planned and instead, Azriel gifted the house and the lands around it to his mother, for her wedding to her life-long and long-suffering lover, partner, friend and the male who had waited for her for a century, and ultimately helped to rescue her from the clutches of Azriel’s father. The male was now an elected mayor of the town—a long way to come for a humble hunter who had once fallen in love with an Illyrian laundress and loved her for all the days of his life.
“So do you!” exclaimed Elain, breathing in the fragrant air and smiling widely. She loved Rosehall. It was a serene and gorgeous place, full of delightful smells and exquisitely stunning scenery.
“Come, come,” Rosamunde pulled her by the hand and they entered the house. It was cool and dim, but once they made their way down the terracotta-tiled hallway and stepped into the opulently enormous kitchen, light flooded the place. This kitchen was Elain’s inspiration for her own home—grand and open on three sides to take advantage of the glorious views outside, it was also homey and cozy, a place to accommodate a bustling, busy family. All the doors were open and a pleasant breeze wafted in and out, bringing in the scent of flowers and mingling with the smell of freshly baked tarts.
“Sit, sit,” Rosamunde offered and immediately sat a tall glass of lemonade before Elain.
“How’s my Azzie?” the mother asked, joining her at the long butcher block that stretched in the middle of the kitchen. A mother’s privilege, to call the famed shadowsinger, the feared spymaster, and now Lord—Azzie. Even Elain didn’t dare, though she teased him with it at times, causing many dramatic eyerolls in response.
“He is good,” Elain smiled a happy, satisfied smile which did not escape Rosamunde’s notice. Her charming daughter-in-law looked blissful and for some reason, it made Rosamunde’s heart ache with joy and pride. “Works too much,” Elain continued, sipping her lemonade, and helping herself to a peach cake which Rosamunde supplied promptly. Like all mothers, Rosamunde was convinced that both Azriel and Elain were too thin and did not eat enough. Hence, each time they visited, they returned laden with bushels of food, treats, jars of preserves and gods only knew what else. Now that there were two wyverns to carry the care packages, Elain couldn’t imagine how much she’d be given. Not that she minded.
Azriel had introduced Elain to his mother just after the betrothal and they had come here and spent a few days getting to know each other. Rosamunde had four children then, besides Azriel—Enid, who was over three hundred years old, and who was married to an Illyrian General (not an asshole, as Azriel explained), and then, hundreds of years later, she birthed four children almost in a row—unheard of in Fae society—Rafael, Riad, Nataliya and finally Ellena, with whom she was pregnant when she and Elain met.
Ellena now sat up groggily in a little play crib that stood in the corner and looked around, having just awoken from her nap. Seeing Elain, she immediately stood up and extended her arms to her.
Family. Elain had loved her father, but…family…
There used to be a family, but it was never quite normal, cohesive. Her mother only doted on Nesta, their father was frequently absent, Feyre was a solitary, quiet, dreamy child and Nesta was a formidable creature of her own. Elain learned how to navigate the dynamics early on, floating quietly between all of them, playing the peacemaker, being the good daughter. And while her sisters, and her nephew were her blood family, this—this was her new family, the one she loved. Her Azriel and all her new little nieces and nephews, and her mother-in-law, who was both a mother and a friend, and her father-in-law—an enormous, gregarious male who reminded her of Cassian, but who was even larger than the Illyrian General. When she came here, she felt in place, happy and cared for.
Rosamunde watched from the corner of her eye how Elain and Ellena hugged and cooed at each other, giggling and whispering, and she already knew that Elain wouldn’t let the baby go until it was time to leave. The three of them, well two, since Ellena mostly stuck her hands into things and smooshed food around, prepared lunch and then went outside, slowly walking down the path that led to the lake. Riad and Nat were using Sorrel as a slide, climbing on top of her and then sliding down her scaled back into the water, shrieking and screaming with joy and excitement, while Asterin lounged next to them, sunning her hide, watching them with lazy amusement.
“You smell like Az,” Rosamunde murmured suddenly, as they took off their dresses and waded into the water, because Ellena was throwing a fit and wanted to slide off Sorrel as well. Elain only allowed her a little jump off the wyvern’s tail, but Ellena loved it and screamed with delight, falling all over the place, while to two of them tried to catch her.
Elain, her shift irreversibly soaked, glanced at the female, as she helped Ellena climb up Sorrel’s tail. It was an unusual comment for Rosamunde to make. They were very close, and even though Rosamunde was over 700 years old, she looked like a woman in her early 30s, which made it easy for them to become friends, because on the surface they looked like they were almost the same age. And Azriel was born so, so long ago that Elain hardly ever thought of them as a mother and son. However, some conversations were off limits, and they certainly never discussed her and Azriel’s intimate relationship, even when they talked about males and their ways around the bedroom, giggling and joking over a few glasses of wine.
“Well, I,” Elain began saying, feeling a blush spreading over her chest and neck. “We…”
Yes, of course they’d made love in the morning, before she came here. They made love every morning. Every evening.
Rosamunde waved her hand at her, laughing, “Oh Cauldron! Please spare me the details!”
“Oh,”
“All I am saying is that your scents—they’ve amalgamated. I,” she sniffed delicately, “recognize him within you…Not just on your skin,”
“Really?”
Something passed across the female’s face, a small smile of recognition. Then she nodded, her face remaining unreadable, much like her son’s.
She nodded, “Yes. The cedar and the jasmine. A lovely scent indeed.”
“You smell good Elain?” Nat barreled into Elain’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck.
Elain kissed her wet hair and said, “I guess I do. Are you ready to go and eat lunch?”
“No! I want to do this more!”
“Why don’t we come back after lunch and you can play more?” Elain proposed, somehow managing to convince the unruly bunch to actually get back into the house. While they walked, Nataliya declared, “I wanna be High Lady!”
Elain chuckled, “Yes? Why? What will you do as High Lady?”
Nat thought for a second and then said, “Gonna wear pretty dresses,”
“You already wear pretty dresses,” countered Elain.
“More pretty,” insisted the girl. “And eat cake!”
“So as a High Lady you’ll be wearing pretty dresses and eating cake?”
Nodding, the budding High Lady hooked her little finger over Elain’s bracelet and added, “Will wear this too! And crowns.”
“Well, well,” Elain laughed, “all good things.”
Nat seemed pleased by the prospect of her High Ladyship and skipped ahead, dreaming of crowns and cake.
“You know,” Rosamunde’s voice was thoughtful and quiet, “she may sound silly,”
“I think she is adorable,”
“She is, but even if she is only dreaming of nice dresses and cakes now, I am glad that she is able to dream like this at all. It wasn’t available to us—females—before. There were no High Ladies—not for a very, very long time. So much so, we’d forgotten that we could be one. It’s ironic that it took a human woman to bring the practice back to the Fae world. Now it’s you, and Lady Feyre, and Lady Viviane…I never thought I’d see this.”
“But your son is also a Lord,” reminded her Elain, gently pressing her lips to Ellena’s damp curls. “Was it a surprise?”
They’d never discussed the power transfer—not at any length. It was all very sudden and there hasn’t been time or perhaps even desire to talk about it.
“No,” Rosamunde shook her head, “not exactly a surprise. We hail from an ancient race of Fae—from a Court that no longer in existence,”
“Dusk?”
“Yes. They say that when Dusk was destroyed a few hundred families managed to survive and escape. They were the original inhabitants and builders of Hewn City. Over the centuries, bloodlines thinned, some mixed with other Fae, some with Illyrians…My bloodline is pure,”
Elain shot her a surprised look. Azriel had never mentioned this before.
“Azriel is a true and direct descendant of the Dusk Court nobility—through me—and perhaps even their High Lords…So, no, I was not particularly surprised. That’s why Keir and that family were always ‘stewards’, and not Lords.”
She sighed and looked ahead, as they approached the villa.
“My son,” she said softly, “has had a difficult life. An unhappy life. A life of incredible violence and heartache. A life without childhood, or love, or anything positive or any light…That he is a shadowsinger is not a good thing, you know…It’s a curse, not a blessing. But,” and she glanced at Elain, her sad, soft face, “now he has you. Gods, Elain, you have no idea how happy you make him.”
Elain blushed, a tear-touched smile on her face. “I,”
“Elain, love, you will never know,” Rosamunde wrapped her arm around Elain’s shoulder. “He isn’t a man of many words, but believe me when I say this—I would have been heartbroken if he was granted this burden of power without you at his side. It would just be another weight added onto his shoulders, and I wouldn’t want that for my son. But you came along, and everything fell into place…You and him, and how the Power chose both of you,”
“We aren’t mates,” Elain reminded her quietly, knowing how much importance the Fae placed on the bond.
“And? Perhaps you are even more than that?” Rosamunde shrugged. “Believe me—I’ve seen some happy matings, Rhys and Feyre, for example, but I’ve seen some bad ones as well—Rhys’s parents come to mind. Your own mate bond ended up being faulty…What if you have more than a bond? Not just a bond of love, but that of power? Think about it…” she cocked her brow.
Elain hadn’t considered that option, but now she pondered the suggestion, the implication of it all.
“And you?” she asked instead.
Rosamunde smiled and looked back, towards the town which nestled under the mountains, leagues away.
“And I am an example that bonds don’t matter. No one can possibly love me more than Finrod does, and seven hundred years later, I still get weak in the knees at the sight of him—just like I did when I beheld him the first time, when he won an axe throwing competition and then flared his wings with more gusto than Cassian would,” Rosamunde began to laugh and then Elain joined. But then, her brow furrowed and she asked,
“Wait—Finrod doesn’t have wings!”
“I have wings!” yelled Nat, as she entered the house, and Rosamunde called after her and Riad to go and dry themselves and change.
Surely Elain wasn’t losing her mind. None of the family had wings. Her expression must have been so apparent that Rosamunde chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder, “We do,”
“But…what?”
“Do you know how Rhys can summon his at will? As does Lady Feyre?”
Elain nodded, so confused she felt like she was in some kind of out-of-body experience.
“That’s because Rhys has Hewn City blood. From his father. His mother was fully Illyrian. Us—we are the opposite. I am of Hewn City stock, but Azriel’s…father…” she grimaced, “was Illyrian. So Azriel has permanent wings. We—my children, and Finrod—can summon them at will. I don’t use them much, though they could be useful. Mine are mostly vestigial—I can hardly fly and,” her beautiful face darkened with sorrow, “and…”
Elain squeezed her hand in support and acknowledgement.
“I couldn’t save my baby,” Rosamunde choked, tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t save Az…They probably would’ve caught me anyway, but I might have had a chance…But, but,” she sobbed and stopped, burying her face in her hands, “I couldn’t…I can’t fly. I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save my boy…”
“Mam, ma,” Ellena babbled, seeing her mother in distress, and Elain brough her arms around the two of them, kissing both of them, the three of them crying together. For a little boy who couldn’t have a childhood and couldn’t be saved.
 …The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. They had lunch, with Nataliya demonstrating how to summon her wings and ripping her dress in the process, which caused a flood of tears, and laughter from Riad, and then Nataliya smacking her brother in retribution, and him scowling and pouting for the rest of the meal.
“You two are clearing the table,” ordered Rosamunde, and Elain had to hide her smile at their indignation.
“Az mentioned that he works with wood and that you have some pieces that he’d made,” she remembered. “Do you mind showing them to me?”
“Of course! Come,” they grabbed Ellena, who wouldn’t let go of Elain anyway, and walked through the house, with Rosamunde pointing out beautiful pieces of carved wooden furniture and decorative pieces.
“After Az was sent to the camp,” she recalled, “they allowed him to apprentice with the carpenter there…Because of his hands and his inability to fly, the Commanders didn’t think he’d be useful, and would ever be able to fight. So they figured that he should learn some kind of trade, if he didn’t make it as a shadowsinger for the High Lord, and it also allowed him to work with his hands and fingers, because he still had trouble with them even after 3-4 years after…” her voice faded and she didn’t finish her thought.
Elain ran her fingers along a beautifully carved mirror frame and murmured, “he is truly talented…”
He mother nodded. Then said, “I think he might carve something for you soon…”
“What?”
“Something for the house, I am sure.”
 Azriel landed in the front lawn of his estate.
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It was a large, rambling cottage that became available after the war—the family that lived there moved to a smaller place and the house sat unoccupied for a year. Azriel’s been eyeing it ever since it became vacant, but he didn’t need a place that big for himself and back then, he didn’t think that he ever stood a chance with Elain.
Asterin and Sorrel were lounging on the grass, lazily chewing on Elain’s roses, pretending to smell them. At seeing Azriel they immediately shifted, feigning innocence and acting like they weren’t gnashing on the bulbs just now. He shook his finger at them and they turned away, ignoring him.
He was forever thankful that unlike Hewn City, the cottage, while large, couldn’t contain two enormous, fanged beasts. So, they stayed outside. He reckoned that everything fell into place when Elain entered his life, including the location of this house—far away from everyone, secluded in brambles and weeping willows, it was just outside of Velaris, with stunning views all around—the city on one side, and the sea on the other. His presence made people nervous enough, even back when he was just a shadowsinger and spymaster of the High Lord, and an Illyrian with seven siphons. Now, as Lord of Hewn City, with a Cauldron-made betrothed, two fanged beasts in tow, and Bryaxis who loved visiting as well, having befriended Elain a while back (since two monsters as friends weren’t enough), Azriel did not make for a desirable neighbour. Thankfully, there were no neighbours around. Therefore, if Bryaxis felt like sitting in the garden, wrapped in dark shadow of terror, it didn’t result in a pile of bodies who died of pure fear.
“My love, are you home?” he called out, shucking off his jacket and weapons, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
“I am here!” Elain’s voice sang back and instantly his heart gladdened. That voice was like a balm on his soul, sweet and welcoming, and Azriel had to mentally pinch himself to remind himself that this was real. This was his life. This was his home, the one he built with the only woman that he ever truly ever loved and who loved him unconditionally and with an undimming, everlasting passion. His Elain. His Elain who chose him against all odds, and who promised to walk with him side by side, regardless of what befell them in this life. And with her next to him, he felt no fear.
“Holy gods, what are you doing?” he cried, when he entered their vast kitchen and saw Elain balance herself precariously on her toes, on the top step of a stepladder, reaching for something on the top shelf of their pantry. “You couldn’t have waited for me?!”
She laughed at him, kissing the air in greeting and said, “You are fussier than your mom!”
“What are you doing?” he came closer, and crossed his arms on his chest.
“She gave me so much food, I am trying to arrange it all,” Elain giggled, “I think she thinks that we are starving.”
He snorted a laugh.
“I felt bad for Sorrel who had to haul all these baskets on her back,”
“I imagine that Sorrel managed just fine.”
He came closer and playfully pecked her bottom through her gauzy skirt, and she squirmed with enjoyment.
“My Lord Azriel!” she admonished him playfully.
“Lady Elain,” he slapped her buttock lightly and said, “get off that stool and give me a kiss! What smells so good?”
“Dinner!”
He went to the cupboard and started pulling out plates and wine glasses and setting the table.
“Six jars of pickles! Three jars of jam,” she was counting out loud, “Three jars of marinated peppers. Six baskets of dried mushrooms…Azriel, if I see you tucking into those blackberry tarts before dinner, I swear,”
In the next moment, she was swept off her feet and into a pair of strong arms, his mouth descending on hers in a savage kiss. She screeched and laughed, clutching at his shoulders, before softening against him and draping her arms around his neck. Her lips opened in invitation and he swept his tongue inside, gently overpowering her with his kiss.
“I love you,” she moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair.
“I’d like to hear the rest of your threat,” he invited with a chuckle, “about the blackberry tarts,”
“I’d make love to you,” she whispered into his ear, lightly biting his earlobe, “if you eat a blackberry tart,”
“Then perhaps I should have two?”
“Perhaps…”
“And if I eat a pickle?” he proposed, returning to her lips, placing small, loving kisses on her mouth and her eyes.
“The punishment remains the same,” she breathed.
He breathed in deeply, with satisfaction.
Then stilled, abruptly.
Elain looked at him in surprise when he pulled away from her mouth.
His hazel eyes blazed—blazed like the green forests of Illyria, like the obsidian of Hewn City, like the stars of the Night Court. Those eyes devoured her. His perfect, beautiful face, usually so tanned and golden, paled. She’d never seen him pale.
“Az?”
Confusion and fear were written on her face.
“El,” he sobbed.
He…sobbed.
Azriel’s gorgeous eyes filled with tears, huge and thick, the eyes brimmed with them before spilling onto his face.
“Azriel,” she cried in alarm, cupping his cheek.
“Elain,” he gasped, his voice so choked with emotion, so raspy, she could barely hear him, “my love. Elain. My love,” he kept repeating, as if in shock, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Az, I love you, please, my darling, what is,”
“We are going to have a baby,” he blurted out.
Her eyes widened and his hand instinctively went to her stomach. He lay his heavy scarred palm on her belly, setting her down on the floor, and dropped on his knees before her.
She pressed her hand over his, still disbelieving his words, as they stared at each other, both in some kind of stupor of complete elation and doubt.
“Are you certain?” she begged softly, her eyes pleading with him for confirmation, for this to be true.
“I smell it…it’s so clear,” he inhaled again, and then again, “you and I and someone else in there,”
“Oh, by the Cauldron,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, “you mother…Oh…”
“What?” he pressed his cheek to her stomach, wrapping his arms around her hips.
“She knew. I think she knew…She commented on our smell,”
“What did she say?”
“That we amalgamated into one scent,”
He chuckled softly, kissing her hands, her stomach, whatever his lips could reach, “We certainly amalgamated. I think it’s a bit more than just a scent though,”
Suddenly it dawned on Elain. It all came crushing at once and she wept, squeezing her face, a smile on her face so wide, it hurt her cheeks.
“We’ve made a baby?” she gasped, “Az, we’ve made a baby.”
“We’ve made a life together,” he murmured, awed. For a male who was so used to taking life, whose very existence was dedicated to war and blood, the thought of creating one, of creating something pure and good along with this female that he loved beyond reason, was simply magical.
“On Calanmai, you think?” she marveled, remembering the Great Rite, and everything that they did that night.
“I am certain,” he nodded.
“Our magical baby,” she grinned through her tears, looking down at him, at her stomach, and their hands, cradling it together.
  It was a warm summer day, with the sky of the clearest blue and the sun beating down.
Azriel had worked up a sweat, but he loved it. It was quiet around their house, other than for the chirping birds and the rustling of leaves. Out as far as the eye could see stretched the azure sea—this view was one of the reasons Azriel bought this specific house. It was absolutely glorious and he loved the gleaming amethyst brilliance of the water, the smell of salt and brine in the air. One side of the house overlooked the city skyline, in the back, the towering mountains, and ahead, the vast expanse of the sea. When he was old and gray, he imagined that he’d be sitting out on the terrace, with Elain on his lap, and never tire of the view or of her. Not a Lord, not a spymaster or an Illyrian with too many siphons, but Azriel. He’d never tell her, but he already knew what he’d have written on his tombstone, if he ever had one ‘Here lies Azriel. He loved Elain, who made him happy’.
He looked up from the piece of wood that he was polishing. In their beautiful garden, the whole menagerie of their creatures napped or lounged. Deep in the shadows of the two weeping willows was a smudge of impenetrable darkness—Bryaxis came to look at the sun and smell the flowers. Around it, Azriel’s own shadows fluttered and floated. It was a little too bright for them out here, so they hid alongside Bryaxis, nestled in his darkness. Azriel figured that they could talk with each other, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the topic of their conversation would be. Asterin was cooling off in the pond, while Sorrel was sleeping on the grassy bank, sunning her wings. He supposed that he was also a strange creature, just like them, with his wings, that he was also presently sunning and his unnatural power. Perhaps, only Elain was the normal one amongst them, though probably not.
Elain was crouched in the flower bed, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face, even if her thin sleeveless shirt allowed a very generous and tempting glimpse of her unbound breasts under the unbuttoned collar.
“You look like a cat who just drank all the cream,” she noted, without moving her head or looking at him.
“And you are acting like an expert little spy,” he laughed, and walked over to her.
His scarred hand crawled under her hat and he squeezed the back of her neck, massaging gently.
“Mmm, that feels good,” she hummed, leaning into his hand.
Then, with a smirk, she complained, “I am hot.”
He chuckled and stooped over her, his palm migrating from the back of her neck to the front, squeezing her throat lightly and tilting her head back. The hat tumbled on the grass.
“Can I help you remove some of this offending clothing?” he offered, leaning deeper over her, his face ghosting hers in the barest of touches. He whispered and her tongue darted out and licked on his lips quickly.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”
He snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off her and then said, loudly, “Hey! All of you! Find somewhere else to be!”
The monster, the beasts and shadows all made an indignant noise, and attempted to turn around, but Azriel shook his head, “No. No. Go. Leave. Come back later. All of you.”
His shadows flew closer to him, in hopes of being spared, but he flicked his wrist at them.
Elain was laughing.
“You are a terrible host!” she murmured, when he slid on the grass next to her.
“I am a stupendous host,” he countered, stroking her throat, before tilting her head the way he wanted to and placing his lips on the thin, smooth skin. He kissed. Softly. Unhurriedly. Up and down, from her ear to her shoulder, while his deft fingers unbuttoned the few buttons of her shirt.
“Stupendous, huh?”
“Uh-uh,” he breathed against her neck, and parted her blouse, sliding it down her arms and then arranging it so she could lay her head on it. “They lounge on my lawn. They swim in our pond. They eat your flowers. They terrify the neighbors,”
“We don’t have any neighbors,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You hate people,”
“I don’t hate people,” he corrected, kissing her nose and then her lips, “I care about people. That’s why I don’t have them around, so they don’t die of terror should they come upon Bry or your sweet beasties,”
“You are my sweet beastie,” she whispered, stroking his face.
Azriel smiled, and agreed, “That I am. And, you’ve been very naughty, tempting me with these all morning long,” he cupped her bare breasts, which always fit so well within his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. Now, a month and a half into her pregnancy, they began to fill out, growing just a bit heavier and fuller almost daily. It fascinated him and, well, he couldn’t deny that it made him quite happy as well.
“You can play with them,” she offered.
“Yeah?” he leaned into her and wrapped his mouth over the nipple, pulling hard and deep, teeth and lips clamping on the sensitive tip. A violent shudder rushed through her, and she tugged on his hair, pushing his face into her soft breast…and if he was going to suffocate now, he’d die a happy male. But she released her hold on his head a bit and he sucked deeply and steadily, while working her out of her skirt.  She wiggled out of it and kicked it with her foot, while going for the ties on his trousers, pulling on them impatiently. He laughed over her breast and then looked up at her, “eager, are we?”
Elain flipped him on his back and muttered, panting lightly, “Az, I need you,”
“You have me, love,” he assured her, as he pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. She looked down, hunger in her beautiful brown eyes, her lower lip between her teeth, body almost shaking with anticipation.
He wrapped his hand over her hips and nudged her forward, murmuring, “come, my baby, take what you need.”
Elain didn’t have to be asked twice. The horrible ache in her core was becoming unbearable and there was only way to soothe it. While Azriel slid his trousers down his legs, finally getting naked beneath her, she straddled him and guided his thick cock inside of her.
“Oh gods,” she moaned, her eyes closing and head lolling to the side, pure, ravenous bliss written all over her face. She sunk on him slowly, for no matter how aroused she was, how wet and ready, his size did not allow for a singular initial thrust. It always had to be a tempered, gradual push, which they both loved, for it only heightened their senses, the anticipation of what was about to happen.
His fingers dug deeply into her thigh probably adding to an existing bruise, but Elain loved carrying his bruises on her body. Beneath her gauzy dresses, or the more daring, risqué outfits that she wore in Hewn City, or her gardening dungarees, or the simple skirts and shirts that she wore at home, her lovely, curvy body bore the marks of Azriel’s love. It was their secret, just like the bargain tattoo that was hidden on her thigh—only for him to know.
The moment he was situated in her, he set an ambitious pace, his hips working almost against his rational inclination, but the way the walls of her sex gripped him with such sublime strength and clenched and pulled him in every time he made a move was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, he stopped, just to gather his thoughts for a moment.
“You take me so well, my girl,” he grunted, “so tight,”
“Az, move,” she pleaded desperately, her palms pressing into his chest, her hips grinding onto him. “Faster…”
He sat up, biting his lower lip, his palm gripping her breast almost painfully, as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, twisting it harshly. She panted loudly, the bit of pain always being something she craved, something he offered and she chased.
“Anything you want, baby,” he finally calmed himself enough to begin thrusting into her in earnest. Even when she was on top, she liked for him to do most of the work, and he did not object whatsoever. He lay back down, letting his eyes roam over her gorgeously lush body, mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, as they bopped and swayed with every thrust of his hips. He cupped her soft, pert ass and gently spread the cheeks, mashing them in his palms, his fingers pushing occasionally against and around her other little hole, eliciting pleased moans and cries from her parted lips.
“Az, my love, you feel so amazing,” she breathed. “Why does it feel so good?”
“Because you were made for me and I was made for you,” he said simply.
“Yes,” she nodded, “yes,”
His eyes drifted down her body and he buried himself inside of her, thrusting to the hilt and holding still. She moaned loudly, her head rolling back, unbound hair ticking his thighs. He ran his hand over her torso, her throat and her breasts and then paused at her stomach, pressing lightly to her lower belly. He could feel and see the small bump—not that of their baby—but his cock that was so deep, it pushed out from inside of her.
Azriel groaned loudly, wondering if he’s ever been so hard before. He has. But every time it felt new and different, the sense of possession almost indescribable.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the same spot. Her eyes widened with lust mixed with amazement and she rubbed the cock that was pocking her stomach.
“El, fuck,” he swore low and hissing, “fuck it feels nice, baby…” he held her hand right there, and she moved and stroked her stomach. “You are so tiny, I can see myself moving inside of you,”
She grinned, “You like that, bad boy?”
“Yes, my sweet, this boy really, really likes seeing you take my cock!”
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 Cassian could barely breathe.
He loved Elain, but the flowers…Her garden was gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, a work of art—and torture for his nose and eyes and throat.
Azriel and Elain had been holed up in their luxurious secluded cottage for over a month.
He saw them here and there, they visited once, maybe twice, and then there was the dinner at the River House, which they declined to attend, citing Hewn City business.
“Go check on them!” ordered Nesta.
“Why don’t we go together?” proposed Cassian, but she said, “I don’t want to ambush them. Just…it’s casual if it’s just you.”
So here he was, being casual.
Somehow even Rhys found out that he was going to visit them, and the High Lord ordered him to report on their well-being.
The two wyverns, or whatever they were, flew over the sea, flipping and diving into the water.
Cassian landed in front of the house and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, harder this time, but was greeted with silence.
It was a nice day, so he figured that the two of them being in the garden was very probable. Elain with her flowers or berry bushes, and Azriel just watching over her like a hungry wolf in love. The male was so obsessively in love, Cassian figured that if he could spend eternity watching Elain garden, Azriel would be perfectly satisfied with his life.
Rounding the corner, Cassian was faced with the most disturbing scene that his 543-year-old eyes had seen—naked Elain, grinding on Azriel…riding his cock.
Oh gods. Oh gods.
His sister. His little sister. That’s who Elain was to him. She was his little petal, his sweet flower girl. Riding Azriel’s enormous cock. How that thing even fit into her was a miracle.
Oh gods. His eyes. He pressed his palms over his face and ran back. He slammed into something, refused to open his eyes, and ran until he was well out on the front law on the house.
Mother’s tits! Why were they outside? He knew why they were, because it was a nice day and it was perfect time for lovemaking, but gods, did Azriel have to do it with her?
Breathing heavily, Cassian shot up in the air. He’d fly around, for a few hours. A few hours should be long enough, right? Maybe a few days?
Yes, theoretically, Cassian knew that Elain and Azriel were lovers. They were betrothed and swore their love and loyalty to each other before a priestess, and one day, planned to perhaps marry, as humans married—Elain’s idea, though she was cooling off to it, no longer concerned about the human rituals and their ways. But they were both reserved people, rarely displaying overt affection towards each other and somehow, it was difficult to imagine them in more intimate situations.
 Azriel had scented his brother nearby.
Elain was whimpering atop of him, as he was pounding into her and right then, his brother was of no concern to him. He wanted to bring his girl over the edge, and she was close if the fluttering of the walls of her pussy around his cock were anything to go by. Her breath came out in deep, hoarse sighs and she stretched over him, her hair draping over her breasts and his chest, swooshing and tickling his chest. She squeezed her breast in her hand, rolling her nipple, as she plunged down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Close, sweetheart?” he held her hips tightly, angling her so that her clit ribbed against his pelvis, while kissing her mouth. She nodded breathlessly and fell atop of him, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking, as she thrashed and moaned into his shoulder, whispering how much she loved him.
“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he murmured into her hair.
 Azriel was working on an intricate carving in the piece of wood, chiseling slowly and carefully into the plank. He might have planned too complex a design, if he had to admit it, but he had eight months to complete it, so with some perseverance he figured that he’d be done just in time.
“I know you are there,” he said without raising his eyes from his chisel, “stop being weird.”
Cassian stepped in front of him, sniffling and hacking, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.
“Were you hiding there long?”
“You know I wasn’t hiding,” Cassian sneezed, “I just flew in.”
“Flew back in,” corrected Azriel, smirking.
“My eyes did not need to see what they saw earlier,” Cassian sat heavily on a bench, shaking his head. “And stop smiling!”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so modest and easily perturbed,”
“Umm, I am not easily perturbed at all,” he interrupted, “unless I see my sister doing all those things with you,”
“Well, she is my betrothed female and my Lady,” Azriel reminded him casually, “so we do ‘do those things’ as you call them,”
“I don’t need to be reminded!”
Elain appeared—thankfully dressed—with a smile on her face, and exclaimed, “Cass! I didn’t hear you come in!”
She skipped towards him and threw herself into his embrace. He swung her around in his arms, and kissed her head.
“I’ve missed you, petal!”
“I’ve missed you too!”
“You look—stunning,” he had to admit, giving her a once over. “Gods…you are glowing!”
She smiled shyly, ducking her head and then playfully slapped his shoulder, murmuring, “such a flatterer,”
Azriel was observing them silently, still carving the wood, though Cassian sensed some tension in his brother. Azriel was never jealous, especially not of him, but just in case, Cassian stepped away from Elain and sat back down on the bench. Azriel reminded him of a newly mated male, and for a moment, he wondered if they had a mate bond snap for them, which would explain their absences and secrecy.
He watched them exchange a quick glance, but a bout of sneezes interrupted his puzzlement at all of this cagey behaviour. Could Elain have been given two bonds? Elain was mysterious, her power still not entirely revealed, her Cauldron-given abilities developing and unraveling bit by bit. Her power matched Azriel’s in many different, intricate ways, most of which Cassian could not understand. Even Rhys had trouble comprehending what the two of them were capable of, and how vast that power reserve actually was.
“Cass, let me get you something for your allergies,” Elain offered. “Do you want lemonade?”
“Don’t fuss Lainey,” he began, but she waved him off. “Lemonade for my brother is not fussing. I have an ointment that will help you,”
She went back into the house and Cassian draped his arms over his knees, looking out at the sea. This was a damn nice view! No wonder they didn’t want to leave. They split their time between their four residences—Hewn City palace, Azriel’s apartment in Velaris, occasionally they used the palace on the mountain, but typically only for formal meetings, but this—this was their home.
“You are quiet,” Cassian noted, glancing at Azriel.
His brother seemed to have relaxed a bit, even his wings snapped not as tightly as before, and he shrugged in his usual Azriel way, saying nothing.
Cassian finally glanced at the wood that Azriel was working on and he nodded towards the fine carvings, “it’s beautiful…what is it?”
Azriel drew his scarred finger over the wood, and after a moment, said, “it’s headboard for a crib.”
“A crib? Really? Who asked you to make a crib?” wondered Cassian, cocking his brow.
Then he stilled, his eyes widening, “Shit?! Rhys and Feyre? Are they having another baby?”
“I don’t know,” Azriel chuckled, amusement in his eyes, “they haven’t told me.”
“Who else?” pondered Cassian. “Don’t be an asshole! Tell me!” he whined.
“Maybe you?” Azriel winked at him.
“What?” Cassian paled, “wha-…Nes,”
“Oh gods, no!” groaned Azriel, laughing, “I am kidding. Can’t you smell anything?”
“I can’t smell shit!” Cassian wiped his nose, “I am all stuffed up. What am I supposed to be smelling?”
“Elain.”
“What about Elain?”
In the next moment, Cassian tackled Azriel in his hug, both of them landing in the grass, a scream of joy ripping from Cassian’s chest.
“Elain?” he cried, tears springing in his eyes, “a baby…a baby for you,” he rocked Azriel against his chest, and for once, Azriel gently, easily embraced him back.
“Az, I…” Cassian, for once, was speechless. ‘”I am so happy…I am so happy for you,”
Azriel grinned, emotional again, his chest heavy and tight with joy.
“Actually, I need to make two cribs,” he said. “Care to help, uncle?”
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Text
Tulips And I Bloom In The Spring
Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader
Requested by @thesupremeswife (the request with the photo) (I��m not posting the photo here because it’s too big and idk how to make it smaller). It’s just fluff because I was angry. I hope you’ll like it, xuxu, and I hope you’ll feel better soon <3
A/N: John Belushi died at the Château Marmont. That’s not really important to understanding the fic but I don’t like leaving out details. As always, English isn’t my mother tongue. x
Word count:  ≈ 4 000
There was a clearing in the forest in the city where you lived, with a stream that flowed lazily through a field of red and yellow tulips. By the stream there were ruins of what had once been a manor. The roof had collapsed, and only the walls still stood. By the wall facing the stream there was a rock and on that rock you liked to sit. In the hottest days you would dip your feet in the fresh water and look at the tulips swaying gently in the breeze.
This clearing was your spot. You would come here when the city grew too loud and you felt like you were drowning. Barely anyone else knew of it. If it started raining when you were there, you’d take shelter under the trees, and if the wind blew the rain a little too hard, you’d lean against one of the walls of the manor to protect yourself from it. It was perfect. It was quiet and lonely and yours.
Sometimes a stranger would walk by and admire the tulips and shoot you a curious glance. You ignored them. Sometimes they would try to start a conversation. You ignored them. You were disappointed in the world and didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
One day in spring as you lay on the soft grass by the ruins, you were startled from your reading by a chatter of voices. A group of people emerged from the forest. A family going on a picnic, you thought. You focused on your book again. But the voices grew louder, and out of the corner of your eye you saw the party cross the stream and saunter towards you.
With an annoyed groan you sat up, set your book on your lap, and raised one hand to shield your eyes from the sun. You noticed one of the men was carrying a camera.
The woman who seemed to be leading the group – she was wearing high-heels in a forest; who wore high-heels in a forest? She was stupid and shallow, you decided – came to a halt in front of you and shot you a dazzling smile.
“So sorry to bother you, dear. Would you mind moving over there?”
“Why?” you retorted moodily. “I was here first.”
The sun hung pearls of light on your eyelashes. You couldn’t see the woman’s features very well.
“I’m really sorry to bother you,” she repeated with another charming smile. “We’re here to work and we really need you to move to the other side of the clearing.”
“Well,” you retorted, “I’m really sorry, but I’m not moving.”
That being said, you lay back down on the grass and opened your book to resume your reading.
The man carrying the camera mumbled something you couldn’t hear. The woman raised one hand to shush him. She looked at you, cocking her head.
“Did you know,” she said in a casual, polite voice, “that this place is haunted?”
You ignored her. You knew what she was doing, trying to scare you so you’d leave.
“I’m to make contact with the spirit who’s trapped in these ruins. Tom here is her great grandson.”
“Right,” you mocked, not averting your gaze from your book, “and I’m the pope and I’m here to have a picnic with Jesus.”
You heard the woman sigh. You couldn’t help but shoot her a glance. She raised one hand to her hair, combed her fingers through a golden lock with a graceful, affected gesture.
“Never mind,” she said. “Stay here if you want, but know you’ll be in the shot. Come on, boys. Be careful not to step on the pope.”
You snorted.
You pretended to read as the little group walked around you and settled by the ruins. You watched them out of the corner of your eye.
A tall man who carried himself as if he were the most important person on the planet, strode around the ruins with one hand stroking his chin, muttering remarks for an assistant to scribble down on a notebook. The woman in high-heels disappeared inside the manor and came back ten minutes later, looking pleased. She winced as someone with a round reflector threw sunlight in her eyes.
You decided they were here to shoot a movie and this woman was the main star. There was no way she had told you the truth. Spirits and ghosts and haunted ruins didn’t exist. Maybe you would have believed in them had you still been a child. What you did believe in, though, was liars. People who smiled pretty smiles and used pretty words to manipulate you and get what they wanted. You knew what life was like. A constant battle, everyone protecting themselves from each other.  
A few minutes later, a man walked up to you carrying a box and said: “Billie Dean says I have to do your makeup since you’ll be in the shot.”
“What the fuck?” you growled, glancing up at the man. He was young, and looked pretty uncomfortable.
Behind him you heard Billie’s voice call tauntingly: “Cannot have this messy head of hair of yours in my show.”
You sat up, shot her a look. “Excuse me?” you growled.
Billie was standing in the main doorway of the ruins, fluffing her hair, not looking at you.
“It’s not my fault you refused to move,” she sang. She turned to you, flashed you a smile – arrogant, smug, infuriating.
The man crouched down beside you and opened his box. Inside were two eyeshadow palettes, brushes, an array of lipsticks, foundation, mascara and things you were seeing for the first time in your life. The man cocked his head and squinted at you, as if considering which colour would fit you best.  
“What the – “You stood up as he took a brush out from the box. “Don’t you dare touch me or I’ll kick you.” You clenched your fists, turned to Billie Dean. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars,” she grinned. “I’m merely trying to do my job, dear.”
For a few seconds you scowled at her. Then you picked up your book and stomped to the other side of the clearing.
“Thank you so much!” Billie chimed.
You ignored her.
You opened your book and tried to read, but the words didn’t make sense. Vague anger was gnawing at your heart. You rolled over to your side, but it wasn’t comfortable enough. You lay on your stomach, but it hurt your neck. With an annoyed huff you sat up, crossed your legs, and watched the tulips.
Your eyes drifted to the manor. Billie Dean was standing in the doorway, talking to the man called Tom. You finally took the time to really look at her. A white lace dress that clung to her waist, pale pink acrylics, lips painted a soft red. You stared at her bare legs and suddenly it was too hot in the clearing. Certainly the sun had moved a few inches closer to Earth.
Tom nodded, turned, and disappeared inside the ruins. Billie Dean lingered in the doorway, and part of you suspected she wanted you to admire her. You told yourself you wouldn’t, just to spite her. You turned your attention back to your book and scowled at the page.
You didn’t know how to read anymore. Your eyes kept going back to Billie.
And then she ran one hand through her hair, once, twice, three times, turned and flashed you a smug smile before she walked inside the ruins.
With an angry groan you lay down on the grass and closed your eyes. You were sweating, your heart was beating too fast. After a moment you opened one eye. The clearing was deserted. The tulips swayed gently in the breeze. It looked exactly the same as a few minutes before, and yet something had changed. You couldn’t pinpoint what. Something in the air, maybe, something you couldn’t see but breathed, and it went through your lungs and contaminated the very cells in your body.  
An hour later you decided it was time to go home. You hadn’t read a single page and there was no point in staying here. But your body refused to move. So you decided you’d take a nap. You closed your eyes, rested both hands on your stomach. You listened to the whisper of the breeze in the trees and the songs the birds were chirping at the sun and the soft muttering of the stream. All of nature was alive, and all of nature had been contaminated by that new thing in the air because now all of nature was singing of her.
A shadow fell on you. You opened one eye and shot up.
Billie smiled that arrogant smile of hers and arched an eyebrow. “Would you fancy a drink?” she asked.
Your mouth fell open. You closed it. “What?”
“We’re done here, and I thought,” she pointed one long finger at you, “that I could buy you a drink to thank you for being so accommodating.”
You stared at her finger for way too long. When your brain rebooted, you tried to give her a look, but the sun was in your eyes and made you wince.
You ordered your mouth to say “No”, but your mouth said “Yes”. The smile it drew from Billie was worth it, though.
“Splendid!” she exclaimed, curling her finger and touching the tip of it to her palm. “I know just the place for you.”
The place in question was a very fancy, very bucolic coffee shop on a river bank. You sat down at a round table on the terrace with a vase of roses in the middle. Billie took the liberty to order a glass of lemonade for you, and sat back in her chair as she lit a cigarette.
You didn’t realize you were staring at her until she teasingly blew smoke in your direction and asked you if there was something on her face.
“Jeez, no, you look perfect,” was what came out of your mouth. You silently scolded yourself.
“Why, thank you,” Billie smiled. “I had a feeling I was to meet a pretty girl today, so I had to make sure I looked my best.”
You narrowed your eyes at her. “You won’t fool me with all this seducing of yours,” you said, squaring your shoulders to look fierce. “I don’t care for crooks.”
Billie arched an eyebrow. Her smile became polite. “You think I’m a crook?”
“Talking to spirits?” You snorted. “Yeah, I think you’re a crook.”
“I’d have to be one crazy masochist to have willingly chosen this life, wouldn’t I?”
You shrugged. “How could I know?”
Billie blew out smoke, crossed her legs and threw her head back.
“So you don’t believe in what I do?” she asked in a sweet voice.
You held her gaze. “No.”
An amused smile. “And yet here you are, having a drink with me. I wonder why.”
You tried to think of a witty answer, but your brain was empty of words. Thankfully you were saved by the arrival of the waiter, who set your drinks on the table and flashed Billie an enamored smile.
The sun was setting and splattering the river with blinding specks of light. Billie closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. You sipped your drink, and tried – but failed – not to blush when she caught you staring.
You straightened your shoulders, cleared your throat. You said, to distract her attention from your reddening face, that you would watch the next episode of her show. She laughed, threw back her head again, and lit another cigarette.
After that there were a few minutes of silence as Billie watched you and you pretended not to watch her. You turned your head and stared at the river.
Billie took your hand in both of hers. You shot her a glance.
“Do you often think such dirty things while contemplating the sunset?” she taunted, mischief glinting in her eyes.
“Excuse me?”you blurted out.
She smirked. “I can see what you’re thinking, dear. That’s part of my gift.”
You stiffened in your chair, heat rising to your head. You had half a mind to withdraw your hand from her grip. You decided not to.
“What’s the point anyway?” you asked her after a few long, uncomfortable seconds had passed. “I’m not into one-night stands.” You paused. “They make me sad.”
Billie hummed. For a second she looked almost wistful. Then she started stroking her thumb on the back of your hand.
Her fingers were cold. You wondered if pressing them against your mouth would warm them up.
When you both decided it was time to leave, Billie insisted she paid for your drink. You stood awkwardly behind her as she laughed with the waiter, then followed her out.
On the threshold you stopped and met her eyes. She gave you a smile.
“Well then, darling, I guess this is goodbye,” she said.
You shrugged. You looked down, toed at the ground. You saw Billie Dean’s shadow move on the concrete, sliding closer to you – and then you felt her lips, hot and soft, plant a sweet kiss on the right side of your jaw.
Your heart jumped. You took a sharp intake of breath, eyes growing wide as Billie lay one hand on your cheek to guide your head towards hers. She pressed her mouth against yours, barely touching, and pulled away before you could register what was happening, but it left you shivering and burning and aching for more.
She met your eyes again and smirked, arrogant and confident and so goddamn irritating. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” she hummed. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
The day after, you went back to the clearing. You pretended you didn’t know why. You pretended it was because the weather was warm and the so sky blue and the sun so bright.
The air in the clearing was still full of Billie. The place had been irremediably contaminated by her. It would never be the same now. It wasn’t peaceful anymore; it sang of longing and desire.
You walked into the ruins and lay your hands on the walls and pricked up your ears. You called out loud to the spirit, before deciding you were stupid. There was no such thing as ghosts.  
When you turned to leave, Billie Dean was leaning in the doorway, watching you. A huge grin tugged at her lips.
You met her eyes and felt heat flood your cheeks and ears.
“Um,” you said.
“I’m the only one who can hear her, baby doll,” Billie sang. She ran her eyes up and down your body, and licked her lips.
Your eyes flicked down to them.
“I don’t believe you,” you heard yourself say. “I don’t believe ghosts are real.”
Billie’s grin grew. She straightened up and walked towards you.
“Then why are you trying to communicate with them?” she whispered, like a secret, as she came to a halt right in front of you. Your gaze drifted from her lips to her eyes.
“What is the ghost saying to you?” you asked.
Billie chuckled, raised one finger. “Spirit, dear.”She brushed the tip of her finger over your lip. “She’s saying,” Billie went on, her voice dropping an octave lower, “what a beautiful young thing you are, and I would be a fool not to kiss you.”
You shivered at how dark Billie’s eyes were. Without thinking, you nipped her finger.
The dark in Billie’s eyes turned predatory. She smirked, slipped one arm around your waist and pulled you close.
A surprised gasp fell from your lips. Your skin tingled where her arm touched you. You put one hand on her chest to hold her back.
“Why are you here?” you breathed.
“I am being,” she answered, eyes flicking to your mouth, “irresistibly drawn to you.”
Your brain was empty of thoughts. It wasn’t a brain anymore but a recipient made to contain Billie’s scent, Billie’s warmth, Billie’s touch, Billie’s everything. “I don’t believe in love at first sight,” you heard yourself whisper.
Your mouth was dangerously close to hers. Her breath was tickling your lips with every exhale. Her breath was silk, and it caressed your skin.
Billie chuckled. “There’s a lot of things you don’t believe in, sweetheart.” She stroked the corner of your mouth with her thumb again, and you gave in.
Billie grinned into the kiss as if she had won some kind of war and you mumbled, “Shut up”, because she had, in a way. But dear you, she was irresistible and you wanted – needed – all of her.
She must have been right, after all. There was something, some kind of force, drawing you towards each other. You had never felt this way before, this level of want, this carnal need to be with her and know what it really meant to make one with someone. You were certain the moment you’d touch her, your soul would be healed.
Billie slid her tongue inside your mouth and you moaned softly, dug your finger into her butt in retaliation.  
Billie shuddered. “Take me to your place, now,” she rasped.
“It’s too far away,” you whined, desperately pushing your hips against hers.
Billie chuckled. She pressed her mouth to your jaw, peppered delicious kisses down your neck that drew another moan from you.
“There’s a hotel right at the edge of this wood. Close,” you breathed.
“Close,” Billie breathed back. You felt her shiver against you at the promise this word held. “Oh God, close.”
**
When you woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. You extended your arm, patting the mattress, finding nothing. Your eyes shot open. You sat up, dread tightening your throat, when you finally realized you could hear the sound of the shower running. Billie’s clothes still lay on the floor where she had abandoned them. Steam curled out from the slightly-opened bathroom door.
With a relieved sigh you slumped back onto the bed. A smile tugged at your mouth as you buried your face in the sheet. You rubbed your nose on Billie’s pillow to catch a whiff of her perfume.  
Part of you was screaming for you to just grab your things and run away. There was no plausible scenario in which this could end well. You and Billie lived two very different lives, and you were you, and Billie Dean was… Billie Dean. She was perfect and charming and successful in every way.  
But then – but then there was that other part of you which was singing. It was so deliriously happy and it was begging you to try. Give her a chance. Don’t let her go. Do anything, give anything to make her stay.
You opened your eyes and raised your head when you heard footsteps. Billie met your eyes, froze, smiled a rather nervous smile.
The air left your lungs. She was wearing a grey tank top and white panties. Her hair was still damp from the shower, not yet brushed, and her face was completely makeup-free. She obviously looked a bit uncomfortable, as she picked her clothes from the floor and held them against her stomach.
“Good morning,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep.” She gave you another nervous smile. “What are you staring at?”
“You,” you blurted out. You blinked, cleared your throat. “I love your face with no makeup on.”
“Oh.” She chuckled, lowered her head. “I’m not looking my best.”
“Nonsense,” you replied fiercely. “You look stunning.”
She peeked up at you, a soft blush blooming in her cheeks. You bit your lower lip and opened your arms. “Come here and give me a hug?”
Billie seemed to hesitate. Her body leaned towards the bathroom, then towards you. She dropped her clothes on the floor and hurried to you.
With a giggle you pulled her down with you, resting one hand on the nape of her neck to guide her mouth to yours. You opened your eyes during the kiss to admire her.
When Billie pulled away, she sat on the bed next to you and sighed happily. You leaned towards her, combed her hair back from her face and gathered it in one hand. Then you reached for your phone and, before she had time to realize what you were doing, you snapped a photo of her.
“Y/N,” she laughed, half-amused, half-embarrassed.
You frowned at your phone. “Wait, it’s bad,” you whined. “I can only see the top of your head.” You raised your phone. “Let me take another, come on, look at me pretty please.”
Billie laughed again, louder. “I’ll let you take all the photos you want once I’ve made myself up, baby doll,” she sang.
She made to stand up, but you grabbed her arm and pulled her back down so she was lying on top of you.
“Don’t go,” you whispered against her mouth. “Stay here with me forever. Let’s never leave this bed.” Billie hummed, planted a lazy kiss on your collarbone. “I don’t care about your ghosts. They can survive without you.”
Billie chuckled. She raised her head, and you automatically buried your fingers in the long, damp locks of hair that framed her face.
“Spirits, dear,” she corrected you. She lowered her head again, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your neck.
“Spirits,” you breathed. Billie was kissing a trail up your neck, her mouth hot and wet. You shivered, wrapped your arms around her waist. You pushed your head back to give her more access.
You knew it wasn’t wise or safe to offer this complete stranger intimacy and vulnerability on a silver platter, with a curtsey to boot. But it felt like you knew her, somehow – or rather, it felt like something deep inside you knew her, had known her in another life maybe, and was slowly waking up to her touch. Coming home.
And you knew you were supposed to be done with the world, supposed to be disappointed in it, supposed to be disillusioned, but you didn’t want to be disillusioned anymore. You wanted to find again the capacity to hope and to dream and most of all to believe without a doubt that your dreams would come true.  
You sucked on her lower lip when her mouth met yours, and whispered, almost angrily, “What do you hope to get from this? Us? Because I don’t want a fucking remake of The Bridges of Madison County. Will you promise me never to break my heart?”
She pulled away to look at you. Her brow furrowed.
“I’m afraid I cannot promise you that, my love.”
“Will you promise me you’ll try?”
A smile. A poke on your nose. “That I can do.”
“Will you take me to the Château Marmont? I’ve always wanted to spend a night there.”
Billie chuckled, buried her face in your neck. She held you close, as if you were something precious, as if she were coming home, too.
You brushed back a strand of her hair to whisper in her ear, “You can’t say no. I’ve got a picture of you barefaced. ”
“Fine,” Billie laughed, her voice muffled against your skin. “Cocktails with John Belushi are at 6pm every Friday. I’m pretty sure he’ll have a great time trying to scare you.”
Tag list: @sapphicsarahpaulson @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers   @coconutlipss ​ @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills
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poptod · 3 years
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The Breeding Kings, pt. 20
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Notes:  WC: 7.4k
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It wasn't long at all until he realized something was different––not specifically in you, or in his environment, but within his thoughts. Things had shifted, and the constant anxieties of where food and water was coming from next were turned to empty slots in his mind, slots you happily filled.
Against his will, he could think of little else besides you. He tried many things as well––staying away from you, keeping close to you, but he had yet to touch you in any way that really mattered. Fluttering glances and barely-there graces didn't count, nor did misplaced kisses on saner, safer areas. No, his dreams offered him no break from the annoyingly insistent thoughts, and instead supplied him with the endless imagination of an unchecked mind. Drowning in the image of your closed eyes slotted next to his in soft kisses, of your fingertips trailing across his bare waist.
But you would never do that.
He stared longingly at you through the gate he guarded, leaning on his wooden and bronze spear as you dug in the garden. Zakiti, your work partner, was travelling back and forth between where new trees had been dropped off, and where you were told to plant them.
In fact, he was so absorbed in your moving lips that he barely heard his own partner talking to him from across the gate.
"What are you, in love with Zakiti?" He asked, but he spoke in Akkadian, and Ahkmen had yet to pick up more of the complex words. One phrase you taught him was –
"I do not speak Akkadian," he said.
Luqa––or at least that's what Ahk thought his name was––just sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to face front. Ahkmen frowned softly but turned to attention as well.
That was generally how he spent his working hours. Much like he had in the House of Life in Egypt, he wasted away the time by staring at you or thinking of you, phasing out at the thought of knowing you. He was sure his coworker was tired of his shenanigans, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about what Luqa thought.
Fortunately, neither of you had work that often, and after asking the stewardess, your schedules were matched up to have the same amount of free time at the same time. The two of you took full advantage of that, spending many of your days strolling throughout the city and trying the new foods and beers created throughout the mud brick landscape. Strips of gardens were scattered throughout the city, but none more grand than the terraces of flora making up the Hanging Gardens, whose trees leant over with their plentiful fruit. Deep green vines twisted around blue tiled ledges and tall, white pillars, the especially long ones brushing up against the people who came and went from the gardens. You had yet to actually enter any of the Hanging Gardens, but they remained a constant in the background of the city.
Many morning and evenings you spent in the brewery. Sometimes Ahk would follow you, but other times he left to temples and taverns, socializing with the locals in hopes of absorbing more of the language. His favorite time was coming to visit you at the brewery after letting you work for a few hours, as you always lit up like a beacon whenever you caught sight of him.
This time was no different––you raced up the steps, taking his hand and dragging him back down. Today, tarps had been raised above the workshop, blocking away the blearing sun, and allowing a little more comfort in the already-heated environment. Not all of the stations were filled, but your friend Tiamat was still there at your side.
"I am – I am doing a, uh, a way to make my beer, but with the barley," you stuttered out, barely coherent enough for him to understand.
"So... the really alcoholic kind?" Ahk asked uncertainly.
"Yes!!" You exclaimed, and Tiamat laughed.
"Here," Tiamat said, gesturing Ahk over to her. She dunked the cup in her hand into the frothing beer, and handed it to him when it filled with the golden liquor.
You and Tiamat waited in baited breath as Ahk slowly lifted the cup to his mouth, sipping at the warm drink with a critical look in his eye. It was sweet––almost like cider, but it burnt his throat on the way down, warming his stomach pleasantly once it was there. He looked up, and you were still watching intently.
"What do you think?" You asked, your hands clasped tight together in front of your chest.
"It's good," he said, nodding. "You know what would go great with this?"
"What?"
"Cardamom. It's a spice, I'm sure they have it here," he said, but your brow furrowed as you looked away, a confused look on your face.
Ahk looked to Tiamat and repeated, "cardamom."
Tiamat, who look equally confused, said something to you that you had to translate.
"We do not know the word in Egyptian," you said.
"Shit," Ahk muttered. "It would taste so good, though."
"Is it sweet?"
"Well, it is used in desserts," he said with a shrug.
"That is good for me. We can – uhh, we can go to a spice shop, and we can, or you can, find it," you suggested, and repeated it to Tiamat, who nodded with a brightening smile.
"Good idea," she said.
The three of you set off quickly with Tiamat leading the way, as she knew the city best after the years she'd been living within its walls. Bustling chatter filled the streets, accompanied by shuffling feet, wooden wheels, and the jarring calls of sheep and goats. Bells sometimes rung as merchants shouted out their wares, and you ducked beneath their raised arms, giggling as you followed Tiamat, while Ahkmen trailed close behind, almost always reaching out for your hand.
Tiamat was a good deal taller and buffer than you, reaching Ahkmen's height and surpassing his strength, so she was stopped by large crowds that suddenly crossed your path. You panted as you caught up to her long-striding legs, followed by Ahk also appearing and panting.
"Since the drought, a lot of our trade lines have been cut... of course, the Kassite takeover didn't help, so we've only got a couple spice shops left," Tiamat told you as she tried to look over the moving heads of the crowd. "I think most of it is grown in the King's garden now, actually."
"That is good," you said, positing it was better than nothing.
"Yes, but... I do miss cinnamon," she said with a chuckle.
You relayed what she said––minus the cinnamon––to Ahkmen as you waited for the people, who were dragging along a group of goats, to pass by.
"That ought to make our search easier," Ahk said, and no sooner had he'd finished the phrase than he was being pulled on again, your left hand clasping his and your right held by Tiamat.
Frequent turns led you from the northern-most side of the city and into the south, where the streets were less disorganized than they had been. You tried to stop Tiamat several times to look at some of the cuisine and textiles within the scattered markets, but to Ahk's relief she didn't notice you, and kept on her quick-footed pace headed for the spices.
Both you and Ahk fell into heavy pants as Tiamat finally drew to a stop in front of a large, clay storage house, staring up at the symbol carved above the entrance. Through the archway you could spy a few people moving about amongst the massive pots and jars of sandy colors.
When Tiamat made to enter, the two of you followed gingerly, looking like twins with your hands curled in front of your chests to avoid touching anything. You scanned the room as a whole before your eyes fell to one of the merchants, wrapped up in white desert attire and a large turban set on his head. He was speaking quietly to another man, so you ignored him for the time being, and returned your attention to Ahkmen.
"What is the spice you did name?" You asked in a whisper.
"Cardamom," he repeated. "It's just kind of... vaguely brown. Like split wheat."
"That is a good help," you said flatly, looking at the pyramid-like structures of spice nearly overflowing out of the tall clay vases, most of which could qualify as 'vaguely brown'.
"Cardamom," Tiamat tried the word, rolling the word unnecessarily. She turned to you and said in Akkadian, "it's a strange word, isn't it?"
"A little," you agreed with a giggle.
You and Tiamat watched as Ahk sniffed each spice individually, often having to bend down to get a full whiff of the scent. Each time he did so, he wrinkled up his nose, stepping away with a frown.
"Is it bad?" You asked on the first time he did this.
"No, it's just really strong," he said.
That was his continuing excuse for doing it at least ten more times throughout the 15 presented jugs. By the end of it, you were no closer to knowing cardamom's Akkadian name, much less actually having any cardamom.
He backed away from the jars with a frown, crossing his arms as he scanned over all of them once more.
"Nothing," he said.
"How may I help you?" Someone behind you asked, and all three of you turned to see the shopkeeper––the darkskinned merchant who wore a turban. He spoke in Akkadian, but he had an accent, one only Tiamat could pick up on.
"We're looking for a specific spice, but we only know the name in Egyptian," Tiamat said, gesturing vaguely in Ahk's direction.
"Alright," he said with a heavy brow, glancing between you. "What is it?"
You nudged Ahk and he said, "cardamom."
"Ah," the merchant nodded, "qaqullu."
Tiamat asked for him to say it again, but she didn't know the spice, and reported so with a confused look.
"I wouldn't expect ye' to, it's off from Kuru in the east," he said, gesturing out the door with a hand holding round bottle. "Route's been cut, so I haven-been able to get it."
Before you could do it, and to your immense surprise, the merchant repeated what he'd said to Ahkmen in Egyptian. Ahk had a similar look of surprise on his face.
"Do you know of any place that might have it?" Ahk asked with wide eyes. He almost didn't notice the way you grinned toothily up at him.
"You are so intense," you whispered to him.
"How do you even know that word? You asked me what soup meant just yesterday –"
"The King's garden, probably," the merchant interrupted. "But it would cost much."
"That's not a problem," Ahk said before Tiamat could respond.
The three of you bid a hasty thanks and good-bye to the merchant, who gave you an odd look as you raced out of the shop. Crowds had only grown more thick during your time indoors, meaning you could barely see past the moving bodies, and had to rely on Ahk and Tiamat for where you were supposed to go.
Tiamat led the way once more, winding back through the streets from the way you came. According to her, the King's palace was somewhat near to the center, but the gardens were held closer to the largest temple, which marked the exact center of the city. Ahkmen spied through the tall buildings a stretching tower, reaching into the sky in white stone and dark, green leaves. The closer you got, it became easier to realize that the garden resided in a massive temple complex that took up nearly half of the city dwelling on the western bank.
You stopped at a large bridge hanging over the wide Euphrates that split the city down the middle, staring at the sheer size of the rushing water compared to the thin stretches you and Ahk had travelled down. Travellers and chariots marched down the large brick street, wooden wheels pulled by strange creatures you'd never seen before. Most chariots carried one or two passengers, as well as a carriage for goods, such as food, stone, and cloth. A couple carried massive bushels of reeds. On either side of the bridge were familiar statues––the lions with the heads of men, of which you'd learned earlier were titled Lamassu. Soldiers with spears and sheathed swords stood at their sides.
The frequency of soldiers and guards increased as you approached the walls surrounding the temple of Marduk, whose name you only knew after extended conversations with both Tiamat and Zakiti. Ahkmen wasn't aware of the name, but that didn't stop him staring at the temple's might, six terraces building the material of humans into the unearthly heavens.
However, the temple ended up not being your final destination. Tiamat led you past the tower and to the south, running down a wide street that led directly to one of the city's outer walls. Once you stood at the wall's base, she took a sharp turn to the left, and took you to one of the city's entrances across the moat of water.
Across he bridge lay farms and smaller houses, as well as another wall––though much smaller––that had been built to fortify the growing city. The sun shined a bright white overhead, allowing the dewdrops on trees to shine and glitter across the small, town-like reaches.
"There," said Tiamat, pointing out to a shaded area protecting rows of plants. Some of them had tarps set out above them, but others had more permanent shade, effectively hiding a good number of rows from view.
Ahk squinted in the bright sun to try and make out the different types of plants growing there.
"Are we allowed to actually go into the garden?" Ahk asked, a question you relayed to Tiamat.
"I've never been," she said, and began forward across the bridge. "So I'm not actually sure."
You translated the general idea again.
"Well, I've run this much now," Ahk said with a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. "Ought not to give up now."
The overbearing scent of mixed spices was quick to hit you, and the three of you slowed down as your noses burned. A few people were standing outside an open archway, the darkness inside containing several more people, and barrels worth of spices. To the left of that the growing continued in shadow, while sunloving plants enjoyed the last light of the day.
Ahkmen accidentally met the eyes of one of the people flanking the entrance, causing his gaze to shoot back down to the ground. The doorway, like many in Egypt, was raised partway off the ground to avoid tracking dust and sand into the building. He stepped over the frame, and stood blindly while his eyes adjusted to the major change in light. His squinting was disturbed when you bumped into him, muttering some sort of apology before you pressed your side to his, scanning the quiet room with a look of near menace.
Tiamat appeared to be in a similar state of apprehension, scanning the room in hopes of finding out whether or not you were allowed to be in there at all. You and Ahk hadn't noticed, but the symbol of the King was carved clearly above the small house, and those who stood nearby were dressed in deep colors of red, purple, and green––a stark difference from the farmers who dwelled in much simpler homes outside.
Your awkward glances eventually caught the eye of a much older man, whose beard curled magnificently between robes of green and silver silk. His dark, bushy brow furrowed as his eyes fell specifically to you––a sort of anger, or perhaps confusion, overtook his curiosity and he stepped forward.
"My name is Sagar," the man said, taking your hand and bowing his head slightly. You stiffened, and Ahk quickly came over to your side, wrapping an arm around the back of your waist.
"Hello, I, uh – I am here with my friends," you replied in Akkadian, joined soon on the other side by Tiamat.
Compared to you and Ahk, Tiamat looked a great deal older as well––neither of you had gotten the chance to ask her age, but considering you were about as short as a 10 year old, and Ahk was twiggy as a 12 year old, it created a considerable difference. You assumed this was why Sagar very suddenly averted his attention to Tiamat, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Like you, Tiamat grimaced, her shoulders tightening.
"How may I help you?" Sagar asked, his voice low and weathered against your softer ones. Tiamat stuttered before she found an answer.
"We are looking for a spice, qaqullu," she said slowly.
"You must be a woman of noble bearings," he said with a smile.
"Well –"
"No," you answered for her. "But he is."
You pointed to Ahk with your thumb, who shot you an offended look before he confronted Sagar.
"I do not speak Akkadian," Ahk said, easily recalling the only phrase he knew in Akkadian.
Sagar looked him up and down, almost hesitant to speak.
"Egyptian?" He asked.
You nodded, somewhat impressed considering Ahk was trying to wear more Babylonian clothes, but Ahkmen just looked unsettled, shifting his weight between his feet.
"I've been helping them look for cardamom for their beer," Ahk explained quietly.
"If you have the means to pay for it, the King does have seeds. The price has gone up, though," he added, "due to some... outer pressures."
"You mean the trade network?" Ahk asked, kinking a single brow.
"I'm afraid so. It'll be several gold bands or sacks of grain."
Several?? Ahk's eyes bulged as he heard the price. While he was regaining his words, his mouth fallen open, Sagar translated the sentence back into Akkadian for Tiamat.
"Mother of Gods," Tiamat blurted out. "We'll, uh – we'll be right back."
She herded the two of you out the door––which wasn't a very hard task––and took you round the corner so the doorway was no longer visible.
"I don't think I have that much grain and I certainly don't have that much gold," she said quickly, her eyes flickering between you and Ahk despite the fact that he couldn't understand her.
"We have many gold," you said, retaining most of your optimism easily.
"Okay, wait, we don't have that much gold," Ahk said as soon as he vaguely translated what you said. He turned to you and continued, "we still need to get through Elam and into Harappa. And we'll still need a lot of money once we get there so we don't starve after, like, three days of being in the city."
"Hmm..." you hummed quietly, your brow knotted together as you picked at the skin on your chin.
The two of them waited for you while you thought deeply, staring at the ground.
"We can steal," you suggested after a moment of silence.
"Again??"
"You say it all the time, that it is fun to steal, and from Kings," you said rather loudly, causing Ahk to shoot forward and silence you with a hand held tight over your mouth, simultaneously pushing you against the nearest wall.
"That man in there knew Egyptian, and I'm pretty sure he works for the King," he said quietly.
You stared at each other, iron in your gaze and steel in his.
"What is happening right now?" Tiamat asked, and at that point you recalled that, once more, you were not alone. Ahk had a similar reaction, backing up as his hands zipped behind his back.
You explained the short conversation to her, at which point she nodded with much the same expression as Ahk's when he thought deeply.
"What's the King like?" Ahk asked, knowing little more of the man other than his name. You translated.
"His name is Gidar," she began, allowing you to translate each sentence before she continued. "He is quiet, keeps to himself. He has funded building and farming projects, though, and he upholds the law, so no one really bothers him."
"Are his punishments violent?"
That one took you a little longer to figure out––you didn't know the Akkadian word for 'violent' or 'punishments,' so instead you said something more along the lines of 'does he kill or hurt people who do bad'.
"Like stealing?" She asked.
"Sure," you said with a shrug.
"He will cut off your hands and kill you."
"... oh," you mumbled, grimacing as you turned to Ahk and translated.
"Well, then we better not get caught," he said, placing his hands on his hips.
You glanced to Tiamat with an odd look.
"I do not think that is something we can ask her to do," you whispered, leaning into Ahk.
"Probably not," he said after a moment's thought. "Tell her to go back to the brewery. We'll be back there soon, I think."
"Today?" You asked, your eyes wide.
"Tonight," he nodded.
Late afternoon, and the warm, fiery colors it brought sunk into the horizon, and the stars chased after that light, appearing easily in the sky surrounding a simpler town than the centers of Karanduniash. Only small torches burnt outside the main walls, usually hung by entrances to the clay huts built up from the earth. Some houses were illuminated brightly by fire places, casting squares of light onto the ground from windows, but many were climbing up onto their roofs with rugs and blankets.
You watched the evening progress from a spot near the King's spice garden which, now that you'd stared at it for a couple hours, looked incredibly inconspicuous for such a rich store. An alleyway hid you from sight of the caretakers inside the garden, and a silver earring from Ahk allowed you a hearty, thick stew, steaming with warmth in your bowls.
With a grin you clinked your wooden bowls together before raising it up, forgoing your spoon in favor of slurping the soup. He chuckled, matching your behavior as he glanced past your shoulder, to the garden, and then ultimately to one of the nearby houses in his line of sight.
More people up on the roof––smoke billowed into the air, long shadows and brightly lit faces indicated the bonfire now burning on the rooftop. A couple louder shouts, though still not loud enough for him to understand, and laughter came from there. Ahk recalled with jarring suddenness nights spent on his friend's roof's, cooking fish and warming beer over flames. Fireflies sometimes drifted through the streets below, but what always stood above were looming palm trees, silhouetted against the evening sky rife with stars.
All he could see of the stars was through the thin gap between the houses where you now sat, as anything outside of looking directly up was fuzzed by torchlight. At least the scent of stew still tempted him; he turned his direction back to his food and felt considerably better after finishing.
"I think we take hot stew for granted," he said after a full minute of staring at his empty bowl.
"It is hard to make when we move," you said quietly.
"Really?"
"Yes, you... you need spices, and – and wheat, or barley, or it will be hot fish water," you said in complete seriousness, looking up to him with a critically thinking eye that sent him into laughter.
"Hot fish water??" He repeated, a wide, sweet smile across his face that had you blushing.
"That is what that is!"
"Okay, okay," he chuckled, "keep quiet, my dear."
"I am not your deer," you said flatly, and returned to the last of your stew.
His heart beat painfully, warmth following that pulsing depth. His smile fell, as well, as imagination––and longing––seized him, and he very nearly pulled you into his lap. Instead he dug his nails into his palm, and proceeded to thoroughly imagine the entire scenario, were he not a coward.
He would take your hands and pull you in. You would follow without hesitation, slotting your knees on either side of his hips, and resting yourself on his thighs. Then you'd ask why he did this, and he would say something suave––something like 'just wanted to see you better'. He'd raise his hand and push the hair out of your face to see your dark, inky eyes, and the red mark above your brow. And he would ask–
"How did you get that mark on your forehead?"
You paused your eating and Ahk stiffened, realizing he just spoke aloud his thoughts.
"My parents did give it to me," you said quietly as you set your now-empty bowl aside. "It was... on my mother, not there forever. It – it came off, but they did want me to always have my third eye open. And they hit it in with sindoor."
"Sindoor?"
"It is from Harappa, I think... I do.. I remember that, in that time, I was in stone homes, with flags of red and gold, and the food.. was very sweet. I think that it is Harappa, what I remember," you said, slowly coming to terms with your own memories.
"You remember your time there?" Ahk asked, raising his brow.
"Only a little," you said with a shrug. "But the mark is where everything is made, by Gods, by us. It is..," you sighed deeply, "I do not know how to say it in Egyptian."
"Oh," he said. His knees pulled ever so slightly closer to his chest, scraping his sandals on the rough gravel. "Can you draw it?"
"... maybe?"
You moved to your knees, searching your immediate surroundings for a stick or rock.
The stick dragged through the loose dirt, forming shapes that soom became ideas––one triangle to represent bread, beside two, and then a blank, empty space you circled.
"It is... nothing. It is when you have no bread, that is a number too," you said, watching Ahk carefully to guage if he fully understood. "Because the life does not.. fully live, without our math."
"The absence of something isn't a number," Ahk said with a frown, his intense gaze switching from the image to you.
"I do not know," you mumbled, pulling your knees to your chest. "It is only what my parents did say."
The stray expression on your face was solidified with wandering eyes, trailing off to the side of the alley wall. Ahk was still in a state of stupefaction, staring at your features––the curl of your lashes, or the warmth of your lips, whose mirage always found his cheek in dreams and fantasies.
Before he knew it he was leaning forward, at last reaching out for you, fingers numb with nervousness scraping against the earth. You still wouldn't look to him, but he continued, thoughtlessly, to creep closer, his hand hovering close enough to your waist to feel your heat.
"The man is leaving," you whispered, the words acting like ice over Ahkmen's brain.
He quickly withdrew, clearing his throat and tracing your eyeline back to the King's garden. There was, in fact, a silhouette of a man leaving the garden hut, settling a tarp over the door and its' symbol before he disappeared from view.
"Give it a few minutes," he muttered back, his eyes set dead upon the disappearing figure. "He might come back."
Ahkmen sat back down on his butt, the pebbles beneath him scratching as he adjusted himself against the wall. You glanced to him for a moment, offering a small smile when you saw his furrowed brow, lessening his anxiety if only minutely.
The two of you talked quietly for a little while longer, keeping up your cover as vagrant friends, until Ahk was assured the guard wouldn't be returning. He kept a continuous eye on the garden, and was quick to move to his feet after he decided it was safe. Your hand slipped into his without him asking, a grip he solidified as you jogged, looking up and down the street you crossed.
No one.
The flap the man set over the doorway was a meek form of protection, and was easily bypassed with nothing more than your hands. It rippled behind you as you entered, but soon fell silent, hiding you and Ahk from view of the street.
Inside the garden's storeroom was even darker than the night outside––the flap blocked out the light of torches, and a ceiling concealed the sky. You squinted as you tried to see, eventually making out the shaky forms of closed caskets and containers. Most of them had lids made of pottery, but some had nets wrapped around the high necks, secured tightly into place with complex knots.
"You must see for it," you whispered to him. "I do not know the smell, or the look."
"I don't really know how it looks either, I'll be honest with you," he said. "I've only ever seen it fully processed in one of the kitchens."
"Why did you not say that?!" You hissed.
"I didn't think it would be a problem!" He whispered harshly.
"You –" you sucked in a breath, "– you find the thing, I will go see that we are not found."
"Yes, dear," he said in a drawling tone he had used many times for those two words.
Before he knew it his back was slammed against a wall, sending pain shooting up his spine and into his cranium. He nearly let out a pained cry, but your hand zipped up to cover his mouth, your other arm keeping his chest pinned to the wall. He stared wide-eyed down at you, shocked at the force you so easily used.
Your fingers over his lips.
Your hand on his chest.
Your leg slotted between his.
His cheeks were set ablaze.
"You do not get the bad part of the times in Egypt, when you did steal and make fun with guards," you said, glowering up at him. "But this is not a place where you are rich. You can not pay for innocence. Not here. And this price is death if we are seen, like it is always for me, in Egypt and Babylon."
He gulped down the knot in his throat, only breathing when you gently pulled away. You still glared at him, but it was less intense, and you put more distance between you.
"Do see the cardmoms," you mumbled before you left.
The flap settling back into place was the last sound he heard from you, your fabric shoes allowing you to pad quietly away without making any noise. An intense, overpowering silence followed, darkened hands rubbing it like lavender upon his skin, familiar and uncomfortable.
He spent the following hour or two searching through the assorted jars, carefully raising up mud lids or untying thick rope. Many of the spices were ones he'd tried before––some reminding him of Egypt and others bringing memories of the few countries he travelled to during his time as Prince. Now he was stealing not just for fun, but because he had to. He couldn't afford what he was taking.
Cardamom, who carried a sweet, fruity scent, ended up being at the opposite end of the room, making it one of the last he inspected. Its' scent was also incredibly distinct, and the moment he found it he knew most certainly it was cardamom. He grinned.
It wasn't the seeds, either––it was the actual powdered spice, meaning it was already ready to put in the beer. But there was very little of it, the whole of the container being around the size of his head.
He sighed almost wearily, leaning sideways against the wall.
If you were still here, he could've apologized, and you'd both probably be gone by now. As he phased out at the thought of you, he mindlessly stroked the clay pot.
Approaching footsteps broke his trance. His eyes shot up, automatically tucking the cardamom into his clothes and running off into the night garden, in which the medicinal herbs were grown. He sucked in a sharp breath, realizing acutely that he was now ankle deep in wet earth, though fortunately, in-between the rows instead of on them.
The tarp at the garden's entrance flapped again as the stranger entered. There was little protecting him from being discovered now, and he fled off to the sun garden, careful to not slosh his feet in the mud. It was then, when mud had splattered up to his calf, that he remembered his leather shoes were still inside the storeroom, waiting to be discovered.
Thoughts flew wildly around his head, his quick-thinking talents melting away into timed panic. Wide eyes flickered from the archway between the shadow garden and the storeroom, and then to the arch leading into the sun garden, then back to the stranger, who pivoted on their heel.
He fled into the next room the moment the steps even hinted of growing louder, pressing his back against the opposite wall, his chest heaving up and down.
Again his frantic eyes searched the room for anything that might aid his escape. Tarps were stretched taut between wooden poles, blocking access to the outside, but allowing sunlight to stream in. He looked up and realized with sickness that the only way out was up.
Digging his teeth into the inside of his cheek, he tied fabric around the clay pot, ensuring it wouldn't fall from his grasp. He tensed his muscles, preparing himself mentally before he jumped up and grasped the top of the pole with his fingers.
Steps continued to get closer, now treading through the silted earth and sparking a dreadful terror that shivered down his neck in much the way it had when you slammed him against the wall. He scrambled up, his bare feet digging into the splintered pole before he threw himself over the other edge of the tarp. A loud thud came from him as he fell on his back––once more injuring it––bringing from him a pained groan.
Footsteps grew even closer, marking the sign of running feet that had Ahk clambering to his legs, cradling the cardamom to his chest as he ran. Bits of gravel and hay dug into his bare feet, bringing with them sharp pains that had Ahk convinced he was bleeding. When he looked behind himself, however, he found no trail, and slowed his sprint as he crossed the gate into the main city.
Deep breaths wracked his chest and he collapsed partways, leaning the weight of his upper body on his knees, fingers splayed out on the heated skin. He quickly looked behind him to be sure, and after finding nothing continued on into the city. It would take a while before he reached the brewery.
He paused in an alleyway for a short few minutes, checking the state of his heel and finding it alright. Reddened and dry, but unpunctured, despite the pain being sent through his muscles. With a sigh he leaned back, closing his eyes.
What a nightmare.
He could not pull his thoughts from the image of you angry, blazing with an inequality that had clearly been irritating you for a while. Even with his lie he alienated himself from you.
You would forgive him, but not for the reasons Ahkmen wanted you to. You'd forgive him because you had to, because the only other option was fending for yourself through another country and a half until you got to Harappa, where even there safety wasn't assured. But you wouldn't forgive him because you loved him, or because you knew he could do better. Horrible guilt flared in his chest, turning to bile in the back of his throat.
Whether or not you intended this reaction, it was there nonetheless, and Ahkmen did his best to force it down with logic. It wasn't a big deal. He could do better. And, he supposed, he got the cardamom, so that had to count for something.
His hands were still wrapped around the pot discreetly when he entered the vacant city plaza, heading quickly down the steps into the brewery. From the entrance he could hear the soft sounds of burning fire, and when he pulled away the door he noticed immediately warm light and soft voices, stirring with a mixer that clunked gently against the side of the cauldron.
The two of you went quiet when Tiamat noticed Ahk standing awkwardly at the doorway. He glanced between you before reaching into his clothes, pulling out the cask of cardamom so highly coveted in the last couple hours.
Tiamat gasped, a wide grin instantly spreading across her face. Your mouth fell open in shock.
"You did get it?" You asked, stepping around the boiling pot to stand in front of Ahk.
"Yeah," he said, still reeling from his escape. "Almost got caught. I had to jump over the tarps 'round the sun garden."
"Jump??" You asked.
"Well – more vaulting over them," he said. That didn't clear it up at all, but you were grateful anyways.
He sat in the corner of the limestone room, watching you and Tiamat mix a handful of the spice in the large cauldron, and testing the scent as you stirred. You continued to talk in hushed whispers of Akkadian, your shadows casted long against the low fire. Sleepiness was already beginning to take over him, leaning his head back against the cool wall, and letting his eyes slip shut.
When he came to, Tiamat had gone, and you were left alone to tend to your beer. You still stood atop a box that lifted you up to look over the jug, slowly stirring the thick mixture. Your face was flushed from the heat, and the strands of your hair that fell in front of your eyes casted shadows on your cheeks and brow.
After a yawn and a stretch, he lifted himself to stand, and shuffled over to your side.
"I'm sorry for endangering you," he said quietly, hesitant to look and even more hesitant to touch.
"I do not know that word," you said without looking up.
"Putting you in a place where you might get hurt."
"Oh," you glanced up to him, but didn't linger before you returned to the vat. "It is okay. I know you do not know very much better."
"It's not really okay, I should've thought beyond my own nose."
"A little," you agreed before falling silent.
After a minute he asked, "is there a way I can make it up to you?"
"You had the cardamom, that is good," you chuckled. "But you almost got caught?"
"Ah, that," he said with a long sigh that made you giggle again.
He recited to you the events of the evening that progressed after you left. He conveniently left out a few details––such as almost crying because he'd upset you––but included how he'd injured himself, how the garden official was hot on his trail, and how he accidentally left his shoes in the storeroom. You nodded along.
A beat of silence passed after his story ended, broken only by the bubbling of beer.
"You are filthy," you said.
"Thanks," he said with a frown.
You set a lid over the cask, feeding the fire only a little more before you stepped down from the pedestal.
"I know where we must go," you said, stopping in front of him to look up and meet his eye.
"To bed?" He asked hopefully.
"No."
His heated skin finally calmed down enough to feel a cool breeze as you led him out of the brewery, and back into the empty town center. For a few minutes you walked in silence, and every now and then you'd turn down a street, directions he thoughtlessly followed.
The scent of water hit him before he saw it, and soon the brick path led out to a crystal-white terrace, holding descending steps on either side of the raised platform. Below sloshed the inky waters of the canal, reflecting his warped features. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was halted when you took his hand, gently pulling him down the glazed brick steps. Their tops were white, and the rims beneath carried a familiar shade of blue.
Olive-colored trees grew on the riverside, barely reaching any taller than the platform that now stood proud above him. Only a single other person was there––a bald man drifting on a skiff at the other bank of the river. He was easy to ignore, which you did gladly, and continued to pull Ahk to the riverside.
"You have dirt," you said, scanning him up and down. "And here is where you do clean your body. This is your forever. No more of the home baths, and your smelly things."
"You mean my lavender?"
"Etuvaka. You know what I say," you said with a stern look.
"I know," he said quietly, sitting on the ledge of the stone dock with his feet swinging in the water.
You took a seat beside him, slipping off your shoes and rolling up your pants before you dipped your legs in beside his.
"How are your feet?" You asked.
"Alright," he said as he massaged the bottoms of them. "I thought they were bleeding, but they aren't, so I must be alright."
"Take your clothe off," you said, suddenly moving up to your knees and scooting behind his back.
He chuckled but undid the tie around his waist, pulling the green shawl off his shoulders. It fell easy to the crook of his elbow, and you tugged it down further, eventually pulling the fabric out from being tucked into his skirt, and tossing it aside to the marble floor.
"You have... color," you said quietly after a moment of just staring at his back.
"Sort of dark? Like dirt?" He asked, attempting to look over his shoulder at you, but settling for staring at the wall beside him.
"A little," you said.
Your fingers touched the top of his spine, trailing down the bumps and ridges showing prominently through the skin of a man overworked and weary. When you pressed harder, even slightly, he hissed and jerked away.
"Careful there," he said, clearing his throat to mask his whimper.
"Sorry," you mumbled.
Ahk continued to wash his feet and legs free of the mud while you stayed knelt behind him, your touch brushing against him every so often. He finished rather quickly, but enjoyed your hesitant fingers so greatly that he pretended to keep washing himself, hoping to feel you at his back and shoulders again.
"You are Shu fully equipped," you began to murmur, your palms settling on his shoulders and digging softly into the skin. "You have not been taken to the God's place of execution, for you are covered with the kenu-garment. You were not made to enter into the God's place of execution, for you are the Great One, baboon-shaped; you have not entered into the God's place of execution, the knife has no power over you."
He sat in silence for another moment, his mouth hanging subconsciously open.
"That was... perfect Egyptian," he turned around, dragging water on his leg, "where did you learn that?"
"My time in your class, in Memphis, was not for nothing," you said with a giggle, as though it was inconsequential, as though you were normal. "It is one of your spells, for being killed by a King. It is best, because that is your crime."
He could do nothing but stare, confounded.
"I could fall in love with you," he blurted out, watching with dread as your expression fell.
You pursed your lips softly, your gaze falling to the river behind him. To his credit, he hadn't given everything away, though by the look on your face he might as well have.
"I am not a person that people fall in love with," you said quietly.
19 notes · View notes
qqueenofhades · 4 years
Note
If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.
As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.
Valletta, Malta
December 15, 1999
The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.
The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”
The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.
Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.
The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.
“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”
Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.
They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.
“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”
Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”
Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.
Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.
That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.
That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.
A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”
“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”
Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.
The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”
Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”
“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”
“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”
Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”
Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –
“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”
“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”
(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)
The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”
Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”
The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.
When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”
Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”
204 notes · View notes
shinydelirium · 3 years
Text
MLQC Season 2 Chapter 9 (Kiro) Final Part [Delayed Answer] & [Fissure] Translation [CN]
***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***
Here’s the rest of Kiro’s story from Season 2 chapter 9
For the previous translations of Season 2 Chapter 9: Part 1
Enjoy~
[Delayed Answer]
The day of the new song conference finally came to a successful conclusion.
Thinking that I could finally go home and rest at ease, I suddenly received a message from Savin, asking me to bring Kiro to the company right away.
After listening to my retelling, Kiro’s smile immediately froze on his face as if he got caught sneaking out for barbecue.
Kiro: Savin will definitely give me three hours of ideological education.
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Kiro: ….Or I’ll just slip away and say that my stomach hurts.
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MC: It doesn’t matter, I will help you intercede.
Kiro sighed. After thinking long and hard, he quickly aligned with me and prepared to proactively explain his mistakes.
Pushing open the door of the company, gold foil ribbons suddenly fell from the ceiling and cheers came one after another to my ears.
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Kiro and I were stunned in place, surrounded by everyone.
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Kiki: Congratulations to our company’s successfully held new song release conference by the ace artist, Kiro!
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Willow: We did it!!!
The company is full of lights and festoons and the banners of “Today’s New Year” is displayed everywhere.
Kiro was pushed to the center of the crowd, surrounded by balloons, ribbons, and flowers. Soon, a huge cake was pushed in front of him.
Behind him was a long row of tables filled with tempting cupcakes and carbonated drinks.
A few golden letter balloons were fixed on the wall, piecing together the words “KILO”.
It turns out that everyone thought that Kiro rarely showed up these days because of the sullenness of the last storm so they prepared this surprise to cheer him up.
Kiro: Scared me to death…I thought I came to receive ideological education.
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Savin: Don’t worry, there will be time for that later. ***Changed some wording***
With everyone’s urging, Kiro blew out the candles on the cake.
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Kiro: Thanks, everyone!
His smile in the candlelight was captured by the camera. At this moment, the whole world is full of hope and life like never before.
After the celebration banquet, Kiro and I went to the company’s terrace for some fresh air.
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As the sun sets, the evening breeze gently takes away the remaining warmth.
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MC: Can you tell me now…?
MC: How did the “last-minute superhero” Kiro stop the train?
Kiro: It’s actually very simple. I briefly hacked into the car’s control system and activated the emergency braking function.
Kiro: As long as the startup program is disrupted, the train will be able to stop.
MC: What! I didn’t think of that before!
Kiro: The most important thing is that the boy changed his mind. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have worked even if I typed many lines of code.
MC: You’re right, but fortunately, he was not brainwashed by the people of GRAY RHINO.
Kiro: Because his heart has never changed.
Kiro: He lost his way and fell into a quagmire. All he needed was someone to pull him out.
Kiro: Therefore, we have also agreed that no one will say a word about what happened today.
The wind lifted his hair on his forehead and the eyes that looked at me were shining.
I nodded solemnly.
MC: No matter what, I will support your decision.
MC: What’s more, during that plane accident, he  changed his mind in the end and saved the person on that flight.
The real culprit is GRAY RHINO. They took advantage of this boy’s pain and weakness to achieve their goals.
If today’s crisis wasn’t resolved, perhaps the contradiction between Evolvers and ordinary people will incite into an unprecedented degree….
Thinking of this, my mind suddenly fell into a daze.
CORE is like a stone thrown by an invisible hand, constantly stirring up even bigger ripples. I’m also more and more certain that the most critical variable in this world is CORE.
But for most people in this world, some of them choose to move forward and some choose to retreat.
Some people stay where they are, while others are lost and don’t know where to go.
Therefore, there are many people with inconsistent paces and different destinations.
The history of this world is written by everyone, but not everyone’s fate will be recorded.
Can their voices be heard? Can these meager destinies be included in the “beautiful future” pursued by this society?
Regardless of whether it is B.S., the Special Task Force, GRAY RHINO, these self-regulated people at the forefront, how can they frame the correct choice at every step….
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Kiro: What are you thinking about? Why do you show such an unhappy expression again?
I shook my head.
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MC: I was just thinking that the pain I felt from that boy might only be one thousandth or one ten thousandth of how he felt.
I was able to see his past memories, but I can’t 100% feel his current pain.
Kiro put down the soda can, rested his hands on the railing, and looked at me quietly.
Kiro: Will MC suffer because of her own abilities?
I thought for a moment and shook my head seriously.
MC: Only when you are close to suffering, you are closer to reality.
MC: Isn’t it cowardly if you ignore the facts because you are afraid of pain?
MC: And so….
Before I finished speaking, Kiro suddenly took my hand and gently placed it on top of his head.
His tousled hair brushes my palm, ticklish. I looked at him, puzzled.
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Kiro: Then MC can also feel my memory.
The corners of his eyes were bent, and the golden color of the setting sun seemed to flicker in his eyes.
Kiro: Since you have the ability to perceive pain, you should also have the same right to perceive happiness.
I stared blankly at him and couldn’t help but blurt out.
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MC: Are you happy?
Kiro: Mm. When I’m by your side, I am happy.
MC: Is this comfort?
Kiro shook his head, giving me a serious expression.
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Kiro: Not comfort, but a promise. By your side, I am happy.
The wind rustled the hair on his forehead, revealing his starry eyes and the sincere gentleness in them.
Kiro: But speaking of the topic just now, I also have a question for MC.
His tone suddenly became a little lighter.
Kiro: “If you don’t hurt people, you will be hurt”… what would you do with this choice?
MC: In fact, someone once told me this answer.
I looked into his eyes, as if I could feel a warm feeling pouring into my heart.
MC: He should be the one who chooses the latter without hesitation , but he can always get himself out of the situation.
Fresh and vivid memories. Some are complete. Some are fragmented and they converge like a river of flowing into the sea of memories little by little.
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MC: But there is something he is a bit bad about—he likes to keep the secret until the end.
MC: …So I didn’t know for a long time after arriving.
Kiro blinked and suddenly sneezed twice in succession.
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Kiro: Is someone speaking ill of me behind my back….?
I chuckled, the last regret in my heart seemed to disappear with the wind.
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MC: Given that these days are so unlucky, let us be superstitious for a bit.
I took out a coin and put it in the palm of my hand, muttering something to the night sky.
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MC: If it’s positive, it means something good will happen. If it’s negative, it means something generally good will happen----
Kiro: Miss Chips is so greedy. But----what if it’s in the middle?
MC: What a coincidence!
I retorted righteously and tossed the coin up while talking.
The silver coin drew an arc in the air. I held my breath and waited without blinking for the coin to fall back into my palm.
That’s when a cold gust of wind came and caught me off guard. With a shake of my hand, the coin slipped through my fingers. ***Changed some wording***
MC: !
Kiro clutched his stomach and laughed, but I could only watch the coin fall downstairs.
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MC: Unexpectedly, there is such a thing as bad luck…
Hearing me sigh, he stopped laughing and looked at me seriously and tenderly.
Kiro: Maybe God thinks that this answer should not be revealed now.
Kiro: So, let us leave everything to the unknown tomorrow.
[Fissure]
The night is dark, like a deep ocean with turbulent undercurrents and unknown crises lurking within.
The old streets that no one cares about in the city form a narrow, unnamed area. Only a few dirty, industrial buildings stand here.
This is the Secret Research Institute of B.S.
I hurried out of the elevator, walked through the dark corridor, and opened one of the hidden doors.
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I put the documents in my hand on the table and told the B.S. researchers who looked at each other.
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MC: Help me find something.
MC: Without my permission, do not disclose it to anyone and do not tell anyone that I have been here.
MC: Including BOSS.
B.S. Researcher: But Miss Nox, this is not compliant—
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MC: Don’t forget that I have the first level permission of B.S.
The winter seems to have sneaked into the city quietly and every narrow street has been immersed in the precipitous chill.
When I left this building, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.
The roof of the building in the distance seemed to glint with a hint of pure silver, almost melting into the moonlight.
I couldn’t help but look back, only to find that the streak of silver was gone.
A black shadow flashed in the night sky, and it quickly melted into the dark.
All the hustle and bustle in the city, the noise of people underneath.
As the cold wind passed by, he stared at the street where he lived alone in the night, holding his breath for the appearance of a figure.
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??: Helios, it’s time for you to act.
Helios: I’m not doing things for you. You’re not qualified to order me.
The person on the opposite end sighed softly.
??: There has always been a big misunderstanding between us. In other words, between B.S. and GRAY RHINO.
??: I hope that our future cooperation can be built on the basis of mutual trust.
Helios: The assumption is that you don’t do unnecessary stupid things.
Helios: If you want to get something like that, just do as I say.
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Helios cut off the call impatiently, and the man’s hypocritical voice made him feel very disgusted.
As far as he can see, a figure finally walks out of the building’s door.
He watched the figure until the girl disappeared into the night.
He pressed his lips, pulled the rope fixed to his waist, and jumped off the billboard.
The dark figure jumped vigorously, following the rope in his hand, simply and neatly, and quietly entered the building from the window.
??: Who are you!
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Helios: Don’t move.
The researcher who had just picked up the gun was caught off guard against the man’s golden eyes, and suddenly his fingers on the trigger were unable to exert force.
The man played with the knife in his hand, walked to the table, and his eyes fell on the experimental report.
Helios: Did she only leave this thing?
B.S. Researcher: …..
Helios: Answer me.
The golden light flashed in the man’s eyes, and his raised voice was like an unsheathed coldness.
This invisible power. His vocal cord muscles contracted uncontrollably and a word was slowly squeezed out of his throat.
B.S. Researcher: ….Yes.
He finally remembered the identity of the man in front of him and the legends about him circulating in the organization.
B.S. Researcher: You, you are….
Before he could recall his name, the man had already turned around.
Under the dim light, he suddenly turned his head and the corner of his mouth formed into a mocking arc.
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Helios: I command you all—
Helios: Forget everything that happened just now.
“The train will be arriving shortly, please stand behind the safety line and wait in an orderly manner…”
The first ray of morning light came into the platform. The boy remembered yesterday’s ordeal and subconsciously took a step back.
But soon, what the blond man had said, rang in his ears--
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Kiro: Those who use past experiences to deny themselves are cowardly people.
Kiro: Don’t believe in the stories told by others, let alone the signs of the destiny you have altered.
These words shone like a beam of light into the abyss of his heart.
He made up his mind that no matter what the people in that organization say, he will not waver, let alone contact them again.
Thinking of this, he took a lively step forward.
He can do anything that makes him strong. Such as, submitting a transfer application form. Or give a severe beating to those who bullied him in the past.
And his Evol should be his booster, taking him to farther destinations, just like the train he is about to board.
The train stopped in front of the platform. The sound of running tracks overwhelmed the small sound of bullets in the air as well as the sound of the boy hitting the ground.
The gunpowder smoke from the muzzle quickly dissipated into the air like white mist from the breaths of pedestrians in winter.
The train doors opened and a few passengers stepped out of the carriage, yawning.
Soon, screams and chaotic footsteps filled the entire station.
The tall man standing at the top of the stairs grinned slightly, his smile fleeting. He put the gun into his sleeve and turned briskly to leave.
??: Mission completed.
The passengers panicked as messy, bloody foot-prints were left on the floor tiles.
??: The bait is ready and the fish should be hooked.
12 notes · View notes
full-of-jams · 4 years
Text
Good Riddance #1
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Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Summary: There were two things life taught you. Money bought comfort, not happiness. And love was always a gateway to pain. When your former best friend Jimin suddenly returns into your life, he challenges your belief and rips open the past you tried so hard to forget.
Genre: heirs au, girl boss, e2l, angst, mutual pining, eventual smut, feat. OT7
Warnings: swearing, Jin’s dad jokes, prissy Namjoon, a very sunny dispositioned Hobi :)
Word Count: 5.5k
A/N: I decided to rewrite Good Riddance. After I finished outlining the entire plot, I realized that the characters and story were way more nuanced. So here we go!
Read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | [ongoing]
°°°°°°°
It was a clear night. A bit chilly for mid-September, but you preferred the cold caress of the evening breeze over the smothering atmosphere of the party. The sky was painted dark, flecked with twinkling stars. You tried to blend out the lively buzz below you as you soaked in the view. Stars were scarce commodity in the City and being out here in the countryside was a rare treat nowadays.
You let out a sigh as you leaned against the balcony and took a careful sip from your glass of champagne. The icy railing bit into your skin, but you ignored the rising goosebumps. Light and music spilled out onto the ground floor terrace beneath you. People were enjoying themselves, laughing and chatting away. Usually you didn’t mind being amidst the crowd, but tonight you gladly exchanged the glittering socialite circles for a quiet reprieve.
You felt suffocated; you had to escape.
***
It started out as a normal Saturday evening. A celebratory one at that.
“Yeah man! Namjoons! Congrats! I can’t believe you’re getting hitched!” your friend Jin almost yelled across the room. He joyously greeted the man of the night and patted him eagerly on his back.
“Ah, hyung! You almost made me spill my drink! Do you know how much this tux cost me?” Namjoon asked. Despite his complaint, he couldn’t keep his goofy grin off his face. You fondly looked at both of your childhood friends.
“C’mon don’t be so stingy Mr. Investment Banker. You can make that money back in an hour. Here, in celebration of you finally relieving your beloved out of her five-year long misery, I’ll treat you to a new joke of mine!”
Namjoon threw you a pleading glance. You simply shrugged and gestured for Jin to continue.  
“This is an exclusive, so stop being so ungrateful you lot! Did you hear about the notebook who got engaged to the pencil?” Jin happily continued, glancing between the two of you, waiting for a response.
“No…?” you answered as you took a swig of champagne.
“She finally found Mr. Write!” Jin howled gleefully. You shouldn’t have laughed. It really wasn’t that funny of a joke, but Jin’s contagious cackle had you spitting out your drink.
Straight into Namjoon’s face.
“Oh my god! Joons! I’m so sorry,” you breathed between your gasps of laughter. You hastily grabbed some napkins off of a waiter passing by and started wiping his face. Jin was cracking up next to you, basically on the floor.
“Why did I ever expect anything else from the both of you? Why are we friends again?” Namjoon muttered in irritation as he took a napkin off your hands and patted down his tux.
You managed to stifle your laughter, “Because you looooove us. I’m sorry Joonie, really! I’ll pay your dry-cleaning.” You gave him your best puppy eye impression.
“Ugh, it’s fine Y/N. Stop trying to be cute, it’s giving me the creeps,” Namjoon groaned. You dropped your puppy eyes and gave him a stink eye instead.
Jin finally calmed down and threw an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “C’mon Namjoon, Y/N’s right. You love us. Your life would be boring without us. If it weren’t for your exquisite, completely-out-of-your-league fiancée, we’d be getting married right now!”
���You wish,” Namjoon grumbled.
“I’m handsome, I’m funny, I can cook, I’m filthy rich, I’m a catch!” Jin exclaimed indignantly. 
You nodded in solemn agreement, “He’s got a point. He’s a catch. You would make a lovely couple.” Your somber façade started to crack as another giggle escaped your lips.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m glad at least the two of you are having fun. On that note, did you see Jimin yet? I heard he’s back in town, he RSVP’d to the party”.
Your smile dropped; every trace of humor gone. “Who?”
Namjoon gave you a strange look and repeated slowly, “Park Jimin. He’s supposed to be here tonight.”
Your heart dropped. Fuck.
You forced a smile back on your face and ignored the furtive glance Jin gave Namjoon. “Oh really? He’s back? How long has it been? I’m sure his family must have missed him.”
“I’m pretty sure the whole City missed our golden boy,” Namjoon said with an awkward laugh.
Your voice turned steely, “Not sure I’d go as far as the whole City, but yeah I can imagine how he has them fooled and wrapped around his finger. I think I better go refill my glass, most of it landed on your face.” You excused yourself and walked away from the boys. In the background you heard Jin reprimand Namjoon, “Way to kill the mood, man!”
“I thought she should know. Better than to run head-first into him!”
“Whatever, c’mon take me to your bride-to-be! I need to tell her my joke!”
***
Later that evening you found yourself on the third-floor guest bedroom balcony, indulging in the starry night sky.
Alone.
You tried to lose yourself in the moment, telling yourself to enjoy this rare occasion.
After a view minutes you decided your attempts were futile. Who were you kidding? You were hiding.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened behind you, light spilled in from the hallway. You shifted your eyes and saw the outline of a sleek figure standing in the doorway.
You immediately straightened up, your long red dress rustled slightly against your body. The figure stilled for a second as he scanned the dark space. His eyes landed on you. He closed the door and slowly crossed the room.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You carefully kept a blank face and trained your gaze back to the seemingly captivating night sky. You took another big sip of champagne.
“Here you are, Y/N,” the words came out in a soft breath. His voice was quiet, but it was unmistakably deeper than the last time you heard it.
Don’t you get it? I don’t want you here. No one wants you here. The never-ending mantra that haunted you for the last decade. You wanted it to stop.
“Why are you hiding up here?” You threw him a sideways glance as he stepped up next to your side. The moonlight hit his cheekbones, his features were half lit and half hidden in the shadows.
Immediate regret coursed through your mind.
He looked good.
You hated that bastard.
“Who said I was hiding?” you answered in a disinterested tone. He was of course right, but he didn’t have to know that. „I was trying to enjoy my peace and quiet. Alone.” You waved your glass in his general direction without sparing him another glance.
Silence fell; you could feel his gaze on you. You silently prayed he would turn around and leave. Unfortunately he didn’t, or more likely refused to take the hint.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me. I thought I recognized you earlier. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve guessed you were avoiding me. But that can’t be it, the great Y/N is nothing if not head-on. It’s good to see you again,” he said in an amused tone.
You tensed at his words, your inner voice warring whether to simply ignore him or not. Your rational side sighed in defeat as you gave up your haphazard attempt at stargazing and reluctantly turned your attention to the boy next to you. There was no point in avoiding him, your voice justified. As much as you wanted to, people like the both of you couldn’t afford to ignore each other. You both knew this.
Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now, fast.
“What are you doing here, Park? Did you run out of millionaires to greet downstairs, who’d pat your back and toast on your return to the City? Maybe you shouldn’t have hijacked Namjoon’s engagement party for this. But then again, manners were never your strong suit.” You willed yourself to sound bored and took a measured drink from your glass.
There was another beat of silence as your words hung in the air. You snuck a closer look at him. His hair was parted sideways, falling slightly into his eyes. He wore an elegant waistcoat and slacks. A simple black tie graced his neck.
The years did him well. He looked different than you remembered. Better.
Fuck. You had to have a strict conversation with that inner voice of yours.
As your gaze moved back up, you noticed that his eyes were searching your face. All of a sudden the evening air seemed cold. You had forgotten how his gaze always made you feel. Bared and exposed. Despite your discomfort, you kept your poker face and refused to break the stifling awkwardness. Both of you let another second of silence pass.
Go away.
“Sharp-tongued and witty as ever. I missed that.” He chuckled.
Liar. Still, your defiant little heart skipped a beat. You silently vowed to yourself to meditate more. That mind over matter shit was clearly not kicking in.
“I’m already done with all the millionaires downstairs. So I thought I’d come and greet some old friends up here.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave you a nonchalant shrug.
“We’re not friends, Park.” you shot back.
Jimin dramatically clutched his chest as if hit by a bullet. “Harsh words. And here I thought you’d be the happiest one to see me.”
Your only response was hard silence. Go away. Please.
He continued to disregard your silent prayers, “And what’s up with calling me Park? We’re not in high school anymore. Calling people by their last name is not gonna earn you any street cred, you know? Is this how you treat all your clients? I’m disappointed, tsk.” The boy clicked his tongue in taunting disapproval.
Your brain whirred as you processed what he just said. Shit. Shit.
“Your father is our new client with that new mystery project?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
A slight frown set between his eyes. “My father? Park Corp. consists of more than just my father. And he’s definitely not going to be working on that project.”
You dismissed his words with a wave of your hand, “Park Corp., your father, all the same. It’s just semantics.” Jimin wanted to argue back, but you ignored him and continued, “Don’t be so naïve, Park.” You quirked an eyebrow as you used his last name again. Nobody told you what you could or couldn’t do. 
“Your old man never lets his turf go unsupervised, especially if it’s a project developed in the City. You should know that better than anyone else. But how did my dad agree to this? He said he’d never work with your father. He thinks money and business ruin good friendships…” You suddenly realized you were babbling and bit down on your tongue. 
Damn it, how do you end this conversation fast? Ideally in a way which didn’t involve insulting the son of your biggest new client. Okay, maybe a bit of insulting was allowed. He wasn’t your client yet.
Jimin’s frown deepened before it was slowly replaced by a shrewd smile.
Uh oh. This didn’t bode well.
“Your father agreed to this because I convinced him.” His stupid smile grew wider as he leaned in. Your mind went blank at his sudden proximity, his woodsy scent marred your senses. “As I said, Park Corp. consists of more than just my father. He’s not overseeing this project. I am.”
You swallowed hard.
No one wants you here.
“Jimin. What do you want from me?” You had to shut him down, you had to shut your memories down.
He laughed quietly, leaned in even closer and breathed against your ear, “Like you said, I just wanted to toast with some of my millionaire friends.“ In one smooth move he swiped the glass out of your hand and knocked back the rest of your champagne.
You were too perplexed to react.
“I’ll leave you to your peace and quiet again. I should go greet some other millionaires, maybe even a billionaire or two. See you Monday,“ Jimin winked and turned to leave.
See you Monday. See you Monday?!
He stopped at the balcony door, turned around and looked at you again for another long moment. “Before I forget. I meant it when I said it’s good to see you again.” There was an odd sincerity in his voice. Your heart constricted. “You look good Y/N. I missed you.” With those words he headed back inside.
Fuck.
You were out of champagne.
***
>Beep<
“Yes Ms. L/N?”
“Ash, is this the updated schedule for today?”
“Yes, Ms. L/N. Your conference call with the London team on the current bidding process is in 15 minutes. At 10.30 a.m. there’s the project briefing with Eptá. You have a lunch date with Mr. Kim today. I placed a reservation at the restaurant at 1 p.m. I also cleared your afternoon schedule, per your request, so you can go investigate the properties. And at 8 p.m. you have your call with the West Coast team on the new development portfolio. It hasn’t changed since the last time you asked me 20 minutes ago.”
You ignored the slight annoyance in your assistant’s voice. Ash was nothing if not efficient. How wonderful.
“Ok thanks Ash.” 
>Beep<
>Beep<
“Ms. L/N, you seem a bit on edge today. Would you like some chamomile tea to calm your nerves?” she added in a sugary voice.
How. Wonderful.
“That’s very thoughtful of you Ash, but I think I’ll pass,” you answered just as sweetly. “Please follow up with Ren on the financial analysis and make sure to bring me the finalized report by end of today.”
There was a brief pause on the line.
“Of course, Ms. L/N.” 
>Beep<
You leaned back in your chair and let out a groan. How did you let yourself get to this point?
It was Monday morning. Two restless nights and three morning espressos in, you had to acknowledge that your brief conversation with Jimin affected you more than you were willing to admit.
Damn that boy and his empty words.
You closed your eyes and focused your mind on your breathing. After a few moments you released all your tension, determined to concentrate on the matters at hand. Any useless thought spent on that guy was just a waste of your precious energy.
Thankfully you were easily able to get back in the game. Your morning call went well. The team did excellent research and prep work and with a little bit of luck the bid would be as good as yours.
>Beep<
“Ms. L/N, your 10:30 appointment has arrived. Mr. Gardner and Mr. Jung have just registered at reception.”
“Send them straight in once they’re here.” 
>Beep<
You briefly checked your appearance in the standing mirror and straightened your blouse. Then you gathered the files that you’ve carefully studied over the past week and brought everything to your office seating area. You were told you were specifically requested by this client and you wondered what made them so special. Special enough for your father to insist. 
There was a knock on your door and then Ash came in followed by the two men.
“Mr. Gardner and Mr. Jung,” Ash announced.
You were about to greet your guests as you did double-take and froze. There, in the middle of your office stood Park Jimin. He wore a fitted light grey suit with a slim black tie, his hair elegantly sleeked back. Next to him his companion wore something more casual and flowy. His auburn mop of hair offset the cream color of his suit.
What the hell? Is this some kind of sick joke?
It took you a moment to realize that you blurted that last thought out loud. You cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself. “What are you doing here?” A clear hint of dread seeped into your voice.
Jimin laughed at your bewildered expression. Ash and Jimin’s companion glanced curiously between the both of you.
“I’m here to talk business, remember? C’mon you didn’t drink that much at the party to have a blackout. You were sulking around in the corner for the rest of the night. Don’t deny it, I saw you.”
You scowled at him. “Last time I checked your name was not Mr. Gardner nor Mr. Jung and you for sure don’t work for a company called Eptá. What game are you playing Park J…?”
Suddenly Jimin’s companion interrupted you,“Ms. L/N, how about we discuss our matters in a more private setting?” He briefly eyed Ash and the open door to the rest of your office floor.
You gave him an irritated glance but decided to concede. He was right, there was no point in making a scene in the middle of the office. Work was work and you were a professional. You could deal with that jerk later.
“Yes, of course. My apologies, I got carried away. Can I offer you gentlemen something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee would be amazing,” Jimin quipped while he sauntered to the chairs, unbuttoned his suit and sat down.
You threw him a dirty look before you turned to Ash who was taking in the entire scene with immense interest. “Ash could you please bring us some coffee and water?” You turned back to the companion and added, “Please have a seat.”
Once Ash left the room and everyone sat down, Jimin’s companion reached out his hand. “I’m Jung Hoseok, nice to meet you. My partner here has told me a lot about you. I’m sorry if we surprised you like this. Unfortunately, we have to treat the topics we are to discuss today with the highest discretion.”
Jimin told this guy about you?
“Wow Mr. Jung, what an honor. I really enjoyed your last article in the Financial Times. It was very insightful and innovative. L/N Y/N. It’s nice to meet you too.” You shook his hand, your curiosity piqued.
Hoseok gave you an easy smile and continued, “Of course you already know Mr. Park here. You probably have a rough idea about the project at hand through the briefing document we sent through earlier, but before we continue to go into detail, I’d like to ask you to please review and sign this NDA.”
You weren’t unfamiliar with signing NDAs. Real estate development was a lucrative but sensitive business, especially in this city. Client discretion and secrecy was always a given at your father’s company. But if it made your clients feel safer, you were also happy to sign a legal document to ensure no trade secrets were spilled.  
While you read through the terms of the document, Ash came back with a tray of refreshments.
“Here’s two coffees, water, milk and sugar at your free disposal. And one chamomile tea for you Miss.” She set the teacup in front of you as you gave her a sharp look.
She remained unbothered and asked in a saccharine voice, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
This girl…
“That would be all,” you dismissed her out of your office. If she had time to be sassy, she could handle your curtness.
After you signed the NDA you reached for the briefing document and flipped through your notes. “Mr. Park, Mr. Jung, I understand your need for discretion, but I’m a bit confused. I reviewed the briefing document and it describes your plans to revitalize the shipyard district. It does provide significant redevelopment opportunities and I’m sure it’s a great investment due to the rising popularity of the area, but to be frank, this is nothing you should hide from your competitors. Actually, it would be more beneficial to publicly market the redevelopment, as it would draw in more investors and increase the property value at a faster pace.”
You paused for a second and looked up at the two men. Hoseok opened his mouth, but before he could jump in you smoothly continued, “But I’m sure two smart gentlemen like you already know all of this. I checked our company’s asset register and we have no significant ongoing activities there at the moment.”
Jimin lifted an expectant eyebrow. And?
Was this some weird game of his? A test? Fine, you could play along.
“What we do have is a full-blown development plan for 53rd Street, which I’ve been asked to work on off-record for a mystery project in the past month. So tell me, why are you really here? Let’s stop wasting our time pretending we’re interested in finding ways to remove and recycle rusty hulls.“
Hoseok looked positively impressed. Good. “Phew, you weren’t kidding Jimin when you said she was smart as a whip. You really did your homework Ms. L/N”.
Jimin complimented you in front of strangers? Somehow this notion bugged you even more.
You brushed off Hoseok’s comment. “Mr. Jung, please, that’s my job. If you’re that easily impressed maybe I should increase my rates,” you deadpanned.
Hoseok blinked at you for a moment until he realized you were joking and started to laugh.  
You smiled back at him.  
Business rule #1 – always have a friend on the other side.
Your gaze shifted to Jimin and you noticed he was quietly observing you. Once again you felt exposed. Just like on that night of the party.
Focus.
You stared straight back and silently challenged him to say something.
“Yes Y/N, you’re right. Let’s stop pretending.”
No manners, not even in a business environment. What did you expect?
“We’re looking to branch out Park Corp. The hospitality industry is changing; travel and lifestyle trends are changing. As leaders of this industry we should spearhead that change.”
It was the first time you heard him talk in such a serious and determined way.
He briefly nodded at Hoseok and Hoseok brought out a new briefing document. The real briefing document. It had the word ‘Gaea’ printed on the front.
As you flipped through it, your jaw dropped. Your animosities subdued by the remarkable idea which unfolded in front of your eyes. What you read and saw was one of the most ambitious projects ever drafted. You felt a mixture of skepticism but also awe and excitement bubble up inside of you.
“An eco-hotel?” you asked aloud.
Jimin snorted, “Please don’t insult my intelligence. Look again.”
For a brief second you had forgotten who sat opposite of you. You swallowed your retort and flipped through the document again, gathering your thoughts.
You tried a second time, “It’s a new luxury experience. Seamlessly blending sustainability with affluence. A fully integrated concept of lifestyle, art and nature encapsulated in its own microcosm.”
Bingo.
This time Jimin nodded eagerly and leaned forward. “The new generation has a different view on things. The success of our company, of any company, is being measured through the impact we make in this world. They are the ones who are the breadwinners. They are willing to go deep into their pockets to appease their conscience yet unwilling to give up the luxuries that they are used to.”
You carefully took a sip of your tea and asked, “So you’re appealing to their sense of guilt? I’m not sure that’s the smartest thing to do, especially when it comes to hospitality.”
Jimin shook his head. “No. Not at all. People don’t want to be confronted with sustainability mantras or their own carbon footprint at every corner they turn. We’re not here to preach to them. We do what we do best - offer them a beautiful escape from their daily lives.” His eyes glinted as he explained his vision.
Jimin continued, “Travelling is an indulgence. When people travel they want to be pampered. They want to feel special. The last thing they want is to have a mirror shoved in front of their face. They don’t want to sleep on scratchy cotton, just because it’s recycled. Not when they’re paying $300 a night.” Next to him Hoseok nodded in agreement. Jimin glanced over and gave him a small smile.
They are friends. You realized with a small pang. You immediately pushed that thought aside.
“But what they will be interested in is that the tomatoes in their $25 Insalata di Caprese are grown right in the rooftop gardens they visited in the morning. That the honey harvested from the 7th floor tastes floral whereas the honey from the 10th floor has a deep, rich aroma because the bees fly to the park facing west. They’ll be mesmerized to see that the calories they burn on our treadmills fuel the lights of the beautiful art installation in the courtyard below them. Depending on their exertion the art changes and evolves. They’ll be surprised when they realize that the filtered and recycled water pumped through the veins of the building, fueling the water installation, the swimming pool or their en-suite Jacuzzis, is grade A drinking water. We are increasing our guests’ sustainability literacy by taking them into a world of wonder, providing them luxury experiences and showing them that one doesn’t exclude the other.” Jimin paused briefly to take a drink from his coffee.
His eyes settled back on you as he set down his cup. “This is what my project Gaea is about. Modern Mother Nature in the palm of your hands. There’s more of course, but we don’t have to go into all of the details right now.”
There was a moment of silence as you let Jimin’s words sink in and thought about how to respond. You were surprised by his demeanor. Unlike some investors who thought that the millions in their pockets made them into walking gods, you knew he wasn’t a spoiled brat. The Jimin of your past has always been a hard worker. But this was different. There was a sense of conviction and passion in the way he talked about this project.
You decided to go with a safe response. “I never thought of you to be such tree-hugger and activist, Mr. Park.”
A slow smirk spread across his face. “Don’t misconstrue this, I’m not trying to play saint.”
You snorted dismissively at his remark. He was the golden boy, he always tried to play saint. And the people fell for it.
Hoseok gave the both of you a tentative look.
Jimin shrugged casually, “Above all, I’m interested in growing our company. Let me be clear - my goal is to be successful no matter what. Might as well make a difference while I’m at it.”
You tried hard to discern his intentions. Why was he trying to play the cold businessman when he was clearly passionate about this topic?
Focus. Focus on the work.
You went back to the briefing document and flipped through the pages again, putting your analyst brain to work. “This is an interesting concept. While not novel in the industry, the mixture of lifestyle, art, experience and luxury is definitely an untried combination. It could work…,” your voice trailed off in thought.
“But?” You lifted your head, Jimin gave you a piercing look. You were surprised by the earnestness you found in his face. He was interested to hear your opinion. Your intuition was right, this was clearly not just an investment project to him.
“It could also just be a trend, a fad. You’re investing $730 million here. Whatever you’re doing, you want it to stick the first time. Yes, concepts can be changed and the location we’re developing at is prime real estate. So it doesn’t lessen the value of the property, but it would damage your brand. It would still be considered a failure and that would stick to your name. I can’t stop you, but if you want to pursue this idea I would personally recommend you do some tests and market research first,“ you voiced your genuine concern. Regardless of how you felt about Park Jimin personally, you didn’t want to ill-advise your client.
Jimin’s grin returned and grew impossibly wider. He leaned forward and took another sip of coffee. “Is that concern I hear in your voice Y/N? I’m touched,” he said in mocking delight.
Maybe you were willing to make an exception with this client. What a cocky bastard.
“Thanks for worrying, but this will work. Do you really think our executive board would have approved that amount of money without asking exactly those questions and many more? Hoseok here grilled me like I was at the Spanish Inquisition before he agreed to work with me.”  
His friend threw him an apologetic smile. “I’ve got a reputation and a career to uphold, man,” Hoseok insisted.
Jimin chuckled lightly and continued, “It won’t fail Y/N. What do you think I’ve been doing the last few years?”
I don’t want you here. You wouldn’t know. You didn’t care.
Focus.
“Research. It works, I’ve already proven it on a smaller scale.”
You perused his features. There was determination and confidence. Under any other circumstance you would’ve thought it was foolish confidence, but you also saw the way Hoseok looked at his business partner. If one of the world’s most renowned financial strategists had full faith in this endeavor, maybe so should you.
After you triple checked the numbers.
As if Hoseok read your mind he proposed, “Jimin, I suggest you ask Jungkook to send Ms. L/N the business case. I know it’s not strictly necessary, but she’s going to be part of the team, she signed your NDA. We should play with open cards.”
One heck of a team. To have Jung Hoseok as your financial advisor.
A new thought started to nag in the back of your head. Usually you would never ask, but this was Jimin you were talking about. You had to know.
“Why me?”
“Excuse me?”
“You mentioned you got my dad to agree to work with you. It mustn’t have been easy to convince him to break his principles. So why? Why go through all this effort?”
“Are you really asking me why I decided to hand a $730 million project to you on a silver platter?” Jimin asked in wry amusement.  
Now that he put it that way, your question did sound dense. You brushed off the judgement. You had to know what you were getting yourself into. No way you were going in blind.
“Tell me,” you persisted, your face resolute.
He stared at you for a long moment, deliberating his answer.
“Actually Ms. L/N we decided to go…”
Jimin interrupted Hoseok, “I chose your company because you’re the best in the country, maybe even globally. We did an evaluation and you came out on top. Gaea is an important milestone for Park Corp., so I think it’s only obvious to go with the best to guarantee its success.”
You were surprisingly disappointed. What a textbook answer. You decided to dig deeper.
“I get why you chose to work with Spring Development, but this doesn’t answer the question why you specifically requested for me to work on this project.”
You remembered the heated discussion you had with your father. How you refused to blindly take on a client who you, and more importantly the internet, knew nothing about.
“Because you were recommended as the best,” Jimin simply said.
“Bullshit,” you fired back.
Jimin let out a low sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “Why can’t you just let it go?” he muttered to himself.
You stiffened at his remark. What was that supposed to mean?
“It’s not bullshit. You were recommended as the best. I followed your Aquarium project,” he finally revealed.
He kept tabs on you? The Aquarium project? Normally you were pretty good at reading people, but deciphering this boy was becoming increasingly impossible.
“The Aquarium project was a disaster,” you retorted. You started to doubt this man’s sanity.
Hoseok coughed quietly and interrupted your exchange, “Ms. L/N I can understand your skepticism. You’re right the project was a disaster, but that was because the owner and investors were morons who didn’t listen to advice. It’s now up and running and it’s become profitable in less than 12 months. That’s a huge feat considering the circumstances. It shows that you can work under pressure, you’re creative and very good at what you do. Although we’ve assembled the best team, Gaea won’t be an easy undertaking. We want someone like you. We need someone like you.”
Jimin hummed in agreement.
This was not the answer you expected.
You straightened yourself up and made up your mind. Business was business, and Hoseok was right. This project was going to be a challenge. You loved a good challenge, and this was too good of an opportunity to let pass by. You were perfectly capable of keeping your private matters separate.
“Alright gentlemen, I look forward to working with you. Should I take you through our current development analysis?”
Next >>
°°°°°°°
12/04/20
Copyright © 2020 full-of-jams. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, repost or translate without permission.
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puckbuddies · 4 years
Text
24 hours
Andre Burakovsky x reader
2282 words
Warnings: one swear word I think
This was based on the prompt ‘A love story that begins and ends in 24 hours’
Sitting at a bar at half past eleven at night was not how you imagined your second to last day in Denver to go. The past day had been so filled with saying goodbye to your friends and family that you felt completely drained as you sat on a slightly sticky bar stool. Leaving was harder that you thought it would be. All your life, you’d dreamed of moving somewhere far away and starting your own life but now that it was actually happening, you were scared. Scared to be alone. Scared that it wouldn’t be as good as you’d imagined it to be.
Sitting on the bar before you was your second drink of the night. You regretted ordering it already, suddenly realizing getting drunk would not be a good idea. Your apartment was already packed so that wasn’t a problem, but you didn’t want to spend your last day nursing a hangover. Even if you would probably just spend it crying in your bedroom which wasn’t all that much better.
You watched the clock intensely as the last seconds of this Thursday were ticking by, cheering sarcastically as the clock hit midnight. You were actually starting to pity yourself now and though it best to just head home when a stranger took a seat on the stool next to you. quickly looking over, you gave him a closemouthed smile while you continued packing your stuff. What you didn’t expect, was the stranger to start talking to you. you were so stuck in your head that you almost missed the hey he directed at you.
Looking up at him again, you saw that he was now full on smiling at you. while you were very confused as to why this man was paying you any attention, you still answered him, giving him a hi of your own. Yours was said in a confused tone which he didn’t seem to pick up on.
“I’m Andre.” was all he said. You waited for a moment, expecting something else to follow but nothing came.
“I’m Y/n, can I help you with something?” You weren’t interested in being picked up tonight so you decided that if that was what he wanted, you had to be clear.
“I saw you sitting here by yourself and I wanted to keep you company. You seemed kind of sad.”
You were surprised and a little embarrassed that it was so easy to pick up on your mood. The whole bar had probably been staring at the weird lonely girl by the bar and your cheeks reddened at the thought.
“No not in that way!” Andre let out when he saw your reaction. “It wasn’t that obvious, I was just already looking at you so I saw.” Your cheeks now lit up for a different reason. Even if you weren’t planning on going home with him -which you realized was his plan-, Andre was still very attractive and you were flattered.
Putting you coat and wallet back on the bar, you turned to him fully.
“Look Andre, you’re very attractive but I’m not planning on going home with you so you can just go back to your friends.”
You were frustrated. Your day had been shit and you didn’t want to deal with this right now, wanting nothing more that to just forget about everything and be sad by yourself.
“We can just talk.”
He was not giving up at all.
Staring at him with hard eyes did nothing to stop him from smirking at you so you just decided to go with it. You didn’t have anything else to do after all. Sighing heavily made his smile even wider somehow.
“So what are you doing here by yourself at midnight on a Thursday?”
“I’m celebrating my last day in Denver before I move to the other side of the world. And by celebrating I mean hating my existence.”
You rolled your empty wineglass in between your hands while you waited for Andre to process what you had just said. You shouldn’t spill your problems to a complete stranger at a bar, but he asked for it and you needed to vent.
“It’s your last day?” His head was slightly tilted to the side in a questioning manner and he vaguely looked like a puppy. Feeling like an answer wasn’t necessary, you just nodded your head.
“Well what are you doing in a bar then? Surely there are better ways to spend your evening.”
“Like what?” You couldn’t deny that his enthusiasm was making you feel better. He looked like a person that found everything excited and to be honest, you desperately needed that right now.
“I don’t know, walk around the city. Go exploring or something. Honestly anything would be better than sitting here.” At this point Andre was pretty much shouting. A few people had already turned around to look at you two but you didn’t really care. All your attention was on the man in front of you who was really tall you just noticed as he stood up.
“Come on.”
It was accompanied by Andre holding his hands out for you to take. You shouldn’t have taken them but you did figuring that if you got murdered, at least you didn’t need to get on a plane for eleven hours.
Before you could leave, Andre had to get his coat from his original table. you stood back, not wanting to intrude in the group. But even standing at the exit, you could hear him calming down the shouts of encouragement his friends were giving him. You didn’t really care that they thought you were going home with them as you would likely never see them again.
Andre walked up to you with somewhat of a blush on his cheeks but it didn’t stop him from grabbing your hand after he opened the door for you.
At first it was kind of awkward. You were just walking in silence while Andre was googling the best places to visit in Denver. You didn’t want to pay too much attention to the fact that he was still holding your hand, so you just ignored it.
“Ooh, we could go to the botanic gardens. I’ve never been but it seems cool.”
You started laughing so hard you had to stop walking and by the confused look on Andre’s face, he had no idea what was happening.
“Andre, it’s quite literally the middle of the night, how would we ever get in?”
“Ow oops I didn’t think about that.”
He was adorable. You could tell he really wanted to make tonight fun for you even if you were just a stranger and you really appreciated it. If it wasn’t for Andre you would be crying into your bag of chips right now.
“Maybe you should lead the tour, you’ve probably lived here longer than I have.” He continued.
You thought about it. What to do in Denver at one am. The answer was nothing.
“To be honest, I don’t think anything is open right now. Maybe we should go home.”
Andre turned to you in protest. “No we can’t do that, I promised you we’d go exploring.”
After a while of arguing back and forth, you both came to the agreement to just walk around the city. In the whole time you lived in Denver, you’d never really walked at night, having never felt safe to do so. With Andre however, you didn’t need to worry about someone kidnapping you. He might’ve had the personality of a golden retriever, but he was tall enough to tower over the average person.
During your exploration, you talked. He told you about hockey and his life back home in Sweden after you mentioned his accent. You talked about your new job in London and your worries surrounding the topic. He was a good listener, only butting in when he felt like he needed to reassure you about something.
You would’ve liked to have met him sooner. Everything about Andre made you feel good. Looking back, it had been really reckless to just leave with a stranger, but it had turned out so much better than you could’ve ever imagined. You couldn’t help but think about how things would be if it wasn’t the last time you’d ever see him.
It felt like you had only just left the bar when the sun started coming up. You didn’t feel tired. On the contrary, you felt more energized than you had all week. Something in Andre brought out the best in you.
When the sun was all the way up and the city became more alive, you started looking for a place to eat. You chose a small brunch place at the edge of the city that Andre swore had the best French toast.
Finally sitting down on the terrace, you realized just how long you had been walking. Your feet were absolutely killing you.
“So when’s your flight?”
“I need to be at the airport at two pm, but my stuff is still at my apartment.”
“That means we have about four more hours to fill.”
The clock above the door did indeed show eight am. You’d been walking since one. You still couldn’t really wrap your head around how crazy the past day had been. You’d gone from existential crisis, to being as happy as you could remember. And it was not only your day that had changed, but also your expectations of the future.
While you were still scared about how London was going to treat you, Andre had done everything he could to make you feel more at ease about the situation. He told you about moving to Denver from DC and how scared he had been only for it to turn into the best year of his career. It made you realize that while you were happy here, you wanted more of a challenge and yes, that is scary, but you also really needed it.
“So I know we agreed to just walk around, but I have one place I would like to go to.”
You had been nervous to bring it up before but you weren’t now. The place you meant was a small park in the east of the city. It was relatively close to your apartment and you used to go there the time you fostered a dog. There were never any people in the park and it was slightly overgrown, but it reminded you of peace.
Andre agreed to go to the park you wanted and after having paid for your meal -which he did when you were in the bathroom, otherwise you would have never agreed- you were on your way again, walking slower this time as the night had really done a number on your legs.
As it was now a normal hour to be out in the city, you decided to go see at least one tourist attraction while you could, this being the zoo. You both acted like total tourists while you were there, taking pictures with all of the animals and even buying matching stingray plushies.
By the time you reached your park, you were completely exhausted. The constant walking and the all-nighter left you feeling like you would sleep through your entire flight.
You could see Andre was not impressed by your choice but he didn’t say anything. Most likely to not upset you. To be fair to him, it looked terrible. The grass hadn’t been mowed for maybe a month and the benches were most definitely not clean.
When you told him why you wanted to visit the place one last time, you could see in his eyes he understood. And while it was your last time being in this park, Andre insisted it would be you who pushed him on the swings.
Realistically, you knew you wouldn’t see him again. Tomorrow you would be on the other side of the world and it would be nearly impossible to stay in contact with time zones working against you. so you decided to not overthink for once and just do what you wanted to do.
With Andre still sitting on the swing, it was a lot easier to press your lips against his. He gripped your hips immediately, almost as if he was waiting for this moment to come. It was him who pulled away first and the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was his doped grin. The kind that made you want to burst out in laughter.
“Thank you Andre. You didn’t have to do this but you did and I’m so grateful. Today was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.”
He looked down. For the first time, you saw his usually happy expression change into one of pain. His response came after a minute of silence.
“You don’t have to thank me. For some reason I felt like we were just meant to meet in that bar.”
And it was true. You felt like that as well.
You walked back to your apartment in comfortable silence, his hand in yours like it had been when you started this adventure. It was bittersweet, meeting someone you connected with so well only to have them being taken away from you so soon but you were so so glad you had met Andre. He changed your perspective on a lot of things.
An hour later, you were on a plane with the only thing reminding you of him the pictures on your phone, the plushie in your bag, the sound of his voice still ringing in your ears, and the feeling on your lips.
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shhhhhskars · 4 years
Text
Dating Phase Goodness.
Soft Alex. Dating Phase. Snoh Allegra. The City. Words: 2,041. Dating phase goodness.......I have so many feels for it. As always, I hope you enjoy♡ (The ask: Do u listen to snoh aalegra? I keep imagining them in the dating phase but they’ve gone to her gig with their own friends and meet up unexpectedly and end up having a romantic night of just swaying to her music at the low lit club and exchanging soft words 😭 thank you for sending this in and ruining me)
There’s something so wonderfully enigmatic about summer-time in New York City. The tarmac is glistening from the heat, the day-time sun is hot, enough to keep the entire city pulsating and breathing through the night. There’s something in the air- this thrilling, wild energy, this feeling that anything can happen. Friends gather unexpectedly, running into each other in the streets, small taverns revive their outdoor terraces for the season. The parks and beaches stay open later, and they’re usually bustling throughout the evenings. People are happier than usual, neighbors greet each other for the first time in months.
The August days are long, but the sun had finally set, and she stripped down, eager to get out of the damp clothing. A cool shower can change anyone’s mood, revive the most exhausted. She stepped out refreshed, smelling like rose water and sandalwood, a nice change from the stale deodorant and sweat that clung to her before. She slipped into her tiny, short black dress that cinched snuggly at her waist, and hugged graciously on her curves. The familiar chime rang out as she dusted a earthy blush on the apples of her cheeks, signaling a stream of texts from the heinous group chat that she’d been tempted to put on mute for the last hour.
Snoh Allegra found her way to the city and is playing at The Highline Ballroom tonight, the turn out is delicious. The entire place just feels sexier, from her aura alone. Voice so strong, but soothing, like tea sweetened with milk but just enough honey,  to make it yummy to drink. Drinks are flowing, weed smoke floats through the air, and everyone is laughing. Everyone in her friend group is...oddly, getting along, for once, and there’s not much that could make this moment better. Except......maybe Alexander being here?
Oh fuck- who the hell was she turning into? This is why she was hesitant to begin this…thing, in the first place. Alexander was hard to keep out of the brain as of late. Ever since their chance meeting in the East Village, he kept her phone warm, unashamed to make his presence known. She was grateful that he wasn’t the slightest bit clingy, but could instantly sense that he valued consistency, and taking up space. He frequently  checked in on her, sending dumb little shit to her phone throughout the day, memes or whatever the fuck he saw that amused him, or just straight up goofy shit he saw around the city. The whole damn thing was all still exceptionally new, this idea of seeing each other. Most of the time it was just enjoying each other’s company, nothing too crazy, and was lovely this way. Experimental and new.
A familiar arm circled around her waist, pulling on her frame. She could tell by the smell alone who it was. A manicured hand lifted against the rigid chest. “Jim, you’re about one drink away from me cutting you off, again.” It was a joke, mostly. Naturally there would be that one friend who had one too many, too friggin’ early, and tonight it was Jimi’s turn. Completely harmless, but utterly annoying, and touchy-feely when he drank, he ignored her comment, staggering lightly. “Let me buy you another drink, fam. We’re came here to see Snoh, and your ass is sober?” And of course, the other motherfuckers that surrounded had to affirm his slurred words, urging her, ‘get another one; it’s on his dime.’ She huffed at the dramatics of her friends, she was certainly not sober, but she snatched his credit card out of his hand anyway and he winked at her. This earned brief eye-roll and she was off, away from her toxic little group of friends.
The bar on the opposite side of the room glowed like a beacon of hope as she made her way there, shuffling through pockets of people focused on the opening acts. She ignored a few stares to push her way to the counter, determined to get her drink before Snoh came on. She snickered when they asked if she wanted to open a tab, and obliged- Jimi’s karma for earlier. She waited for her drink, elbows propped on the counter, and she stared around the club, which to no surprise was getting packed out as the lady of the hour was about to come on soon.
It was the feeling of a warm hand gripping on her upper shoulder, close to the nape of her neck, that made her jump, and she turned, face already fixed and ready to give whoever the fuck it was touching her a good dose of her mind. Expecting to see one of her boys- she felt her heart lurch down into her pit of her tummy, realizing who the firm grip belonged to.
Alexander grinned at her, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. He looked good, as per usual, sporting a white linen shirt, and crisp dark denim. He leaned himself nimbly on the bar, his body flush next to hers, pressing comfortably. He smelt like whiskey, and tobacco and she inhaled his familiar scent unintentionally, which only gave her more butterflies in the very low part of her stomach. Even leaning, he still loomed over her, nearly casting a shadow, from being so giant. “What are the odds?” he asked with a simple, mischievous smile. She got a hint of the freshness that masked his breath, like he was sucking on a mint just before approaching her.
Muscles stiffened, moisture seeping through her pores, she could gag at her luck right now. She wanted to clutch her pearls and scream, but the liquor running through her calmed her nerves, a bit. The bartender slid the jack and coke her way, right on time, and Alexander’s face was turned away from the counter, focused in on completely her. She nodded a thanks for the beverage, buying herself a few seconds, before turning her head towards the Swede, pressing back comfortably against his side.  They were shoulder to shoulder, or, body to body, in a sense, because she was too short to be perfectly aligned with his shoulders. “Are you following me, now, Skarsgard?” she said trying to mask the happiness she felt creeping all over her face, eyes slightly glazed over as she gazed back at him. He laughed, his cheeks covered in blush from smiling so hard. “Nahh,” he said in a casual tone, then he added a goofy little, “..Maybe,” tilting his head with a little shrug, jokingly. The close proximity of his face next to hers made the club feel so much smaller, and it was already quite intimate on it’s own.
For a brief moment she wondered if this was even real, or if someone had dropped something in her drink earlier, because it was so wildly random. “Are you really here, right now?” she questioned, narrowing her eyes and bringing the tip of her finger to to the bridge of his nose. She lightly glided her small finger down, wiping away the moisture that had accumulated, a smile creeping over her lips that traveled all the way up to her eyes, the same thing mirroring in his his. He chuckled, but went quiet at her touch, the blush in his cheeks burning brighter now. “I didn’t know you were into Snoh.” she said, her chest tight and heaving lightly. There was a hell of a lot more things that she didn’t know about the man, so it was a comical thing to say, but he just nodded, that small smile still playing on his lips. “She’s good,” he admitted earnestly, “And I’m here with people. My best friend Dada, he’s here. And a few others.” He paused briefly, his eyes traveling down her face, falling on her lips before going back up to her eyes. She took a long sip from her straw, her nerves shot under his gaze, heat crawling all over her skin from it. “Are...you here...with people..?” he started, wetting his lips. His voice was gentle, anxious, a little softer. She touched his arm instantly, a slightly alarmed look taking over he face as she nodded, a little too eager to reassure him that she was not here on a date of any kind, His eyes instantly softened, eyebrows that were knitted together, finally relaxing. Truth was...lately, that was reserved for him.
Gaze casted down and fingers intertwined so they wouldn’t lose each other, he led her back to his section at the very top level of the club. He was stealing her away from her friends, but she felt eager to be whisked away. She always had butterflies around him, but this scene was different, the dimly lit, crowded club, the music that was swallowing up the room, the buzz of it all. Alexander introduced her to everyone, and he was unable to hide his delight as he did so. Dada wrapped her into a huge, bear hug, and she fluffed his golden locks. “Heard a few things about you from this one,” he said with a goofy little wink, beckoning towards Alex. Before she could question him any further, Alexander was pulling her away and wrapping her up in his arms, groaning at his friend. “Snoh’s on.” he muttered in her ear, and she shivered from his breath on her neck. The lights turned a delicious hazy, rosy color, dimmed a few notches, and the goddess herself was on the stage, belting out the most gorgeous melodies. She sounded even more magical live, which was so satisfying. Ugh. Those feels again, right, Snoh?
‘It's not that I don't want you here. It's somethin' 'bout the way you stare into my eyes.’
Snoh pulled everyone in, but she felt captivated by her steady, smooth voice, and her statuesque frame, and of course- her beauty. She was in a bit of a trace from her, sort of stuck, and jumped a little when Alexander wrapped his arms around her small waist. His large frame came flush with her body from behind, rigid chest pressed sturdily against her back, and she instantly settled into the cozy embrace. She felt her tension fading, from being against him, but nerves still beamed in the depths of her tummy. She just fit in his arms, and he cradled her waist with precision and care, she could swear she felt a territorial vibe from the way he held onto her, shielding her from the rest of the group. He tucked his head near her ear, coming real close. “You good?” His voice was a low murmur in her ear, and she felt her intimacy twitch, but she just nodded, affirming that his touch was absolutely perfect.
She would genuinely be upset if he let go, and she raised her drink to his lips, and he took a small sip from behind her. They swayed gently to the soft songs, finding their rhythm, adjusting every now and again, and it didn’t take long for her nerves to melt away entirely. It was natural and seamless being with him, and the moment was to be enjoyed without restraint. “She’s perfect,” she murmured to him, convinced the woman on the stage was some form of angel. Alexander chuckled lightly and nodded, but it was brief. “This is perfect.” he challenged into her ear, nuzzling into her hair. “Being here with you. This is going to be hard to beat.” She had to pause, to mull over the fact that she was completely fucked, charmed under whatever...Swedish magic he sprinkled on her. And, he told no lies, the moment would be hard to beat, the soft light, the ambiance, the way Snoh was serenading them with her sweet, melodies. She turned her head towards his face, leaving a soft, lingering open mouthed kiss on his lips, squeezing tightly on his hands wrapped around her waist. He breathed her in, hungry for her, tightening that grip on her waist. She had to stop herself from squeezing her legs shut completely when she felt his soft tongue touch hers, and she felt herself getting flustered, blushing all over. This was bliss- pure, serendipitous, bliss. 
‘Come through, I think I need you here.’
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fyregrayfong · 3 years
Text
Under Pressure 3|15
FryeArcana
Chapter 3
The Chief and I
Summary:
It's just you and the Chief left in the Republic City. The rest of Team Avatar are still at the South Pole. You and Lin try to spend some time to yourselves without any prying eyes from the team.
Work was tiring and long, long stakeouts waiting for any information on the different triads and trying to catch some tips. You decided to do your usual after a tired day of work and head over to the park sitting at your usual tree. It had become your spot since you’ve moved to the city. It was the one spot that you could find tranquility and a place to escape from the busy city and the stress from working at a police department. Your mind is spaced out while you watch the water clash taking in the noise when you hear a voice calling out to you, “y/n, figured I’ll find you here”. You look down as you rub your eyes waking yourself up and look at the chief of police, “well you found me” you give her a smile “figured you’ll still be in the office for a couple more hours, chief” you pat a spot beside you and Lin takes a seat next to you. You lean back on the tree and continue looking out towards the water, “heard you got beat up pretty hard back at that bust with the Agni Kais” Lin looked over. You groan and rubbed the back of my neck “it’s nothing, we got told the wrong information. I’m just glad everyone was able to make it out in one piece, but it just proves I’m getting closer to busting them” you glare out to the water with determination in your eyes. Lin put her hand on your shoulder then got up “come on, how about we get some food. Tomorrow is another day.” You laughed a bit as you get up and dust yourself off as you walk beside Lin.
*
You and Lin eat some dinner out on Lin’s terrace enjoying the view of the city. “I can’t believe this view alone doesn’t push you to come home faster. This is incredible.” You smile as you relax leaning against the railing, Lin gives you a soft laugh as she shakes her head in disagreement “you never told me what happened in your trip” Lin speaks as she cleans up after dinner and sets down some tea on the outdoor table. “oh right, with helping Asami with the deal with Varrick and the triads. I haven’t told you..” you walk back to the outdoor furniture and take a seat and motion Lin to follow. “the trip was an overall success… Bolin actually accompany us to the meeting with Varrick and he surprisingly was a nice asset to the team.” You mention while you take a sip of your tea. Lin raises her eyebrow confused “Really, Bolin? The idiot brother of Mako?” You chuckle and look at Lin, “yes, Varrick took an interest in Bolin, explained this whole idea on moving pictures “movers” is what he calls them.” Lin groans annoyed by the mention of Bolin, but you can’t help but laugh. “Everything was fine until we ran into Korra and Mako. Korra had mentioned how the Northern water tribe chief, Unalaq, wants to train Korra spiritually.”
“but isn’t that Tenzin’s job to train the Avatar with her airbending and spiritual connection” Lin interrupts you.
“yes you’re right. Which apparently caused some tension between Korra, Tonraq and Tenzin. Unalaq was commenting that the spirituality the South once had was dissolving, as evidenced by the fact that ships in the South were being attacked by angry spirits due to this change. Korra didn’t have any idea about the attacks, Unalaq was surprised and offered to become her spiritual mentor, but Tonraq turned him down, who declared Tenzin was all that Korra needed. It didn’t help when Unalaq confessed that every Avatar before Korra had traveled the world to learn, but she was denied that opportunity by her father and Tenzin's decision to keep her secluded at the Southern Water Tribe compound. Something that Korra thought was the decision from Avatar Aang. Which further caused Korra to be mad at Tonraq and Tenzin. Later that night after we’ve gone to bed we got attacked by a dark spirit. We all tried to defeat or calm down the spirit but to no avail, Unalaq interfered and performed a complex waterbending maneuver that instantly calmed the spirit down, basking it in this golden light, and eventually caused the entity to disappear peacefully. He offered to teach her again. When Tenzin stated that he planned to journey to all the air temples with Korra, Unalaq promptly dismissed the idea as useless, as he believed only he could provide Korra with the training she needed to become a complete Avatar. Korra believes in Unalaq and accepted his offer causing Tenzin to no longer be in her service and the following morning he and his family packed up and continued on with their trip to the air temples.” You sighed once you finished and took another sip from your tea. “hmm I see, that unfortunate” Lin looked down. “yeah…I’m not sure how to take on Korra’s decision. I understand where she is coming from, she just wants to be the best. Unalaq was the only one to stop that spirit so it seems understandable for Korra to learn from him, but it wasn’t nice to see Tenzin upset.” You frowned but Lin groaned softly “Tenzin will be fine. Korra is the Avatar not one of his kids. She is doing what she thinks is best as the Avatar.”
“yeah you’re right, maybe this is what’s best. Korra gets to learn about spirits and Tenzin gets to relax and have a vacation.” You mutter, Lin scoffs “Tenzin? Relax? I would pay to see that. Tenzin is never relaxed. Always acts like there’s a stick up his ass.” Both of you laugh a bit. After the talk it was getting later than you hoped and you both started to step inside. You helped Lin with cleaning up while she protested, you just smiled and kept cleaning. You gathered your jacket to head out before Lin grabs your arm, your ear perks up and you turn around, “yes?” you softly speak to her. “I uh…wanted to ask if you wanted to…” Lin struggled to get her words out, but you waited patiently not wanting for her to shut down, you reached down and take her hand. “can you stay the night…with me?” she looks down before glancing up at you. You softly nod “yeah sure” you breathe out letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.
*
Getting settled in for bed, you’re lying on one side while Lin is showering. You decide to grab the newspaper and read some of the news stories and crimes happening around the city. ‘Triads crimes rising in the city. Police doing nothing’
You roll your eyes and flip the page; “I’d like to see them try”,you mutter angrily as you keep finding trash articles about nonsense of the police force. What reporters think is what’s going on in the city and their terrible attempts of newsworthy articles. You groan as you shut the newspaper closed and slam it on the nightstand, you didn’t notice Lin standing by the foot of the bed drying her hair. Lin look at you “read the newspaper, huh?” she goes to hang her towel back on the rack before coming back into the bedroom. “yeah, if you want to call it a newspaper. It’s a bunch of hog-monkey” you huff  “reporters have nothing better to do than spew out trash” she shrugs as she lays down on the bed beside you, wearing her white tank top and sweats.
“yeah, you’re right” you groan as you unbutton your shirt and pants, taking them off and set it aside then get under the covers and lay down in your black tank. You turn on your side and watch Lin looking a bit uncomfortable, “everything okay, Lin?” you say softly as you reach your hand placing on top of hers. “what?” Lin blinks then looks over at you and moves her hand away “oh yes, I’m fine” she scoots down going under the covers and turns onto her side. You sigh softly blowing a piece of hair out of your face from frustration as you retract your hand “you know, usually when someone says they’re fine, they’re not.” You lay onto your back as you look up at the ceiling when Lin doesn’t say anything “but, I won’t pressure you to talk when you don’t want to.” You glance around wondering why Lin asked you to stay when she’s acting like this. All the tiredness from work starts to hit and you start to doze off, falling sound asleep.
You’re asleep shifting around once turning on your side to get comfortable and go back into a deep sleep. You’re awaken by a sound of gasps and movement in the bed, you open your eyes and see Lin sitting up trying to catch her breath, her back covered in sweat down her spine. You sit up and rests your hand on her back as you as you move her hair out of her face tucking it behind her ear, “Lin, you’re okay. You’re safe in your apartment. I’m here. y/n is here.” You whisper softly as you soothe her back. Lin continues to gasp, and you put your hand on her cheek and turn her face, so she looks at you and you rest your forehead on hers. You guide her to regain control of her breathing after a few minutes, “good” you whisper as you feel Lin’s breathing starting to slow down and her heartbeat settling back down. Lin’s eyes widen and pushes herself away from you getting out of bed. She covers her mouth as she heads to the bathroom slamming the door behind her. Your brows furrow as you get out of bed and knock on the door, “Lin?” gently calling out to her. No response back, pressing your ear against the door you hear quiet sobs. A sigh escapes your lips as you peel back from the door and walk away. Walking to the kitchen you grab a glass and fill it with some water. Bringing the glass over to Lin, you knock on the door again “Lin, I brought you some water. I’ll just set it on the nightstand. Whenever you’re ready...” you softly talk from the other side of the door and set the glass on her side of the bed. Getting back into bed you pull the covers up and turn on your side. Once Lin composes herself she steps out of the bathroom and sits down taking the glass and drinks some water. You just keep your eyes closed as you feel Lin on the bed and sense her lay down in bed. Letting a moment of silence settle, you speak softly to her, “If it helps, I get nightmares too sometimes. You’re not alone” again Lin doesn’t say anything at first then asks “what about?”. 
you lay on your back and sigh opening your eyes looking up at the ceiling, “I have this reoccurring dream of just watching my parents’ health deteriorating till their death on repeat. I’m stuck behind some one way mirror, I can see them, but they can’t see me. There isn’t a door or any way in to reach them, just forced to watch them and hear for their... pleas.” you tear up towards the end and wipe them away. “It’s not a dream I share with anyone”. 
“You never told anyone?”
you shake your head “no, Su was woken when I woke up screaming. I told her I was getting chased by a dragon” you chuckle covering your eyes. “It was silly of me, but I--”
“didn’t want to burden someone else with your troubles” Lin finished your sentence and you nodded  “...yeah” you look over at her and notice Lin has been looking at you. you sit up a bit and lean over pressing your lips softly on her forehead. You didn’t catch Lin slightly moved her face thinking you were going.  to kiss her lips, but she caught herself. Laying back down you fix the sheets on you “if you want to use me as a pillow you’re welcomed too” you give her a smile as you settle down. Closing your eyes you feel Lin. scoot over and lays her head on your chest putting your arm around her. a smile creeps onto. your lips “you’re safe, Lin” you whisper as you rub her back pulling the sheets back on the both of you. Lin lets out a staggering breath as she calms down and puts an arm around your abdomen and holds onto you. “Your nightmare is safe with me if mine is safe with you?” you softly mumble against her forehead wiping off the beads of sweat off her. Lin just nods softly and "deal”, you look down at her and rub up her arm “I thought you were seeing a healer… “you start to almost reprimand her, but you stop yourself “never mind, not the time. Right now you need rest.” You whisper as you hold on the bridge of your nose then run your hand up and down Lin’s arm soothing her back to sleep.
You wake up a couple hours later, an hour before the alarm was set to go off and you slowly slide away from Lin’s grasp. Carefully not to wake her as you slowly creep to the bathroom and take a quick shower and change into your clothes. You head out to the kitchen and decide to make some breakfast and tea. You make a veggie scramble, a mix of sautéed bell pepper, onion, broccoli, and mushroom mixed with scrambled eggs then added the spinach last so it doesn’t wilt and has a bit of crunch. You add a side of rice and steamed buns, plating them while you start to clean up your mess. Lin slowly walks out towards the noise as she rubs her eyes, “y/n?” she mumbles as her eyes adjust to the light. “morning Lin” you smile softly “have some breakfast.” You pull a chair out for her and she sits down confused looking around then notices the plate of breakfast you made, “you made breakfast?” she looked at you incredulous of the plate before her. “yeah, eat up.” You rub her shoulder as you set a mug of
Jasmine tea beside her while you sit next to her and start eating with her.
           Lin gets ready for work; bending her uniform on as you cleaned up the dishes washing them then setting them out to dry. You go to the bedroom and grab your shirt buttoning it up while you walk towards the front door. Lin looks at you while you fix your shirt while looking at the mirror by the door, fixing your collar, “I appreciate what you’ve done, last night and breakfast. You didn’t have to do that though.” You smile as you look at yourself, “it’s nothing, I would do it whether or not you had a nightmare. I don’t usually cook breakfast for people, so consider yourself lucky.” You smirk as you look over at her. You mentally decide whether you should bring up the nightmare from last night to her, but you decide not to press it right now. Maybe later or another day, no use in filling her mind about it early in the morning. You look up at her and give her a soft smile “I’ll catch you at the station” you turn to open the door before Lin calls out to and walks towards you, “I-“ she stuttered trying to come up for the words but she leans in and presses her lips onto yours, her hand placed on your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise, but you quickly relax and return the kiss before pulling away, lightly licking your lips, “If that was a way to seal the deal we made last night. Maybe I should make more deals with you” you chuckle to which Lin rolls her eyes returning your words “I’ll catch you at the station”.
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phoenix-downer · 4 years
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Brought to Life
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Roxas/Naminé. Alternate Universe. Romance. Based off of the Greek myth Pygmalion. ~3000 words. For @scoobysnack1107​. 
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There was nothing Naminé liked more than art.
She started out by drawing on spare scraps of paper her father left around his workshop. Little scrawls and scribbles with pencil stubs as she watched him sculpt works for his many clients. He was the most respected sculptor in the city, and he always had a long list of commissions to work on. 
When Naminé wasn’t helping her mother with chores around the house, she spent every spare moment watching her father at work. Once she was old enough, he enlisted her help and then formally signed her on as an apprentice. From then on, every spare moment she spent in his workshop honing her craft. She learned to work with a variety of mediums—wood, stone, clay, metal—but marble was her favorite. It was easy to mold and yet resistant to shattering, and she loved the feel of its texture beneath her fingers and its slight translucence that mimicked human skin. 
As the years passed, Naminé developed a reputation as something of a prodigy. People began to ask her to craft special orders under her own name and not her father’s. And when she wasn’t working in her father’s workshop, she worked with a master painter in the city and learned his secrets, too. By the time her twentieth birthday had arrived, she had quite the following of her own and was set for a life of steady work and happy clients for both sculpture and painting. 
There was just one catch. She had no one with which to live her life, and her parents were not getting any younger. They worried about who would take care of her once they were gone and urged her to find someone to marry.
“The two of you are still young,” she told them as she added the finishing touches to a painting of their splendid city during its summer festival for the goddess Aphrodite. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I have clients enough to last me for the rest of my days.” 
“Naminé, we’re not worried about your ability to provide for yourself,” her mother said as she took a seat on one of the workbenches. Her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her blue eyes were filled with worry for her daughter. “Ever since you were little, we’ve known you’re talented, and your hard work has ensured you’ll be able to take care of yourself for the rest of your days.” 
“What we’re worried about is that you’ll be lonely,” her father said. His dark hair had a few streaks of gray in it now, but his blue eyes were as intense as ever, and Naminé knew he had many years of life ahead of him yet.
“Lonely?” Naminé set her paintbrush down. Why should she be lonely with such a happy family and so many happy clients? Her parents’ friends were wonderful too, and she never lacked for company if she so desired it.
“Don’t you want someone to spend the rest of your days with?” her mother said. 
“Oh, like a husband?” 
Her parents both nodded, and she glanced outside. She often saw young men pass by their shop when she worked into the twilight hours; it was on the way to a rather seedy part of the city, and she was less than impressed by the effects of alcohol, gambling, and prostitutes on the young men. Didn’t they have any respect for their wives and families?
Naminé sniffed. She had no use for a husband who would drink himself into a stupor, gamble her hard-earned money away, and then spend the night using the body of some poor woman whose name he couldn’t even be bothered to remember, all while his wife waited lonely and unsatisfied at home for him to come home at the crack of dawn to pass out and sleep the morning away while she did the chores. She would rather be alone forever than be miserably married to such a man. 
“I’m not interested in any of the men I’ve met,” she said. “I’m not interested in marriage at all.”
Let her parents think what they would about her words, but she would not be persuaded to chain herself to a miserable marriage. She had never met a man she would be interested in marrying, and she doubted that would change. There were plenty of good men in the world, but the ones she knew were all already married, and she had no taste for adultery or affairs. 
Her parents dropped the subject for now, but every now and then it would come up in conversation. One breezy autumn day, as they ate lunch on the terrace of their home, it came up again, and with a vengeance.
“Naminé,” her father said, not even trying to hide the exasperation in his voice, “if you don’t ever meet any young men, how would you know you’re not interested in marriage?” 
“It’s true. You spend so much time in the workshop and hardly any time at all meeting people your age,” her mother said as she sipped her goblet of wine. 
“I have a lot of work to do,” Naminé replied. “If I work hard now, I can build a good reputation for myself and have more flexibility when I’m older. Then I can think about marriage.” 
There was no point in rushing. Right now, her career took center stage. Marriage could come much later… if at all. 
Her mother daintily patted her mouth with her napkin. “Do you even know what you want in a husband?” 
Naminé thought for a moment. “Someone kind and caring, someone loyal and true. A man who would defend me from harm and never betray my trust. A man who would love me and want to be with me always.” 
Her father brightened. “Those are all good qualities. Why don’t I inquire with a matchmaker about—”
She shook her head. “It’s okay, father. I don’t think such a man exists. Or if he does, he’s already happily married to someone else.”
Her parents dropped the subject once more, but their conversation haunted her. She had little faith her dream man existed, but her life as an artist had taught her that she could create things out of nothing. She could make things a reality that had only existed in her head before.  
She stayed in the workshop after she’d finished the day’s work. A big hunk of marble had been delivered yesterday, and she had let it sit there, unsure of what to do with it. It was far too big to make a bust out of, and no one had commissioned her to make any full-body sculptures lately. 
But tonight, she had just the idea. Grabbing some wire, her fingers worked swiftly and deftly to craft a basic human figure. Then she took a large lump of clay and shaped it around the frame to get an overall idea of what she wanted the sculpture to look like. 
Content with what she had so far, she went to bed, physically tired but mentally alert. The next few weeks she spent building a full scale model and then added tacks at key points. Once she was happy with their locations, she transferred the tacks to the block of marble to get a sense of scale. 
This next part was what she’d been looking forward to the most. Mallet and chisel in hand, she went to work bringing out the man trapped inside the marble. A dynamic pose to emphasize his movement, to make him seem real. A broad chest and wide shoulders, strong enough to wield a sword and protect her from harm. A resolute expression on his face, because he was passionate and driven. And yet his eyes needed to look at her just right; had to be both both determined and gentle. 
This process took months, especially because Naminé still had her clients’ commissions to work on. She usually only had time to work on the sculpture of the man during the evening after her other duties were fulfilled, and she spent many a late night working on him. But as he became more and more lifelike with each passing day, she was more determined than ever to finish her work. Now she was using a more specific set of tools; tooth chisels and claw chisels and rasps and rifflers. 
When at last the sculpture before her matched the image in her head and the models she’d made, it was time to sand the uneven parts down with a special rough stone called emery. The color of the marble shone through in this process as a thin patina developed over its surface, and she also added a sealing compound to make the marble practically glow. 
Now for the reason she’d studied painting: so she could paint her own statues. She gave the man blond hair and blue eyes with Naples yellow and Egyptian blue. His hair was brighter gold than her own, so bright it was like the daffodils that grew in her family’s garden. And his eyes were darker blue than her own, as blue as the water in the fountain reflecting the color of the tiles beneath it. She painted his skin and clothes with a variety of other fine pigments. Dragon’s blood, lead white, and lamp black contrasted nicely with his hair and were what she largely used for his clothes. 
At long last, after over a year’s worth of work, she was finished. She set her paintbrushes down and stared at her creation. This was what she had worked so hard on, what she had poured hundreds of hours of sweat and tears and the occasional drop of blood into. Her ideal man. His golden hair swept up towards the sky, and his blue eyes gazed down at her. The robes draped from his arms and legs were so realistic they almost seemed like actual clothes, and his striking pose made him look like a warrior or messenger coming down from the heavens to protect her.
She brought her hand to her cheek, and it was hot. Was she really… blushing? Just from looking at a statue she’d made? How was this even…
She ducked her head and then looked back at the statue, mesmerized by her own creation. He was handsome and dashing, tall and strong and true. Loyal and faithful because he knew only her, knew only her touch which had spent hours bringing him into being. 
It was a good thing he wasn’t real. Otherwise he would be disloyal, just like the others. Just like her first love who had—
She cleared her throat and looked away. She wouldn’t think about that man and how he’d broken her heart, finding shelter in the arms of another woman instead of her arms. Because now she had a man that would never leave her, never abandon her, never betray her. 
Maybe he wasn’t real, but she couldn’t risk her heart on a real man again. 
Right?
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Though the statue was, by her father’s estimation, her greatest work yet, Naminé refused to sell it. She didn’t even want other people seeing it lest they get any ideas. Very rarely did she keep any of her works for herself, but this one was an exception. She was keeping it for the rest of her days.
She found her eyes drawn to it often as she worked, and her blush returned when she glanced at it. It was so lifelike, so realistic, that she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. No, to him. Referring to him as an it felt wrong. The more she looked at him, the more she felt he had a soul trapped in the rock, much like his form had once been trapped in the rock.
Late at night, after her father had gone to bed and the other workers had gone home, she’d taken to lingering in the workshop to spend a few more moments with him. As she gazed into his eyes one summer night, the moonlight shining on his face, a thought occurred to her.
“I haven’t given you a name yet.” 
She pressed her fingers together as she thought. He needed a name, a fitting name…  
“You were hewn out of marble, out of rock…” She smiled. “Roxas. Your name is Roxas.”
He gazed at her steadily, and her blush spread up her cheeks. The name was perfect, just like he was perfect. She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and she sighed. 
“Roxas, I think I love you.” 
Her breath caught in her throat. Had she really just said those words out loud? Was she really in love with a statue? How awful, how could she have let this happen—
Ashamed, she fled from the workshop and retreated to her room and buried herself under her blankets. This had gone on for too long. Roxas had bewitched her, heart and body and soul, and a statue so powerful must be cursed with evil magic. She had to get rid of him as soon as possible before some disastrous fate fell upon her and her family. 
But the thought of losing him, the thought of losing her beloved Roxas, made her heart sink. Could she so easily throw him out when she had made him? Cast him aside like her first love had cast her aside? 
Still, this obsession wasn’t healthy. She needed to do something about it. Tomorrow was the first day of the festival for Aphrodite. Maybe, if she went to the goddess’s temple and prayed, Aphrodite would send her a real man that would make her forget all about her infatuation with a statue. 
Yes, that was what she would do. Satisfied now that she had a plan, she was able to go to sleep. But as she slipped from consciousness, it was Roxas’s chiseled marble face that lingered in her mind.
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Naminé rose early the next morning for the festival so she could carefully select some choice flowers from her family’s garden to offer as a gift to Aphrodite. It wouldn’t do to approach the goddess empty-handed, and so Naminé made sure she had an offering worthy of the city’s deity.
The flowers selected, she made her way to the sanctuary of Aphrodite, where the altar of Aphrodite rested. Throngs of people surrounded her, as the festival was already underway, and it took quite some time before she made it inside the sanctuary, let alone to where the altar was. But at last it was her turn to offer a gift to the goddess, and as she did, she made a wish, her voice barely above a whisper.
“If it so pleases you, Aphrodite, I would like to wish for a husband in the likeness of my Roxas.” 
In her heart of hearts, she knew the wish was not entirely true. She didn’t just want a husband in the likeness of Roxas, she wanted Roxas to be her husband. But she was still too ashamed to admit her true desire, so she went home and returned to the workshop. A particularly wealthy patron had requested a bust of him and his wife, and she wanted to get at least a little work done for his request today. 
But when she entered the studio, Roxas was there waiting for her. He looked even more handsome and lifelike than ever, and a strange urge came over her. Her feet carried her to him, as if she was being carried along by the breeze. She cupped his cheek, and she could’ve sworn his skin felt soft beneath her touch. 
“Roxas,” she said, her voice breaking. “My dear Roxas. How badly do I wish you were real.” 
His blue eyes steadily gazed back at her as she stroked his face. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth against his in a sweet kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as she indulged the fantasy that had taken root in her heart from the moment she’d named him. To her surprise, his lips felt warm. She leaned back a little, her lips parting and her eyes widening, then kissed him again.
This time, she didn’t stop kissing him, even when his lips grew warmer and his skin grew ever softer against her touch. And then his arms went around her and he was kissing her back. A soft cry caught in her throat as he did. This was real. He was real, and he was holding her in his arms like she’d dreamed he would.
She remembered. She remembered everything. Why no man she’d ever met could satisfy her. No man in this life, anyway. Why her heart was so drawn to a statue of him, to this man she loved with all her heart. Her Roxas was in her arms, and all was right in the World again. 
When they finally broke apart, she was breathless. She would’ve fallen if he hadn’t caught her and gently pulled her up.
“Naminé,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked into her eyes and caressed her cheek. 
She hugged him again. “Roxas—”
He held her and comforted her as she cried, reassuring her that their long separation was over, that he was here and they were together again. 
“We promised, remember? ‘We’ll meet again,’” he said, smiling as he repeated the words she’d told him so long ago. “So here I am. It wasn’t the way I was expecting, exactly, but what matters is that I’m here and we’re together.” 
“Yes.” She found his hand and held it. Even when her mind had forgotten him, her heart hadn’t. Her body hadn’t either; it had guided her through the long process it had taken to bring him back to life, and it was responding so wonderfully to his touch. 
He scooped her up in his arms. “Shall we?” he said as she laughed lightly. 
“Yes, we shall.” 
As he carried her out of the workshop and to the house, she couldn’t take her eyes off of his face. They were together again at long last, and she wanted to make the most of every moment.
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A/N: This fic was written for @scoobysnack1107​! Rokunami is dear to her heart, and she’s poured so much love and effort into the Rokunami fandom. I wanted to write something for her to thank her for that, as well as to thank her for supporting me :) 
This guide was really helpful in terms of how to make a marble sculpture, and I drew heavily on it when I wrote the descriptions of Naminé making the sculpture of Roxas. Also, thank you to @rapis-razuri​ for looking over things for me and providing suggestions and feedback!
Hope you all enjoyed! 
30 notes · View notes
julemmaes · 4 years
Text
Little black dress // part four
Anna Lightwood and Ariadne Bridgestock modern au
Mh, sorry? I’ve had a not-so-nice time during these two last months and I had no time or energy to write anything. I’m really sorry this took so long and I hope you’re still involved in the story, tho I hardly doubt it. Anyway, here’s Arianna part, fucking finally and I really like it. Not loove it, like I do for anything Thomastair, but still.
Just don’t hate me and try to enjoy it:)
For the other parts
Word count: 3,929
Anna had made a mistake.
She had made a mistake and now she was freaking out, because Ariadne was smiling at her like she always did, but that emotion that normally shone in her golden eyes seemed to have died out.
It was the first night they were able to spend away from home without worrying about the next day's schedule and they had enjoyed every minute as if they thought their next date would be years from now.
They had immediately refused the group's invitation to go out with them that night and now Anna was regretting not going to her cousin's house. Despite having spent one of the best nights of their lives, Anna regretted not accepting because the little velvet box in her jacket pocket weighed like a boulder. So when the opportunity to slip someone in to third wheel came up, she didn't think twice and asked Matthew and Lucie if they could join.
Ariadne had asked her a couple of times to go home, but she couldn't. As long as they stayed out, she could still muster some courage and ask her, but as soon as she set foot in the house, she would give up and go straight to bed, regretting for sure the bad choice the next morning. So, no, they couldn't go home, but she could have stretched the night as long as she wanted.
She smiled at Ariadne, putting the phone in her pocket, "They're coming right away anyway."
His girlfriend squeezed in her shoulders, "Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy that Matthew and Lucie are coming, but I thought we'd be alone tonight. I'm a little tired, actually."
Anna felt guilty and her heart clenched in her chest. She stretched her hand out on the table, taking Ariadne’s, "I’m sorry, I didn't think it would bother you, if you want we can tell him we left because we had other plans." she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows, suggesting which plans she alluded to, even though her stomach was twisting.
They weren't going home anyway. She was being a bitch, she knew it, but she couldn't give up so quickly. "Math would understand. And I'm sure Luce wants to be alone with him, too, now that they've finally been able to declare their eternal love." she concluded with a smirk, wiping her hands on the jeans.
Ariadne's gaze moved to the door of that particularly crowded restaurant to be four o'clock in the morning and gave a smile that looked more like a grimace, "Too late." Anna didn't have time to turn around that two arms were choking her.
"We haven't seen each other in ages." Lucie screamed in her ear. Beyond her cousin's shoulder she saw Matthew chuckling as he greeted Ariadne with a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Work is destroying us," replied Anna, placing her arm around the shoulders of the girl who had just arrived and sat next to her.
Ariadne sighed loudly and nodded, putting her face in her hands, "And my new boss is such an asshole. The other day he ordered me to go buy him a coffee." She looked at Matthew with her eyes wide open, "Like I'm some kind of intern," she said disgusted. Then her eyebrows snapped so high they disappeared under her hair. "But you two got together! Finally!" she raised her arms, hugging Matthew, who laughed embarrassedly.
"Actually we just kissed, we didn't, um," the guy put his hand over his face, "We haven't talked about it yet, but-" he stopped again, eyeing Lucie.
"What he's trying to say is, yes, we're getting there." she smiled at him, her eyes glowing, "But you should take me out to dinner first."
Matthew backed out, pointing at the club with one hand, "What does this look like to you?"
"I brought you here." she scoffed.
The squabble went on for a while, but Anna and Ariadne weren't really participating.
Anna cursed herself for the millionth time. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She'd planned everything perfectly and always managed to screw it all up. She couldn't understand where all that magnificent self-esteem that had allowed her to achieve every goal in life and that distinguished her from all her relatives had gone.
She looked at her watch, it was almost four. The Sky Garden had already been closed for hours and she knew it.
That place was one of Ariadne's favourites all over London. It was one of the city's skyscrapers and its special feature was the small garden that stood on the 35th floor. It was quite a touristy place, but there were never too many people there and very often, when Ariadne was still in university, they would go there to spend their days and go over the subjects before big exams.
She would offer her one of those drinks she loved so much with orange juice and a slice of pineapple and then take her out on the terrace, she hadn't yet decided whether she would kneel down or not, but she would say something to her and then take out the ring. It seemed so simple when she thought it. Simple but great.
And yet now she felt as if her legs were made of jelly, and with every movement she felt as if she were giving away years of life, she was struggling so hard.
They had ordered in between chats and the food had arrived in less than ten minutes. Matthew seemed to be on the verge of tears when the waiter arrived and put his three servings of noodles in front of him. One with beef, one with chicken and one vegetarian. Lucie and Ariadne looked at him in shock. They had decided to have only drinks and now they were sipping their hot teas.
"Are you sure you'll be able to work tomorrow?" Lucie asked, rising an eyebrow when he alternated a bite of chicken’s noodles and beef’s. "You know I wouldn't want to have to drag you to the emergency because instead of blood you'll have noodles in your veins."
Ariadne laughed and Anna stiffened. She was trying not to look at her, but when she laughed she was so beautiful. She's always beautiful, she thought, cursing herself. She looked up and when her amber eyes looked at her, Anna sprang to her feet. Lucie's expression became even more confused.
Ariadne settled down on the chair, as if she was uncomfortable. "Are you okay, An?"
The girl nodded. God, what was happening to her. She wasn't like that. She wasn't clumsy.
"Anna?" Matthew had stopped eating and looked at her worried.
Her eyes clicked on his friend, "Would you like to come out for some air?" she asked quickly, avoiding the gaze of the other two girls. "Smoking." she said, having to say something else. She didn't wait for an answer and rushed out of the restaurant.
As soon as he was on the sidewalk, somewhat away from the ‘dear lord, ramen’, she leaned back against the wall and then laid her hands on her knees, bending forward. She was gasping for air and wished she was at home at that moment, in her bed with her girlfriend, not her possible future wife.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and then Matthew bent over like her, to have his face at her own height. His eyes wide open with worry, "What happened?" she stared back and kept gasping. She took a deep breath, holding it. This should have slowed her heart, which seemed to be about to explode.
She was able to move enough to reach into her pocket with one hand, and then both of them held their breath.
"Oh shit." That's all the boy said.
They were silent for a few seconds. "Yeah."
"Were you going to ask her now?" Matthew asked, trying to figure out what the problem was. She looked up at his friend and saw the myriad questions hovering in his head.
They all knew the two girls were going to get married sooner or later, but no one knew that Anna was planning to propose that night. She'd done well to keep it to herself. They thought they'd wait a little longer.
It wasn't that she didn't want to share it with others for fear that they would tell her to wait or that they wouldn't agree. It had been years since they had all come to terms with the fact that Ariadne would be in their group forever. At first they had been a little hesitant, given their history and how Ariadne had broken her heart when they were still teenagers, but now she was simply part of the family.
"Not now now." she groaned. "Actually, I screwed up," she said, pulling herself up and looking towards the restaurant, making sure no one came out.
"Do you want to tell me or, I don't know, would you rather go back inside and get Ari and leave?"
Anna snorted, shaking her head, "No, I've ruined everything by now. I'll do it another night."  
Matthew chuckled, "Leave it to you, the most confident person I know, to become this-" teased her with one finger, "-clumsy, for the most important question of your life."
Anna whispered to him to fuck off, but he was right.
"I don't know what got to me, I had a spectacular night planned and then we went to a club to dance and I lost track of the time and I thought it's okay." Anna started babbling, "We're fine and she just started working in that horrible office and I think she's under enough stress. Planning a wedding would also take away what little free time she has now," she continued, gesturing with her hands, "Sure, I'd help her with everything, but it would still be something else to take care of."
He looked up at Matthew, who seemed thoughtful. "Why don't we go back inside, tell Ari you're not feeling well and then maybe introduce the subject when you're home?"
"So she can't kick me out, you say?" joked Anna, trying to lighten the air.
"No, that way you'll be calmer and if you're going to throw up from anxiety, at least you can do it in your bathroom." Matthew continued, laughing.
Anna sighed, nodded, and after a brief pause in which she was thinking of all the worst possible scenarios, they went back in.
Lucie was leaning forward on the table, her mouth wide open, and she was shaking Ariadne's hands, smiling at her with her lips so tight that if she smiled more they would tear. As soon as the grils saw them approaching, they pulled away and Lucie sat up straight again, looked Matthew in the eyes and with her eyebrows raised and a very condescending tone, "You and I have to go leave now.”
"But- Lucie?" It was rare enough that Matthew referred to the girl using her full name in that serious tone. He looked suspiciously at the table before bending over to his new girlfriend. "Where are my noodles?" Lucie shrugged and laughed.
Ariadne, in front of them, was staring at Anna, "Are you okay?" she asked her hesitantly.
Anna decided that nothing would happen that night, that she had made her suffer enough, but she would not lie to her. "No. Can we go home?" she asked her, with hopeful eyes, "Please."
Lucie, who had suddenly stopped bickering with Matthew, raised her voice so loudly that they got a couple of nasty looks from other people at the tables. Now that he noticed, there were a lot of people for it being four o'clock in the morning. "Yes! Yes!" Then, in a lower tone, "Yes, you absolutely must go home."
Ariadne gave her a murderous look and Anna turned to Matthew, trying to figure out if he knew anything, but he seemed too lost in his noodles thoughts to worry about anything else.
"And stop making that long face, I asked the waitress to put them in a takeaway container." Lucie jokingly pushed him. Matthew lit up and bent over her to kiss her.
Anna stood, watching the new couple with a sad smile. She was really happy for Matthew. They had talked so many times about how sick it made him feel to see how every single person in his life found love under the rocks, how he had tried so many times to meet new people and like them to get Lucie out of his head.
She felt a hand resting on her arm and turned towards her girlfriend again. Ariadne's bright eyes stared at her worried, "What happened?"
Anna took a deep breath and then shook her head and looked away, "Can we talk about this when we get home?" the other nodded slightly before saying goodbye to Matthew and Lucie with a flying kiss. Anna looked at Matthew and he gave her a bright smile and the thumbs up.
Yes, she could do it.
The journey to their apartment was mostly silent. Every once in a while Ariadne would comment on something that had happened at work and Anna would laugh or give her honest opinion about it, but it seemed as if they were both not really there.
Now that Anna was paying more attention, Ariadne was torturing her fingers and had been checking her phone so many times in the last five minutes that it was starting to make Anna suspicious. That she figured it out? That she came out while showing Math the ring and saw the whole thing?
No, that wasn't possible. She would've already broached the subject.
Looking sideways at her girlfriend confirmed that yes, Ariadne was definitely upset about something. And the look she gave her mere seconds later also confirmed that it was about the two of them. Anna narrowed her eyes when she saw that they had finally entered Percy Street and were only a few yards away from their apartment.
She could have made it.
Ariadne froze at the bottom of the porch stairs. Anna let go of her hand and climbed the few steps that separated her from what she considered to be their safe place, but when she saw that the other one was left on the sidewalk she frowned. With her hand still in mid-air she gave a cough, trying to attract Ariadne's attention, but she seemed to be in a trance as she murmured something.
"Ari? Are you okay?"
No answer.
She raised the voice a little, hoping their neighbors wouldn't wake up, "Ari."
The girl finally looked up at Anna and had lost color on her face, as if she was feeling sick. Indeed, Ariadne felt as if the world was swallowing her up little by little. She had received a message from Cecily around midnight assuring her that everything had been put in place and that Garbiel couldn't wait to see how it would go. Despite the support she had received from both Anna's parents, she couldn't hold back the whimper that escaped from her lips and ran up the stairs positioning between the door and Anna, blocking her entrance.
"What's going on?" Anna asked anxiously, placing a hand on her face and stroking her cheekbone, trying to calm her down.
Ariadne had started fidgeting with her foot since she was so stressed, "There's something in the house." The surprise on Anna's face was obvious and Ariadne bit her lip trying to figure out if that slightest reaction was good or bad. Even the soothing movement on her cheek stopped. "It's a big thing. It's something I've been wanting to do for a long time and Cecily..." she paused, looking for signs that Anna didn't want anything from her at that moment, but the blue-eyed girl's hand hadn't left her face yet. She could see the confusion in Anna’s eyes as she tried to understand what her mother had to do with it at that moment. Ariadne leaned slightly against that contact, seeking comfort in the warmth of her beloved.
After all, she had behaved very strangely that night, and now she was beginning to think that maybe Anna wanted to break up with her. She closed her eyes and took courage. "I wanted to arrange something nice for you, to ask you something very important, but I don't think you're fine tonight and I see you're upset. I don't want to know what it is, if it was vitally important you would have told me already and I don't want to force you to share anything you don't want, but I'm here."
Ariadne placed both hands on Anna's arms, bringing her body closer to that of the other in a swift movement. She moved her hands over her chest, feeling how Anna's heart was beating fast in her ribcage.
Anna smiled at her and her eyes softened so easily that Ariadne almost burst out crying.
Whatever Ariadne was talking about, Anna was happy.
All the anxiety she had accumulated during the night had dissipated as soon as her girlfriend opened her mouth. She was no longer afraid of what the other's response or reaction would be. She was no longer afraid of what might happen, because she knew that whatever happened, they would find a way to deal with it together.
She leaned slightly over Ariadne and laid her lips on hers. Even the weight on the girl's shoulders seemed to lift suddenly and they relaxed each other's touch.
When they both were out of breath, but with their eyes still glistening with emotion, Anna managed to move Ariadne from the entrance and open the door.
A faint flickering light came from upstairs and casting a curious look over his girlfriend's shoulder, Anna walked up the stairs, holding Ariadne's hand.
As soon as she saw what Ariadne had done, Anna stopped.
The room shone with its own light and an indefinite number of what Anna recognized as white carnations and another yellow flower very similar to wisteria covered every free surface of the room. From the ceiling hung what looked like pictures of them. "Ari…"
She stepped forward and felt Ariadne hold her breath. She reached the last step and began to walk through the living room, swiping her finger over each photo. There were pictures of every date they went on. There was the selfie they had made immediately after making love for the first time. There were pictures of their first meeting and the ones they had taken secretly.
Her chest hurt from how many emotions she was feeling.
On the wall above the sofa was a large frame of the two of them on the day of her cousin Eugenia's wedding. That day Ariadne had worn a black dress so beautiful that there hadn't been a single person who hadn't complimented her. In the picture Anna was holding her tight to her chest while Ariadne was leaning back and laughing with her eyes closed. Anna's gaze transmitted so many emotions that she had a lump in her throat looking so happy. She had never realized she was looking at Ariadne with so much love.
If someone had told her it would end like this when she was still young and dumb, she would never have believed it.
She was speechless, too shocked by such a blatant action, but Ariadne must have interpreted her silence in a negative way, because she was stuck on the door and whispered, "I know, sorry is too much."
Anna snapped at her, gaping. Ariadne seemed to feel even worse, because she brought her hand to her chest and took a hesitant step towards her. "Your mother said you'd like it and I thought you'd prefer these to those stupid roses and..."
"I love it."
"What?"
"I said I love it," Anna said determinedly, so that she would hear her clearly. Dodging one photo to the right and one to the left, she reached out to the girl and encirled her hips, "And I love you, Ariadne."
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the girl's. "I love everything about you. I love your hair and your lips, I love the color of your skin and how it makes the gold in your eyes shine." she left a chaste kiss on her lips. "I love how your body is perfectly compatible with mine," she pushed forward, getting lost in their kisses and brushing her jawline, which made Ariadne shudder, "and how it responds to the slightest of my touches."
"I love how you stand up for everything you believe in and everyone you love." Anna broke away to get a better look at her. Her eyes glowed with tears. She took another step back, Ariadne's hand hanging between them. "I can't imagine my life without you. I can't imagine a morning without having the chance to look at you as soon as you open your eyes and kiss you."
"I'm sorry I was a bitch tonight. I'm sorry if I acted weird and avoided going home so much." she put her hands in her pocket, trying to look calm while her heart exploded in her chest. She looked into her eyes, "Sorry."
"There's nothing to apologize for." Ariadne whispered to her, stepping forward to take her in her arms, but Anna stopped her with a slight grin on her face. Ariadne wrinkled an eyebrow confused with a smile on her lips.
"I was going to take you to the Sky Garden. I was going to buy you one of those cocktails you love so much," she touched the velvet box in her pocket and squeezed her fingers around the object, pulling it out. "I was going to make you laugh, I was going to fall in love again and again and again." Ariadne's gaze followed her every move, and when she got on one knee she opened her eyes wide, making a choked sound very much like an incredulous laugh. "I was going to take you out on the terrace," she opened the box and saw tears flowing undisturbed on Ariadne's cheeks, who whispered, "Anna…"
She smiled, "And I was going to ask you to marry me."
Ariadne was now laughing through her tears as she was smuggling in her white handbag. She kept her gaze fixed on Anna though, as if she wanted to take a mental picture of this moment.
"That's why I didn't want to go home." Anna excused herself, "The second I set foot in here, my chances of asking you would have ended."
Ariadne laughed one last time, before she knelt down in front of her and pulled out a little dark blue velvet box, "Anna."
She stood motionless as she lowered her hand slightly with the little red box, "Ariadne?" The girl in question opened the blue box and a simple silver ring with a tiny blue stone glowed with the lights in the room. She gave out a choked laugh as her eyes filled up in turn, "Are you kidding?" She looked at Ariadne and sprang forward with a snap. She took the girl's face in her hands and kissed her. She broke away for a second when the other one stopped the kiss, "Oh god, we're terrible."
Anna laughed, taking the ring from her little box and putting it on Ariadne's finger, while the other one did the same. They looked into each other's eyes one last time, now high on exhilaration.
"Will you marry me?"
"And will you marry me?"
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1 - A Wicked Little Thing
It’s finally here! Chapter 1 of this Zatanna Zatara x John Constantine fic has killed me for nearly a year. If you love it as much as I do, please reblog and comment. If you want to be added to the tags then send me a message, reblog, comment, just let me know! The chapter is under the cut, the taglist at the very end. Much love, Charlie.
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“Anna,” Buddy called over to the young woman dressed in yesterday’s work uniform.
“Hm?” Anna turned her head and brushed out the earbud nestled to the side of her head, flicking a few strands of her black hair behind her to size up her boss who decided whatever he was about to say was more important than ‘We Will Rock You’ on its 3rd consecutive play.
Buddy recentered his balance on one hip and tilted his chin up, an unkempt not-quite salt-and-pepper eyebrow raised as he asked, “That thing ever run out of battery?”
“Trust me, Buddy, you’d know if it did.” Anna flashed him a saccharine smile and shoved the earbud back into her brain, moving on to the next room that needed cleaning, her cleaning cart’s loose wheel squeaking for mercy unheard over Anna’s playlist. 
Buddy scoffed behind her back, another attempt to connect with the twenty-something-year-old failed rather spectacularly on his end. He shoved the tickets to the local college’s ‘Battle of the Bands’ show back into his pocket and whistled to make himself feel like the exchange was done in total nonchalance with zero premeditation. Lifting his ‘Lagheur’ watch to his chest, he noticed the ticking needles of the ripoff luxury watch in a slight delay, taking maybe a half time longer than an actual second. Buddy once saw a movie where this happened to show time slowing down. He couldn’t place the actual scene anywhere, but it seemed funny enough to him that the science fiction promises of his childhood were echoed through the cheap realities of his adulthood. 
“Regina,” Buddy threw over his shoulder an aging rainjacket, once clear now yellowing around folds and stitches. Regina at the counter, a recent retiree with all the looks to take to Boca Raton but none of the self-awareness to stop working looked up at her boss from the dusty concierge seat. 
“Boss?”
“I’m out for a smoke, I’ll be back in ten. Anyone calls for me, take a message.”
“Sure, sure, if anyone calls.” Regina looked down at the answering machine behind her counter, fixing her coke-bottle glasses back up on the ridge of her boney nose. It was new twenty years ago when she last checked in at the hotel, sleepy and dazed children in tow, asking where their mother was. She’d never seen the light even flicker on that machine. 
Buddy walked across the populated lounge, tourists, and locals alike crowding the hotel to get out of the rain and have a drink. Some of them might get rooms by the look of it, though none seemed too eager to book one. Unlit cigarette stuck between his teeth, Buddy pulled his cap up over his head and walked out onto the back terrace. On stiller nights, the courtyard was a beautiful display of soft city nature and twinkling lights. Hopefully, he thought to himself, Anna will have remembered to cover up the sound system speakers hidden in some of the bushes. He wasn’t ready to shell out another grand to replace them. 
The lighter Buddy took out from his jacket pocket should’ve been replaced a week and a half ago. Swishing lighter fluid gradually making a crack in the plastic casing just a little wider didn’t bode well for Buddy’s innate flammability. The wrong swipe of a finger while lighting his cigarette opened up his thumb and Buddy- as he took the first draw of his cigarette- watched blood prick up from the fat pad of his digit, little globes of red sprouting along a visceral ley line down to the crux of the first joint. He’ll have to remind himself to throw this lighter out and get a new one when he gets the chance again. 
“You know,” He spoke to himself, more than aware he was alone on the creaky back patio “this place used to be the gem of Palo Alto, before Jobs and Wozniak, Amazon and Google. This place...I sound like my great grandfather. How did that happen?” Buddy scoffed and took a step forward, leaning against a beam at the top of the small stairs giving way to the waterlogged marsh of a luncheon garden. Before he could even take notice, the roaring gutter above his head flipped on itself, bringing forth a cascade of rainwater and grime down onto Buddy’s head. He didn’t even have it in him to curse. He just shook his head, bit the inside of his lip raw and flicked his dead cigarette into the rain.
__________
John Constantine wasn’t often seen in the kitchen for actual food, an old tome tucked under his arm with blue lettering of an ancient language only slightly obscured by the wrinkled sleeve of his dress shirt.
“Woah, careful, Johnny. You need help?” A young and dashing mop of black hair named Behrad Tomaz bounded into the kitchen with open arms.
John slightly wavered, eyes darting around as his cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat “I’m fine-,”
“-Dude,” Behrad took the wine bottle Constantine had been balancing on a multi-sectioned plate of what looked like saltine crackers, a hard-boiled egg, some fresh smelling garnishes, a small cup of applesauce, a mug of brothy soup with something bobbing in it, and a jar with pieces of fish floating around it. “I’m impressed you got this far with all this stuff.” Behrad looked at the wine label, wanting to discern a year but couldn’t read the letters on the label. He shook it off, blaming his dyslexia for the mess of shapes on the label “You heading to your room with this stuff?”
“Yeah.” John nodded, quieter than usual as he gave Behrad the gefilte fish jar and placed the plastic cup he had taken upside down on to the neck of the wine bottle.
“This stuff looks good.” Behrad looked over at John’s plate as they walked down the austere corridors of the Waverider, immune to the shock of the odd clicks and clangs.
“You don’t have to lie.” John scoffed a laugh, biting his top lip.
“Is it for a spell?” “Not really.”
“Munchies?” John turned to face Behrad, those innocent puppy dog eyes peering over John’s exclusively hard stare. “Thanks for helping me, mate. Cheers.” He managed to balance everything back into his arms and moved into his room, locking the door behind him.
Behrad stood there, perhaps a little too perplexed for his own good “Have a good time!” He called out, making his way back to the kitchen.
Sara Lance wasn’t expecting to have to get into John Constantine’s business again, but the idea of the mage acting shifty didn’t sit very well with The Captain. “What was that?” She asked Behrad, intercepting him before he reached the kitchen.
“What was what?” Behrad shrugged, crossing his arms with a dopey smile “I was just helping John get his food to his room.” “Uh huh.” Sara’s light blue eyes narrowed, nodding along with Behrad “What was he carrying?”
“I don’t know. Some fish, crackers, wine. Had this old book under his arm. You know John, can’t read if it’s not totally silent. He must’ve gotten hungry.”
“Yeah.” Sara nodded, the truth dawning on her with a small, easy smile “Okay, let’s make sure to leave him alone today. He’s clearly got something important to do.”
John took his time lighting every candle he had in his room, turning the lights off and letting the little flickering flames set just the right reverential mood he was feeling. There was stirring between his ribs. He got the feeling every time he took out the Haggadah. Opening the musty book brought back memories, ones he kept reenacting every Pessach. As beautiful as the book was, ancient binding and intricate hand-printed text, it would never replace the one he found when he was twelve in his father’s attic. He remembered climbing up the cobwebbed ladder, his older sister whispering a word of caution behind him. Cheryl never really understood it, why he climbed that ladder. She never understood why he would intentionally lock himself up there for hours among the beetles and dead pigeons. Among that pestilence and dust was a box marked ‘Mary Anne - Beth-Tikvah, LON’ in big block letters. When John’s father, a big burly man whose accent was the only thing thicker than his eyebrows, found him wearing his great uncle’s kippah with the edges clumsily touching his brow while he read his mother’s old ‘Elementary Hebrew’ workbook, tracing the lines of his mother’s juvenile scripture, Thomas left welts on the young boy’s thighs that didn’t abate until the next month. 
Thomas had thought he’d burned everything in that box that very day. He didn’t suspect or know to look for a pocketbook the size of a theater playbook, with flimsy blue binding and doubled text in every page. One side in English, the other in Hebrew. The one thing John managed to keep from that little book was the page-marker. A picture of his mother at her younger brother’s Bar Mitzvah. She looked to be about 16 years-old with boundless ringlets in her hair and a face-splitting grin. John felt it in his throat every time he looked down at that picture. He’d sob repeatedly, from the chest out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He’d bang his fists, palm-upwards, towards his head as he let the remorse of a stolen childhood shudder his lungs with a force only a soul in desperate need of rest could offer. 
“Hi, mum.” John now whispered, taking the bookmark out of his over-compensatory Haggadah, letting it rest against two candlestick pillars. “Thought I’d read to you out loud this time.” His voice felt raw and crackling on his tongue like those lungs on anti-smoking adverts. “Happy Passover.”
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chipcoffeyblog · 4 years
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Looking for something fun and totally outside the (candy) box for you and your special someone to do for Valentine's Day? Something totally different and a little bit off-the-wall? Then keep reading! Most of us enjoy spooky TV shows and movies, right? We love that delicious adrenaline rush of being creeped out just a bit by thoughts of ghosts and the paranormal! If that sounds like you - and/or your special Valentine - then keep reading! Wouldn't it be big fun for you and your Valentine to spend a night (or weekend) at a haunted hotel? Just imagine what you might experience! And think of the bragging rights you'll have when recounting your ghostly adventures to family and friends! As part of my work as a psychic and medium, I have traveled extensively and stayed at some of the most interesting - and haunted - hotels in the United States. I like to stay at places that have a rich history, combined with stories about the spirits that reportedly roam throughout the properties. I have seen and heard otherworldly things that would send delicious little goose bumps up and down the spines of most people! Below is a list of some of the haunted hotels that I have enjoyed visiting and predict that you will enjoy visiting, too. New York City: The Jane Hotel - Some of the survivors of the sinking of the Titanic stayed in the building that is now the Jane Hotel in NYC's Greenwich Village. Guests report seeing ghostly apparitions and hearing the sound of sobbing . And the elevator often appears to have a mind of its own, traveling up at down between floors randomly. Guest rooms are inspired by luxury ship and train cabins and tend to be on the small side, many with shared baths. If you desire an en suite bathroom, choose to stay in one of the Captain's Cabins. Added bonus: You're in NYC! There is so much to see and do! Visit all the sites and see a Broadway show!
New York State - Catskills area: Burn Brae Mansion in Glen Spey, NY - Spectral apparitions and ghostly sounds are often heard by guests at this lovely bed and breakfast that was once the elaborate Victorian home of the widow of George Ross MacKenzie, third president of the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Other unexplained occurrences include doors opening and slamming shut; the sound of children playing; the sound of animals when no animals are present; and the sound of an organ playing, although there is no organ in the house. During my visit there, I distinctly smelled cookies baking in the downstairs area, but no one was baking cookies. Added bonus: The surrounding area is beautiful! Go for a hike, horseback riding, rafting, etc. Los Angeles, California: Millennium Biltmore Hotel - The ghost of Elizabeth Short is said to haunt the Biltmore. Ms. Short was last seen alive at the Biltmore shortly before her gruesome demise in 1947 and that still unsolved case has been dubbed "The Black Dahlia Murder." Soldiers who stayed in the building during and after World War II and young children are also said to roam around the hotel. Perhaps iconic stars from bygone Hollywood days pay post mortem visits to The Biltmore? Added bonus: Hollywood, with all its star studded sites, is close by...and so are California beaches! Atlanta, Georgia: Georgian Terrace - In December of 1939, this hotel hosted the "Gone With the Wind" Gala after the movie's premiere in downtown Atlanta. Clark Gable (and wife, Carole Lombard), Vivien Leigh (and future husband, Laurence Olivier) and other stars of the movie were in attendance. Some say that a gangland-style murder and other deaths have occurred here and there are frequent reports of ghostly activity occurring within the hotel. Added bonus: The haunted Fox Theatre is across the street from the hotel...and you're close to downtown ATL.   Austin, Texas Driskill Hotel - This lavish hotel, located in downtown Austin and completed in 1882, was built by Colonel Jesse Driskill, a cattleman who spent his entire fortune to build "the finest hotel south of St. Louis." He is said to haunt the hotel, along with a little girl who fell down the grand staircase while chasing her runaway ball and two brides who allegedly took their own lives in the bathtub of room 525, exactly 20 years apart. Added bonus: There are great places to eat, drink and be merry nearby. Do your part to help "Keep Austin Weird"! Denver, Colorado Brown Palace - One of the spirits that is said to haunt the Brown Palace is a young boy, dressed in Victorian era clothing, who has been seen rifling through the luggage of hotel guests. During one of my stays there, I returned to my room to discover that little intruder looking inside my backpack that was sitting on a chair! When we saw each other, we both gasped and he instantaneously vanished, leaving me startled and wide-eyed! Added bonus: The hella haunted Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado is about an hour drive from downtown Denver. The stately hotel was the inspiration for author Stephen King's best selling novel, "The Shining," which he wrote after he and his wife were guests there. The hotel has been featured on numerous paranormal TV shows. Kansas City, Missouri area Belvoir Winery and Inn - This cozy and comfortable, yet quite elegant, 9 room bed and breakfast, with its 1,500 square feet bridal suite, is located in Liberty, Missouri on the site of a huge former Odd Fellows complex. The inn was once an orphanage, so the sights and sounds of children who once called this building their home are regularly seen and heard by Belvoir guests. Numerous television shows have filmed at the inn and on the property, including Kindred Spirits, Ghost Adventures, Ghost Hunters and American Pickers. Added bonus: Have a glass or two of Belvoir's wines or your favorite cocktail at the inn's lovely bar located on the main level. And visit George, the inn's "mascot," who just happens to be a real skeleton! New Hampshire Omni Mount Washington Hotel - Located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, this property is simply spectacular! The most prominent spirit that is said to haunt the hotel is Princess Carolyn, former owner of the hotel, whose lovely suite is now available for guests to occupy. The hotel's dining room has a permanently set up table for Princess Carolyn in case she happens to stop in for lunch or dinner.  Added bonus: Sightings of the elusive Bigfoot have been reported in the area! Soak up the gorgeous scenery! Take the cog railway to the top of Mt. Washington. Go skiing on the nearby slopes during winter months. Boston, Massachusetts Omni Parker House Hotel - Rich in history and hauntings, the Parker house is the birthplace of Boston Cream Pie and Parker House Rolls! The Kennedy family, arguably America's "royal family," often visited this hotel. It is said that future president John F. Kennedy proposed to Jacqueline Bouvier at a table in the hotel's restaurant. At one time, civil rights activist Malcolm X, Vietnamese revolutionary leader Ho Chi Minh and celebrity chef Emeril Lagasse were employees of the hotel. While staying there, I was confused when I encountered the spirit of John Wilkes Booth, the man who assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. My encounter finally made sense when the hotel's historian told me that Booth had frequently stayed at the hotel and had even practiced firing his gun nearby. Added bonus: Granary Burying Ground (cemetery), final resting place of numerous Revolutionary War patriots, including Paul Revere, Samuel Adams and John Hancock, is nearby    Tampa, Florida area The Don Cesar - Affectionately known as "The Pink Palace" and located in St. Pete Beach, not far from Tampa on Florida's west coast, this hotel, like others on my list, is said to be haunted by its original owner. Wealthy New Englander Thomas Rowe built the hotel in 1925 in remembrance of his unrequited love for a lovely Spanish opera singer. The star crossed lovers are said to haunt "The Don," as are members of the New York Yankees baseball team, including Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, due to the fact members of the team once stayed at the hotel during spring training. Other reported spectral guests include gangster Al Capone and World War II era soldiers who may have stayed (and died) there while the building was being used as a convalescent hospital for aviators and pilots. Added bonus: The hotel has a lovely Gulf of Mexico beach.  San Francisco, California Queen Anne Hotel - A charming Victorian era boutique hotel located in the Pacific Heights neighborhood. Both the public areas and guests rooms are furnished in an eclectic style. The hotel was once an exclusive boarding school for young ladies, as well as a brothel that housed "ladies of the night." The headmistress of the girl's school, Miss Mary Lake, reportedly haunts the hotel, sometimes unpacking suitcases, tucking guests in at night and singing to them while they fall asleep. The most haunted room is said to be room 410, which was once Miss Mary Lake's office. Voodoo queen Mary Ellen Pleasant lived across the street from the hotel in the 1800's and it is thought that perhaps her spirit also roams the halls of the Queen Anne. Added bonus: Enjoy all that The Golden Gate City has to offer! Ride a cable car; eat some great seafood at a waterfront restaurant; visit Fisherman's Wharf and the spectacular Palace of Fine Arts, built for the 1915 World's Fair. Portland, Oregon The Benson - A world class luxury hotel that is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Built by Simon Benson and opening its doors in 1913, it is believed that Mr. Benson is the primary spirit who haunts the hotel. He is frequently seen on the grand staircase, in the hotel bar and dining room, and on the 7th, 9th and 12th floors of the hotel. A small and mischievous little boy, whom people assume is the ghost of one of Benson's sons, often appears and plays pranks on hotel guests. The ghost of a former porter who worked at The Benson is also sometimes seems, as well as the spectral images of a lady in white (doesn't every haunted property have a lady in white? LOL) and a lady in blue. Added bonus: Take a trip to see the nearby and spectacularly beautiful Columbia River Gorge and Multnomah Falls! New Orleans, Louisiana Bourbon Orleans Hotel - Once the location of the Sisters of the Holy Family's convent, girl's school, medical ward and orphanage, the Bourbon Orleans is reportedly haunted by the spirits of those who resided there during that earlier time. A Confederate soldier has also been seen at the hotel, as well as a lonely ghost dancer, seen dancing solo in the hotel's ballroom. The 3rd and 6th floors are said to be some of the most haunted areas. Added bonus: Laissez les bon temps rouler and enjoy all of the delicious and decadent delights that The Big Easy readily serves up! Savannah, Georgia East Bay Inn - This stately old building was built in the mid-1800's and once housed the offices of cotton merchants, as well as warehouses for cotton. In the mid-1980's, the property opened as a charming inn with 28 guest rooms. The rooms are spacious, with wooden floors, exposed brick establishing walls and high ceilings. A friendly ghost named Charley, a former worker in the building, allegedly haunts the inn. It is claimed that he is heard walking the halls late and night and sometimes will jiggle the doorknobs. Witnesses have said that lights flicker and some of their personal belongings mysteriously disappear. Room 325, known as "Charley's Room," is said to be the most haunted. Added bonus: Is there really anyplace in Savannah that isn't haunted? Visit them all! Walk along River Street. Take a ride on the riverboat. Put on your walking shoes and visit Savannah's numerous squares. And don't miss a visit to the magnificently beautiful Bonaventure Cemetery. San Antonio, Texas The Menger Hotel - The land on which the Menger sits is part of the historic site of the Battle of the Alamo. It is said that between 32 and 45 ghosts haunt the Menger. (Who came up with that number?!?) Among those ghosts are Teddy Roosevelt; Sallie White, a former chambermaid at the hotel who was shot nearby by her common law husband and died on the hotel's 2nd floor; and Richard King, a cattle baron who often stayed at the Menger and died in his suite on the 3rd floor. If you are brave enough, you can stay in the King Ranch Suite where Richard King died and sleep in the same bed where he took his last breath! Added bonus: Visit The Alamo. Walk along the River Walk. Dine in some of San Antonio's fabulous eateries. San Diego, California (Coronado Island) Hotel del Coronado - The elegant hotel, located on Coronado Island, has a resident ghost named Kate Morgan. Kate was a guest at the hotel in 1892 and killed herself with a gun a few days after an ugly break-up with her male lover. Guests at the hotel have reported seeing Kate's ghost walking in the hallways and along the hotel's lovely beach. During my visits to the hotel, I always hope to encounter the spirit of Marilyn Monroe, who shot the film, "Some Like It Hot," on the property back in 1958. Added bonus: While in the San Diego area, pay a visit to the haunted Whaley House in Old Town San Diego, where you can also shop at some of the area's charming stores. Washington, DC Hay-Adams Hotel - Washington socialite Marian Adams, known by the nickname Clover, reportedly haunts the Hay-Adams. Clover was an amateur photographer who died after ingesting some of the potassium cyanide that she used while developing her photographs. Her death was ruled a suicide, but some believed that she had been murdered. The ghost of Clover Adams haunts the hotel's 4th floor. Maids have told stories of hearing a woman sobbing, calling out their names and asking "What do you want?" in unoccupied rooms. Some guests say that visits by Clover's spirit are accompanied by the scent of almonds. Potassium cyanide, which caused Clover's death, is extracted from almonds! Added bonus: Visit the many beautiful monuments in DC, as well as The Smithsonian and nearby Arlington Cemetery. 
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5 MUST GO TO PLACES AFTER LOCKDOWN...
By Karmeta Clarke-Newman
1. TGI Fridays
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The first place seeing me after lockdown is going to have to be TGI’s! That place definitely adds something special into their food, especially in their Jack Daniels sauce. Highly Recommended.
I can’t wait to tuck into another rack of ribs, not forgetting to mention their long list of great cocktails to choose from!
TGI Fridays is a family-friendly eatery with a brilliant atmosphere that's perfect for a casual place to eat, date nights or even birthday celebration meals. However, if your birthday is coming up and your family takes you to TGI Fridays - be prepared for the whole restaurant clapping whilst singing happy birthday to you.
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Everyday feels like a friday when you walk into a TGI Friday restaurant. Their customer service is very good, staff are very welcoming and energetic. Customers are accommodated with plush leather booths suitable for cosy meet-ups.
Cuisine: American, American Fusion, Cocktails, BBQ & Grill, Burger Joint, Diner, Steak
Dress Code: Casual
Price point: £ £
2. Box Park
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If you’ve not been to Box Park yet..I suggest you put it at the top of your ‘Things to do after lockdown’ list.
Boxpark is the world’s first pop-up mall, constructed entirely out of refitted shipping containers, – fusing the concepts of modern street food and fashion to create a unique shopping and dining destination. A Fantastic complex with a great choice of food outlets. Box Park is located in three different areas across london: Shoreditch, Croydon and Wembley.
If you enjoy listening to live sets from talented DJ’s, eating food and trying new drinks this is the place for you! A sociable place to spend time with your friends. A range of events are held at the 3 venues including previous appearances from Stormzy, Unknown T, WSTRN and more! From concerts to markets, bingo to sports screenings. Upstairs you'll find table tennis, pool and table football.
Cuisine: American, European, Asian, South American, Street Food
Dress Code: Casual
Price point: £ £
3. Tower bridge glass floor
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Did you know you can experience a birds-eye view of London life, from 42 METRES above the RIVER THAMES?!
After lockdown i’m going to book a day visit to Tower Bridge - I’ve already put it into the group chat so it's happening!
This is a great experience if you like ‘thinking outside of the box’ activities, especially if you can deal with heights. Upgrade your ticket to a detailed tour of iconic structure and the stories behind it. Learn more about the Victorian Engine Rooms and the people who built it.  
The Tower Bridge glass floor is an award-winning visitor attraction open daily to the public. Definitely add this to your list to see London's defining landmark from a fresh perspective.
Tower Bridge is open 09:30 - 18:00
(last admission is 17:00)
All children aged 15 years and below must be accompanied by an adult.
Ticket Pricing:
Adult: £9.30
Senior: £7.00
Student: £7.00
Child: £4.70
4. Sky Garden
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This is one of my favourite places to go! I love it here!
Are you thinking of a place to take that special person for that special occasion??  Well, you’ve found this listical just in time! I suggest you take them here. A perfect place to share a romantic experience and an unforgettable memory.
The Sky Garden is London’s highest public garden – a vibrant social space with 360-degree views of the city’s iconic skyline located at 20 Fenchurch Street. Serving food by restaurants, Darwin Brasserie, Fenchurch Seafood Bar & Grill and Sky Pod Bar.
The spectacular views from the outdoor balcony of the River Thames, where you can see the whole city including the shard from the top of this iconic building. Experience the panoramic nightlife view of the city, evening live bands and entertainment on the 43rd floor till 1am.
The beautiful scenery is accessible to all, and entry is free of charge. Yes, I said FREE! Tickets are available to book on a weekly basis but a  limited number of walk-in slots are available so book up to three weeks in advance of your visit.
Cuisine: Modern British, Seafood, British Brasserie
Dress Code: Day, Casual // Night, Fancy
Food and Drinks: £ £ £
Address
20 Fenchurch Street 1
Sky Garden Walk,
London EC3M 8AF
England
5. Golden Bee
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JUST PICTURE IT...A warm sunset with a slight breeze, sat at a table with your group of friends laughing and drinking cocktails with soulful house playing in the background in summer.
The Golden Bee rooftop bar has you covered.
This bar livens Singer Street with its good vibes, parties and cocktail bars with monday nights devoted to film screenings up on the rooftop terrace - complete with bottomless popcorn and a blanket. Food is not served but call and inform them you are coming down 48 hours beforehand so they can order you a sushi platter ready for when you come - how thoughtful of them!
The seating is casual and relaxed but very luxurious and modern. Great bar staff who are friendly and welcoming! Definitely worth the visit..SEE YOU SOON GOLDEN BEE.
Dress Code: Casual
Price point: £ £ £
Address
Singer Street
London
EC1V 9DD
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