#through a blackened mirror

[zargsnake]

Through a Blackened Mirror

Chapter 5: The Prince

Word Count: 7589 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

   *   *   *

“Now the hundred years had just ended, and the day on which Brier Rose was to wake up again had arrived. When the prince approached the brier hedge, he found nothing but beautiful flowers that opened of their own accord, let him through, and then closed again like a hedge. In the castle courtyard he saw the horses and the spotted hunting dogs lying asleep. The pigeons were perched on the roof and had tucked their heads beneath their wings. When he entered the palace, the flies were sleeping on the wall, the cook in the kitchen was still holding his hand as if he wanted to grab the kitchen boy, and the maid was sitting in front of the black chicken that she was about to pluck. As the prince continued walking, he saw the entire court lying asleep in the hall with the king and queen by the throne. Then he moved on, and everything was so quiet that he could hear himself breathe.”

-- “Brier Rose,” translated by Jack Snipes

  *   *   *

Obi-Wan hurries into the library. “Master Nu!” He bows deeply.

“Ah, young Kenobi.” Jocasta turns from reshelving a holocron about Serenno. She knows who checked it out, and it makes her feel nervous; reading about it only makes him sadder. She nods at the frantic Padawan. “How can I h–”

Obi-Wan gesticulates wildly as he launches into his request. “Yesterday morning my Master Qui-Gon told me he sensed a most curious disturbance in the Force, as though a great power had fallen into the grasp of the Dark Side. He requested me to meditate on this and I did. And I just woke from a dream that I think was important! But I need your help to identity the face that appeared to me!”

“Peace, peace. Have you told your Master yet?”

“No! He’s still asleep! And I wanted to make sure I wasn’t on some wild bantha-chase before I bothered him. I am so glad that the library is open!”

“Yes, we are always open by 5 am.”

“Amazing!” The young man elegantly clears his throat.

“Master Nu, what sort of alien has brown scales, black hair, and red eyes?”

“Take a seat, my lad; let me open a program to help us.” She wakes up a screen on one of the tables. Fortunately, no one else is at the library this early, so she can give Obi-Wan her full attention. “Could it have been a Northern Trandoshan?” She shows a picture of the mild-mannered Senator of Trandosha.

“No, it didn’t have a snout.”

“A Weequay?” She shows a picture of a somewhat-famous pirate.

Obi-Wan is disgusted. “No. The face I saw didn’t look like a skull. It even had something akin to beauty.”

“Perhaps a Vodran?” She shows a HoloNet hero.

“No, it didn’t have any horns.”

“A Bothan?” She shows a very boring chartered accountant.

“No, its hair was like this.” He draws a vampiric hairline across his face.

“Hm.” She taps her fingers on the table.

Obi-Wan bounces his knee up and down ferociously.

“A Grinanin.” She shows a picture of an underwear model; the picture is cropped to just her face, though.

Obi-Wan almost falls off his chair. “That’s it!!”

Jocasta thinks, Of course it is. Boys and Grinanins. Is this really the type of dream I want to know about?

“Very good, Kenobi. The only trouble is that Grinanins have blue, purple, or pink eyes.”

Obi-Wan strokes his chin. “Not if they’re Sith.”

“Sith?” Jocasta purses her lips. “But the Sith have been gone for a thousand years.”

“Yes... But…” He looks up at the shelves. The morning light is just beginning to pour through the windows. “Their holos remain. Master Nu, where was the Sith library?”

“Kenobi, this is hardly appropriate. The Sith library was a place of great evil.”

“I know,” he says solemnly, “And I do not ask lightly, trust me. But Master Qui-Gon needs my help, and I think I am on the right path.”

Jocasta sighs and speaks softly, even though no one is nearby. Obi-Wan leans in conspiratorially.

“The Sith library -- which may or may not have been completely destroyed long ago -- was on the planet Huntt’awn in the distant Sinmeerin sector, the coldest and furthest reaches of the Outer Rim. It is far beyond the long arm of the Republic. If you want to go there, you must have a very, very good reason.”

Obi-Wan nods. His voice is, impossibly, even more solemn than it was before.

“Where is the Sith section of our library?”

“It is the one closest to the window. After all, it is the darkness that most requires the light.”

Obi-Wan nods again.

“I shall be right back.”

He stands up and she grabs the hood of his robe.

“Wait one minute, young man. That section is off-limits to Padawans. You may go under supervision of your Master.”

Obi-Wan tugs his robe from her hand and scowls.

“But Master, I’m not a child. I am twenty years old.”

“Age has nothing to do with it. The temptations of the Dark Side are too great for anyone who has not undergone the trials.”

“I am pure of heart. I swear!”

“The decision is not mine, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan thinks, It most certainly is!

He looks up at the ceiling, barely containing his irritation, then looks down at her with an expression that he clearly believes is a smile. “Yes, Master Nu!” He bows quickly. “I shall be right back!”

He dashes off, his robes flying behind him.

   *   *   *

Obi-Wan knocks on Qui-Gon’s door, but he cannot wait and opens it. He calls, in a loud whisper, “Master!”

“Hnngh?”

The boy’s presence in the Force wakes Qui-Gon up more than the noise does. He looks at him blearily.

“Um -- sorry Master! But this is urgent!” He enters the dark room and shuts the door behind him. “I had a vision in my dream. I think I know something about the great power which you sensed yesterday.”

Qui-Gon sits up. Obi-Wan feels such affection for the great, barrel-chested knight. He also feels guilty for disturbing him, but Qui-Gon shows no sign of irritation, and Obi-Wan does not expect it from him. Very few people have ever been angry at Obi-Wan.

“Yes?”

Obi-Wan thinks, I will never be as great as he is.

“I saw the face of a Grinanin woman with red eyes. She fizzled out from reality into a holo. I believe this was more than a dream. I think it was a message from the Force, a result of my meditations on the subject.”

“What do you think it means, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon stands up from the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and he turns the light on.

“Grinanins do not have red eyes, but Sith do. She might be a great Sith from the past who left a message on a holocron.”

Qui-Gon goes to the sink to brush his teeth. Obi-Wan follows him.

“A very wise interpretation, my Padawan! Excuse me.”

He shuts the bathroom door in his student’s face.

Obi-Wan is a little embarrassed, but he is too proud and eager to be that embarrassed. He continues speaking to the bathroom door. “Anyway, I thought I might look through the Sith section of the library to see if I can find more information on her. I am not sure how a holocron could be a source of power. It must contain some very important information!”

“Perhaps…”

“Maybe she was a spy. Maybe she figured out some way to--to detect Force-sensitive children, even younger than we can -- or to discover a Jedi’s weakness -- or to invade the Temple! But she died before she could enact her plan. But now it has fallen into the hands of some rapscallion!”

“Mm-hm.”

“The trouble is, I can’t get into the Sith section of the library, since I am only a Padawan. So that’s why I came–”

“Grinanin, you said?”

“Yes, Master!”

Obi-Wan hears the toilet flush, and Qui-Gon opens the door.

“Darth Zaster.”

“What’s a disaster, Master?”

Obi-Wan is quietly amused by the rhyme. Qui-Gon washes his hands in the sink.

“No, Darth Zaster. ‘Darth’ is a Sith title. And ‘Zaster’ is her name. She was a Grinanin Oracle from two millenia ago -- one of the greatest Oracles who ever lived. She made two hundred and nine prophecies, and two hundred and five of them have come true. Not a single one was false.”

“Oh!”

“Almost all of them foretold some terrible tragedy.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan picks up a shiny object on Qui-Gon’s desk. It snaps around his finger. “Oh -- um –”

“Legend states that when she died, her master sealed the midichlorians of her spirit away in a holocron.”

Obi-Wan gasps. “Just like my vision!”

“Exactly.”

“But if her midichlorians are in a holo -- could they be accessed? Could she be … awoken from the dead?!”

Qui-Gon takes a pause that drives Obi-Wan mad. “That was her master’s intention. However, only a Sith can open a Sith holocron. Just as only a Jedi can open a Jedi holocron.”

“And there are no Sith!”

“Yes. So there is some comfort there. If an agent of the Dark Side has gotten ahold of this spirit of a long-dead Sith, they would still have a very difficult time awakening her.”

“Difficult? Or impossible?”

“Difficult. Not impossible.”

“Really?!”

“Think of your training, Obi-Wan. Have non-Jedi ever been able to open Jedi holocrons?”

Obi-Wan thinks carefully. “Yes. But very rarely.”

Qui-Gon taps his nose. “Thus, for the Sith. Remember, the Jedi are stronger than the Sith. Whatever weaknesses we have -- rare as they are -- the Sith have them too, and more.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I never thought I’d find myself wishing the Sith were better at something, even holo security.”

Qui-Gon puts a hand on his Padawan’s shoulder. “You did very well, Obi-Wan. I am proud of you. Your meditation brought us a vision that brings us closer to the truth.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Let us go to the Sith section of the library and see what more we can find on Zaster.”

He starts to head out the door.

“Uh -- Master -- a little help?”

Obi-Wan holds out his finger where the trap is still attached.

With a hearty chuckle, Qui-Gon frees his Padawan’s finger with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be so nosy, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, Master.”

   *   *   *

Following their research in the Jedi library, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon decide to risk visiting the Sith library on Huntt’awn. All clues indicate that if Zaster’s holo was kept anywhere, it was there. Perhaps they can find a hint as to where the Dark Side agent has taken her. Qui-Gon flies the ship and Obi-Wan sits in the co-pilot’s chair.

Obi-Wan says, “I read some of those prophecies of hers. Very disturbing…”

“Yes. Zaster is an object of fascination among us prophecy-heads. I am glad that you were the one who beheld her in a vision. If I saw her out of the blue, I might have become entirely too diverted.”

Obi-Wan has a hard time imagining Qui-Gon getting excited about anything.

“What is the worst thing she ever predicted?”

“She prophesized the rise of the Zygerrian slave empire. And unlike her more specific prophecies, there was very little the Jedi could do about it. There were just too many complex, inevitable agencies at work. So the slaver’s empire existed for hundreds of years, before we finally stamped it out. Not very long ago, I might add.”

Obi-Wan mumbles “hmm” sadly. He feels glad to not exist at the same time as slavery. He wonders if he would have been able to do something to stop it if he had been there; even “complex, inevitable agencies” can be tamed if one is wise enough.

“What is a prophecy that we were able to stop?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Oh, you cannot stop what has been prophesized from occurring. But sometimes you can do something about it. She foresaw the environmental collapse of Rooshan, which happened just three hundred years ago. The signs which she alluded to lined up in the nick of time, and marked Rooshan as the subject of her prophecy. On her word, the Jedi were able to convince the Rooshanians to give up their doomed efforts of salvaging their atmosphere and to evacuate their homeworld instead. Rooshan is a wasteland now, but the Rooshanians live on, albeit in diaspora.”

“That is a tragedy.”

“Chin up, Obi-Wan. Four billion lives were saved.”

“Are you completely sure that there was nothing that could have been done about Rooshan’s atmosphere?”

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes. I am never completely sure of anything. Perhaps there was some hope for their atmosphere after all. But the Jedi of the time decided that hope was not enough.”

“Did she have any connection to Rooshan? How could she have possibly known about it, especially since it happened over a thousand years after her death?”

“It’s true that Oracles speak more frequently and accurately about familiar things. But the Force connects all things, Padawan, across all time. The Force was very strong with her.”

“You say that not a single one of her prophecies was ever false?”

“Not a one. But there are four left.” He smiles at him. “It is never too late to fail.”

“What are her four remaining prophecies?”

“Oh, just as miserable as the rest of them. Let’s see... ‘A moon is not a moon. There are a thousand non-believers and one believer. The non-believers will perish, and only the believer will survive.’ That’s the first one.”

“Believe in what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sorry, Master.”

“It’s alright. The second one is, ‘He will be the liar’s only hope. He will run from his post. He will not be believed. The truthseeker will break him. He will outlive his home. The other five will die together, but he will die alone.’”

Obi-Wan nods. He regrets asking -- besides how miserable it is, he has no taste for anything so cryptic, even though this stuff is his master’s hobby.

“Mmhm. The third one is, ‘The fake woman descends a ramp. She dies in the first war. The arrogant man does not trip the beast. He dies in the second war. The fainting woman drops a hundred bombs. She dies in the third war. Heed their deaths: do not love anyone who is brave during a war.’”

Obi-Wan rests his gloomy chin on his hand.

“This Zaster was a real piece of work.”

“Oh yes. And the final one is, ‘These sons of bitches are obsessed with light. They make every fucking holiday about it. They put it in their fucking clothes. I can’t fucking stand them.’”

Obi-Wan stares at his serene master in shock.

“‘These unnatural materialists fill their lovely dark with ugly light, and -- lucky for you, my friend -- that wasted effort drains a lot of power. So greedy are they for their electricity, they will build a great power generator within their own palace. So voraciously do they crave that energy, they will dig their great reactor shafts deep, deep into the earth, to a place where no one goes, a place that is dark and safe. There you will find dusty, abandoned spider-droids which were given up for dead. They shall not be dead. They shall bend to your will. You shall not be dead either, my friend. Not yet. It shall not be the end for you, not on that light-obsessed hell-planet. It shall be only the beginning. You will live, my friend, you will live.’”

“That’s her final prophecy?”

“It certainly has a different tone, doesn’t it? Those are the ravings she screamed as she lay dying.”

“And you had that all off the top of your head?”

“Yes, I did. All her other prophecies have come true. It is logical to listen to them.”

“But that prophecy is clearly lunacy.”

“Perhaps...or perhaps, one day, I will find myself on the bottom of a reactor shaft in a power generator within a palace. And if so, I will know to look for the spider-droids.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“This is such nonsense.”

“We can only hope so. If Zaster is only capable of nonsense, then -- even if the most wicked person in the universe gets ahold of her -- she will be useless to them.”

Obi-Wan nods at this wisdom, and then an odd thought occurs to him.

“Such disdain for light is particularly illogical coming from a Grinanin. Grinanins are cold-blooded. Without sunlight, they have no energy of their own.”

“Very good, Obi-Wan. When we get back to the Temple, read up on the Apollonian Secession. One of the cleverer Sith tricks was their cosmic blankets, which would darken the suns over planets and render cold-blooded populations lethargic and compliant. Once Jedi agents pierced these blankets, billions of people awoke in mighty unison to their true selves. The Grinanins were, in fact, one of the first people to rebel against their Sith overlords. If Zaster had lived only a few more decades, we would have had her for ourselves. Think of the happy prophecies she might have made, if only we could have rescued her from evil. Think of how much greater we would be now.”

Obi-Wan does not precisely obey these directions. He thinks about the intricacies of biology, astronomy, and history that his master described. His stomach churns at the idea of intentionally darkening suns, and his heart thrills with pride for the Light Side’s ancient triumph. He tries but fails to long entertain his master’s happier alternate universe. Obi-Wan knows the past is set in stone, and it is pointless to fuss about it.

   *   *   *

That feeling again, that blundering clumsiness, oh Maul… She waits it out, then she sees him sitting there. Her boy.

“Hey,” he says, exhausted as always.

“Hey.”

“You have a ... new outfit,” he says weakly.

“Oh yes. I do. Must be a, uh, seasonal update in the programming.”

“Huh... I liked your old one better, to be frank.”

She breathes out of her nose in amusement. Of course he would insult her before -- apologizing, or whatever. Palpatine would just flatter, Maul does not --

She looks away from the handsome halfbreed to the thing between them. It’s a long, low freezerbox. The text of the brand logo is in spiky Grinanin.

They are outdoors, in the night. The world is brighter and greener than Iridonia, and ought to be even more familiar to her: she was born here, after all. But they are surrounded by strange, quietly humming metallic structures. She sees a great wheel in the distance, 200 feet tall, and what looks like painted steeds impaled on golden poles. One thing at a time, she thinks, a bit dizzy.

“So what is this?” She points at the freezer.

“Okay, so -- I put your stone-body in the Iridonian Temple -- just in case you ever change your mind -- then I convinced my master to take us to your homeworld, so I could find a more -- relevant body for you. It’s been three months. I didn’t want to wake you until I found the best one I could. Here she is.”

He opens the freezer. On a bed of shredded ice lies a corpse -- another eighteen year old Grinanin, and very pretty -- wearing a finely-made, tan-colored Sith student’s robe, a size or two too big. She has a little button nose, big eyes, dollish lips, and brown scales of almost the same color as her own, if a little rounder in shape. In some ways, she is prettier than Dreela. Certainly she is sweeter. Dreela rolls down the corpse’s sleeve and sees a tattoo of a snake around her wrist.

“You gave her my tattoo.”

“You’re not you without it. I painted it on the first body, too, if you had bothered to notice.”

“You also gave that one horns and teeny boobs.”

She prods the corpse’s boobs. Acceptable.

“Look, I was young and foolish,” he responds. “Anyway, horns are fun; you can gore people with them. And store cheese on them to eat for later.”

Dreela laughs. It sounds so sad to Maul. Her state of being must be getting so hard for her. He doesn’t blame her at all for being so bitter and tragic. But this will make things different.

Dreela lifts the corpse’s eyelids and sees her irises are light purple.

“I’m sure they’ll turn red once you, a Sith, occupy them,” Maul assures her.

“Is this on Sidious’ advice? Or was this your own idea?”

“I asked him how to recreate a dead body, how to create a body from air, you know, all this stuff. He didn’t have anything useful to say. This is all my own idea.”

“And how will you get me in her?”

“Same as before. The Nightsister stuff.”

Dreela sighs.

“It works on corpses too. Your presence would even make her blood flow again. Do you want to see?”

“No. As little of that as possible, please.”

Maul shuts the freezer and takes her hand with the Force.

“This is the only way, girl.”

Dreela flinches at his touch.

“What is it? Why do you shudder? Do you really hate me now?”

Dreela thinks, Principles are for Jedi. He is good to me. He is still my friend.

“No, I don’t hate you, it’s just…”

Maul smirks. “Has the gay rubbed off? You can’t stand the touch of men now? Homophobic science has been onto something this whole time?”

Dreela shakes her head and holds his hand tighter. “No... I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.”

“On that, we are alike.”

Dreela feels a sob rise from her chest. Her tears fizzle on the holo. They hurt like little needles. She forgot water did that to her in this inferior form.

“I beg you, Dreela, baby, darling, sugar to my tea, kyber to my saber, darkness to my night, please, just try it, just one hour. I can put you back if you don’t like it.”

Dreela looks at him through that horrible blue haze. She wants to see his redness, so badly. And that body really did look very good. It would be fun to wear Maul’s clothes too; she always wanted to.

“What would we do for an hour? I love you, but the sex is bad. Did you make a lightsaber for me? We could always spar. I miss sparring.”

“No, I haven’t made a lightsaber for you. I have something better.” He lets go of her hand and flips backwards onto his feet. He grabs a big red switch on a pole and throws it down. With a loud whir, the amusement park all around them comes to life -- the Ferris wheel and carousel turn, strings of warm electric lights burn brightly, rollercoasters as white as bone are illuminated against the stars.

“Wh-what is this?!!”

“You didn’t have amusement parks in the Year of Our Fate 7548?”

“No?”

“It’s fun! Uh -- basically, these machines throw you around and get you scared.”

“OoOOoh! So non-Sith have fun getting scared too?”

“Nowadays -- yeah.”

She looks her poor friend in the eyes.

“Yes.”

“Yes -- you’ll do it?”

“You’ll do it, babe, I’ll just lie there.”

“You won’t regret it.”

He sets them up for the ritual. She sees, but does not feel, his hand on her forehead; she hears him muttering those chilling words, the green smoke pouring from his eyes and ears and mouth, swirling up into the already greenish atmosphere of Grinanin.

The feeling of this magic is different from the feeling of waking up from her holo, whether by Maul’s clumsy effort or Sidious’ skill.

While using the Force as a Sith connects one to everything around you, opens you up to the vastness of space, this magic feels like curling up into someone’s lap -- Maul’s bony, muscular lap -- the particularities of his familiar scent -- they have so much in common, their faith, their vanity, their sense of humor, and, most of all, their affection for one another.

She opens her eyes.

“I’M COLD!!! AAUUUGGHHH!!!”

She flails around in the ice. Maul lifts her out and spins on his heels with her in his arms.

“It’s COLD and I’m all WET! YOU BASTARD, I’M COLD-BLOODED!!!”

Maul carries her over to some pristinely-maintained shrubbery and sets it alight with his saber. He puts her on her feet and she wobbles over to the fires, arm around his waist.

“How does it feel, beside how co--”

She responds in a demonic shriek: “IT’S FUCKING COLD, MY LORD DARTH MAUL, PRINCE OF EVIL.”

He shuts up. They stand still for many tense, quavering minutes. She gazes at the fire in a stupor, blinking slowly, beholding her beautiful friend in only her peripheral vision. Once she feels a little energy return to her brain, she turns to look at him, straight on, for the first time. Of course he is already staring at her. The love in his eyes is ferocious. She reaches out and touches his flushed, hardened face. Finally she speaks, in a soft, kind voice.

“It feels good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. A little tall, and a little weak of the muscle. But good.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t find someone with a Sith level of physical training who was also beautiful.”

“I can fix the weakness. I like working out.”

“Give me a hug,” he says. She hugs him, then again, tighter, holding the back of his head. He buries his face in her neck and she feels his breath flutter between her scales.

This is my first hug ever, he thinks. I see why people go to war for this kind of thing. “Did I deliver?” he mumbles into her neck.

She feels like she could cry, and she encourages the feeling -- that deep sensation of all her body parts working together to make tears, her chest and tummy and face and throat. It is more than Sidious could provide. Her tears are hot.

“Yes.”

Maul holds her face. “Your eyes are red as blood. Lord Darth Zaster, princess of the Sith.”

Dreela smiles with pure happiness. “Wonderful. But don’t I look strange to you?”

Maul shakes his head. “I can tell it’s you. You move your muscles in the same way. We are not our crude bodies. We are the dark secret within them.”

“Thank you, Maul.” She holds him again and presses her face to his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dreela.” He laughs, light-headed and nervous. “I’m so glad I won’t have to bleed like a pig just to see you.”

“Me too. Where -- where is my holo?”

“Here.” He picks it up off the floor and gives it to her. It has turned off, even the glow of its letters. She puts it in her sleeve pocket. It fits well.

“Now that I’m out, I don’t want to go back in.”

“Good.”

“But where will I stay?”

“I furnished a cave for you in the woods. It’s not much, I must admit, but it’s all yours. Do you want to see it?”

Dreela shakes her head. “Later, later. I’m sure it’s fine. Now, you must scare me on these machines.”

“Yes, sister.”

He sets her up on the carousel and fastens the belt around her waist. He starts the machine, runs back to her, and holds her firmly as she shrieks with surprise. Layers of mysterious voices occasionally pile up on top of hers at her most uncontrolled moments, but only to scream and laugh. Maul takes her on every kiddie coaster and relaxing tunnel, stopping between each ride to warm her at another fire, until hardly any of the park’s landscaping remains.

   *   *   *

Zaster wakes up -- all on her own -- not from her holo prison -- but from deep sleep. Sleep is unnatural to Sith, but this body has not been trained to fall into their holy meditative state, so she’ll just have to tolerate sleep until she can retrain herself, it shouldn’t be that hard -- or maybe... maybe she’ll keep sleep -- she hasn’t slept in two years -- well, two thousand-two years -- she put it away with her childhood -- but now that she’s done it again -- it felt really good, to lose control so completely, to be so relaxed and far away -- why not sleep? Her master is gone, no one is holding her accountable, she doesn’t have to do anything for anyone -- she stretches out -- she’s in a hammock between two stalagmites, wrapped in a soft fleece blanket -- how did she get here? Oh, she remembers, she was so tired from the rides, Maul carried her here and tucked her in, and then he left... She turns her head, she feels her bones creak -- what an awful feeling, but surely it will go away, it’s probably a consequence of sleep -- she sees sunlight passing through the vines which obscure the entrance to the cave -- she feels her stomach rumble -- she looks around the cave, she is only in the entrance area, there are a couple tunnels behind her -- in front of her, Maul put a red shag circular rug, on which he stacked a lot of food he stole from the amusement park -- she pigged out last night, her first food since death, but the candy and popcorn do not look that appealing to her right now -- she sees he dragged the freezerbox here, it is plugged into a rechargeable battery which is at 73% -- she rolls out of bed and opens it, he killed a grin-deer and put it in there for her to eat -- good job hunting, bitch, but she’s not going to eat this raw, and she doesn’t know how to cook it -- she has a sudden creeping fear that she’s in way over her head, and so is her young caretaker -- if she had a lightsaber, she could skin it and cut it with that, and cook it and make a fire -- he should have left his lightsaber! If he really loved her, he would’ve -- ugh, whatever -- she sees he’s also put a mirror in here -- she squints in the dimness and sees that stranger’s face in it, and feels an intense nervousness and sadness that she really, really hoped wouldn’t happen -- regret -- when he comes back, she’ll ask him to put her back, she can’t do this -- no, she can, she will, this is a better life -- her stomach rumbles again, she grumpily eats some of the popcorn -- what a miserable state!

So, what else is here -- a nice wooden chest, full of clothes -- well, they’re alright, they must be the modern Grinanin fashion -- a tiny portable stove, three silver pots and a set of utensils, a barrel of water, a crate of wine bottles, a priceless Sith translation plugin with four trashy novels: "Loving Wookiees," "The Jedi who Left the Order for Me (Based on a True Story)," "Sex Droid," and "Among the Clouds" -- a pack of hallucinogenic death sticks, a blaster -- thank hell for that, she was afraid he left her unarmed -- and a bag of gold coins and a holo-map to the nearest town. It’s an hour’s walk. Is there really nothing better to eat? No caf? Dammit, Maul!

She draws back the vines at the cave entrance and looks around. The woods are deep and cold. There are surely mushrooms or something out there. But she doesn’t want to leave -- it isn’t warm in here, but it’s even colder out there.

She wraps herself in the blanket, shivering; she fills a bowl with water and chocolate candies and sets it on the stove to make hot chocolate. She picks up the Wookiee book and flips through it to the nasty parts. She opens one of the wines, dumps a splash of it into the hot chocolate, and curls up with her bowl and book on her hammock. She finishes the drink and, feeling a little better and warmer, falls asleep again.

She wakes up thirty minutes later, staggers out of bed and opens the freezerbox again. No eggs? No vegetables? Just a carcass? She stabs it with a knife and cold blood comes out -- disgusting -- how do you cut it, how do you cook it? -- She remembers that Zabraks are carnivores and love raw meat. Stupid Maul! Doesn’t he know that no one else can live like that?! -- Maybe not. He is so innocent.

She must go to town to buy more food. Will they accept these gold coins? Wait...She will have no idea what they are saying! She has been speaking this whole time in the ancient frozen language of the Sith, a language that can only be passed in direct line from Master to student -- no one else is going to know it!! For every other language, it has been 2000 years!!

She will just have to bear it... How will she get by without a translator and a guide?

What if someone recognizes this Grinanin stranger’s face?

Where is Maul?

Come on! I have a BODY! I am ALIVE! I’m not trapped in ANYTHING! I fear NOTHING!

Dressed and armed, she walks out and starts to head to town -- nervously, she stops and looks back at the cave entrance -- she sees something glinting behind the vines, something in a very tiny cave to the right side of her own -- she moves the vines and sees a bright red speeder, brand new -- she pulls it out with the Force and looks at it, it’s beautiful, like a big red spike with a luxurious chair -- she sits in it, it has that new speeder smell -- she revs it up -- on the speeder, she makes it to town in only ten minutes -- she gets her first look at civilization in the Republic and feels sick to her stomach, where is the red flag of the Sith Empire? -- she reminds herself that she is ALIVE, and that should be, must be, can only be enough -- she pretends to be deaf, she gets a big breakfast from a diner by pointing and nodding, she fills her aching stomach with their hot food -- she pays with one gold coin and gets a strange expression and a lot of change back -- dammit, Maul -- she needs him to explain what all these coins mean before she buys anything else -- but she doesn’t need anything else now -- she returns to her cave, taking the most direct route since she is nervous, and no one is on her tail, as far as she can tell -- she smokes one of the hallucinogens, lies in her cot and sees all kinds of crazy shit, it whiles away her time as she waits... He doesn’t show up all day, she drives back to her diner and gets a gigantic dinner and saves the leftovers in a box which she stores in the freezer on top of the grin-deer. Battery at 65%.

Nothing happens the next day either, but she stays in the cave almost all day and gets into more of a routine. She reads her books and sleeps, mostly, and warms up leftovers, and enjoys the fairground food, and wonders what to do with her grin-deer carcass. And thinks. What should she do now? She drives around and finds a pond with a waterfall to take a bath in. The water is warm -- this is Grinanin, after all, her people evolved here -- two thousand years later, and she is still suited for this world. She wishes she could shed her skin again, just for the fun of it, but her body doesn’t need to yet.

She returns from her bath and smokes another stick... She hallucinates about the bath, and about her bath before that, the one under the gaze of that powerful Sith Lord -- high on the drug, she nearly loses her breath thinking of him, his exhilarating strength in the Force that made her holo project herself so vividly, in her own familiar body, shorter and stronger than this one -- much stronger -- tears pour from her eyes, remembering his power all around her like a castle -- she hallucinates Sidious and his body mixing with hers -- she hallucinates her Master Sunke, her Shell, making love to her, kissing and holding her, and teaching her everything he knows about the Force, and she cries harder -- she remembers how her greatest prophecies came to her mind while she was in her happiest place, on his lap, his arms around her -- she misses him -- how could he go to all this trouble to save her, and not save himself? This selflessness does not become a Sith... And now she must go on without him... Damn the Jedi, for ripping them apart -- she hallucinates her revenge against them, blowing up New Life Star again and again, stabbing her poisoners with her lightsaber, those supposed doctors who were actually murderers -- the smiling face of the Jedi doctor who had captured her -- a halfbreed of course, as all the worst people are, a Togrutan-human abomination -- he chained her up and poisoned her with a colony of parasites -- and released her back to the Sith, to infect the others -- her own sisters had to isolate her -- she couldn’t touch anyone, she could only see them through windows, as her body grew sicker and sicker, and the parasites inside became stronger, threatening to outsmart their prison walls and poison everyone she loved -- until her sisters gave up hope and commanded her to swallow a pill to kill herself -- she obeyed them, but took another pill too, to drift into death in her sleep -- so that, as she was unconscious, her master could transfer her into the holo -- he loved her body, HER body -- she misses him -- she has defiled herself -- Maul has defiled her, and disobeyed her master’s wishes -- she hallucinates running Maul through with her lightsaber, she giggles -- she can’t get her laugh right in this strange body -- her voice box is shaped differently, she can get a lot of her voice to sound how it was, but not her laugh -- she hallucinates Sunke shaking hands with Sidious, and handing her holo to him -- she acts it out with the shadows of her hands on the cave wall, she does voices for them -- Sunke placing all his trust in Sidious, and Sidious swearing to fulfill the great plan -- Sunke was a mighty Force wielder, one of the mightiest -- but he was not as strong as Sidious is.

She falls asleep in the throes of the hallucination, all the images spinning into nonsense and chaos, then stillness. As she lies there in the complete darkness, a blue light passes through the curtain of vines -- the antenna of a probe droid.

   *   *   *

Maul opens one eye and sees Sidious has finally left -- a chance, yes! -- it has been nearly a week!! He bends up and unties his feet from the Temple ceiling; he flips around in the air and lands on his hands and feet. He sneaks to the backdoor, but he is suddenly lifted up with the Force and tied upside-down to the ceiling once more.

Maul groans. “Master, this training has outlived its usefulness.”

Sidious sits in shadows in the corner of the room. “This training is over when I say it’s over.”

“I’m learning nothing new.”

“Hardly any lessons are new. Most are old. Do you have somewhere else to be?”

Maul balls his fists and grits his teeth.

We have no way to communicate. She could have been eaten by grin-bears. Or discovered by locals. She could have run out of wine.

“...Yes.”

“You?” Sidious laughs. “Where?”

“...I met someone.”

“Oho! Someone you care for?”

“A native lad. Gams to die for. Nice ass. Massive wang.”

“You arranged a date with him?”

“Oh yes, and I’m already very late.”

“Apprentice -- you are a secret. No one can know of you. Jedi spies and traitors are everywhere. You may have already been duped by one.”

“He’s only a boy.”

“No one.”

“You must let me go, then. He already knows about me. I’ll bring back his head for you to secure the leak.”

“Barbaric. Let him instead think you were only a dream. Every murder brings you closer to getting caught, and to endangering the secret of all the remaining Sith and our way of life.”

“I shall not get caught.”

“You shall have your fun with him before you kill him?”

“Naturally.”

Sidious sighs. “When I handpicked my apprentice from all the Force-sensitive babies in the galaxy, too young for the Jedi to detect and take for themselves -- from all the most powerful races, the proudest peoples -- and when I chose the youngling with the purest, rawest wellspring of power, just one from among thousands of wriggling newborns -- I had no idea I was picking a faggot.”

Maul dramatically clutches his heart and bends up so that his head is between his knees. “Oh, do mind my fragile faggot feelings, Master! Your words are like arrows to my sensitive faggot heart!”

“Why do I get the feeling that you will be the first Sith in a thousand years who gives away our existence?”

Maul unbends and lets his arms hang down below him, blood rushing back to his head and tired fingers. Turning right-side-up so briefly only made the dizziness worse.

He thinks of Zaster and Sunke -- how could they have loved each other? How is that possible for a student and teacher? What is it like to not be hated by your teacher?

“Master, have I ever failed you in anything? Have I ever come up even an inch short on any task you have ever given me? My whole life has been at your service. You are my master. You are my life. What more must I do to prove my loyalty to you, above all else?”

Sidious smiles up at him, highly amused. Maul flatters better than even Blara -- and what is better, Sidious senses real longing in Maul’s heart, mourning for a relationship that has never existed except in Maul’s deluded mind.

“I can think of a couple things. For one, don’t lie to me.”

Maul’s brow furrows very slightly.

“I know about the Oracle. You know I know.”

Maul takes a deep breath.

“Little Dreela is no stranger to me.”

“What?”

“We have spoken. And more.”

“You...?! What have you done to her?”

“What have I done? What have you done? Taking her from her holo and placing her in a borrowed corpse?”

“I saved her.”

“You defiled her.”

“How long have you been speaking to her?”

“Almost as long as you have. She hasn’t told you?”

Maul is stunned. Then with a burst of ferocity he squirms to free himself from the bonds tying him to the ceiling. Sidious tightens them.

“You lie!!”

“My goodness. Look at you. She must have mentioned me, though. Did she not ask you to ask me how to bring back her body?”

“Where is she? What did you do?”

“Did she not tell you about the pleasures I had with her?”

Rage sears Maul from within. He throws his lightsaber at Sidious and ignites it at the last minute. Sidious deflects it easily, raises his hand and shoots Force-lightning at Maul. The boy screams, more in anger than in pain.

“Why does that bother you? Are you jealous?”

Maul screams at him as loudly as he can. “She is a true Sith! The truest Sith in the universe! And you are the most false! You selfish, cowardly human monster! I am surprised the glory of her presence didn’t render you into dust!! You are not worth a hair on her head! -- And I bet she got a lot more pleasure out of you than you got from her!”

“Are you finished?”

“Thief! I had one thing! One thing for me! You have so much! You glutton!”

The young man bends back his arm and Force-punches his master. He lands the blow, striking Sidious. His middle-aged face is thrust to the side, and Sidious grunts in pain. Maul is shocked, horrified at what he has done to his own master -- he feels so guilty, but he hides that guilt within his fury. His chest rises and falls powerfully, fearfully.

“...Yes, I am finished, Master.”

Sidious turns his head slowly to face Maul. A bruise is already forming around his eye.

“There is one more thing you can do to prove your loyalty to me above all else.”

A tear falls from Maul’s eye, down through the air, and splashes onto the ground.

“Anything, Master.”

“I chose you to be my apprentice. Not her. I do not wish for two apprentices. I am taking good care of her, as I am of you, but I cannot keep you both. The wisdom of our ancestors limited the Sith to two. You and I are the true two. You must kill her.”

“I can put her back in the holo. We can put her back in the library. There is no need to kill her.”

“Oh, but there is. When I found her, starving and half-mad in the cave where you left her, I killed the cursed body you made for her straight away, and put her back in her holo. Then I strengthened the power of the holo with my own power, until I had manipulated the midichlorians inside of it into her true, proper body. I emptied the holo. We threw it away.”

“You mean … she is alive? In her own body?”

“She begged me for help. I could not deny her.”

“You brought her back to life just so I could kill her?”

“Hm, well, when you put it that way, it does seem a little cruel.”

“Just put her back in the holo. Her master could do that, and you are stronger than he was.”

“Perhaps I am, but I do not have the skill. Master Sunke studied that art for years.”

“Let us go back to the library. All Sunke’s notes are there, just beside where I found Zaster. If you don’t want to read them, then I will.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Maul is silent.

“There is only one position open. You must fight for it.”

“She doesn’t have a lightsaber.”

Sidious laughs. “Oh, she does. She does.”

“...Yes, Master. I will fight her and kill her. For you.”

Sidious holds up his hand in the dark and twists it to read his student’s little mind. Maul may say that he will kill her, but inside, he is wondering how he will save her.

Sidious has taken measurement of them both. Zaster is stronger in the Force, and -- unknown to Maul -- a stronger warrior. Maul does not even have the will to fight. Maul is doomed. But Sidious will wait until Zaster has given him his prophecy … just in case.

#my story #my art #through a blackened mirror #cw drugs #cw homophobia #obi-wan kenobi #jocasta nu #qui-gon jinn #darth maul #darth zaster #sheev palpatine #scifi #fairytale #cw abuse #cw sex abuse

[norrizzandpia]

Try On! (LN4)

Summary: She thought his opinion on some new lingerie would be good. Spoiler alert, it was good. Really good.

Warnings: smut!!!!!!! it’s a quickie against the wall, language

Note: here we go yall first smut imagine with one of the requests i got from @carlossaiwag and i plan on getting through the other ones soon 💗💗

“What is Victoria’s secret though?” Lando whispered as the couple shuffled through the small corner of the store, both looking intensely at the new styles of underwear and bras.

Giggling, Y/n turned her head to the side as to catch his blue eyes, “You think I know? I only started coming here because of you.”

He gasped lightly, “What? No!”

Fully stopped in the store, the two of them stared at each other playfully as her eyes threatened to out the time he came to her and begged she would buy the set he had seen on his Instagram feed.

He was about to back down when something behind him caught her eye and she was pushing him to the side, scurrying off quickly.

“Babe! Look at this!” She called as he lingered behind, clearly excited over what she had found.

What she had found, Lando saw, was an incredibly small black two piece that had little bowties on all the corners of the intricate material. Lace being the only fabric used to construct the outfit, Lando knew it would barely contain his beautiful girlfriend in the best way. With a skimpy bottom and a belt piece, little ruffles were the only thing to slightly cover any private area.

He loved it.

“Lan? You okay?” She chuckled at her boyfriend’s jaw dropped expression.

Shaking his head, he tore his gaze away, “I think you should get it.”

She smiled at him, “I have to make sure it fits first, Lando. I have to try it on.”

He nodded his head quickly, stealing her size off the rack and shoving her toward the dressing rooms.

Because it was a slow Sunday, no workers were around except the two all the way at the front of the store. And, with no customers in sight, Lando swiftly pulled her into the nearest one and locked the door.

“Put it on.” He whispered, trying not to draw attention to the fact he was in there with her.

Y/n gave him a weird look before grabbing the item from his tight grip and shimming out of her clothes. Lando’s pants tightened when her naked body was put on display in front of him, but they threatened to tear off when she slipped the piece of fabric on.

The way it hugged her waist perfectly helped to accentuate the ass he ogled from time to time and, from what he could see in the mirror, it was just a bit too small for her boobs, which were spilling out just enough to argue if it was really doing anything at all to cover her. His mouth dried and his eyes narrowed as she turned around to get a look at the back in the reflection. With the new angle, Lando could see the darkened shades of her nipples just below the see-through lace and the blackened area that teased him on her underwear.

The lingerie did exactly what it was supposed to as Lando stalked towards her, his hands coming to grab her waist as he pulled her into him. She was quick to turn around and clock the way his gaze had shifted from adoration for the number she was wearing to pure, tortured lust. She knew what this face meant and she knew what was destined to happen, whether they were in public or not.

“This is my favorite one.” He said slowly as he peered down, her height allowing him access to stare at the skin trying to break out of the tight material.

“Lan, we can’t do this here.” She said in warning, her hands coming up to his chest and pushing lightly.

His eyes flickered to hers as if she had said something stupid, “Of course we can. You just have to be quiet.”

Any response or rebuttal to his argument died in her throat when he met his hips with hers, grinding against her.

The roll of his hips continued as he leaned down to kiss her, hard. The smacking of wet lips only heated the moment when he backed her up against the wall, grabbing her hand and pulling it up over her head.

The way he trailed his mouth down her neck and over her boobs made a small moan escape from her. At that, he pulled away, a whine from her making it known she hated the action.

However, he leaned his head down so he could whisper right in her ear, “Remember what I said, baby? Be quiet or else everyone out there will hear just how good I make you feel.”

When she didn’t respond, too dazed and aroused to comprehend his words, he continued, “Can you do that for me, Y/n? Can you be a good girl and stay quiet?”

He dipped his head to the side so he could catch her eyes, ones that pleaded with him to continue his prior movements as she nodded her head.

“Good, baby. Good.” He whispered again before she felt his hand trailing up her thigh and toward the underwear she had just been contemplating buying or not.

Careful not to rip it, even though that’s what he wanted to do, Lando pulled the lace down her legs and stuffed them in his pocket. His fingers retreating back to where they had been, he hiked her leg over his hip just before unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. He tried to make it as quiet as possible, himself being a bit worried about fucking his girlfriend who was already loud in bed in the middle of a store, but the sight of her glistening and wet had that panic being forced to the back of his brain.

With his dick out, he gave it a few strokes, looking at her and the outfit she dawned. His hand came to rest on her thigh, holding it against him, as his other returned to holding her hand against the wall.

A quick look to her, checking to make sure what they were about to do really was okay, Lando sunk into the girl he had been with for years, the tightness and warmth of her never ever getting old.

He himself had to calm down when he almost let out a loud groan, surprisingly Y/n being the one out of the two of them to just let her mouth drop open in a silent moan.

“Y/n…” He said breathlessly in her ear as she bucked her hips against him, begging for him to move.

Lando granted her wishes as he began to slowly, teasingly pull in and out of her. Thankfully, his controlled thrusts were able to stop any incriminating sounds from eliciting, although the moans both of them were trying to keep at bay were coming close to outing them.

With each snap of his hips, Y/n chanted his name with a bit more fervor in his ear and making it impossible for him to hold on for much longer.

“Lan, faster.” She pleaded, her hands gripping his hair as he stuffed his face in her neck, desperate to quiet the evidence of how good she made him feel.

Truthfully, the hug of her walls around him stopped any kind of thinking when he began to drill into her harder, faster. His nose breathing in her scent, he hooked both of her legs around his waist so he could fondle her boobs instead of hold her up. He squeezed and played before pulling the delicate fabrics down, forcing the rest of her to fall out. He threw his head back at the sight, willing any God out there to help him keep quiet. The way they bounced with each of his determined thrusts had him edging closer to release, saying, “Baby, you look so fucking good. I could cum just at the sight of you.”

Lando was quick to shove his hand over her mouth, muffling the borderline pornographic sound that came from his words. He stayed like that, pounding into her as he silenced every noise he wanted to hear so bad.

“Y/n, holy shit.” He whispered as her walls tightened around him, the telling sign she was so close.

Kissing her ear and angling his hips in a way that reached a spot of hers she never even knew was there, Lando encouraged, “Y/n, baby, cum. Cum for me.”

With that, he kissed her, enveloping her mouth in his as she finished around him. The feeling of her release coupled with the small noises that he could only hear and the soft chants of his name, Lando came just as hard with a string of curses and praises just for her.

His hips continued to slowly lose their pace as each of them came down from their high, his kisses relentless on her skin.

“You did so good, my love.” He said as he pulled out and fucked what was threatening to spill out of her back in. Her distant eyes met his as he slipped the lingerie off her body and dressed her back in what she was wearing before. Fortunately, by the time he had gathered their stuff and the two of them no longer looked like they had just had a quickie against the wall, Y/n was back to her normal self.

Smirking at him as he opened the door for her, she made her way to the cashiers at the check out station. Smiling and pretending like Lando’s cum hadn’t just been forced back into her, she looked at the young woman across from her.

“I would like to buy this set, please.”

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #lando norris edit #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando norris fanfiction #lando x reader #lando norris x you

[distantdarlings]

PARTING THE SILENCE // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.9K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Theo plans a special evening for the two of you on the night of your anniversary.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Virgin!Reader, Dom!Theo, Gender-Neutral Reader, losing virginity, language, piv - no protection, fingering (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

HEAVEN - Isabel LaRosa

(Quick note: This is not entirely proof-read and was originally written with a fem reader before I realized the gender is not specified in the request. I tried to rewrite w/ a gender-neutral reader, but if I've missed something, please let me know! Thanks!)

---

Your foot tapped impatiently against the leg of your desk as you anxiously awaited the end of class. Your eyes glanced around aimlessly, attempting to catch a glimpse of the sun. Perhaps you’d be able to get an idea of what time it was. 

“Okay, that is the end of my lecture for today!” Professor Flitwick announced. With a flick of his wand, dozens of textbooks flew toward the students. They were small and very old with cracked bindings, but they held the class’ homework for the rest of the week. 

Once you selected yours and shoved it into your bag, you were practically already out the door. Your boyfriend, Theo Nott, had promised a romantic evening for your anniversary, and you weren’t planning on being late.

You shouldered your bag and exited the Charms classroom with your dormitory in mind. Every other student that was trying to get to the Great Hall or to Hogsmeade crossed the halls, making it near impossible for you to wiggle through each one. It was like an ocean constantly pushing against you. 

Past staircases and groups of students, you’d finally managed to get back to your house's common room. You ignored the growl in your stomach as the scent from the kitchens wafted through the hair. Surely, they’d had nothing but distraction in mind when they put the Hufflepuffs right next to the kitchens. You rolled your eyes. 

You didn’t need to eat anything right now. Theo had planned dinner just for you, and you wanted to be able to eat as much as you could if it. You didn’t want to show up to your date full. 

You spoke the password and whisked through the hallway into the common room. Its yellowed walls reflected the setting Sun outside, casting a peaceful, golden glow onto everything. It was nearly empty, but you knew that wouldn’t be the case forever. Since it was a Friday night, everybody had plans, and they’d be rushing back to their dorms soon enough.

You jogged the rest of the way to your dormitory and let the door fall shut behind you. Only a few of your dorm mates were scattered around the room, doing homework, tidying up, and whatever else. They all gave you a small wave or nod as you walked by, to which you politely returned.

You had no time to talk at the moment. You had to get ready. Due to the likely possibility that you’d be late, you’d already laid out an outfit. Theo always had the mind to plan ahead and have everything ready perfectly on top. Your issues with punctuality tended to put you both behind, though. So, today, you tried to think forward.

Dropping your things, you grabbed the outfit and headed to the joint bathroom. Though it was simple, it was fancy enough to be suited for a nice dinner and casual enough for a picnic. You could never prepare for the wild dates Theo planned. 

You slipped the clothing on and readied yourself in the bathroom mirror, splashing a bit of water on your face and messing up your hair. Though you didn’t look half as well as you wanted to, it would work for tonight. 

Turning on your heels, you made your way out of the bathroom and back through the common room as quickly as you could. The hallways of Hogwarts were closer to empty now that classes had been out for a while, making it much easier to find your way to your destination. 

The sky outside was blackening quite rapidly due to the wintry month the castle was currently submerged in. With a shudder of nerves at the thought of having to walk in the dark by yourself, you picked up your pace a bit. The air around you was chilled and swirling, urging you to wrap your jackets tighter around you. 

Theo had told you to meet him by the Black Lake on the side opposite the castle. You weren’t sure if he had planned to do something there and then go out to eat or… A deep sigh left you. You were definitely overthinking this. No matter how long you’d been with Theo, you always became extremely nervous before any of your dates. Due to your house of origin, you constantly felt as though you weren’t good enough to be with Theo. It wasn’t as though any of his friends made you feel that way. It was other people in Slytherin house and even some in Hufflepuff. It was an unnerving feeling that led you to believe they were right, even though Theo picked you. 

You came up to the edge of the Black Lake. The quickly approaching starlight above began to reflect in the dark waters. Halfway across the way, you could see a small lantern pressed up against one of the trees lining the banks. A wide smile spread across your face, urging you toward that dim glow. Swallowing your anxiety, you began to skirt the edge of the lake until you came upon Theo, who seemed to be admiring his work.

Before him was a dark green quilt, weighed down with two large, woven baskets, the lantern, and what looked like his school bag. You suppressed a smile and snuck up behind him, intending to surprise him. 

You eased up behind him, feet as quiet as possible, and sucked in a breath—

“Rah!” Theo turned and shouted, grabbing at your sides. You shrieked at the sudden shock, having no time to react before his fingers started attacking your ribs. Panicked giggles swirled throughout the air as he tickled you relentlessly, his eyes mean and teasing. 

“No, no, no! Please, stop!” you screamed through forced giggles. You kicked and wiggled to try and separate yourself from him, but his hold—as always—was much too strong for you to escape from. He used the size difference between the two of you much too often. “Theo!”

When he finally stopped tickling you, he pushed you back slightly to avoid your next move, which was all too predictable. As soon as he had separated himself from you, you began to swing your arms at him, trying to get a good hit to his arms. 

“You jerk! I’ve told you not to do that!” you shouted, smacking at his clothed arms. 

“You were trying to surprise me!” he defended himself, trying to push you away from him.

“I don’t care!” He grabbed a hold of you suddenly, pulling your body close to his, his strong arms wrapped snugly around you. The two of you attempted to contain giggles at the feeling of being so close to one another. The chilled air cooled your lungs and fanned across your chest. Despite the temperature around you, Theo’s body against yours was as warm as it needed to be. The weather barely had any effect on you when he held you. He was like your own personal heater. 

“Oh, I missed you, darling,” he groaned lovingly into your ear, his lips tickling the flesh of your neck. The vibration of his words and the feeling of his breath on you sent a shiver through your body. You gasped slightly at the sensation, clinging tighter to his arms. 

“You cold?” he asked. 

“No.”

“Why’d you shiver?”

“Because you make me a little nervous,” you giggled awkwardly. His arms loosened around you almost instantly. His eyes found yours, a deep concern shoved into them. Your nervous smile dropped slightly at his expression. Was he upset?

“I make you nervous?” he asked. “What did I do? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Was it the way I held you?”

You nearly melted at how worried he seemed to be with your comfort. Never before had you met a boy so serious about how you felt. Being with Theo felt like always being taken care of, always being thought of, and never being forgotten. It never failed that—no matter what the issue was—Theo was there and ready to fix it. Whether it was his hands, his lips, his words… Whatever it need be, he had it waiting for you. You loved him endlessly for it. 

“No, darling,” you laughed. “You make me nervous … in, uh, a good way.” His eyebrows quirked, and a small smirk began to spread across his lips. 

“Nervous in a good way, huh? Can you explain that to me a little bit?” he asked slyly as he inched back toward you. Once he was behind you, he wrapped himself around you again, allowing his face to press back into your neck. You could feel his breath against your skin; each inhale and exhale made your heart rattle in your chest. One hand that was tightened around your stomach loosened itself and slid upwards. His fingers softly slid around your neck, never tightening, just placed there. It was so domineering, yet soft, that it had you gulping.

 “L-like when you do that,” you sighed, cursing yourself for stuttering. 

“When I do what?” he asked. His free hand moved gently against your stomach, gently tracing curves and dips, claiming your body so easily. 

“When you touch me,” you whispered. At some point, your head had begun to lean back against his strong shoulder. If not for him holding you up, you were unsure if you’d still be standing. 

The two of you had only done a few things together since you started dating. Of course, you’d kissed and petted a bit, but the two of you hadn’t gotten…there yet. The thought of it started your heart beating wildly in your chest, with no regard for your pride, as Theo’s hand was still splayed against your thorax. 

“I could touch you more if you’d like,” he suggested. The fact that he’d presented the question like an option rather than a definite made the experience feel all the more pleasurable. He so obviously cared about how you felt, and that made you want him even more. 

“Outside, Teddy?” you breathed nervously, your chest rising and falling heavily beneath the fall of his hand. Every breath and every touch against you had your mind racing.

“It’s dark, and no one else is out here,” he mumbled against the skin behind your ear. His lips caressed the shell of it every few moments.

“It’s cold…I don’t know if we should.” You wanted to. You really did, but you were trying to reason with him a bit. In his defense, your plan was to come out here and have a romantic anniversary…but now all you could think about was what lay beneath his knit sweater. 

His free hand trailed around your waist and skirted your core through the fabric of your bottoms. A shuddering gasp left your lips ever so quietly, the sound slicing through the icy silence.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he whispered against your ear. The tip of his nose traced along the line of your shoulder, traveling lower and lower until he pressed a sensual open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. Your heart was pounding, your breaths leaving you in desperate pants. 

“Yes,” you moaned breathlessly. You could practically feel him smirk against you as he gently pulled you backward to the beautiful picnic he’d set up.

With a small shove, he’d moved the prepared baskets off of the quilt and laid you softly on the ground. The earth beneath the blanket was soft and even, and the boy above you was strong and rough. The contrast had your pupils blown wide in pleasure. 

Once above you, he hovered easily, his lips running slow, personal kisses along your jawline and neck. Your head tilted back against the ground to allow him as much access to you as possible. You didn’t want anything coming between the two of you.

“Darling, please,” he breathed against your skin, “…want you now…” 

His lips hovered just over your chest where your shirt split down the middle. They were parted and swollen and wanting as he brushed them along your flesh, impatiently waiting on your consent.

“Yes, please,” you whined out, clutching his curls within your fingers. 

It took less than a second for him to begin to undo your bottoms, his hands gentle yet swift. Once the task was completed, he did the same with himself. He removed his belt and dropped it to the ground next to him, the leather slapping against itself with a loud crack. At the sound, you could feel heat broiling in your core…you figured that was an experiment for another day, though.

Theo undid his pants and pushed himself over the top of his briefs so he was still covered from the back. At the sight of his perfectly reddened dick, you could feel your body clenching around nothing, desperate to feel him inside you. 

Theo caressed gentle fingers up and down your core with one hand while the other collected a bit of spit from his mouth. He let it fall down between your legs and trace circles around your entrance, spreading the slick all around. At the feeling, your back arched toward him. Your lips parted in a silent scream. You’d never done this before, so you were bound to be as tight as possible, but you didn’t care. The nerves of your first time with Theo were very quickly overpowered by the raging lust pushing through your body.

He found your eyes and, with a soft nod, slowly slid his finger within you. It was a stretch—one that put your fingers to shame. You grasped at anything—the dirt, the grass, Theo’s back. He was sending you into space and keeping you grounded all at the same time. His finger slowly worked you open with genuine care until he was able to add more. He was preparing you for himself, but you could barely reach the third finger. 

“Ugh, slow, baby, please,” you whined. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” he whispered. “Too much?”

You nodded pitifully, your fingers grasping at the quilt and the grass beneath. His hands slowed and eased you closer and closer to your finish before carefully removing all of his fingers from you. You groaned at the sensation and the sudden emptiness. 

“Why’d you stop, Teddy?” you moaned. You stared up at him, your bottom lip jutting out slightly in a slight pout. He clicked his tongue and placed a dominating hand on your jaw. The size of his hand dwarfed your face as his thumb traced the length of your lip. 

“Because I want to give you more, baby,” he cooed. “I want to feel you wrapped around me.” 

You sucked in a shuddering breath as he balanced himself on his knees. He agonizingly slid himself over your entrance, the tip tracing you meanly. Your lips parted at the sensation, anticipating the stretch and fullness.

“I’m gonna move, sweetheart,” he moaned, his hands gripping your bare thighs tightly. You nodded in response to his guidance and braced yourself against him.

As he pushed in, the stretch was a strong yet delicious burn. The slick around your entrance was enough to allow him to slide in quickly, yet he took his time, allowing you to grow around him. Once he’d filled you up to the base, he groaned lightly, waiting patiently for the go-ahead to move.

Once you settled around him, you nodded eagerly. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers tightening into your flesh. Your lips parted at the motion. He ever so slowly began to move in and out of you, each stroke caressing some unknown spot deep within you. 

“Fuck, Teddy,” you whispered, “I don’t know how long I can last.”

“Go as long as you can for me, baby…just want to feel you around me,” he grunted out. You glanced up through hissed lids to observe his gorgeous face and the fucked out impression painted on it.

The sweat dripped down the side of his face, trailing over his jawline and tracing his strong neck. His lips were swollen and parted delicately, with whispers of moans slipping through. His eyes were shut loosely. With every particularly deep thrust, you’d clench around him, and his eyelids would part, showcasing his sea-misted eyes rolling back as far as they’d go.

The sight of his pleasure was enough to push you over the edge into an ocean of ecstasy. You came hard around him, the last remains of your virtue spilling down between your thighs. Your back arched, your legs shook around him, your fingers gripped at nothing.

The feeling of your orgasm slammed into his chest. He cried out pitifully, a melodious whine parting the silence as the evidence of his finish coated your insides.

With a deep exhale, he eased himself out of you and collapsed beside you. You laughed breathlessly, the aftershocks of your orgasm flowing through you like a wave.

With a lazy smile on his face, he leaned forward and reached over you. He lifted the lid of one of the baskets and pulled an extra folded quilt out. You laughed aloud at his preparedness.

“Knew you were gonna get fucked, is that it?” you teased.

“Actually, I figured we’d stargaze,” he admitted, sheepishly tossing the blanket over your bodies. “I brought it in case we got cold.”

“You’re adorable, Teddy,” you giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face couldn’t hide the love he was feeling for you.

He passed around the perfectly preserved food and pumpkin juice, ensuring you got a taste of each sweet and snack he’d brought along. 

He then wrapped himself around you and reminded you ten times over why you’d fallen in love with him.

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil (if you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)

#fanfiction #creative writing #writing #fanfic #harry potter #reader insert #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #gender neutral reader #request #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott smut

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Do you ever think about

Peeta being 5 years old on his first day of school and noticing this girl in a red plaid dress with her hair in two braids that his father points out to him. And then he sees this girl stand up on a stool and sing in front of the whole class and he notices that the birds stop to listen, just like his dad had told him they did for her father.

Peeta being 6 or 7 years old, practicing his cake icing behind the counter of the bakery. And then the father of the girl who wore the red dress comes into the bakery singing a song and Peeta raises his head to see if the birds stop to listen. And they do.

Peeta being 11 years old, standing behind his mother as she yells at that very same girl, looking hunger-stricken and so weak, for looking through their rubbish bins. Watching her as moves just a little bit away until she's behind their pigpen, leaning on their apple tree for support. Hurrying back inside and burning two loaves of good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. Checking over his shoulder as he wills the crusts to blacken faster. Feeling his mother deliver a blow to his cheek with a burning hot tool, falling to the floor. Being told to go out and give the blackened bread to the pigs but waiting until his mother has gone back inside to throw the bread to the girl. Going back inside and watching as she takes it and hurries away. Seeing the girl at school the next day and wanting to catch her eye, waiting and waiting for her to meet his eyes. But the one time she does, she looks away quickly, towards a dandelion, smiles and plucks it from the ground.

Peeta being 12, 13, 14, 15 years old, finding himself constantly sneaking glances at the girl. Wanting desperately to go over to her, talk to her, see if he could make her smile. He sees her watching him back. But then he shakes his head and tells himself to knock it off. Plus she seems to be with that older boy a lot.

Peeta being 16 years old. Staring at the floor until he hears her sister's name. Feels the air go out of him when he sees her push through the crowd and volunteer. Fixing his eyes on her, watching her stand up there, heading far far away from him. Oh, how he wishes he would have talked to her when they had had time. So lost in his thoughts of her that he almost misses his own name being called out. Feels the eyes on him, a pair that must belong to her too, following him as he makes his way to join her on the stage. Shaking her hand and hoping she knows he chooses her.

Peeta being 16 years old, in the games. Deciding that she can win, she can survive, she must live. Letting the whole of Panem know his feelings for her. Choosing to join the Careers to lead them away from her. Choosing to save her even if it means getting his leg slashed by Cato. Finding a place to conceal himself, hoping death comes sooner rather than later. Hoping she's okay, that she's made it. Listening out for cannons and watching the sky, hoping she doesn't appear, as he bleed outs. Hears the rule change one evening and cries, because it's too late now for him.

Peeta being 16 years old and she's found him. She's called out his name and she's found him. And she's helping him. He's struggling and dying and weak, a hindrance more than a help, but she stays by him constantly, watching him closely like she's done for years but now it's up close. And soon she's kissing him and though he's tired and draining all the time, this sets off a spark in him that makes him feel alive. Joking with her, teasing her, sleeping with her curled up against him, hearing her laugh at his jokes, feeling her touch and reaching out to mirror her touches, kissing her. And soon his crush, this care he's felt for this girl, develops into feelings that are stronger, feelings that feel a lot like love. And they talk and they talk. She risks her life trying to get the medicine that will save him and he realises he completely underestimated her.

Peeta being 16 years old and a victor. But he's not the only one. She's right there beside him and he can't believe his luck. Hope. Love. The future lies out ahead of them. But then something is wrong. Haymitch tells them to keep it up until they're back but he doesn't realise there's anything to keep up. Finding out that there was something a bit too shiny and sparkling about these last few weeks. Something not completely real. Feeling something horrible twist inside him. Letting go of this girl and taking a step back, because something hurts deep in his chest.

Peeta being 17 years old, going about his days back in Twelve. Painting, fending off nightmares with a paintbrush, walking by her house everyday, noticing when the lights are on or off in her bedroom. Then they're going on a victory tour and the feelings he's tried to cover up with bakery bread and painted canvases and set alight again because there she is, holding his hand on stage, kissing him at times where he even doesn't anticipate it, smiling up at him in a way that ties his stomach into a million different knots. At night he hears her screaming and runs into her room. Whispers to her til she's conscious, holds her until she's calm in his arms and slips into her bed to hold her until they fall asleep. His own nightmares stay away, their interwoven limbs creating a barrier against them.

Peeta being 17 years old, spending every day in her glow. They're friends now. She might not have chosen him but he can't make himself stay away now, not now that she needs him. Listening to her ideas, wanting to run away with her. Talking to her on the phone. Baking her cheese buns and carrying her up and down stairs. Still holding her while she sleeps. Painting pictures for her family book. Sitting with her in the quiet, feeling her breath close to him. Looking up and smiling at her furrowed brows. Catching her look at him all the time.

Peeta being 17 years old, going back into the games. Making her train, choosing her again. Withdrawing because she has to win. She has to. But seeing her, weary and tired, a mirror of himself, he can't help but open his arms to her, feel her warmth beneath him. And it only furthers his resolve. Fighting, fighting, fighting. Always to make sure she makes it out alive. Feels her mirror his love, his kisses, his touches. And one night, he loses her. He can hear her but he can't see her. And then everything changes.

Peeta being 17 years old, living in a world where shiny images fight their way against other images that are matte in his memory. She's far away now, he's not sure where. But he knows she's alive. Why else would they torture him and the people around him. And he always says he doesn't know, knowing what it will mean. But he'd still suffer those same consequences even if he knew what they needed. Still needing to protect her.

Peeta being 17 years old and here she is in front of him. But his head roars at the sight of her and he doesn't know why. She's anxious and weak and damaged, but the alarms are going off in his head. The shininess takes over in this new setting. And he doesn't know why, but he knows something is very wrong. They take him away then. Try to undo something that needs to be undone.

Peeta being 17 years old, not sure which way is up and which way is down. But he sees her, watches her. And then he's sent off on a mission with her. This girl that consumes his every thought, on both sides of the war that's going on in his head and he doesn't know what to do. The shiny and his memory are still fighting, and it leaves him so tired. Seeing her, hearing her speak brings memories out of the recesses of his mind. He starts to piece together a puzzle that's been scattered in his mind. Feeling feelings that he once felt in his chest. Real or not real? Green. Orange. The colour of her dress. Cheese buns. Lamb stew in their den. Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other. Knowing it's true and knowing he must.

Peeta being 18 years old, coming back to Twelve after the war. For her. Seeing primroses growing and digging them up, bringing them to her house. Planting them for her. Seeing her again, weary and tired and broken. But she's here. And so is that feeling in his chest that was buried under shiny images that he has since ripped up and discarded. Walking with her through town. Having meals with her, making sure she has cheese buns. Seeing her start to smile again. Climbing into bed with her so that they can create that barrier again, the one that holds off their nightmares. Tentatively kissing her and feeling that fire rage again.

Peeta in his late 30s, watching Katniss lay out a picnic basket in the meadow. Seeing the sunlight fall against her hair and skin, making them shine in a way he knows is real. See the dancing girl weave around the items Katniss lays out. Laughs as the boy with the chubby legs tries to keep up. Walks over to them with the freshly baked cheese buns and sets them down in the space she's left vacant. Feels her smile trained on him before he turns his head to see it. Kisses her softly and breaks away laughing as the dark-haired girl covers her eyes and the blonde boy looks between them. Sits down as Katniss lays her head in his lap. While their children eat cheese buns and make up games in the grass, they sit there in the sunshine, taking it all in. Katniss makes a flower crown using the dandelions growing around her while Peeta runs runs his hand through her hair. He looks down into her eyes just as she tilts her head back to look at him. Knowing that they don't need to freeze this moment.

#headcanoning that mrs mellark only noticed katniss was there rummaging in the bins because she caught her son staring out the window #staring out the window with a cone of icing in his hands not moving at all #mesmerised by something outside and when she went over to see what he was looking at #there she saw her #the little seam girl #this ended up being so long #my BAD #it almost read like a fanfic my god #everlark #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games

[drabblesandimagines]

Bliss

Leon Kennedy x afab reader When I am on my period, you get period fluff

You wince as your stomach twists, jab the mascara wand into your eye rather than coat your lashes and swear, gripping the bathroom counter with your other hand.

“Great.” You hiss, closing your eye and grabbing a wet wipe, trying to salvage what you’d applied to your bottom lashes as your eye starts to water. The box of so-called express pain relief pills you’d downed greedily 30 minutes ago taunts you from the counter. They had barely touched the surface of the tormenting cramps that had started this afternoon and you wonder if you can sue the pharmaceutical company for such blatant lies.

You try and steady yourself with measured breaths, opening your eye cautiously to inspect it in the mirror. It looks a little red and you groan. You’re bloated, sore, stupidly emotional – irrationally cried at the fact that a spam email had made its way into your actual inbox at lunch - and the last thing you want to be doing right now is getting dolled up in one your classiest and form-fitting little black dresses, don high heels and socialize for the evening, no matter how much you’d been looking forward to it ahead of your visitor.

And not to mention that it’s at the bloody White House.

Leon had returned from Spain two months ago to silent fanfare - wouldn’t be good for US morale to know the President’s daughter had been kidnapped by a cult and infected with a parasite in the first place. Working as an intelligence agent for the DSO meant you’d read of the horrors from the report, comforted Leon when he awoke from nightmares of blackened veins, tentacles bursting forth from skulls, so you’re grateful that the President insisted Leon was given some time off work, though his first day back was looming on the horizon. Last week, on embossed white card with gold accents, sealed by a wax stamp came the invitation in a cursive hand to one Mr Leon S Kennedy and partner to the Presidential dining room.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door in Leon’s familiar rhythm.

“You nearly ready, sweetheart? I think the car will be here soon.”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you call back, “Final touches.” You turn back to the mirror and grab the mascara wand, cautiously covering your top lashes to even things out before frowning at your complexion. Are you breaking out too? A wave of pain rolls through your stomach once more and you grimace. Maybe you should’ve gone with a heat pad after all, but this dress is snug - it’d look bulky and weird on your stomach and the Secret Service guys will be all over it in the security checks.

You zhuzh up your hair one more time, plaster on a smile and unlock the bathroom door, finding Leon leaning up against the wall opposite. He lets out a low whistle as you emerge, hair falling into his blue eyes, and you duck your head in embarrassment at the attention. Honestly, right now you’d prefer him to look anywhere but at you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he smiles, looking unbelievably handsome in his best suit. He’s forgone the tie as usual – can’t stand them – but still looks appropriately smart. He stands up from the wall, slips a hand around your waist to pull you in for a kiss but you flinch at his touch, causing him to stop and frown. “You okay?”

“Mm, I’m fine.” You try and step out of his grip to head towards the stairs. “We should go keep an eye out for the car.”

His arm remains firmly in place. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m a great liar,” you retort. “Comes with the profession.” Your whole job depended on it, really – gathering intelligence was a lot of charming people into feeling comfortable around you, loosening their tongue into sharing secrets or giving you access to places you’re not meant to be.

“Not to me.” He’s got you there. “What’s the matter?”

You sigh, feeling a headache coming on to add to the list of ailments. “Can we leave it, please?”

“I don’t want to leave it – something’s wrong.” Leon is stubborn, doesn’t like to leave things hanging. He knows how precious life is, doesn’t want to leave anything to be dealt with later in case later never comes.

He stares at you - pout on his lips and those blue puppy dog eyes.

“Period.” You mumble, hoping that would suffice.

“Ah.” He nods.

“What does that mean?” You know it’s the hormones talking, even as you say it, but you’re stubborn too. It’s completely irrational, but his tone’s rubbed you the wrong way.

“It’s a sympathetic ah. Anything I can do to help?”

“No,” you grumble back. “I just want this evening over with.”

He looks confused, then. “I thought you were looking forward to it - you were excited yesterday-”

“I was,” you snap back. “But now the last thing I want to be doing is wearing this stupid tight dress and heels and get in a limo, be felt up by Secret Service agents for five minutes to make sure I’m not sneaking in a bomb between my thighs, and then go and dine with the President of the United States and his daughter, trying to remember what seven different types of silverware are meant for what course and then eating tiny bites and drinking bitter expensive wine, all when I could be at home, in my pyjamas, eating pizza and ice-cream and watching absolute trash on TV, cuddling my boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Leon cups your face. “Breathe.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little winded from your rant.

“Good.” He smiles, dropping his hands and pulling his phone out of his trousers pocket. “Now, go get changed.”

You weren’t expecting that. “Sorry?”

“Get changed – go put your pyjamas on.”

“But dinner-”

“I’ll cancel, and then I’ll order us some pizza.”

You stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You can’t cancel on the President.”

“I rescued his daughter, he owes me.” Leon shrugs, as if he was just asking for a raincheck. “Besides, it’s Ashley who wanted this the most. We’ll reschedule.”

“No, I just need to tough it out.”

He raises an eyebrow at your word choice. “You do not.”

“You do it all the time – dragging yourself about the place with bullet and stab wounds.”

“Sweetheart, you have to agree that’s a little different. Us having dinner at the White House is not a life or death situation. I didn’t have a choice but to grit my teeth and get on with it, you very much do.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it tight. “Besides, you put up with enough that’s out of our control by these guys – missed anniversaries, birthdays, dinners - when they send me out on missions. I’m not going to sit and make you go through an uncomfortable evening when you don’t need or want to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, quietly.

“Positive.” He steps forwards, gives you a chaste kiss on the lips in reassurance. “Go and get comfortable – I’ll handle it.”

--

30 minutes later, you’re laying on the couch, head in Leon’s lap as he runs his fingers through your hair, another rubbing your back – dressed in loose pyjama shorts and one of his old sweatshirts, a hot water bottle that he’d made pressed against your stomach and one of those “so bad it’s good” reality relationship shows playing on the widescreen. One that Leon insists he detests, but remembers everyone’s names and asks what happened on previous episodes if he misses one.

“Was Ashley okay?”

“Fine. She’s already texted me three alternate dates.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow at the screen. “I thought they broke up.”

“Uh-uh. He proposed.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “This cannot be real.”

You sigh, content, and nuzzle into his thigh. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

The doorbell rings, announcing the pizza’s arrival. You reluctantly sit up, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach as Leon gets up off the sofa and starts to head towards the door.

“Leon.”

“Mm?” He pauses, turning slightly, removing his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“How come you’re still in your suit?”

“Well,” he resumes walking to the door, “I read how endorphins can help with period pain, and I know how happy a certain someone gets when they get to admire my ass in this particular suit…” The wallet slips from his fingers, bounces on the carpeted floor, and he bends down, slowly. “..so what kinda boyfriend would I be to hide it in sweats when they’re feeling poorly?”

--

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x female reader #fluff writing

[carolmunson]

fixin' dinner. (sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader)

back again with a mean sadist!eddie (also technically mechanic!eddie) and his hot masochist gf. let's explore the one time they played 'mean 50s husband and hot 50s housewife who can't get her shit together.

warnings include: smut, minors dni. established dom/sub sadist/masochist relationship, all aspects of the scene being written are consented to between these fictional parties, belting, spanking with belt, general threats, degradation, humiliation, emotional sadism, physical sadism, mean names (bitch), pet names (baby, honey, darling, etc.), face slapping, slight breeding kink, p in v sex (unprotected), teasing, rough sex, food mention, the works. eddie is MEAN in this, as a reminder. this doesn't feature aftercare but it sort of doesn't need it in a way. ---

When the phone rings in the trailer, you know it's him.

"Hi," you chirp.

"Hi sweet thing," his voice is warm and crackly, tired. Like it was this morning when you woke him up for breakfast.

"What's goin' on, you okay? Staying late?" you ask, leaning against the wall in the kitchen.

"No, babe, I'm about to leave -- just wanted to know if dinner was gonna be ready by the time I got home," he smirks when he asks, your eyes linger at front door's frame -- his leather belt hung on a nail next to it. You gulped.

"Uh, um..." you stammer, heart starting to pound.

"You better hope dinner's ready by the time I get in the door," his voice is menacing, "Or you're gonna be in for a world'a hurt, you understand me?"

"Y-yes, sir," your mouth runs dry but your lower half can't say the same. He'd brought up this scenario weeks ago -- 'Like those 50s housewives baby, how their husbands would get home from work and they burned dinner. We could do it like that? You were just saying how I haven't used my belt in a while. It could be fun, huh?'

He ran you through it this morning, going through your normal 'do you trust me?' routine before he left for work so you didn't have to do it before starting. 'If you decide you don't wanna play anymore, just say 'I ordered pizza' when I ask if dinner's gonna be ready, okay? I love you either way. Gonna fuck you on that counter either way, too.'

He was insatiable.

"Don't disappoint me," his voice takes on darkness so easily. You bite your lip to hold back the whimper in your throat.

"I won't," you whisper, "I promise."

"See you in twenty," he says, "Love you." He hangs up before you can tell him you love him, too. Eager. You take the time you have to freshen up before her arrives -- you had already burnt dinner, it sat on the stove blackened and crisped on purpose. He'll love the extra effort you put in to make it authentic.

The green tinged light of the bathroom mirror isn't doing you any favors, but you glide on some Dr. Pepper lip smackers and a little blush for good measure. Pouty and flushed, just how he liked it.

You put on a flouncy dress with flutter sleeves, the kind of dress that buttons all down the middle. Frabric that flounces with you when you walk, hitting just above your knee. A spare apron from an old French maid costume completed the look along with a pair of fake pearl earrings, and heels that made Eddie fall to his knees. You smoothed over the apron, hearing his van pull in noisily, the slam of the driver side door. Normally you're so ready for these interactions, for his harshness, for his angry stare. Today felt different, you were in the headspace, you were a little afraid.

It was exciting.

You plaster on a smile when he comes through the door. His grin meets yours, and so does the scent of gasoline and oil blended together with his sweat. His hair is tied back today, tendrils and bangs crowding his face, showing off his jaw -- the stubble left on it from this morning.

"There's my girl," he's gruff, pulling you by the waist to kiss you -- it's passionate, like he hadn't seen you in years.

"Hi honey," you flush, trying your hardest to stay in character and not just bend over the couch, "Good day at work?" "Better when I know I have you to come home to," he smiles and winks, taking off his work shirt all the while revealing his oil stained wife beater and the two silver chains he wore around his neck. His steps are broad and deliberate on his way to the kitchen, scraping one of the metal chairs away from the table before collapsing into it like a brute.

"Get me a beer, sweet thing," he demands, tutting while you get one from the fridge with dainty and graceful movements -- his pretty little thing, "Shouldn't have to ask you, should just have it when I come in." "Sorry, dear," you respond, watching him open the bottle on the edge of the table. He takes a swig, licking his lips while he looks you over.

Please just fuck me, you're so hot right now, you try to send him the message telepathically but he's not getting it.

"It's okay," he says, taking another sip and setting the beer down, "What's for dinner, angel?"

Your eyebrows raise, but you shake the fear off, forcing another smile, "Darling, I'm so sorry. I accidentally burned dinner. I can make something else if you'd like! Anything you want!"

"So dinner isn't ready?" he asks, surprised.

"It...well, it was. It burned," your voice was meek, he salivated over it.

"So you burned dinner?" his brows furrowed, standing up slowly from the kitchen chair.

"You burned dinner?" he asked again, his face stained in anger, "Am I hearing you right?"

"Baby, I'm sorry -- I was just trying to get it done on time and the oven was on too high. I'm sorry," your lower lip wobbles, he rolls his eyes before they end up in a hard glare down at you. "I work all fuckin' day, every day, to keep a roof over your head," he takes a step forward while you step back, "I break my fuckin' back so you don't have to lift a fuckin' finger. And you can't even manage to make me fuckin' dinner?"

"I...I did -- it just -- it burned -- I'm -- " you sputtered, taking careful steps while backing away from him. You shook in your heels, his eyes menacing and shining with rage.

"So what is it, huh? You too stupid? Too lazy?" he spits while he stomps forward in his combat boots, the floor shaking while he cracks an open palm hard against your cheek, "You a fuckin' idiot, is that it?"

The force sends you reeling, hands immediately reaching for your stinging face -- certain there'd be a mark left behind later. Tears prick your eyes but you don't want to cry yet, opting to swallow the air pocket flying up from your chest -- desperate to steady your breathing.

"No, I -- it was an accident," your back hits the wall and he takes a deep breath through his nose, letting it out the same way like a bull ready to strike. You can feel a pulse in your cheek where he hit you, the places where his rings hit starting to swell. You make a run for it, checking his shoulder while you do, smearing oil on your dress's flutter sleeve.

"Oh, no, no, no," he taunts, turning at his waist and catching your forearm in a vice grip to pull you back to him, "Don't you run away from me when I'm talking to you."

"Don't you have any manners?" he asks, slamming you against the wall to cage you in with a hand resting by your shoulders. You nod, tears pouring hot down your cheeks, mascara streaking over your rouge.

"Answer me!" he growls, you wince -- your eyes shut tight.

"I h-have manners," you stammer out, eyes still closed.

"Look at me," he huffs, "You know better." You do know better than to not look at him when he's speaking but you just can't. You hang your head instead.

"Oh, you don't wanna listen? Go get my belt," he sighs, pushing his curly bangs away from his forhead, "Gonna have to teach you, aren't I?" "No, I -- please no," you plead, eyes popping open, but it gets you nothing but fingers digging into your jaw.

"If I hear another sound come outta that mouth that isn't you cryin' and apologizing to me, m'gonna make you sleep outside in the van," his threat feels real and your heart hammers, "Do I make myself clear?" "Cr-crystal," you nod. "Now," he mutters through gritted teeth, peering down at you with his jaw forward, "Go. Get. My. Belt."

You sulk, walking the short distance to where his belt hung by the doorframe -- a reminder every time you left his trailer, best behavior. You lift it off, running the length through your hands -- thick and wide, he never wore it, it was only for play.

"You think I got all day?" he calls. You shuffle into the kitchen, your heels scraping against the linoleum leaving scuff marks in their wake.

"And you've been leaving marks all over my floor," he spits, wrenching the belt out of your hand and wrapping some of the length around his knuckles. He shoves you roughly over the kitchen table where you obediently assume your position, shoulders shuddering while you lift your dress up.

Eddie takes the casserole dish with the charred dinner and tosses it in front of you, "Baby, I don't like having to do this, you gotta stop giving me reasons to. What is it, huh? You gotta go back to school and take home ec or somethin'?"

"No, sir," you barely squeak out.

"Like I said earlier," he says gruffly, bringing the belt down hard across your ass, "You're in for a world'a hurt, tonight." It doesn't help that you like the belt. You like how he looks in the kitchen light while the shadows from the florecents enhance the muscles in his arms. His sneer when he rears his arm back, his smile -- almost relief when he hears the loud crack of the leather hitting your skin. Your release and his.

The act happens in slow motion, your heart beat in your ears while he brings the belt down on you again. You falter in your heels a little, your knees buckling a bit at the force.

"Get up and take it," he harshly demads, "Get that ass back up."

"Yes, sir," you whisper, fixing your posture. He sounds like he's underwater, your eyes start to glaze over outside of the tears. His belt meets your thighs, your sit points. He always took extra measure on those so he could watch you wince and whine later on a hard chair or in the van. The burn and sizzle on your backside started earlier than normal, but he wasn't starting off light. With his belt, he never did.

"Always gotta.." thwap, "..tell the guys.." thwap, "..what a fuckin'.." thwap, "..disappointment you are." THWAP. You can't help but start crying out, trying to muffle it with your hand so the neighbors don't start asking questions. You're standing on your toes in your heels to meet the intensity of his whips on your backside.

"And they always say.." thwap, "..just gotta.." thwap, "..show her whose boss.." THWAP.

"But you know who the boss is, don't you baby?" he coos while you cry into the hand covering your mouth. Body stinging and burning.

"Yes, sir," you whimper.

"Whose the boss, hm?" he asks, his hand smoothing over your back. "You're the boss," you sniffle, putting both hands back down on the table. "That's right, baby," he says back, his voice back to soothing honey, "That's a good girl."

"You need some more?" he asks gently.

"Please," you breathe out, "I need t-to learn my p-place."

"Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, your eyes peer down to see the perfect outline of hard cock against his dark wash jeans. His hand gripping the belt tight, veins pulsing from his hand up his forearm -- his tattoos dancing with them. He'd been thinking about this all day.

"Say it again," his voice his ragged while he brings the belt back down on you. "I need to l-learn my place, s-sir," you repeat, wincing while he continues, blow after blow. Your skin was raw, the cooling end of summer air outside doing nothing to soothe you through the screens of the open windows.

"Yeah you do," he says to himself, grunting with each come down of the leather. He bit his lip at the jump in your hips, watching you start to get weak under the repeated smacks, your knees buckling more often -- fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Eddie drops the belt with a clang and you jump to attention, turning around to face him.

"I'm sorry baby, I -- I can't," Eddie starts, "I'm callin' it I gotta -- oh fuck, I gotta fuck you right now."

You nod, ugh finally, taking a step toward the hall to get to the bedroom but his hands come up to roughly shove you back on the table -- beer bottle and casserole falling to the ground, shattered glass and mess to be dealt with later.

"This fuckin' body -- this dress? You know what you're doin' to me, don't you," he smirks, shoving your dress up to your waist and pushing your thighs up against your chest.

"That's why you wore these heels, hm?" he grabs your ankle, leaving a sloppy kiss on your calf, "Wanted to make me bust in my fuckin' work jeans?"

You giggle, his stained hands leaving oil marks on your legs. The same fingers undoing the buttons on your dress with nimble finesse.

"I could just rip it but I like this on you," his mumbles, "Don't wanna ruin it."

You simply nod, wanting to say 'thank you,' or 'appreciate it', but your tongue is too big for you mouth. You feel stupid and faded, just wanting to feel his touch and hear the low roll of his voice. He unbuttoned until your lace enclaved chest was full exposed, eyes feasting on you laying on the table for him -- way better than dinner.

Eddie works quickly on his jeans, the stiff fabric being shoved hard down to his thighs, his boxers coming down just enough for his balls to hang down over the band before he lines himself up with your entrance.

He pushes in with ease, slick so intense that it had already started moving down your thighs, shining in the light. His face relaxes, head falling back while he gets a rhythm going hands finding the smallest part of your waist for leverage.

"Oh shit, baby," he grunts, head falling back forward, hair falling out of the elastic and crowding his face, "Fuckin' -- nnmff -- needed this."

You gasp at his pace. No matter how wet or how ready you were it was always just a little too big -- stretching you in just the right way. Even when he was loving you he was punishing you with the size of his cock -- a little reminder every time, pain always reaps pleasure.

His picks up one of your hands and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently, warm brown eyes meeting yours. You feel the warmth before you realize that your three fingers are in his mouth, soaking them in spit before guiding them to your clit.

"Show me," he moans, "Make yourself feel good for me."

"You're already -mm!- making me feel good," you smile, slowly rubbing circles over your clit. His eyes nearly get stuck rolling back in his head at the sight, biting his lip while he drives harder into you. Eddie grunts, bending at the waist and caging you in on the table, hands finding you hair.

"Kiss me," he breathes, his mouth hot and wet on yours. His thrusts quicken while he chases his orgasm, the feeling of your hand working between you making his cock twitch. Eddie's brows furrow while he deepens his kiss, groaning hard into your mouth when your tongue brushes his.

"So fuckin' good, sweet thing," he whispers against your lips, "You're so good."

His plush lips crash into yours again while he pulls your hand from between them, "Can feel you gettin' close, you close?"

You nod feverishly, the tight binding in your belly getting tighter with each thrust of his cock between your thighs. He pushes up, back to standing over you, a glob of spit sent falling between your legs onto your clit -- making you jolt. Eddie's thumb works like magic over your, your thighs twitching with the sensation of his rough but lubricated finger pad and the stretch of his cock pumping in and out of you.

"Oh you're gonna cum, huh?" he nods while he asks, and you nod to answer.

"Yeah, you gonna cum for me?" he mocks. His eyebrows raise while you bite your lip, hips moving back and forth to fuck back on him, "You gonna be a good girl and cum?"

"Y-YES, sir," you cry out, your pussy spasming over him, thighs snapping tight together over his wrist -- just making it tighter over his dick still fucking you relentlessly. He coaxes you through it, praising you over and over, "Oh, good girl. That's my girl. That's it. Love when you moan for me like that..."

"Fuck, FUCK, Ed, Eddie," you whimper while he continues.

"Almost th-there, angel," he grunts, fucking into you with fervor.

"W-wanna cum inside," he says, but you know he's asking for permission. You nod at him, breathy 'it's okay..s'kay..'s pouring out of your mouth as your second orgasm builds in your tummy.

"Yeah?" he asks, cocky grin building while he leans in again to press flush against you, "Want me to c-cum inside you?" "Make you my little housewife f-foreal?" he dips his head to your neck, sucking and biting until you bruise, "Get you knocked up and st-stuck here?"

"Yes, yes, Eddie -- wanna be your -- ah, shit, shit," you whine, the second orgasm comes on quicker and harder than the first, your nails digging into his tank top and exposed flesh.

"Gonna make you my pr-pretty fuckin' housewife -- fuck, oh fuck, shit," he groans in your ear, nipping at your earlobe hard enough that you yelp. You can feel the hot spurts of his seed filling you, it stings in a good way, warming you from the inside out -- biting at the stretched skin while it oozes out of you.

When Eddie comes to, he leans up on his forearms, pressing a kiss against your lips. His eyes meet yours, gentle and heavy lidded, "I love you."

"I love you, too," you smile, offering a second peck. The pain settles in on your thighs and ass, you almost forgot you'd been belted.

"S'starting to hurt, honey," you confess quietly.

"I know, m'sorry," he mumbles, he kisses your cheek, then your other cheek, your forehead, your nose, "You need help in the shower? I was gonna clean up in here."

"I'm okay," you smirk, "You've done way worse damage before."

He gets up, rolling his eyes playfully, "Don't tempt me."

You sit up slowly on the kitchen table, which had shifted so much it was almost entirely against fridge. After Eddie pulls up his boxers and jeans, he helps take off your heels and hoists you down so you don't have to slide off the edge.

"Be careful of the glass, please," he warns, setting you down on the ground. You tip toe to the bathroom, hearing him sigh as he gets to his knees to clean up -- your sweet little domestic boy.

"Hey, c'mere, before you go get cleaned up," he calls out. You pad back to the kitchenette, stopping just before the linoleum. From the floor he turns back to you, "What do you want on your pizza? I'm gonna put in an order when I'm done cleaning up."

"Just cheese for me is fine, but I'm not picky. Get whatever you want," you shrug.

"I'm getting anchovies," he says.

"Anything but anchovies," you say, annoyed.

"That's why you shouldn't say get whatever you want if that's not what you mean," he smiles, "Just saying."

"Why don't you do one cheese and one meat lovers since that's what we always get?" you suggest.

He considers it, for a minute, "I think I'm gonna get three pies babe, I'm fuckin' starving."

#sadist!eddie munson #sadist!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things au #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #dark!eddie munson #dark!eddie #dom eddie munson #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you smut

[thegnomelord]

PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

#trinkets from the hoard #male reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #monster au #mage reader #violence #reader is not a good guy #reader is a feral gremlin #monster 141 au #captain john price #reader x cod mw #x reader #centerpieces of the hoard

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part i

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

series prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, implication of drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death

For the haunted hoedown! Looking forward to sharing this, I wanted to do a vamp!din last Halloween but wasn’t able to. So to work on this with the inspiration of these prompts is so exciting! I hope you enjoy! 💖

When it’s revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you’re hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not alone. Because he has one, as well.

The nervous energy of the crowd is palpable - it’s impossible not to get swept along with it. The cowl of your cape is tugged down lower as you follow the others streaming out ahead of you.

Out of the small town, winding around the side of the steep hill. The air growing heavier, the fog rolling in as you climb the moss-covered steps. The castle looms against the darkening horizon, all blackened stone and tall, twisting spires.

They mirror the curl of your stomach - the weight of your feet as they seem to slow, the closer you get.

But you’ve come this far. You can’t go back now.

The gates remain shut, and you’re forced to halt. Huddled together in small groups, nervous and excited whispers breaking the silence.

A shiver even with the heavy cloaks that protect the bared necks and shoulders, a detail noted on that weathered scroll left in the town square.

And for the first time, you doubt.

When it had been announced that the Mand’alor was seeking a Companion, the news has spread. It was no secret that the vampire lord had sought blood.

But he had never chosen anyone before. Never pursued someone, like this.

There had been others but they had never lasted long. Just let into the castle long enough to keep him alive for another moon.

It had amassed a crowd, those who couldn’t resist the reward that was offered - thousands of gold coins, enough to live any life they could want.

Those who wanted the fame.

Those who wanted protection.

Those who wanted to see the spectacle for themselves.

And then, there was you.

Now that you’re at the doorstep, you’re suddenly unsure. If you were chosen - once you step through - it’s unlikely you’d leave alive.

Would that be worth it?

Would you get what you were looking for?

Even after all your training, it hadn’t truly prepared you for the patchwork of emotions you feel now.

Guilt and desperation and melancholy and regret and anger - all branding into your skin until you can feel yourself trembling with the effort to hold it back.

But the gates are parting now. And it’s too late to turn back.

A figure it stepping through - her leather armor blackened with oil. Her eyes are bright, and not the shade of red you were expecting.

Her chin is held high as her eyes sweep through the crowd, an eerie silence settling over your travel companions.

And wordlessly, she begins to sort. Sizing up each person as she approaches. A quick dart of her eyes as she plucks at clothes, examines faces.

Pulling a few to one side, the rest clearly dismissed. No pattern to her choosing that you can sense - that feeling of dread ratcheting up in your stomach as the crowd grows smaller and you grow closer.

Until she’s standing in front of you.

Her fingers pinch at your chin, forcing your eyes to hers. Dark eyes under darker lashes flick across your face, until they drop down to the clasp at your throat.

Your hood is pulled back, as deft fingers unhook the brass fastenings. The wool pools on the cracked stone as your skin is exposed.

Her eyes follow the curve of your cheek, to your neck, to the sharp curves of the scar on your shoulder, just above the cut of your tunic.

A reminder of that night. One that still haunts you, a year later.

Those eyes flick back up to yours.

There’s a second where you stoop to collect your robe - feeling bare, flayed open under her gaze - but her boot presses purposely against the hem.

Shooting you a small smirk as you rise again obediently, before a hand is guiding you towards the group she had selected.

And then, it’s over.

“Those chosen will be brought before the Mand’alor.” The woman’s voice rings out, “And he shall decide from there.”

With her signal the gates creak open again, and you're ushered inside. Across a wide bridge and through a massive set of wooden double-doors.

And then, you’re inside the castle. Those doors shutting behind you with a sense of finality.

The long halls are dark, in the fading evening. The last of the sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows - their shadows broken into shades of crimson and silver and gold, distorted where they spill across the floor.

A chill creeps into your skin. The ice of it feels reminiscent of your dreams - that cold bite against your skin, a balm to the burning heat that had surrounded you.

It distracts you enough that you don't see him slip from the shadows. Near-silent steps as he moves to stand before the small crowd, even with the heavy plates of his shining armor.

Everything seems to go still then. The inhale of a collected breath, now held.

You should feel terror. This man - this vampire - has killed hundreds. Thousands. Has feasted on even more.

He's a monster.

The fight or flight should be sinking in - but somewhere deep inside, there is only that weight that you still carry. A prickle across your skin at the way he moves, all sleek and careful movements.

Starting where the woman guides him. His hands stay motionless - tucked in the curve on his belt, the other curling around a black hilt at his waist. Her quiet murmurs that only he can hear. As he stops in front of each one.

No expression can be leaked, with the mask he wears.

Their faces, and finally yours, reflected back at you.

You do your best to gather your courage.

To keep your chin tilted up, gazing into that dark band of his visor. As you hear the rattle of the slow inhale of his breath, as if he could smell you from beneath his helmet.

Even you can see the fear in your widen eyes, feel the small tremor in your limbs as his hand suddenly and slowly moves.

As if he can't help himself.

As if it is on instinct.

Reaching out to touch your shoulder, your neck - but then, just hovering.

Your terror catches up now. That steady beat of your heart now pounding in your chest, knocking wildly against your ribs.

The smallest flinch as his fingertips hang in mid-air, before his hand is curling into a fist.

Dropping back down.

There's the smallest jerk of his head. A gleam in the woman's eye as her hand curves around your bicep, as he sweeps from the room.

A murmur of confusion, disappointment - the rest robbed of their spectacle and entertainment. It had taken longer to get here - everything over so quickly, it feels as if you’ve only just stepped inside.

Armored guards move from their neat rows - shields raised to ward off the remainers of your group - to urge them back outside and back to their homes.

Leaving only the chosen behind.

Only you.

The woman in armor guides you quickly to your new home. Taking you through twisting corridors lined with ancient portraits, up a winding path of stone stairs.

You’re utterly lost, and a part of you wonders if that’s intentional. To keep you trapped inside. A silent realization that perhaps, you haven’t been nearly as clever as you thought.

Those worries lingering as she stops outside a heavy wooden door, lit on either side by flickering oil lamps.

“This is your room,” She tells you, her fingers resting on the door, before she’s pushing it open.

With the stories you’ve been told about the fearsome Mand’alor and the fortress he lurks in, you certainly weren’t expecting a room so… beautiful.

There’s a luxury that seems to weave throughout it. Rich wooden floors and plush rugs. A constellation of glittering stars painted on a domed, navy ceiling - as if you had invited the night sky in to stay.

Bookcases line the walls - framing a wooden desk, plush seating next to the bench that was built into the space beneath the iron-wrought windows.

Thick velvets curtains thrown back to let the setting sun in, casting the four-poster canopy bed in a golden light.

You almost forget yourself, as your fingers run across the bedspread. Finely-made beneath your touch, as soft as spun silk.

If the situation had been different… you think you might have loved it.

“There will be someone to call on you if there’s anything you want. And to take care of things during your day.” She interrupts your admiring thoughts, bringing you back.

You send a silent chastisement to yourself, as your fingers clasp - the picture of docility.

“The Mand’alor has been looking for someone for quite some time. I will give you a moment to get settled, but understand that your duties are to begin tonight.”

The pounding of your heart begins again, not realizing it would be so soon.

She must see the surprise that flickers across your face - her arms crossing as she leans in the doorway, “He has not fed since the last. We’ll all be happier once he does.”

Since the last Companion.

You wonder what happened to them. If they were used and cast aside. If they were drained dry.

If the same would happen to you.

No. You won’t let it.

“I’m happy to begin my work as soon as it pleases the Mand’alor.” Your voice is soft, and her sharp look softens.

“You’re quick.” She smiles, “That’s good. If you listen, you’re gonna be just fine.”

The nod you give is cut short, as the door closes. Left alone, your attention immediately goes to the furniture in the room. You don’t have much time.

Something used as often as a bed would be impractical, especially if someone will be tending to you as the woman says.

The bookcases touch both the ceiling and the floor, the books in neat, uniform stacks. No room for disruption.

Your fingers tug at the bench, but it’s solid wood - there’s no storage beneath.

No closet either, an empty brass rack stands against one of the curving stone walls.

Leaving only the desk, as you hurry over. The bottles of ink clinking together as the tips of your fingers run over the wooden top, and then under.

Looking for a hinge, your fingers closing around the ceramic knob as you carefully pull. Revealing a drawer full of rolled-up scrolls, a handful of quills, a thick leather-bound book.

There’s a knock then, and your pulse races.

Fingers fumbling as you reach for the fastenings of your tall boots. A creak of the door as it begins to open.

Undoing them just enough to pull the thin silver dagger and the sharpened stake free. Hastily shoving them behind the scrolls of paper inside your desk.

Before you’re pushing the drawer shut - just as the Mand’alor fills your doorway.

And the first of the 2 secret prompts are: 'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you. (The second part to come into play!) thank you for checking this out! And hope you like this au! 🥀

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #vampire!din #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

[jpitha]

Humans rig stuff together

The battle had been close. The Gren Warfinder had completely surprised them. They flipped nearby on a stolen drive and had started pounding the convoy. They were clearly trying to cut supply lines to the Colony in an attempt to starve them into surrendering. More than half of the ships in the convoy were destroyed before the Coalition was able to mount a response. Iixan was thankful that their ship was only mostly destroyed instead of completely destroyed. The Coalition dreadnought could waste no resources to repair though. They offloaded the cargo, handed out a case of multi-species ration bars and said that if the crew couldn’t fix the ship, someone would be by in 30 solar days or so to rescue them. With a ‘luck be with you’ they flipped away, giving chase to the Gren.

Iixan was ordered by the captain to assess the damage. The hull was holed in at least five places and two of them were too large to patch. They were going to be in suits for the duration. That was frustrating, but survivable.

What wasn’t survivable was the fact that two of the three reactors were offline, with one of them reduced to slag. Iixan found himself next to the non slagged reactor with the three human crew members standing over it. They stood around the reactor, one with their hands on their hips. Iixan didn’t know much about human body language, but they knew that pose was an important one.

He found their comm channel and clipped in. “…I’m telling you, we can just do a hard restart with something in place of the fusion fuse.”

“That’s insane. The fuse exists for a reason. If we let the field get too strong then the whole thing will collapse.”

“Is it better to have a rickety reactor and be able to Flash home, or no reactor and sit here, cold in our suits, eating-“ here the human shuddered “-multi-species ration bars for a month while we wait for the Coalition to remember we’re stuck out here?”

“Okay, wait. Maybe we can split the difference. What if we- oh hey Iixan! What’s up?”

At the mention of his name, the three humans turned to face Iixan. Their suits were bulkier and armored where his was just barely a skin of synthcloth and a helmet. He always wondered why human suits always looked like battle armor. Their large bulbous helmets were clear now, but they could be completely blackened, or even mirrored when necessary. Iixan always felt a little uncomfortable when multiple humans turned to give him their full attention. “Uh, Commander Mizzen asked me to do a damage assessment.” He peered around the humans at the three reactors. “Looks… bad?”

The first human nodded and gestured towards the pile of melted metal, still smoking slightly. The light of a nearby star shone through the smoke, giving it a pretty effect. “Reactor three is toast. There’s no fixing that one. Reactor one is offline with… minor damage. Reactor two is online and keeping us alive for now. We’re trying to decide if we can rig Reactor one to work enough to Flash home.”

“Rig?”

“You know” The second human shrugged in their suit. “Make it work enough to get us somewhere. It’s not fixing it, not really. Just like pretending it’s fixed to the point where it doesn’t realize it’s broken and it’ll run until it notices that it’s actually broken.” The other two looked at him and he looked embarrassed. “Figuatively that is.”

Iixan’s upper arms crossed themselves and made a motion like rubbing warmth into his arms. “And that works?”

“It’s a little more than pretending it’s going to work.” The first human sighed. “We can get it going, but it won’t be pretty and it probably won’t be… that safe. I know your sapient group is more sensitive to high magnetic fields and the reactor is going to be… leaky so you should probably tell the captain to keep the reactor hall humans only if we get it running.”

“You’ll be all right?”

The third human had a strange lilt to his speech. Iixan asked once and he said that he grew up in a place called ‘Minnesota.’ “Oh yah, it’ll be fine, but doncha know, it’ll be a mite dangerous for everyone. No worries though, we’ll make it work enough to Flash.”

The first human nodded. “Come back in a demicycle Iixan, you’ll see.”

Iixan completed his survey and reported to the captain. While he was out, people were able to seal some of the smaller holes to the point where you could take your helmet off in a few rooms. That would make eating easier at least.

One demicycle later, and Iixan returned to the reactor hall. The slagged reactor was in even more pieces than he thought possible, and Reactor one was partially disassembled. Iixan swore that he saw melted parts of Reactor three wired into the reactor. When he clipped into the comm channel they turned. “Oh Hi Iixan! We’re just about ready to test.”

Iixan pointed at the parts. “What are the… melted parts?”

“Oh, that was Will’s idea. We stole some of the… less melted parts from Reactor three to try and kick Reactor one over. They’re not exactly the same model, but I think it’ll be close enough. Just had to put in a few bodge wires in to get power and signal where it needed to be.”

Peering closer, Iixan saw that there was nearly an entire plain’s worth of wires roughly soldered into different parts of the reactor, crossing back and forth and across. The Reactor looked utterly broken. He looked up at the humans. “This… will work?”

Will smiled. “One way to find out, right? We’re going to force a hard restart and see if it’ll work. Tell the Captain to get ready, okay?”

Iixan made a gesture of supplication to the Machine Spirits and called the Captain. The Captain was just as dubious as Iixan was, but agreed to let them try. He signaled Will and the other two and they made that odd gesture of theirs where they curl their large fingers together except for their shortest one and stick it straight into the air.

“Here we go!” Will reached deep inside the Reactor and flipped some switches that were added while they were bogding.

After Will flipped the levers, the three of them jumped back almost as if they were injured. Iixan took another step back as the reactor spun up. The reactor hall had no atmosphere so he coulnd’t hear anything, but he could feel it. It had a thrumming vibration that was getting faster and faster. Iixan wasn’t a reactor technician but even he knew it didn’t sound right. The thrumming was… off balance somehow? It also sounded rougher? Still, the vibration was more and more intense until it felt like the grated floor was a shake table moving them around.

Suddenly, there was a prismatic flash and a shaft of pure white light shot out of the reactor towards the back wall. The humans jumped back and one of them reached towards a bundle of wires that was draped on the floor towards a wall when Will shouted “No! Leave it! We knew containment might leak. It’s otherwise holding steady. Let me refactor.” Will glanced down at his pad and furiously typed and slowly, the white beam faded.

It felt like the room would shake apart, and the reactor blurred in Iixan’s vision in a disconcerting way, but it was running. Will and the other two bounded up to Iixan. “That’s as good as we’re going to get it I think. It’s running at around 74.8%. If we run Reactor two at 112% We should be able to Flash home. We’ll have to stay in our suits, but that’s a sight better than hanging around here.”

The Captain was stunned when Iixan told him and demanded to see for himself. He was led to the Reactor hall but Will had warning him not to enter due to the danger. He stood in the open doorway watching the Reactor vibrate and blur as Reactor two ran with yellow and orange warnings all over the indicators as it was… gently overloaded. “Ancestors. You got it running.” He looked at Will. “How?”

Will demurred. “Oh, just a little bit of experience with these kind of Reactors and a human willingness to rig up a temporary solution. If it’s stupid and works, it’s not stupid.”

The Captain met Will’s gaze. “No. It’s still stupid. But right now we need some stupid. Well done. Now pardon me, I need to get the calculations to Flash home started before that-“ he points at the rigged reactor “-fails and traps us somewhere even worse than here.”

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #writing #humans are space oddities #jpitha #humans and aliens #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #FlashWarp

[theladyismyshepard]

For Valentines Day could I request hc for how halsin and Astarion would react to their shared lover surprising them with new lingerie?

Of course you can, anon, and I thank you for such a racy prompt

Astarion x Halsin x Reader (M/M/F)

NSFW, MDNI below cut

Three's Company, and I'm Afraid I'm Underdressed

(How Astarion and Halsin Would React to You in Lingerie)

You were a certified genius. That was all you could think after you stepped out of Facemaker’s Boutique in Baldur’s Gate with your coin purse considerably lighter. None had been the wiser when you began stuffing a lacy corset into your travel pack. Weeks of trekking through the swamps and the Underdark had left you grimy and less than seductive when it came to romancing Halsin and Astarion.

Halsin… my good man, no my good boy… The druid was a simple man who loved nature and especially the dirt that came with it. He found the dust from the roads that clung to your skin and your clothes to be the most beautiful thing in the world. The smile that slowly pulled at the edges of your mouth when you thought of how sweet Halsin was could never be helped. He was a natural smooth talker, speaking almost as if he was telling you nothing but truths and common sense when he complimented you or Astarion.

You could feel your mirrored appreciation through your connection with the vampire. Astarion originally would downplay how much he approved of Halsin’s bold declarations before the druid’s chivalry filed down the barbed-wire ensnaring the vampire’s bittered, blackened heart. And almost as if determined to clear out the shadows of Astarion’s heart just as he intended with the Shadowfell, he broke down walls that had been fortified for centuries.

Astarion had a voice like honey himself and all of the flare to go with it. His playful flirting always danced along the edge of actual seduction, and it always kept you on your toes. Halsin hadn’t always been too keen on joking, especially the dark humor that the vampire had perfected, but as the snarky facade began to crack and glimmers of a broken man could be seen peering through, Halsin was finally beginning to see what you did in Astarion.

The grand display of their love flourishing had your heart swelling happily in your chest. These two men had nothing but time ahead of them and it thrilled you to know that when you withered away with age decades from now, the two would offer each other support. But until that moment came, and while you could still claim to possess an ass that won’t quit, you would show your lovers the perks of having you involved in their love affair.

It was the perfect night. The stars were shining bright, the air was calm, and the aftertaste of victory was still sweet on your tongue. The party had dispersed almost immediately following the battle of the Netherbrain, and while initially it left you feeling hollow, the privacy sure proved useful for moments such as what you had planned. As you approached Astarion and Halsin, who were both lounging back against a log and chatting by the fire, your hands were wringing the drawstring of your robe.

They both looked up at the same time and you chuckled at how cute they were. Of course Halsin’s connection to nature helped him in sensing the change of your presence just as quick as Astarion’s enhanced hearing. The vampire arched a brow while the druid cocked his head when he noticed your robe-clad body. Your chest expanded as you took a deep breath, and you held it as you dropped the cloth from your shoulders and down your arms to pool at your feet.

The lingerie hugged your body like a second skin and the lacy fabric left no room for imagination as it practically left you bare before your lovers. Astarion’s eyes widened while slowly looking you up and down. When they returned to meet yours, his confident smirk was back in place as he attempted to convey with his eyes alone just how hungry he had become. He was a man of fashion, darling, and he greatly treasured when you put in the same effort as he did. As he shifted his upper body in your direction with his gaze piercing straight into your soul, his elbow propped up on the log as his pointer finger pressed against his temple, his thumb supported his chin, and his remaining fingers were semi-curled and resting over his lips. The tadpole’s connection between you two had vanished the moment the Netherbrain fell, but you’d swear you could practically feel his arousal as if it were your own.

Halsin drank in the sight of your semi-naked body as if it were a cold drink of water on the hottest day of the year. Initially, you were unsure if the Druid would be as affected as you’d like. He had let you know early on that he found you most alluring when you had nothing obscuring his vision…. But his entranced smile as he fully sat up to look at you around Astarion was a promise enough of what would be to come (or who). You were trapped beneath the weight of both of these men’s heavy gazes.

“Don’t you look positively delectable,” Astarion drawled almost predatorily as he motioned with his other hand for you to come closer, “I could eat you right up… And I think I just might,”

“Only if you save some for me,” Halsin chimed in, and you could see his muscles twitching with the urge to pounce, but he remained in his spot beside Astarion, but on edge with anticipation.

Certified genius.

It was a brief thought that was gone as quick as it came once you reached Astarion and he lifted both his hands to grab ahold of yours and guide you down onto his lap. You gasped and couldn’t stop yourself from grinding down when you rubbed against his semi-hard dick. It felt like electricity shot down your spine as heat pooled in the pit of your stomach when you felt his hips pump up to meet you. You both groaned in unison, and while you could have easily allowed your eyes to roll back and just relish in the growing wetness between your thighs, there was another hand that began rubbing circles between your shoulders.

Halsin’s breathing had quickened and he was leaning in closer than when you last glanced in his direction. His lips were parted as he shakily exhaled, his hands continuing to massage circles into not only your skin, but he was running his fingertips up and down Astarion’s back as well. You didn’t even think, it was instinct to lean forward and capture the druid’s lips in a kiss. It wasn’t long before his tongue was licking across your bottom lip, wordlessly asking for entrance. He was a dominating lover, and it was evident in the way his tongue fought for control.

Hands that were previously gripping your waist were now running teasingly up your sides. You felt goosebumps flaring beneath the fabric of the lingerie. Astarion’s hips continued a calm, steady thrusting as his hands explored up your sides, across your hips, and gathered handfuls of your rear. Your flesh was ablaze with each touch. As the vampire’s erection grew harder against your clothed center, you felt the moan bubble in your throat before it interrupted your kiss with Halsin. The druid’s lips kissed down your cheek to a spot right below your ear. You felt Halsin’s hand meet Astarion’s on your back before the weight of his touch disappeared and you knew his hand was running up Astarion’s arm that was wound around your body.

Halsin pulled back and looked over at Astarion, whose gaze shifted to the druid in return. It was a challenging arch of the brow that spurred Halsin forward in claiming the vampire’s lips in a searing kiss. Astarion’s head was tilted back with one of Halsin’s hands supporting the back of his head as their tongues explored the other’s mouth. You shivered in arousal, practically feeling your nipples fighting against the restraint of the lingerie before you ran your hands over Astarion’s chest. You leaned forward and started placing open-mouthed kisses along Halsin’s broad shoulder and down his chest. You growled at the clothing between your hands, mouth, and their bodies. You pulled back, and they both broke the kiss to look at you.

“Clothes, off, now,”

“How expensive was-”

Before Astarion could even finish his question, Halsin was tearing the lacy cloth from your body to get to the prize underneath. You weren’t even surprised. Astarion merely shrugged before pulling his shirt off, and Halsin stood as he fully undressed himself. The moment his underwear was pulled down his legs and his cock sprung to life just a foot away from your face, you could’ve sworn you started salivating. Astarion must have had the same thought because he was staring wide-eyed at his dick and licked his lips before glancing up at his face.

An idea sparked in your mind and you looked up at Halsin before turning back to Astarion. You placed your hands over his bare chest, your fingers splaying out and your pinky finger grazed over his nipple. The vampire inhaled sharply, neck snapping back to face you. You pull him into an open-mouthed kiss that lasted a moment before pulling back and looking him straight in the eye.

“Suck Halsin’s dick,” You command, and Astarion’s shock flashed over his face a moment before his mouth twisted into a devilish grin.

“It would be my pleasure,” he cooed before he gently grabbed the back of Halsin’s thigh and pulled him close enough to flatten his tongue against the tip of his cock, flicking it before licking a swirl around the head.

Halsin sucked in a breath between his teeth at the sudden wet heat. You were throbbing between your legs at the sight, and you could feel a renewed wetness slicking your lower lips. Your eyes never cut away even as your hands worked at Astarion’s belt. It was a familiar movement that was reflex now, and it wasn’t long before the vampire’s dick was in your hand, pumping it to full length. Astarion moaned around Halsin’s dick and as a result, the druid released his own groan. You continued to stroke Astarion with one hand, and your other lifted to Halsin’s hip bone next to Astarion’s fair hair, and caressed the skin there and up his stomach and back again, watching as the muscles of his stomach flexed.

Astarion’s hand on the back of Halsin’s thigh lightened to his fingertips as he drew them higher and higher until he grabbed a handful of his cheek. Halsin jolted forward and further down Astarion’s throat, prompting the vampire to gag a bit before bobbing his back and forth, allowing his tongue to graze the underside of his dick. Your thumb rubbed a circle on the tip of Astarion’s dick before it traced a vein that traveled the length of it, and just when you felt a clear wetness ooze from the tip, you released your grip to raise yourself to your knees long enough to line him up with your center before you slowly sunk your full weight onto his dick. Astarion sputtered around Halsin’s dick, pulling back to gasp and arch his back into you.

Halsin’s cock glistened with Astarion’s spit as it stood at attention, and who was you to deny it? You leaned forward to take Halsin into your mouth and continue where the vampire had left off. With both of your hands free, your right one lightly trailed up his stomach as far as you could reach, and your left wound behind him and grabbed the same cheek that Astarion had. Halsin’s head fell back, allowing him to gaze up into the endless sea of stars. It felt as though he was flying, but the wet heat of your mouth kept him grounded. You hollowed your cheeks briefly before a gasp gave you a pause around Halsin.

Astarion’s dick was still buried inside of you, and he had regained some of his composure. He was jogging his hips, and you felt him stretching you out as he went deeper and deeper. Given how wet you were, there was hardly much resistance and he soon bottomed out. He halted to familiarize both your bodies to the stretch, and as he paused, he surged forward to take your nipple into his mouth. Your back arched to get closer to him, but one of his hands was already around your back, keeping you tight against his body. A larger hand was suddenly cupping the base of your neck, and you pulled off of Halsin to glance up at him.

The druid gave you a warm smile before he bowed over to meet your lips with his. He licked away the moisture on your lips before following it with several quick pecks. As he righted himself, Astarion reached forward with his free hand and grabbed his length to start pumping it. You were entranced by the sight before pleasure sent fire coursing through your veins, and you began grinding down to match Astarion’s thrusts up into you. Your eyes briefly fluttered shut as you rode his dick, but they snapped open when you felt Halsin slightly squeeze the back of your neck to get your attention. The head of his cock was plump and looked about ready to burst. Your lips parted a ‘oh’ at the sight as well as the pressure building quickly in your gut from the suckling at your nipples. Astarion was stroking Halsin faster and you were captivated by the sight of the head disappearing and reappearing in the fist as he pumped.

Astarion kissed up your chest and sank his teeth into the flesh connecting your shoulder and neck. You moaned loudly as you teetered on the edge, but you were sure to keep your mouth wide open. You stuck your tongue out all while staring Halsin in the eye, and let the head of his cock rest against it as you waited for him to shoot his load. The sight, along with the feel of your wet tongue coupled with Astarion’s quick jerking, had Halsin spilling into your mouth as he came. You lapped it up eagerly, and licked the head clean as his fingers combed through your hair.

The teeth in your neck released and the sting was soothed by a broad stroke of the vampire’s tongue. He followed it with a kiss and trailed them up your neck, past your chin, and connected your lips as he used the hand on the small of your back as leverage for a few more quick thrusts before your walls were fluttering around his member and your back was arching as you fell over the edge. As your orgasm rolled through you, you became deathly still before snapping and your erratic grinding had Astarion pulling you off his dick just as he shot his load across your clit.

Your thighs were sore and your body felt limp as you fell against Astarion, who immediately caught you and brought you closer. Halsin’s hand was back to brushing your hair back, and as you cuddled into the vampire’s neck, you felt his head crane back to meet Halsin in a brief kiss.

Oh yeah… certified genius.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate headcannons #bg3 headcanons #ao3 fanfic #bg3 astarion #bg3 astarion x reader #bg3 halsin #bg3 halsin x reader #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader x halsin #bg3 astarion x reader x halsin #astarion x halsin #bg3 astarion x halsin #ask response #prompt fill #send asks #happy valentine's day #valentines day

[merakiui]

TWST APOCALYPSE AU.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀʙʟᴏᴛ ᴠɪʀᴜꜱ — a horrifying infection that has existed for centuries. it doesn't appear to be contagious (yet), but it has devastating effects on those who fall ill with it. it appears to manifest from within a mage, but researchers at S.T.Y.X. note there are external and internal factors that contribute to the speed at which it spreads. it may be possible to treat an infected individual, but it is difficult if not caught by the second stage and requires immense patience, effort, and resources. the virus appears to deteriorate both the body and mind, rendering the infected a mindless monster after a certain period of time.

it is recommended that you avoid those who are beyond saving, for they are highly dangerous!

ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ — officially identified by the lead research team at S.T.Y.X., these are indicators that one has been infected. [please note that case-specific symptoms, while rare but not undocumented, seem to manifest in especially skillful mages.]

☒ patient coughs up a black, tar-like substance (this is known as and has been identified as blot).

☒ patient experiences heightened emotional fragility (especially for negative feelings).

☒ patient develops unsettling, pitch-black coloration on their fingertips.

☒ patient suffers from fatigue, persistent headaches, and irregular body temperatures.

☒ patient's tears and saliva are dark and thick; near-syrupy. gums and teeth are affected as well.

☒ patient claims to hear and see things that are not there (e.g., the wrong reflection in a mirror, a strangely-shaped shadow, voices).

☒ patient's magestone blackens with blot.

ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ — officially identified by the lead research team at S.T.Y.X. after studying countless subjects.

STAGE 1.

little to no immediate changes or symptoms. patient appears mostly fine. they may not even realize they are infected at first and will only complain of feeling itchy or irritable. magestone has just begun to tarnish.

STAGE 2.

common symptoms begin to emerge and will only worsen with time. magestone slowly accumulates blot. fingertips will have begun to blacken. minor headaches stretch on into longer periods of time and grow to be more painful. patient may appear uncharacteristically volatile. blot eats away at the patient's magic reserves. it will spread quicker depending on how much magic is overused and if the patient shows extreme emotional distress. patient develops a cough.

STAGE 3.

patient will begin to see and hear things. S.T.Y.X. named these shadow apparitions phantoms. patient may cast a shadow (phantom) that is not their own. staining on the patient's fingertips will have spread further through the fingers by this point. magestone is very cloudy. patient is prone to coughing fits. patient is unable to recognize bodily cues for hunger or exhaustion. feelings of emptiness persist. patient may experience a stabbing sensation in their chest or stomach areas. patient may not seem very emotionally or mentally present. spotty memory; they struggle to recall what or why they are doing certain things. patient appears almost lost. patient's body undergoes various external and internal changes: loss of appetite, stained fingertips, rotting gums, weakened teeth and bone structures, tears and saliva take on the consistency and color of blot, inability to fall asleep, etc. the blot eats away at the patient from the inside after magic reserves have been depleted. patient is dying.

STAGE 4.

magestone is consumed by blot and is no longer safe to use. patient's internal structures are compromised and failing. blot sustains the patient; they become a host for the blot, which acts almost like a parasite. patient is no longer conscious or living. peculiar structures like extra limbs or unusual growths sprout from and deform the body. it is consumed by blot. the air around the infected patient is thick with a high concentration of blot. patient only speaks in guttural growls and struggles with certain syllables. some are capable of coherent, intelligent speech, but in many cases communication and language are usually lost, as is the memory of who they once were. S.T.Y.X. has yet to identify the lifespan of an overblot (the term coined for those who have succumbed to the infection), as some overblots can exist for a very long time. at this stage, an overblot patient is highly dangerous and hostile. avoid contact at all costs. [additional research on this stage and others is currently being conducted.]

ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏᴜɴᴅ ɪɴᴅᴇx — below are the dormitory strongholds with notable members and their current status.

RAMSHACKLE.

☒ yuuken enma - not infected. immune.

☒ yuuka hirasaka - not infected. immune.

☒ yuuta mito - not infected. immune.

☒ grim - suspected to be infected. stage: unknown. currently missing. last seen: ???

HEARTSLABYUL.

☒ riddle rosehearts - infected. stage 1.

☒ trey clover - not infected.

☒ cater diamond - not infected. currently at risk.

☒ ace trappola - not infected.

☒ deuce spade - not infected.

SAVANACLAW.

☒ leona kingscholar - infected. stage 2.

☒ ruggie bucchi - not infected.

☒ jack howl - not infected.

OCTAVINELLE.

☒ azul ashengrotto - infected. stage 2, tipping over into stage 3.

☒ jade leech - not infected.

☒ floyd leech - not infected. currently at risk.

SCARABIA.

☒ kalim al-asim - not infected.

☒ jamil viper - infected. stage 1, tipping over into stage 2.

POMEFIORE.

☒ vil schoenheit - infected. stage 2.

☒ rook hunt - not infected.

☒ epel felmier - not infected.

IGNIHYDE.

☒ idia shroud - infected. stage 3.

☒ ortho shroud - not infected. currently at risk.

DIASOMNIA.

☒ malleus draconia - infected. stage 2, tipping over into stage 3.

☒ lilia vanrouge - not infected. currently at risk.

☒ silver - not infected.

☒ sebek zigvolt - not infected.

ROYAL SWORD.

☒ neige leblanche - not infected. currently at risk.

☒ dominic - not infected.

☒ grum - not infected.

☒ shelpie - not infected.

☒ hop - not infected.

☒ timmy - not infected.

☒ snick - not infected.

☒ toby - not infected.

☒ che'nya - not infected.

NOBLE BELL.

☒ rollo flamme - not infected.

#twst apocalypse au #<- i think that was the tag… ^^;;; #now that i think about it idia and ortho technically get their wish of restarting the world in this au T_T #i was going to write body horror for the infected yans but that will be for another apocalypse post #for now i wanted to establish the virus itself :D #also also!!! the yuus are part of this au <3 hopefully they can save (name) from whichever compound they are trapped in >_<

[zargsnake]

Through a Blackened Mirror

Chapter 1: The Feast

Word Count: 4745 Link: Table of Contents

 *   *   *

“In times of old there lived a king and queen, and every day they said, ‘Oh, if only we had a child!’ Yet, they never had one.

“Then one day, as the queen went out bathing, a frog happened to crawl ashore and say to her, ‘Your wish shall be fulfilled. Before the year is out, you shall give birth to a daughter.’

“The frog’s prediction came true, and the queen gave birth to a girl who was so beautiful that the king was overjoyed and decided to hold a great feast.”

-- “Brier Rose,” translated by Jack Snipes

 *   *   *

Maul senses his master at the entrance to the Temple. The door opens -- opportunity, air -- smokey air, but free and wild, not the fake stuff pumped through these five-thousand-year-old vents -- then shuts again. He senses Sidious turn to check the information pouring into the ancient computers. His student is not his priority.

Maul had been reading a holobook, but the moment his master entered he lost all concentration. He does not go running to him as he used to. He reads the same sentence over and over again, unable to retain it. The emotion he feels is awful and powerful, and it fills him up so wonderfully.

He does not look at the door when it finally opens twenty minutes later. He pretends to be asleep on his hand. He senses his master take his holo from him.

“History? There’s no need for that.” Sidious erases Maul's notes. “One day, when you are Emperor, you will make history whatever you want it to be.”

“So you’ve told me.” Maul lifts his head up. “But you failed to program that fact into Sixjee.”

“The computer?”

“My substitute teacher, on your orders. My only companion for the past month and a half.”

“Oh, did I forget to unlock the door?”

Maul looks away. There is nothing interesting on this planet, anyway. It is prettier than foul Naboo, but the people-watching on Naboo is worth the smell and the blinding brightness. Throughout his latest home-imprisonment -- which he can’t imagine was not intentional -- he has gazed out the high, impenetrable windows of this Temple at the black, crashing waves below, and he has longed to go for a swim. The Temple’s pool is not the same. He has seen fires raging on woodsy islands far away, and he has tried to sense their source, but his feelings have failed him. Unsatisfied curiosity hurts worse than any other discipline.

He has felt, at the very edge of the horizon, another building, another Sith building. And the people who exist in this Temple, the dead people who linger in the Force here, who are always trying to talk to Maul and use him for their own purposes -- all the ghosts seem far more excited about the other building than they are about this one.

But he’s grown a little numb to the voices. He doesn’t really care, himself. It is only Huntt’awn. There aren’t any real people here, not anymore. The comparative merits of various relics are not particularly significant to someone this lonely.

Sidious, still reading the page his student had marked, appears distracted, even though they both know he isn’t. He takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair next to Maul’s.

“... Ah, yes, and Sixjee’s Teaching Protocol would include History, wouldn’t it?”

“Mm.” Maul affects a feminine, robotic voice. “‘A perfect recollection of your proud history, my lad -- every date in precise order -- on pain of death!’”

“Pain of death, really?”

“Her favorite threat.”

“Do you really think she’d kill you?”

Maul picks at his claws. “You have a lot of questions for someone with as dull a life as mine.”

“Mind it, boy. I shall have the History portion of Sixjee’s programming destroyed. We will make history ourselves.”

“How will you make it, Master?”

“Pardon?”

“History. What will you want to have happened?”

“I am the teacher, boy, I ask the questions. What will you want to have happened?”

You’re a lousy teacher, Maul thinks.

“I asked you first.”

Sidious looks at the cold fireplace. He feels his student’s gaze upon him, more scrutinizing than his enemies, more imploring than his voters, more adoring than his children. Maul’s gaze is like that of a pilgrim to a god, and it makes Sidious feel far more powerful than he is. He rides that feeling and shoots lightning from his fingers at the fireplace. The tiniest spark of his power is enough to create a mighty flame; heat and light reach the young Sith Lords immediately. Maul shrinks from it, but, after a couple blinks, stares back at his master.

“It is a good question.”

Sidious’ slowness to answer, and his waffling response -- however steady and snooty his tone -- fill Maul with a sense of amazement and terror. Without meaning to, Sidious has revealed a great hole. Maul looks deeply upon the object of his life, his most precious belonging, his master and his father, and -- without intention or desire -- he finds nothing. Sidious sits there, playing with his lightning, unable to come up with a single thing he thinks is worth preserving, a single thing he wants to keep.

“But not an important one. When a youngling is born, he does not know he has a grandfather. There is no reason to know. Grandfathers die, soon, anyway.”

Human grandfathers, yes, Maul thinks.

“Take the child from his past, and he loses nothing. He gains everything,” Sidious continues. “We will take our Empire from her past, cling to nothing, and burn everything. The people will hate and fear the past. Even the inevitable lingering heroes will hate and fear it. The Jedi are spoiling it very well on their own. And we will spoil it even better. It’s all part of the plan. Nobody will remember the Republic or the Jedi.”

“But how will you explain where things came from?”

“Everything will come from my grace. Then yours.”

“People won’t buy that.”

Sidious chuckles. “You are innocent. They will. You’ll see.”

“So what will students learn?”

“Not History. There are a thousand other things. They’ll learn Manners instead. Much as you should, my interrogative brat.”

Maul does not wince or show any fear, though he does convey a measure of annoyance. It is a cover, of course, but he wears it every moment, so it is not difficult for him.

“What about the people who remember?”

“Why, Maul. This is the most obvious and the happiest answer of all, for you. They die. We kill them.”

Maul feels the backs of his hands physically ache; he curls his fingers tight; a tremor zings from his chest through his teenage body; he catches his breath with excitement.

“Yes, Master.”

Sidious, pleased to have taunted the boy, says, “I think that’s all you need to know, my good little one. And I do apologize for Sixjee’s programming. The Sith teachers who built her had stupid priorities. I will look into it. Don’t let me forget.”

Maul knows his master never forgets anything.

“I have felt some of the past, myself, Master. I mean, I’ve read some, yes. But I’ve felt it, too -- the Force teaches better than anyone. I felt pain; I’ve died a thousand times or more, with our people, in their echoes from the past. You wanted me to, you led me to it.”

“Yes. That pain is all of the past you need to know. Revan, Malgus -- read it if you want -- but read it for what it is -- stories, with no bearing upon us now. Old nothings. Failures, mostly. Entirely, actually -- everything fails in the end. The past is for pain, and pain gives us power. Use it, when you need it, or even when you want it. But do not look at it. Look forward. There is no failure in the future. There is no reason our Empire won’t last one more day, and another, and another, for infinity.”

Sidious’ words are madness, and Maul knows it. But the idea of not believing in Sidious is so frightening that Maul forces himself to believe. He needs to hold onto this person, no matter how hollow he is.

“Yes, Master.”

   *   *   *

Sixjee, from her main hub deep underground, sends sensors through the intratubes which run through every room in the Huntt’awn Temple. The sensors glow purple as they zoom past. Maul, sitting in the windowsill of a tower that overlooks the sea, notices the sensor, more by its movement than by its color with his light-poor predator’s eyes.

Exactly on time.

The computer panel in the room beeps on. It takes a couple shaky moments to boot up. Maul has not interacted with Sixjee in this room before. He supposes that this terminal has not been used in a few hundred years, at least. Sidious tends to keep his boy on the more obscure Sith planets, the better to avoid Plagueis, and Huntt’awn is no exception. Sixjee’s voice garbles through the speaker next to the panel.

“ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀᴡ-ᴏᴏʟ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴡ ᴏᴠᴇʀ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ.”

“Acknowledged.”

“ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ᴘʜɪʟᴏꜱᴏᴘʜʏ. ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ?”

“Such a thing is possible, but only for those who are strong in the Force.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ.”

“The pain of death may break one’s body and mind, but a true Sith does not need these things to hold onto the Force, nor to use the Force to cling onto life. This dead Sith may exist in corporeal form, through borrowed materials, such as flesh and metal. Or, a more powerful Sith may exist in incorporeal form, through pure emotion.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʟɪꜰᴇ.”

“The corporeal dead Sith must maintain his materials. The incorporeal dead Sith must maintain his emotions. A moment of distraction would end everything. He is vulnerable. He waits to be awakened.”

“ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ…”

Quickly, Maul corrects himself: “No, he acts. He finds a host and conquers him.”

“ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ…”

“He -- is not vulnerable? ... He is not vulnerable. A true Sith can maintain this altered state indefinitely.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴᴋᴇ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴀʙʀᴇ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɴɪᴄꜱ.”

“... What?”

“ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ.”

Sixjee remotely activates the spikes sewn into the high tan-colored collar of Maul’s training robe; the spikes glow with a matching purple and spark with energy. Maul braces for the pain and takes it without flinching.

“ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ. ᴍᴀᴛʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄꜱ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɪᴏʀ ᴀɴɢʟᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʜᴇxᴀɢᴏɴ?”

“Seven hundred twenty.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ.”

“The sum of the measures of the interior angles of a shape is a hundred eighty times the number of sides minus two.”

“ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ–”

“And the number of sides minus two is –” Maul holds up his hands in a moment of panicked inarticulation -- “in parentheses.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ.”

“So a hundred eighty times -- in parentheses -- six, minus two -- close parentheses -- is -- a hundred eighty times four -- which is -- seven hundred twenty.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ. ʜɪꜱᴛ–”

Three dull white streaks pass over the terminal. Its softly glowing green numbers -- so briefly -- flicker.

It is the moment Maul was waiting for, the reason he chose this spot. Sixjee’s programming is powerful, and she controls everything in this Temple. She has kept every exit blocked, every window sealed.

But -- if his master had deleted the History routine of Sixjee’s programming -- and if he had neglected to delete the routine that requires Sixjee to test on what she taught that week -- then the two commands would contradict each other -- which would require Sixjee to prioritize the two -- and -- if -- Maul forced her to work through a terminal which was especially old and neglected -- and if he had given it a good beating while he waited -- not enough to cause suspicion, but enough to -- slow it down -- if all these things had come together, and if he was lucky -- then she might be -- for a moment -- preoccupied.

And she is. For a tiny, perfect second, the screen buzzes quizzically: a high note turning up, like a question, or a hook in a song.

He ignites his lightsaber during this pause and smashes the weapon through the window. He pulls his blade out -- a drop of molten glass strikes his lap -- and he stabs the window again, shattering it. He slithers through the hole and leaps out the tower. As he falls, he tears off the training robe and flips into a perfect dive. His naked entry into the tumultuous water causes the barest of splashes.

   *   *   *

Maul generally receives "Acceptable" on verbal tests, but "Good" or even "Very Good" on physical ones. He has been pushing himself exceptionally hard in Swim for the past month: using the Force to hold his breath for increasingly absurd amounts of time; filling up the Temple pool with acid and toxins, extreme heat and extreme cold to harden his skin against the unknown variables of the wild sea; practicing with holovids of the Sith’s most accomplished swimmers -- fish-aliens, species he has never seen before, some extinct, many quite lovely to behold -- if only they could talk back.

The Huntt’awn sea is dark and cold -- not that cold, though -- and it fights to pull Maul to death just as fiercely as Maul fights to live. He keeps nothing but his lightsaber, which he holds tight in his right hand, unignited. He does not need its light to see the churning slime and racing rocks in this dead water. He dives deeper to escape the sea’s movement, and he swims for minutes at a time, heading purposefully in the direction of the other building. When he finally reaches his limit of breath, he steels himself, fights back through the currents to the surface, breaks through to gulp more air, then hurries again into the peace down below.

At first he uses only his connection to the Force as a compass, but as he draws closer to the building, he hears it calling to him, singing a whispering song in his head, and he switches his focus onto that, trusting in the building, hoping that it does not deceive him. He does not think it will. He thinks it wants him, far more desperately that he wants it.

After swimming around a jagged coral reef, he finally finds a way through without getting cut up too badly. He emerges from the waters onto a small bed of tidepools, the home of tiny lethargic creatures who suck at his feet. He walks across the disgusting beach, eyes caught on the building ahead of him. It does not look that remarkable -- top-heavy towers, rusted antennae, overblown buttresses -- but Maul is well into the habit of seeing beyond the physical; he sees with the Force.

There is something in there -- something for him, something waiting for him.

The left half of the lawn is overgrown with thorny nestles, but the right half is well-trimmed. Maul notices two droids sitting on either side of the front door. The droid on the right is curled into a fetal position in a stone recharging chamber. The droid on the left is cut in half.

Shivering in the slight breeze, he approaches the door. He glances at the still-functional droid for permission, or, better, welcome, but the droid does not move.

“Rude,” Maul says, under his breath.

He pushes the door open; it obeys with a loud creak. He shuts it behind him, happy to be out of the chill.

At his presence, rows of neglected lights ignite with a grumpy whine. After so long in the dark, Maul flinches at the lights, though, fortunately, dust in the air and floor dulls their splendor. He looks around, hugging himself with wet, red arms, his saber digging into his side.

The room is a foyer, and the walls are lined with ancient oil-holo-combo portraits of Siths -- old, crusted, universally ugly faces. They do not hold the young man’s interest.

The thing he felt, calling to him, singing to him, is not here ... not with the old guys.

He steps forward, dripping on the hard floor. These Temples are supposed to serve him. He is a living Sith, even if he’s only a student; he deserves their respect. If his master were here, the Temple would welcome him.

“... I’m ... freezing my ass off! Hello! ... I’m a Sith! Do something!”

The portraits on the walls seem to frown deeper, but that’s probably all in his head.

Then a droid built into the wall unfolds one spindly leg. The leg takes several shaky tries to get a grip on the floor. Maul gives it a couple seconds, snarls, and gives it a hand. The droid unfolds four more legs from its perch, pops its upper body out and scuttles free. It nearly trips, but Maul steadies it. The droid says nothing, but it skirts along the wall to another panel, and carefully inputs a code. Maul watches and memorizes it, since he probably will have to do this himself in the future. The panel scrapes open and reveals a rack of handsome, heavy robes. The droid flops over, exhausted. Maul kicks it, and it shatters into two pieces.

“Lots of hype over this junk,” Maul mutters.

Maul grips the rack and yanks it further out of the wall. The robes are lined with rich brown fur, which glistens in the dim light. He has never felt anything so soft. The rack also contains leather belts, dress shoes, and under clothing of luxurious quality. He dries himself with one suit and dresses in another, and selects the belt which has the best grip for a double-bladed lightsaber.

Maul does not pick the fanciest robe -- first of all, because it looks ridiculous -- and secondly, it is surely enchanted to repel non-Masters. It’s not worth the effort. Even the plainest robe on this rack is beautiful, after all. This must have once been a place for parties.

Buttoning the silk cuffs on his sleeves, he walks back across the foyer. His stomach rumbles. He brought nothing to eat, of course. Snacks are for Jedi. He knows how to starve; he always gets top marks in it. Nonetheless, a light brightens over a side door in response to the tiny noise.

Through the door, he sees a hall lined with interesting weapons and taxidermied beast heads in various stages of disintegration. There is an enormous round table set with at least fifty chairs. The table is black, thick, and somehow, no dust has settled on it; instead, the dust has rolled off and accumulated in a large ring around the sides.

He stares at the table and waits for servants to fill it with food. But there are no robots to be seen. There aren’t even any side doors to kitchens. Something is familiar about this table...

His insides churn up. He remembers this thing. Or one very like it. It is a Blood Bounty table -- there was one in the Nal Hutta Temple. His master made him bleed on it, back when he was little more than a baby. His pure, sinless blood produced rare, hearty meat for the two of them to eat. It is an awful memory, but not so awful that it has left him, as he knows other memories have.

And now he feels curious as to the quality of his current blood.

How many people have I killed since then? My first kill was but a few days following that. And now it has been ten years.

He starts counting on his fingers, trying to recall them in order. He counts only organic, sentient life, but he makes an exception for a few droids who had particularly strong personalities.

...Twenty six. No. The Huttling last winter. Twenty seven. Is that all? It seems like so much more.

He knows he cut up his leg on the coral, but that open wound is too well-dressed to access now. So he makes a new cut; he brings his hand up to his sharpest horn and cuts the fleshy part of his palm. It goes against every instinct, but hunger and curiosity compel him. He presses his bloody hand to the table. The surface sucks up the black blood, then keeps sucking at his wound -- he lets it go at it for a minute, as a plate appears before his eyes, and starts to pile up with food -- garnishes of a red leaf he has never seen before -- some sort of white mineral, like salt, but -- not -- and the main course, a slice of meat, a bit over an inch thick, half the length of his hand.

He remembers what his master said: Blood Bounty tables want innocent blood. They were using an old, kidnapped Jedi Temple Guardian’s blood until his master made Maul bleed instead. The Guardian’s blood made very poor meat, almost inedible -- or maybe it didn’t make meat at all -- Maul can’t remember.

But the food the table makes now, from his far-from-innocent blood, is not bad at all. Maul had been expecting charred bacon, at best. Twenty-seven murders, twenty-seven dead, and he is still “innocent” enough to produce such a nice cut of meat?

Is it because he is just fifteen? But -- twenty-seven dead!

Maul lifts his hand; it twitches pathetically from the pain and blood loss. He balls it up and puts it in his warm, fuzzy pocket; he checks for booby traps, then sits at a knight’s chair and eats the food with his other hand. The meat is a little overcooked, but all meat is for him; he would rather have everything raw. It does not taste as delicious as he remembers that other Blood Bounty feast, but it is still good. He sops up some of the salt-like mineral, and eats that. He wonders if it is native to his home planet, and that’s why it is unfamiliar to him. He tries to let his taste buds reawaken memories. But the flavor is completely foreign to him.

Satisfied, he exits the dining hall, his stomach full and his hand aching, his head spinning with questions. He opens the large doors at the end of the foyer, and he sees an enormous room with a vast collection of holocrons. There are holos lining dozens of shelves, and artifacts on display all around. He’s never seen so many. There was a room a bit like this in the Temple on Telos, but it was not at this scale. Just as his eyes adjust to the pleasant darkness, chandeliers above detect his presence and hum to life. He scowls in annoyance at the lights.

A terminal in front of him clicks a few times and awakens. Text appears on the screen, written in the sacred Sith language, which was enchanted long ago to never change, nor even develop dialects -- frozen in life, the better to unite an empire. Maul, of course, can read and speak it quite well, but the fuzziness of the old tech still makes comprehension difficult.

“𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰, ℌ𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥.”

“Hi.”

The screen is blank for a few moments.

“𝔑𝔞𝔪𝔢?”

“Darth Maul.”

“𝔐𝔬𝔩.”

“No, M-A-U-L. As in, to maul.”

The computer is not familiar with the modern verb, but it corrects its phonetic spelling to Maul’s idiosyncratic one.

“𝔐𝔞𝔲𝔩.”

“Yeah.”

“𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯?”

“He will be along. You answer to me.”

“𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. 𝔖𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡. 𝔉𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔥𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔡.”

“Oh. Great.”

“ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔶𝔬𝔲?”

“What is this place?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔱’𝔞𝔴𝔫. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔩𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔩𝔞𝔵𝔶.”

“A library? That’s what everyone has been talking about?”

The screen is blank.

“I thought this was ... some kind of ... social area. Are there -- were there any parties here?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔫𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔫 𝔄𝔖ℭ 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫 1,547 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰.”

“Oh, a conference. How exciting.”

The screen is blank.

“...Is there anyone here?” Maul asks, desperately.

“𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔬𝔫?”

“Are there any people? Living, breathing people?”

“𝔑𝔬.”

“Is there any way to contact any living people here?”

“𝔄𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔥𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰.”

After a pause, Maul hits his head on the terminal. “I would kill you if you could feel it.”

The screen is blank.

He stands up straight again. “What may I access here, Computer?”

“𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪.”

“Good. Great.”

“𝔐𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫?”

“What kind of information is there?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔱’𝔞𝔴𝔫 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔳𝔞𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔬𝔭𝔥𝔶, 𝔭𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔰, 𝔰𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡. 𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱.”

Maul tuts. “Sure.”

The screen is blank. Maul looks over it at the shelves.

There is so much.

It is his history. His people’s history. It did not spring from his own grace, nor from his master’s. It was here first. It is their foundation. It is more than pain. It is ... something. It is not nothing. And his master has no interest in it. His master said to ignore it. There is nothing here his master wants to preserve, nothing.

But something here is calling to him, Maul.

“... Where are your records on ... Iridonia?”

“ℑ𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔞. 𝔖𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔬𝔯 43, 𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔣 11.”

Tiles under Maul’s feet glow, illuminating the way. He takes a step, but more text flashes on the screen.

“𝔐𝔞𝔲𝔩.”

“Yes?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 ’𝔪𝔶’ 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔯. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰.”

The screen blanks. Maul stares at it.

“... That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

The screen is blank.

“Thank you.”

The screen is blank. He leaves it, and follows the lights to Sector 43, Shelf 11.

Irascus, Darth.

Ireajak [weapon].

Ireajak [colony].

Iria the Bloody, Duchess.

Iridonia.

The section on Iridonia, the homeworld of his species, is far bigger than anything around it. The shelves are packed tight with holocrons slotted together, pyramids between pyramids, top to bottom. The labels are overwhelming; Maul does not know where to look first. He walks a few feet down the hall, and sees a row of artifacts between the holos.

The sight moves him deeply. The artifacts are matching small jars, no more than two inches tall. Each contains a set of baby horns.

He has a set just like this. Or his master does. Somewhere on Naboo...

He touches one. A Zabrak grew these, from their own head, a baby Zabrak who became a great Sith Lord. Darth Willog -- these dates come from over six thousand years ago. They must have been preserved. They will be here forever.

He moves the jars carefully around until he finds the M’s on a lower shelf. Madrin. Maggill. Mattear. Maver. He makes a space for another jar between Mattear and Maver.

He stands back up and looks at the jar at eye level. The horns are especially white, but with beautiful, natural brown stripes. He didn’t know horns could look like that. The label says Darth Sudette. And next to that -- Sunke.

Sunke. His damn “Macabre Photonics” got me tortured today. And he was one of us! A Zabrak!

Maul glares at Sunke’s horns. It wasn’t fair of Sixjee to put Sunke on the test. Sunke wasn’t even in any of the books. He feels those six wounds on his neck from the torture spikes, nearly two months of training in that awful tan suit. He puts his finger on top of Sunke’s jar and tips it forward. It falls and shatters on the ground.

What do Macabre Photonics have to do with life after death?

He feels goosebumps on the back of his neck. It is that song that called him here.

It is not something. It is someone. There is someone here, in this room. He can feel it. A person, a real person -- dead? -- dead, maybe, but -- real -- death is not death for a real Sith. Macabre Photonics -- whatever they are -- and life after death -- and this person wants him, Maul, wants him badly -- or maybe he wants them. Yes, he always has. He’s never been so sure of anything.

“Macabre Photonics,” Maul says out loud.

Lights below his feet guide him to the scientific section of the library, a fair walk away. Darth Sunke’s extensive works line up an entire fifth of a shelf.

One holo, in the midst of it all, stands out so starkly to him that for an eerie, empty moment, it seems to be the only thing that exists in the galaxy.

A word glows red on its side: Zaster.

#my story #my art #through a blackened mirror #darth maul #sheev palpatine #scifi #fairytale #cw abuse

[twirlingsmilingwriting]

Tolerate It pt. 3 || Young! Coriolanus Snow X reader

"Took this dagger in me and removed it, gained the weight of you then lose it... If its all in my head tell me now. Tell me I've got it wrong somehow, I know my love should be celebrated but you tolerate it"

You don't need to read pt 1 to understand what is happening but if you want to ITS HERE

Part two is a little necessary but you'll prob catch on. Part two HERE

TLDR: Truly feeling like the luckiest person alive when your former classmate and short-term boyfriend asked you to marry him. Not even a year into the marriage and also a year into his presidency does the original love and admiration you felt for him start to dissipate. You can't help but feel trapped and tricked into a marriage in which he may have never loved you to begin with.

Warnings: Angst, Love-Bombing, marriage, gender ambiguous reader, typical snow tags (manipulation), alcohol, alluding to sexual acts but not described, kissing, unclear motives, crying, death, the reader being so delulu and manipulated omg, slight classism, self unaliving, blood

WORD COUNT: 7k

A/N: This is a dialogue-heavy one. Lots of yappin today y'all. Also a LOT and I mean a LOT darker than the others. I POSTED THIS LAST NIGHT BUT FORGOT TO PUT ANY TAGS SO I GOTTA REPOST IT

~

The morning light peered through the curtains of our bedroom ever so slightly, just enough that I could feel the warmth on my nose. I scrunched my face and squirmed under the covers. It wasn't until I felt the weight of his body move from beside me and get out of bed, that I reached my arm out for Coriolanus just to be greeted with nothing. I fluttered my eyes open and looked over. I watched intently while he threw on some clothes. God, he was gorgeous. Strikingly blond curls bouncing while he moved, his toned body with broad shoulders, a thin waist, those blue eyes and sharp jaw, he was so stunning. I love my husband so much. I whispered a quick 'good morning' to him and all he could do was hum in response. I sat up in the bed and used the sheet to cover myself up.

"Where are you going, Darling?"

"I have some business to attend to. You wouldn't understand, my beautiful empty head."

Aww. He called me beautiful. He gave me a quick glance before heading out and slamming the door behind him. I got out of bed and scoured the room for something decent to put on. Clothes from the night before had been scattered and I knew I'd have to add laundry to today's agenda. I picked up a white silk shirt from atop the dress and I threw the shirt over my head, I let out a soft sigh, looking over at myself in the tall gold mirror taking note of the smudged makeup and eyeliner that had dried in blackened streaks down my face from last night's tears. Tiny hickies decorated my neck and collarbones and I couldn't stop the smile that spread on my face from the joy I felt from Coriolanus claiming me as his. Gratitude is the best way I can describe the feeling. I am married to the most powerful man in Panem. What could I have done to deserve this?

Our relationship got rocky sometimes, yes, but he was just busy. I can't help but blame myself for how he was treating me after we got married. To be fair, he did just become president. I can't even imagine how stressful that must've been for him. It made sense why it felt like he had no time for me. Last night he admitted he never even knew I felt so neglected, it must've been my fault. Clearly, he loves me right?

Last night, I felt so loved, the way he kissed me and wrapped his arms around me, his aroma filled my senses. He loves me so much, if he didn't he wouldn't be showing me off to a whole nation of people right?

I kept asking myself for reassurance, but I had my answer, no one just marries someone they don't love.

Right?

Of course, he does. I remember when it started, it was real, so real. He's just been so tired these past few months. He has his reasons and I should understand that I can't be so selfish to be in his life taking up too much space and time. I am lucky for the sentences I will get in the story of a monumental man. Looking in the mirror of the vanity, I took a deep breath and smiled in contentment. My eyes continued to scan the display. The vanity was a white desk and drawer set with a large and extravagant mirror outlined with gold. I had hand-painted vines of ivy on the wood. The desk had makeup and my rose-scented perfume. Honestly, I always preferred fruity and sweet scents but Coryo loves it more when I smell like roses. My fingers tapped the delicate glass bottle before I placed it back down and walked to the window to look over the garden where we had the party last night.

Tables were still set up and cups littered the lawn. I giggled a little bit, remembering the fun people were having dancing around the area without a care in the world. There was always a certain type of peace that came after parties when everyone left. Similar to nostalgia where it's that strong sense of bliss but also a certain emptiness that comes from the drop from high emotions and energy to nothingness. Still, the memories of the fun of last night came back to me. A few men dressed in white peacekeeper uniforms started to file into the area and I cocked an eyebrow up in confusion. They must be coming to clean up the trash. My eyes followed them.

That's when I saw it.

The body of a tall man with ginger hair lay lifeless on his back on the stone pathway of the garden. It was the same man that I had talked with last night, Curtis. His eyes were rolled back into his head and speckles of blood could be seen on the corners of his mouth. A cup was held loosely in his hand. I gasped and my jaw hung low in shock. How could this have happened? Did he choke on something? Got into a fight? The peacekeepers started to harshly pick up his body and filed him out. Did Coryo know about this? The blood quickly left my face and I felt a sinking sense of doom in my stomach.

I had only known the man for a moment, but I felt like he was a good man. He didn't deserve whatever happened to him. The peacekeepers left the area and then moments later the maids came in to clean. Tears started to prick the corner of my eyes before I gulped heavily. Maybe he just drank too much last night. The red was just dried wine...

Yes

Yes

That made sense right...?

I had to think of something to ease my mind. Maybe I could ask Coryo about it later. More and more maids filed into the area, their black uniforms making the whole scene previously seem more grim. Red started appearing in my teary-eyed peripheral vision and I quickly shut the curtains. My chest heaved up and down as I struggled to catch my breath. I had to collect myself. I probably didn't understand the situation fully, Coriolanus knows what's going on, he always does. I won't worry about it until he comes home. I walked over the desk and wrote little notes for him on a few pieces of paper, scattering them around the bedroom. Then, I went to take a shower. I was going to have lunch with my mother today, I had to get ready.

~

The doorbell rang and I walked over to answer it. Instantly, my mother had wrapped her arms around me bringing me into a warm hug.

"Y/N! Sweetheart I missed you so much it's been so long," she spoke softly and I couldn't help the childish smile that dragged across my face.

"I haven't seen you since the wedding mom I missed you too," she loosened her grip on me and walked into the house.

"Wow... you truly are living in a life of luxury now sweetie look at this place... I see you put your little artistic flair on things haha," she joked and awed at the size of the house.

"Oh, the little paintings? I didn't think other people would notice them haha, after I dust I like to add the little things and details around. I've been hoping Coryo would notice but he's just a man, and he's so busy and tired all the time I can't blame him for not noticing. You should look at the plates when we eat today! I've been trying to add things to the table wear, which makes eating a lot more fun."

She continued to look around and I watched intently while her eyes followed the small roses, vines, clouds, and butterflies I had painted on the pillars and edges of the house. She then brought her attention back to me and pressed her lips into a thin smile, a glint of sadness was painted into her stormy eyes.

"Sweetheart, you look so thin, are you eating well? He doesn't have you on some crazy diet does he? With the amount of money you guys have I feel like you should be eating three-course meals for every meal..."

"Mom please~ I'm an adult, don't worry about me so much."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Come on let's go sit down at the table, foods' almost ready." I interlocked my arm with hers and started to guide her to the dining room. We sat facing each other. The chefs cooking could be heard faintly.

"How is the married life treating you?"

"Um... Well honestly mom, it's been rough. I felt like the original spark of our relationship had been extinguished the moment he put this ring on my finger, he had grown very cold and I swear there were days that went by where he didn't even look at me but last night we talked it out. He didn't even know I felt like that so I can't be mad at him"

"Sweetheart, I've been here for about 10 minutes and I can't help but continue to pick up these little details that are showing he isn't treating you the way you deserve. You are smarter than this Y/N I raised a strong fighting spirit, you survived a war with us and never let that darkness cloud the brightness that is your light but right now honey, you seem sad. I don't think your romantic spark is the only thing he's diminishing sweetheart, he's burning you out." Her hand reached out for mine and we interlocked fingers. She looked deeply into my eyes and I watched as the concern grew in hers.

"No mom it's not like that. He's just busy, you should know how hard he's working. I know my place is to sit and listen to him, he's so much wiser than I am. He's a great man and he loves me," I started to get a little defensive but tried to hold my temper. Her lips pursed and she gave my hand another squeeze. It was then the chefs came out and placed our plates in front of us. We sat in silence for a moment while we started to eat.

"You're stubborn I know. The more we tell you to run from him the further it pushes you away from us and closer to him. You should be celebrated, you do so much for this man and he gives you nothing. This... this just doesn't seem healthy."

"Mom. I'm fine. I'm breathing. My health is fine"

"But your soul isn't."

Her words spit venom into me and I froze in place and listened. "Truly, what kind of man doesn't let his spouse see their family more than once every few months. I had to beg him to be able to see you today. We all miss you at home. Hell, I miss you."

Shock ran through my body while I spoke. "He told me you never reached out for these past few months." A chuckle left her lips. "Does that man do anything but lie? I shouldn't be surprised... politicians will always say what you want to hear and what benefits them."

"Mom I- can we please talk about something else? I don't appreciate you disrespecting my husband. I shouldn't have ever said anything. This is why he doesn't want you around is you keep disrespecting him. I promise mom everything is okay. Just rocky sometimes and that's mostly my fault."

Her face scrunched up and she looked away to avoid eye contact. She frowned before taking another bite of the food.

"It just hurts to see you like this... I almost feel like I should've stopped it sooner-"

"Mom," I cut her off and slammed my fist on the table slightly. She quickly shut up again before her lips parted.

"How was the party last night?"

"Lovely, the capital parties are always a joy. Coryo even made a toast to me at the end of the night it was so heartwarming." I smiled, happy she changed the subject. I started to gush about how sweet Coryo was last night to try and defend himself from my mother. I don't understand why all of my loved ones just couldn't seem to like him.

"Did he talk to you?" She asked tilting her head up.

"Who?"

"Curtis."

My face went pale and my jaw dropped. Flashbacks to what I had seen that morning rushed into my mind and I sat there horrified. First was the shock then the confusion.

"He's a friend of your older brother. He's been living with us for awhile while his new house gets built. Your brother asked him personally to come to the party last night to try and talk to you. We weren't sure if we were going to be able to see you today so we were trying to find any way to talk to you and make sure you were okay."

"He um... yes I do believe I talked to him. He was very charming, sweet. He reminded me of someone I used to know but we only talked for a little last night..." I was in a daze while I spoke. I didn't want to talk about Coryo's jealous outburst or what I saw that morning.

"That's good to hear. Y/N how was he last night? He didn't come home last night though. Was he drunk when you left? We've been worried sick."

"He... no he seemed very sober though he did have the confidence of a drunk man." I tried to joke to distract from the adrenaline and fear that was pumping through my veins.

"Sweetheart I can tell when you're keeping things from me. Please, darling you can tell me anything, I'm your mother"

I avoid her eye contact like the plague and continued to eat my food, struggling to swallow.

"It's nothing really, I'm just a little tired today that's all. Mom, eat your food please, it's delicious. How's dad?"

Her suspicious mind was reflected in her suspicious eyes. She was not going to let this go so easily. I could see the same grim expression I had on my face from earlier start to spread on hers.

"The first thing I ever heard about your husband was that any person who got too close to him ended up dead, missing or disgraced. I truly hope you don't follow in those same steps."

"Mom, you guys told me that same line over and over again before we got married and it's not even true. Name one person who he's done that to"

She scoffed and spoke quietly.

"Lucy Gray."

I raised an eyebrow at her in confusion.

"Who?"

"I don't believe you watched The Hunger Games this year, you never liked the blood. There truly isn't any way to confirm this now but Coriolanus was in charge of mentoring a girl from District 12 named Lucy Gray. She was a songbird and I remember the first time I watched her sing on television, it was breathtaking. Rumors spread that your husband fell in love with her and planned to run off with her and then one day, she disappears. Not a single trace left but he returned. He returned to the capital and mysteriously got gifted a scholarship and an internship. That is a shady man."

"Respectfully mom I think you're telling folk tales right now. He told me I was his first love, the first one to make him feel so alive so that can't be true. I've never even heard of this girl. Wouldn't my classmates have said something?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't say anything to upset the man suspected of such crimes." Suddenly, a peacekeeper walked into the dining room and another followed in. Doors slammed around us and one spoke in a booming voice. "By orders of President Snow, we have been assigned to escort you out of here ma'am" They got on either side of my mom and grabbed her arms.

"There must be some sort of mistake here, it's barely 2, he said I could be here till 3! Let me down!"

I stood there frozen and helpless, I had no clue what to do. I yelled at them to wait but they pulled her out of her seat then started to head out. She started kicking and tried to fight back. "Let me say goodbye! I need a hug! I am the mother here, it's my right to see my child! He sent you guys here huh? Can't stand my kid hearing the truth? All this that's happening to me is his fault!"

"Mama! Goodbye! I love you!"

"He did it Y/N! You know he did it! Don't let it happen to you my love! Fight, there must be a way out! You're better than this. I love you!"

She shouted while they escorted her out. Her voice echoed around the room whispering the words 'He did it'. As much as I shook my head I couldn't stop thinking about it. Sickening silence bounced against the walls while my head ran back everything that had just happened. I couldn't help but let warm tears fall from my eyes while I sat back down in my chair. I'm so confused. I just needed my husband right now. A maid walked in and cleaned up the table and I sat in the chair and cried.

~

I laid down in bed, sitting up staring at the ceiling. The bed was as comfortable as sleeping on a cloud but I couldn't sleep, nothing could calm the storm in my head. The door handle turned and I saw Coryo glace into the room. His blue eyes made eye contact with mine as he stepped into the room slowly. He shut the door behind him and started to loosen his tie.

"Darling, you're still up?"

"I can't sleep..." I admitted and watched as his plump lips parted to expel a sigh. He started to change into his pajamas.

"Why dear?" He started to crawl into bed and pulled me into him with his strong arms.

"Can I ask you a question?" I felt his grip on me tighten before he nodded and hummed a soft 'yes' into the air. A sigh left my lungs and I pressed my hand against my temples. Where do I even start?

"Coryo... have you ever killed anyone before?"

"W- what?"

I tipped my head up and looked deep into his blue eyes to search for any form of sincerity. "Please be honest with me... please..."

"Darling what could have ever put these sorts of ideas in your pretty little head?"

"Coryo that's not important now please answer me. I just want your honesty here, if you're honest I will not judge you, I- I'll still love you."

The only emotion I could see on his face was panic. He removed his arm from my body and I started to panic in response. He had just started being nice to me again and I was worried I pushed him away. My big mouth just couldn't stay shut.

"Y/N, of course I haven't. Who do you perceive me as? Some kind of monster? The only person I have ever killed is my past self and he had to die so I could be the man I am today, a man ready to love you the way you deserve."

He was rambling and his lack of eye contact made me feel uneasy. I wanted to believe him, I truly did but with the way he was acting, I couldn't wholeheartedly believe him and that made me feel sick. I should not be this distrustful of my husband. I started to zone off, lost in deep thought when his hand met my jaw and he positioned my head up to look at him. "Y/N you trust me don't you? I've done everything for you, you should trust me darling." He planted a quick kiss on my forehead. "I- I believe you Coryo." He smiled down and then pressed a kiss to my lips. I melted against his touch and placed my hands to cup his face. When we pulled away I still couldn't shake the questions that flooded my head. Remembering what my mother said, I couldn't help myself from the words spilling out of my mouth.

"Coryo... one last question, Who is Lucy Gray?"

His lips parted and his eyes frantically started to search my face. "How did you hear about her?"

"Coryo?"

Anger started to flood his eyes and his jaw clenched. Regret filled every part of my body and I sat up on the bed, keeping my hands on his face. "I'm sorry Coryo, is that a touchy subject I-" He was quiet for a moment as if planning what he was going to say.

"She... she was a nobody girl from District 12. I had to mentor her for The Hunger Games that year for my school project. I came out on top, Snow always lands on top."

He spoke through gritted teeth while he looked into my eyes, scanning my face for a reaction. What he told me so far aligned exactly with what my mom told me. This was even more worrying. There had to be more. He was keeping something from me. He could sense my distrust and started to speak again, more carefully.

"Darling, do you want the full truth?"

"Yes Coryo..."

He let out a heavy sigh. "She was my first girlfriend. We had a short fling and then she cheated on me." My jaw dropped. "Oh Coryo I'm so sorry..." I reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, tangling my fingers in his blond locks of hair. "It's okay darling, you didn't know. You don't know a lot of things." His hands started to rub my back up and down while I held him close.

"I never loved her anyways, I could never love someone so low class and trashy."

In an odd way I felt almost comforted by that statement. It meant he wasn't lying to me, I was his first love, right? He placed his hands on my stomach and pushed me away from the hug. My arms fell back down to my sides and I stared at him with deep remorse in my eyes. He smiled again, "It's okay Darling, is there anything else I can answer for you to put your troubled mind at ease?" Truthfully, I had a lot more questions but I felt bad and I didn't want to push him away more, not when our relationship was so delicate. I shook my head 'no' and he hummed before laying down on the bed. I followed suit and he turned his back to me.

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight..."

"I love you"

And then I was met with silence.

~

The next day passed and it was business as usual but I still couldn't get my mother's voice out of my head. My ears rang with every corner I turned. I saw Coryo's panicked face every time I closed my eyes after I asked him if he had killed anyone. It made me sick to my stomach but I didn't believe him. I do believe my mom was wrong about Lucy Gray though, he was genuinely hurt when I asked about her. I couldn't even imagine anyone wanting to cheat on him. Especially a girl from District 12, the opportunity to be with a capital man, especially one as charming, smart, and talented as Coryo should be a blessing. My poor husband probably had to deal with so much then.

When he came home he didn't talk to me that day. He couldn't even look me in the eye really. I felt wildly embarrassed and guilty. Of course, he was pulling away again, I pushed him. I should've just kept my pretty mouth shut like he had asked. My mom must have been mistaken. They don't know him like I do. It was nice to know how much they cared about me though.

Coriolanus slept in his office that night. I assume he had business to attend to so I just sat and tried to sleep alone in bed.

~

The next morning I woke up late and decided to try and make it up to Coryo by trying to leave more "I love you" notes around the house. I painted a portrait of a lake on one of his mugs, adding rose and ivy details to the handle. Stumbling down the hallway in the afternoon I walked by Coryo's office. I knew I wasn't allowed in there but damn it I was so curious. There were two maids in there talking and I silently eavesdropped.

"Careful when dusting that... This man has a lot of secrets and what's in those vials one I do not want to know about."

The other laughed and they continued to clean up.

"Isn't it odd we decided to have such a liar for a president?"

'Liar?' I thought. Why does everyone seem to think he's a liar?

"Yeah but he's great for the economy and the future of Panem."

Silence filled the room and then they both started laughing again.

"That doesn't seem to make it any better, then again, let's not bite the hand that feeds us."

They started to finish cleaning his office and once they left I snuck in. My hands traced around the walls of his office, it was small and packed with things. On his desk lay a little book filled with names and numbers, a pack of matches, a single white rose, and the vials the maids were talking about. Curiously, I reached for it. It was probably liquor or something. I picked it up carefully and examined it. It was clear and sealed shut. Cautiously, I started to unscrew the top and placed a drop of it on my finger. The liquid burned through my skin and I yelped loudly in pain. I grabbed a napkin and wiped it off my hand. I screamed in pain and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Hot tears ran down my face as I removed the napkin and saw the damage that it left. My finger was red, hot, and my flesh was melted in the shape of a circle where the drop had been placed. Gasping desperately for breath, I tightly closed the lid of the vile and put it right back where I found it. I continued to cry from the searing pain, my finger throbbed and I whimpered desperately trying to keep quiet. I picked up my trash and made sure I left no trace of myself in there while I rushed to the kitchen, rinsing my finger under the water. Once the burning had gone away I slid down and laid my back against the kitchen cabinet.

"F- fuck fuck fuck- fucking poison. WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE HAVE POISON?"

I started to rock back and forth while I watched the skin around the burn turn purple. This must've been some sort of divine punishment to me for going into his office knowing I wasn't supposed to. One maid heard my wailing and hurried over to help me. She put an ointment on my finger before wrapping it up in a band-aid and above all, she didn't ask a question. I couldn't tell if that meant she was used to this kind of thing or if she was trained not to. I picked myself up off the floor and continued to go about my day and pretend that nothing happened.

Coryo didn't come to bed that night, I wasn't too sure if he had even come home honestly. I fell asleep alone again with nothing but my thoughts.

~

The next morning I was awakened by a rough hand shaking my shoulder. I yawned and opened my eyes to be met with Coryo's blue ones. They were deep and full of concern. He was sitting next to me on the bed still in his work clothes. I felt that pit of grief deep in my stomach again. Something was wrong, greatly wrong. "Coryo?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

"Y/N..."

"Coryo what's the matter?"

He sighed with deep remorse and said the worst news I had ever heard in my life. "Your parents... Y/N... your whole family they... um... their house burned down last night and the firefighters couldn't make it in time. When they arrived there, they searched the house but not a single survivor was found. They did find this though in your mothers room," He handed me a single stuffed doll. The doll was mine from when I was a child, it didn't have a single burn on it. I held it in my hands and sat staring at it in silence. They were gone. My whole family was gone. The tears threatened to spill but I felt so sick of crying lately. Why did my life feel like it was falling apart so fast? I just wanted a happy life as a newly wed and I have gotten nothing remotely close to that.

"Coryo... What's wrong with me? I'm like a bomb, anyone who cares about me either leaves me or dies... Am I cursed? I didn't even get to say goodbye. I didn't even get to hug them or- or- or see how big my little brother got or how smart my older brother is. I- I- I should've seen them more," I started weep, my tears starting to fall onto the doll below me, as if my tear were staining the innocence of the girl I used to be. Coriolanus grabbed me and held me close as I started to cry furiously into his chest. He planted a soft kiss on the top of my head and tried to whisper things to calm me down. His hands rubbed up and down my back.

"Darling, it's okay. You're going to be okay. You have me. I'll be here for you always. I make you happy, right? Your parents were always trying to keep you away from me... they didn't know you like I do. They don't know what you need darling but I do. We are going to get through this together, okay?'

I could barely process what he was saying through my tears. I just nodded into his chest and he continued to let me cry. I felt so safe in his arms in this moment. He was right, I do need him.

~

I couldn't get out of bed for days. The grief struck me overwhelmingly. I couldn't think straight. I just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for hours at a time. When the foggy mist of the shock that had clouded my rationale finally faded I was left with the remaining thoughts. What was even real in this life anymore? I remember feeling so sad when almost none of my friends showed up to my wedding. I felt so alone and isolated but at least I knew I still had my family and my husband to be there for me and now, all I had was Coriolanus. I love him, I need him, but he's the type that gives love and then takes it away.

Maybe my mom was right... Maybe I do deserve better. This relationship isn't healthy. Has it ever been? Even when I was first falling for him, I always viewed him as better than me, which he is but shouldn't we be equal? Maybe... I'm too reliant on the love he gives me. I hate that. I hate how big of a hold he has on me. The way my happiness is always at the tip of his fingers, it makes me feel so weak. His hold on me is degrading. The worst part is, he knows how strong his power over me is. He knows me. He's learned me inside and out and he knows how to keep me under his palm.

My mom was right. The night of the party, he started yelling at me then when I threatened to leave him he switched. How could- how could I be so stupid? He switched because he didn't want me to leave him. He needed me to be there for him, to be his shining sparkling eye candy, to complete his perfect picture of domestic living, to be his waiting servant. And then when we made love that night, it must've not meant anything to him. He knows I believe everything people do has a purpose, he knows I don't ever want to exchange sex like a handshake. He slept with me to prove to me that he 'loves me' but that can't be true. I love him, his heart will never have space for me in it. No man treats someone he loves the way he treats me. I've been aware of this but every time I've gotten the courage to leave him he pulled me back in.

He's smart, he's manipulative. He's been doing it to me for months now. How could I be so stupid? Love is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me. He found his wide-eyed dreamer and just needed to ruin me. Even recently, he used my parent's death to try and make me even more dependent on him and it worked. I can't live without him.

"He did it"

His desk, the poison, no sane and normal man keeps poison in his office. It's making me think. The boy... the one my parents sent. Did Coryo know he was going to be there? He must've, the party was invite-only, you don't just sneak into the capital parties. The last thing Curtis did before he left was pour himself another cup of the juice. When Coryo ushered me into the house, I heard a man coughing from the garden but I didn't look, I couldn't, I was pushed away. His body the next morning... He had blood on his mouth. I remember learning from the academy that some poisons often makes you cough up blood before you die. Coryo had the poison. Could it be... did Coryo murder him?

"He did it"

Before I looked away when I saw his body in the garden, a glint of red could be seen in my vision. Was that his red coat?

"He did it"

Oh my god, the matches. He told me my parents house burned down.

"He did it"

The book with the names and numbers... who's names were in that book? What were the numbers?

"He did it"

I got out of bed for the first time in ages and rushed down to his office. My bones ached from the lack of mobility. I reached his office and rushed in. His notebook was gone. I started opening his drawers frantically. Finally, I found it. I opened up the pages and that was the last bit of proof I needed. His journal had the names and addresses of the different capital citizens, one page dedicated to every member of my family.

"He did it"

The matches were missing fully. Not anywhere to be found.

"He did it"

The doll. My doll. The doll probably reminded him of me, just a pretty object he can play with whenever he wants something to hold. It didn't have a single burn mark on it at all, he must've gotten it before the fire. Either that means my family let him into the house before he burned it down or he's been keeping it for a while.

"He did it"

My mom did say she had been trying to reach out to me for ages but couldn't. He was stopping them. He wanted to keep me isolated. I really didn't know who I was marrying. I married a murderer.

"He did it"

I couldn't continue to live with him but I can't live without him. It made me feel sick how much love I still felt for him even knowing he had been trying to destroy me from the inside out. I can't let him take my light. My mom really was right. Everyone who gets close to him ends up dead, missing, or disgraced. It's my turn to pick which path I was going to be.

My heart raced as I ripped a page out of his notebook and wrote a note for him, leaving it on the desk. I reached over and grabbed that familiar vile of poison and unscrewed the top. The cold glass hit my lips and I drank the contents like a shot. My heart raced and I started coughing profusely, everything burned from the inside out. Blood started to flow out the corners of my mouth but for once, I wasn't crying. Mama, I'm coming.

"He did it"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coriolanus Snows POV

I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry when I found Y/N dead on the floor of my office. Blood trickled down the side of their mouth and they were holding the tiny vial I had on my desk. Y/N knew not to go into my office and frankly, I was shocked to see that it happened in there. On my desk was a note that said: "Till death do us part". I screamed loudly and felt like my body wasn't my own as I feverishly picked up the body and walked to the nearest in-house medic. Tears poured down my face. How dare Y/N just decide to selfishly leave me like this? After everything I had done? All the trouble I went through? It was ridiculous. I remember thinking, "I had you."

When I first met Y/N I remember believing that they were the embodiment of everything good in the world and the embodiment of what I needed in a partner. Loyal, innocent, trusting, naive, controllable. Truly, there isn't any room in this world for such goodness. My darling needed to be tougher or the cold world would do nothing but ruin them. I tried to make them tougher but their unconditional love was annoying at times but I tolerated it. No matter what I did to push Y/N away, they insisted on loving me till the end, but why? And if they did love me so much why would they leave me like this?

The medic couldn't do anything. Y/N was long gone by the time I got there. So much wasted time and potential. I don't think I will marry again. Not for many years at least. Just when it is time for me to have heirs I will marry. Gives my future wife less time to escape. I have to marry someone cruel, someone whom I can never seem to care about, especially not love. Y/N's crippling kindness almost had me falling at the end and that was dangerous.

The funeral was lavish. My darling was beloved by the public. Many mourned for weeks. It was shocking. As much as I tried to not care, the energy of the house felt so different now. It was a wasteland of what once was. Dust collected in every nook and cranny. I stumbled into the house and stood still, letting the world spin around me for a moment when I tilted my head up and noticed something I hadn't seen before, paintings, hundreds of them. Y/N painted tons of things around the pillars and walls. They were beautiful. Ivy and roses, clouds and sunshine. I forgot how truly artistically talented Y/N was. My eyes followed how the ivy traveled around the pillars. Ivy was a great metaphor for Y/N, beautiful, and simple, but still a pest that will grow all over you if you aren't too careful.

"Sir, Welcome home. We have prepared dinner for you." the butler said, pulling me out of my trance.

"Thank you and can we get someone to repaint this room ASAP, I need some things removed.

-

The whole house ended up being repainted. I never noticed how many of those paintings were left. Even on the furniture, I couldn't escape any of my memories of Y/N anywhere. The notes were the absolute worst. Small pieces of paper everywhere with sweet nothings written on them. "Have a good day", "I love you", "Good morning to Panem's greatest leader" Nowhere was safe. Memories and images circled my brain constantly.

I sat at the table we used to eat at alone, drinking coffee from my mug while reading the newspaper. They still were on the front page. It's been a month since the incident. I sighed and folded the paper, placing it face down on the table. I reached for the mug when I saw it again. A painting of a lake with roses and ivy painted on the handle. The lake... the lake. The lake of District 12,

Lucy Gray

The roses,

My Mother

The Ivy...,

y/n

I shouted at the top of my lungs and threw the mug at the wall. When will I finally be free of the past pests that continue to haunt my life?

~

A/N: WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK??? It is almost 5 AM and I stayed up all night writing this, I hope you guys liked it. let me know plz. Now accepting requests for new stories, perhaps with new characters :)))

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #president snow #tbosas #fanfiction #fanfic #young president snow #tom blyth imagine #angst #coriolanus snow #tom blyth x you #coriolanus x you #young coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas imagine #hunger games #thg series #thg #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus x reader #tolerate it #thg snow #thg fanfiction

[barbieaemond]

Thorns in your mouth

PART 1

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

WARNINGS: angst, smut, oral sex, a bit of religious kink, a bit of choking

WORD COUNT: 787

Author's note: Widow's blood is poison. This will likely have a third part.

taglist: @zae5 @arcielee @bunbunbl0gs @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

“Until all the roses turn to black.” you said, but they didn’t have the time to either wither or blacken. A fresh new bouquet of white roses is found on your nightstand any other day following the events above Storm’s End.

His lack of regret is also lack of concern. He doesn’t care about the Gods as much as he doesn’t care about the maid knocking while you are sprawled on the chaise as if lying in your tomb, still but feverish, waiting for another death.

“Answer.” he mumbles, with his mouth full of your cunt.

“My lady?” The young woman calls, but the call of his tongue drains you of every will, except the arching of your back, the drops of sweat on your temples. The swirls of his tongue are soft as a rose on your throbbing flesh, sharp as a thorn as he buries it deep inside. One last time and you're melting in a trickle of blood—of bones.

Your hand knots his hair and pulls at the roots, clawing at your need, raw, a wound split open that leaks and pours into his mouth. His name is a curse and a blessing clashing on your tongue, your fingers keep pulling, grasping silver and leather.

A flash of glinting blue before your eyes and you greet it with a smile, as one upon seeing a star. There’s a sneer twisting his mouth, one that you felt curling your own lips countless of times. That sneer is a glimpse into a mirror, a glimpse at your own desire. Ugly, exactly as desire is.

He thrusts inside you with ease, an act that goes almost unnoticed as breathing, but necessary. You're an extension of his body as he grips your waist and starts rutting with a cruel purpose.

“Do you like taunting the gods, don’t you?” he grins watching the seven pointed star stuck with sweat around your neck.

“I like taunting you.”

He wraps his fingers around the thin silver chain and twists, so hard he’s able to lift your head from the cushion.

“Will you get on your knees after this? Will you ask the Gods forgiveness for your sin?”

“I will ask them to give me more of it. I will beg them to make me sin before it vanishes.”

“What?”

“The smell of you on me.”

It does fade away for a few days. Everything fades away except the wailings of the Queen echoing through the walls.

“It’s not your fault.” you whisper in his mouth “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re lying.” he croaks in your neck, guiding your hips to move slower and slower.

“I know, but you believe me.”

Fingers dig in your skin, willing to break you, to tear his grief to pieces. But in the end, he only says “Yes.”

Everything was slipping from his grasp like water. Helaena, Aegon, his mother. You were the only immutable condition. Stable, firm, stone that does not scratch despite the winds, rains and storms that come against it. And he wanted to carve himself into the woven you were made of.

He asked you to stay one night, and the next, and the one after that.

“My husband will grow suspicious.” You said once, lying next to him, your flesh still entangled in one another.

“You could slip some widow’s blood in his cup.”

“To make myself a widow?”

“To make myself your husband.”

“You are.”

“No. I will be when I will fuck you in the royal gardens and no one will spare us a look. I will be when I can come inside you and see you round with my child.”

That was the last night you spent together.

Despite all the careful measures and lies and deceptions, this thing was just as plain as those white roses, plain as Aemond intended it to be. It only took a careful look. A glimpse at how your eyes would find his and his yours. It only took asking the maid to whom she was bringing those bouquets of white roses. And she did ask, Queen Alicent. She did look.

“This thing must end, Aemond. Immediately. We need her husband’s support, his army. Why are you challenging the Gods? Have they not cursed you enough?”

“I thought the Gods had forsaken me by now.”

“You forsook them the moment you succumbed to sin with a married woman.”

“I can assure you, Mother, she’s more my wife than his.”

“Enough! The Gods may have forsaken you but I did not. And I will not let you forsake your family even further.”

And enough it was.

Roses were left to bloom on their branches. While you, and him, withered and blackened.

#liv's drabbles #liv(in la vida loca) #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x fem!reader

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant x Reader [1]

description: Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted. [Last Night in Soho inspired]

word count: 11.1k

trigger warnings: gore, blood, swearing, reader has a dark past that will be explored more read at discretion, third person & no use of Y/N, death, reader will become an avatar eventually,

main masterlist | series masterlist

Authors note: I have been in love with this show since I watched it and have finally started the fic I’ve been wanting to since it came out! The chapters are going to be long and readers backstory is dark but this is a piece very personal to me and I hope you enjoy!!!

She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.

They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 

She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the partition wall. 

She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 

There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 

She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 

“Stev-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.

She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 

The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 

It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 

How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 

No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.

The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“Come the fuck on, Steven” Cursing under her breath, she cradled the two disposable cups of coffee tightly, her rosewood coloured lipstick surrounding only one of the lids. The London air whipped her coat around her shins, frigid and unwelcoming as it was even on a good day. 

As per usual, Steven was late for work. The two of them had an agreement to meet each other outside the museum every Wednesday and Thursday, which meant his lateness slid in her own time. She could of course just meet the undoubtedly dishevelled man inside, but what kind of a friend would she be then? Leave him to face Donna’s wrath on his own? No, if he was in for a bollocking then so were she.

Friends didn’t exactly come easy to her nowadays, either. So if waiting in the bitterness for another five minutes meant she could keep this one, then so be it.

She had even taken the time on her commute to work to grab him a drink, the thin, black ink on the sticker reading: LATTE, + CARAMEL, -XTRA ESPRESSO SHOT, -XTRA HOT. she had banked on him being late despite the fact she had left him three messages this morning asking if he was awake (he wasn’t) and called him last night before bed to remind him not to sleep in. 

A minute or so before she would have figured he was just calling in sick today, she caught sight of a slouched figure dashing off the bus, the grey knitted cardigan belonging to only one person his age in London. His thatch of messy black curls were a next dead give away, as well as the bags under his eyes that never seemed to budge even if he were to sleep two days in a row. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to apologise to a flock of pigeons he nearly trampled on in his haste up the many steps leading to their workplace.

“Donna’s going to serve our heads on sticks to scare away rude customers, you know that right?” She said, handing him his drink, now lukewarm, as he nearly crashed into her own body.

“Thanks, Dove,” He said absently as the two of them headed quickly to the entrance, “Yep, I’m aware I’ve buggered us. Bloody weird dreams again,” Steven shook his head as if to rid himself of the odd thoughts. “Sorry though, love. You must be freezing,”

She was freezing, but the way he was quick to worry over her warmed her insides more than she’d care to admit. The nickname crafted just for her, the bird symbolising ‘Quiet innocence’ in Ancient Egypt, as Steven had once told her. Sure enough, the endearing term had stuck quickly, and it warmed her to know she had a special enough place in his life to have a pet name. 

It was plain to see just by looking at the twenty-five year old she was smitten with her co-worker. No sane person stands outside in Brittain’s April winds for just a friend. But Steven was different, which she knew was what every naive young girl said about their work crush, but he truly was. Steven had a kindness she had never known someone to offer without wanting anything in return, which he didn’t. He was so sweet to her she understood why he loved the sugary caramel syrup in his coffee so much, she thought often it glazed his every word with a honeyed tone. His face was a blend of a greek god and a lost puppy, a combination she never would have banked on being so damn attractive until she met him. 

Even his smell alone of a quiet library, a rain soaked meadow and freshly brewed coffee had her inebriated. 

“It’s fine,” The woman reassured as she cut through the main lobby where it was already lively with school kids. A few queued up at the gift shop to pay for their treasures; she smiled when she saw a girl with an Anubis plushie tucked under her arm. “I’m sure she would have found a reason to snap today anyway,”

She adored her job, she really did. Graduating university with a degree in Ancient Languages, working in London’s heart of archeological texts had been a linguist’s version of Broadway. Sure, her talents were beyond soured working in the gift shop, but anything was better than the life she’d fled to get here. 

No amount of sneers and dry remarks from Donna could ever drag her kicking and screaming back to that time before she left for Soho. 

“What did you dream about this time?” She asked, her black, kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished marble floor. 

A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the way his brows lifted, giving away his amusement at his own head. “It was the weirdest thing. I felt like I was flying over London, but not, like, in an aeroplane or anything, like I was flying. Like, me. No wings or anything. Like I’m bloody superman or something.” Steven shook his head again and she gave a small laugh.

“Certainly beats getting the underground. You know, I saw a rat the size of a dachshund this morning, swear on my life. I thought it was about to ask me for spare change,” Steven smiled at his colleague as they entered the Ancient Egypt area. She took a sip of her own hot latte, sweet cinnamon with whipped cream that had long since melted, the liquid already half devoured when she was waiting for him to show up. 

“Don’t you ever have dreams like that, then? That feel so ridiculous. It's like, how can my head even come up with it?” Steven asked, and her smile wobbled a little as she saw her manager set her predatory gaze on the two of them. The people pleaser in her wanted to cower at Donna’s furious expression. 

In all honesty, she wished for dreams as ludicrous as flying over Piccadilly like a Mary Poppins wannabe. She wished she had Steven’s innocent look on life, that the world around her didn’t terrify her, that it could be as gentle with her as he was. 

But that was not real life. 

Her dreams were not filled with silly fantasies of flying like heroes. They were filled with dark monsters that looked too much like men to be supernatural, that managed to catch her no matter how many times she ran, begged, screamed. They always caught up to her. Always. Leaving her clawing at the duvet, drenched in sweat and a pulse that could challenge a hummingbird’s. 

“Brace yourself,” She ignored his question, muttering the words to him as the blonde came strutting over to them with a daggers look. Ah, Donna. The woman that made her job so joyful, so easy, a delight to be around.

Donna hated her almost as much as she made it clear Steven was on a metaphorical hit list the moment he stepped foot into the museum. 

“You pair better have a good explanation,” Donna snapped, dumping a tower of boxes in Steven’s arms. 

“Bus times-” Steven said at the same time she came out with:

“Road works-” 

They both stopped, hesitating a glance to one another. The blonde looked between them, shaking her head with a furrowed brow and a scornful sigh. 

“It’s like tweedledum and tweedledee having you two together,” She muttered, nudging the younger girl towards the stands in the middle of the gift shop, “Dum, you’re stock shelves today, love,” The term didn’t sound nearly as friendly coming from her mouth, nor did it make her chest flutter like it did when Steven said it. It was condescending, rude. Made to make her feel inferior, which it did. She pointed at the man then, shoving a basket of insect themed sweets to him behind the till, “Dee, you’re selling these.” 

Donna looked between the two of them one last time, her steely blue glare never wavering, as if checking they could be left alone together without wasting company time, before going to set her unforgiving jaws on some other poor creature.

The girl set her bag behind the counter and got to work organising the merchandise, twisting the ceramic scarabs to all be facing the front. 

It was a menial job at best, being stuck stacking shelves as mothers and fathers reached over to inspect the new stock, most of the time messing up the meticulous order she’d put them out in. Kids got their grubby mits all over the glass pyramid paperweights, making her eye twitch since she knew she’d need to polish them up again, only to flash them a smile and ask them kindly if they had the pocket money to pay for it. 

They didn’t, kids just liked to fiddle with priceless things and their parents were too busy on their phones to notice. 

She was half way through showing two young girls to the sarcophagus themed pencil cases when she caught sight of Dylan at the front counter, leaning in to talk to Steven. 

Dylan was a nice woman to work with. She was one of the only people who’d tried to coax conversation out of the greenie the first week she started there, which had been painful for both of them since she had never been known to be sociable. Companionship did not come easy to her and it was only by sheer luck that Steven seemed so similarly awkward in a charming way that she was able to feel comfortable around him. 

It was childish really, a silly work crush that she had no intention of ever letting slip. He was too good for her anyway. He was sweet and kind, gentle, innocent. Everything she was not.

Steven Grant deserved someone who could give him the world. Which is why it shouldn’t have come to too much of a stab to the chest when she heard what the two of them were talking about. 

“We still on for seven tomorrow?” Dylan asked, her hair falling in those beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder. Dylan was the type who showed up to work every day looking effortlessly gorgeous which clawed at the younger girl more than she cared to acknowledge. She liked Dylan, she really did. She was friendly in a way that was genuine, didn’t have her second guessing whether she meant the compliments she gave to anyone. 

Some days she wondered if Dylan pitied her. A plain Jane girl with no family to lean on, trying to make ends meet in a city as extortionate as London and chin deep in university loans. It was enough for any attractive, confident adult woman to kiss their teeth and “Awww”. 

The girl watched the two of them, waiting for the teenagers to decide which stationary sets they wanted. They were looking for ‘different but matching’ they had said, not that she was paying much attention to them. Steven’s face was the picture of lost as he stared at the grown woman, seemingly entranced with her face. And she couldn’t blame him. Dylan flashed him a teasing smile, brilliant white teeth poking out from behind her luscious dark lips. 

“Seven tomorrow?” He asked, despite nodding happily as if he understood what she was talking about. But his friend didn’t miss the confusion blaring on his face, his eyes as brown as the coffee she’d bought him scrunched up slightly in bewilderment. 

“Best steak in town?” Dylan prompted, her smile not faltering though she seemed to also be slightly thrown off that had forgotten. 

Their unknowing audience kept her head down, not wanting to watch for a second more of their conversation. She didn’t need a degree to see the way Dylan had leaned in, her body language turned completely towards him as if to tease him with what could come if their date were to go well, her own almond eyes trailing over him with the air of confidence her younger counterpart lacked. 

“Oh right, yeah. Yeah,” Steven replied. She could tell he still had no clue what Dylan was talking about. 

“Yeah? Okay,” Dylan replied, oblivious to his dilemma, and stepped away from the desk to go tour the new group of school kids waiting in the hallway. 

Steven followed her trail hotly before she could leave, “Sorry but,” He stepped towards her to talk a little quieter, almost embarrassed about how forward he was being, “Are you asking me out?” 

Dylan stopped, reeling slightly in shock before she wagged a finger to him and chuckled. “You’re funny. I’ll see you then.” She seemed unbothered by his ‘joke’ though she could hear in his own voice he was muddled. The woman walked away with a sultry looking smile, her eyes flicking to her where her other coworker silently arranged the pencil sarcophaguses. “Morning, babe,” She gave the girl a friendly squeeze on the upper arm as she passed. It only made it more difficult to writhe in jealousy knowing the woman he was seeing was downright lovely.

“Morning, Dylan,” She returned the smile, though the bitterness festered inside her. She had no claim over him, and she really couldn’t blame the two of them for gravitating towards one another. Not only was she merely twenty-five, a decade under Steven and Dylan’s thirty-five years, but Dylan was sexy, confident, flirty. Knew what she wanted. She was incredibly smart too, not an airhead like some other people trying to live the big dream in London. Dylan was a tour guide at the British Museum, and what was she? A graduate with a dead degree, pun intended, and a job that could be done by any wannabe walking in here.

Taking a moment to rearrange her feelings, shoving down the way her heart wriggled in her chest as the little green monster worked its way through her veins, pumping disappointment around her body like a drug. 

The two young girls seemed to only then decide which pencil boxes they wanted, unbeknownst to her inner turmoil, and she remained silent as she led them over to the till to talk to Steven, more for her own benefit than theirs. 

“I didn’t know you’d asked her out,” She said finally, though it came out as a croak, which she cleared from her throat quickly. Steven scanned their items as the girls both fiddled with ten pound notes, the great Queen Elizabeth staring at the woman from their hands as if she even knew how childish she sounded.

“Neither did I,” Steven replied honestly, printing off the receipts for them, “And you would think for a woman like her there’d be no chance I’d forget a date, you know what I mean?”

Ouch. She smiled tightly, waving the younger girls off as they caught up with Dylan’s tour group. The woman of the hour. Of course he’d be elated at the sound of that, what man with eyes wouldn’t? Anyone would count their stars lucky to be given a chance by a temptress like her. 

“Must have needed that coffee today after all,” She joked, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile properly, instead finding a middle ground between a grimace and a simper. 

Steven chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Must have. What would I ever do without you?” She grinned painfully at him, looking away to try and hide the way her face grew hot at his thoughtless words. “Am I still walking you home tonight?”

Another of their routines. She lived closer to Islington than the lovely apartment Steven had in Whitechapel. Despite paying a lot per month to live so close to the city centre, some areas of London like the borough she lived in was still ridden with some of the highest crime rate in the county. Steven was more thoughtful than anyone she had ever met, a rarity in this place, and on the days they were at work together he would ride the underground home with her before detouring around to his own apartment even further away. 

“Uh, no,” She replied, busying herself with unloading one of the boxes Donna had dumped in Steven’s hands earlier. She loved spending time with Steven, loved it so much that she felt guilty of lusting over him without his knowledge, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more about this date that he would no doubt want to pick her brain apart over. He’d want to ask what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should buy her chocolates and flowers even though she already knew he would. And the whole time she’d be hoarse in the throat from holding back the urge to say Date me instead, I’m begging you.  “No, I have a date of my own tonight,”

Liar. Liar. Liar. 

It was like their monarch Elizabeth was still glaring at her, judging her through her inky lashes and driving the dagger in further at the fact that this kind of behaviour was exactly what made her too immature to be considered for a real date with Steven.

He raised his brows, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have an occasional fling with a guy every now and then. But none of them really progressed to a date, just a single night of passion to groan over in embarrassment when Steven asked how her weekend went. 

“Oh, who’s the lucky guy?” Steven asked, nudging her shoulder in a tone that was nothing but teasing. 

“No one, just someone I met on tinder,” She brushed off, the lack of excitement making the man stop trying to pry a smile out of her. 

“What’s the matter?” She shrugged at him, not coming up with a response in time. What he took as nerves was in fact guilt and disgust feasting on her insides at the fact she was lying to him. Lying. There was no mystery man, no one coming to save her from this awkward display of what pure jealousy can do to a reasonable person. “You can always cancel if you don’t want to go.”

“I just…” she trailed off, stuck for what to say. He was looking at her with those puppy eyes no grown man should be able to perfect. And yet he was patiently waiting for her to stumble on the right set of words, his entire focus on whatever it was troubling her. That was another thing, for as chatty as a person as Steven was, he was just as good a listener, and she could tell he gave her everything every single time they would talk.  “I just don’t know what to wear, is all,” 

He seemed content with her answer as his eyes trailed down her body. She squirmed under his gaze but hid it well (not at all) by pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands and balling her fists to fidget with, “Wear what you’re wearing now,” He said simply, as if it were obvious.

She looked down. A large top and casual jeans did not exactly say date worthy, though she wasn’t sure if there were actual rules to hypothetical dating, seeing as her man was fucking imaginary. 

She giggled at him nonetheless, shaking her head, “These are my work clothes, Steven. I can’t go like this.”

“Why not? I think you look lovely,” Steven’s comment was passing, tiny in the scale of things. Yet it sent her heart scrambling for a grip on reality. He was just her friend, complimenting her on her perfectly ordinary clothes. Nothing more. 

It wasn’t until she found herself smiling at a set of metal Pharaohs that she realised she needed to get a date for this evening fast. If Dylan and Steven could find someone in this wide city, surely it couldn’t be too hard for her to.

Sound was the first thing that came back to her. The crappy animated kids show she had been watching out of pure boredom last night was still playing after being left on all night. No doubt running up her already high electric bills. The exaggerated, slapstick bangs blared through the speaker. That caught her attention, drawing her into the awake like a fog horn from shore. The midday sun slipped through the open curtains, flicking over her lids and coaxing her to open them. She did so gently, lashes batting over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of where she was. 

Her sofa. 

The two empty mugs glared back at her from the coffee table, making her eyes wince in confusion. Why was she making tea so late last night?

Then the stench hit her. The smokey yet overwhelmingly powerful smell of a gentleman caller named Jack Daniels wafted up her nose and brought back a panorama of memories flicking through her head; The date. A real date that had been scheduled since Thursday. A completely ordinary blonde named James. The restaurant. Him being almost too charming. Fake laughing at his jokes she had already seen on Twitter weeks ago. Him touching her thigh every chance he could get. Suggesting they go to a club. Dancing. Shots. More dancing. Sharing a beer she pretended not to think was the most horrendous thing she’d ever tasted. More shots. More dancing. Him grabbing her hips. Her waist. Him kissing her neck, cheek, lips. Him grabbing her more, something she would find sleazy if she wasn’t desperate to force Steven out of her intoxicated brain. 

Which led to her apartment. The sofa, as classy as it sounded, was seemingly a better option than her bed. She had been quick to shut him down when he suggested moving it to her room; that was too intimate. That was her space, which would only be tainted by this stranger wanting to bend her over. So the sofa it was. 

Whiskey served in old mugs she got from the gift shop being chugged for Dutch courage. The same mugs she had bought with Steven as part of a set. They had taken two each, promising that they would be used whenever the other visited. 

She had given him Steven’s mug out of spite, even in her vodka riddled brain she was burying her feelings six feet under. 

Her hand shot out when she heard her phone buzzing, not wanting it to wake up her actual gentleman caller. 

The phone was clumsily brought to her ear, not even bothering to check who was calling before she swiped the green icon.

“Hullo?” It came out a horrible croaky mess and had her coughing the second she’d asked. 

“Hi, Dove! Just called to see how your date went.” Steven’s voice blared through the speaker, which only served to have her pulling it away and groaning. “And also to tell you about my dream, I think it was the weirdest one to date!”

“Woah, slow down, Steve-” She tried to say, but the man had clearly a mouthful to tell her and continued on regardless.

“I was in the alps, but it was all so real. There was this group of people taking it in turn to hold hands with this weird American guy, and then I got into a high speed cupcake-van chase with the lot of them because they started saying I’d stolen this little scarab thing from them, I don’t know where I get this stuff from-” Her eyes scrunched together in pain, though she lay in the quiet and tried to gather her bearings. She sat up from the sofa, shivering when she saw it was around midday outside and she had forgotten to close the window. 

“Sounds intense,” She mused to keep him talking, pulling a blanket over her still nude body as she stood to close it and preserve the heating. Her head spun as she stood, a rush of bile rising to her throat dangerously, which she choked back down and looked around the room. Quickly realising she was alone in her flat, she shuffled over to the kitchen in her blanket cocoon to find her purse to see how bad the damage her little excursion had done to her limited stash as any responsible youth did after a night out in London. 

“It was! I swear it was like I could feel the cars smashing into me- Oh right! How was your date?” 

She blanched, head still pounding, “Uh. Yeah it was great.” It was average at best. “He was super funny,” For a Twitter fraud. “So romantic,” If romantic was the new word for ten minutes of missionary and not even making her cum. “He took me wine tasting,” She was sure she’d be tasting the wine she’d bought at the club any second now judging by the way her head spun, “Yeah, he was great,” He wasn’t you, Steven.

“I’m so pleased for you, love!” Her best friend cheered, a part of her writhing in repulsion that she had lied to him again. Though maybe that was the wine begging to make an appearance. She stuck the lever down on the kettle to get the water boiling, sure that a fresh cup of strong tea would be the only thing to pull her through this hangover.

Part of her, the dark, twisted part, wanted him to be jealous. Wanted to make him as frustrated and envious as he had unknowingly made her. But he would never, could never. Steven was tender and good. He was too sweet to ever think a single bitter thought towards her, towards Donna even. Which only served to make her feel even more rotten inside. 

“How was your date with Dylan?” She forced herself to ask. It was selfish for her to think, but she wished more than anything for him to tell her that it went horribly. She hated the part of her inside that sang with glee at the idea of him hating his date. She truly was wicked inside, and the idea only reminded her more of why she would never be asked on a date by him. Maybe he could see it too, how sick she was for wanting the world to suffer if she couldn’t have the one man she’d ever truly wanted. 

“That’s not until tonight, love, remember?” He said casually, as she fumbled around her kitchen for her handbag. She locked eyes on the little black clutch sitting on top of the counter. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she could have sworn Dylan said they were meeting Friday, two full nights ago. Her heart plummeted, maybe it was a second date. 

Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse they hit it off, who wouldn’t. He was as smitten as anything and Dylan wasn’t that kind of woman that was too afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted. If she wanted to see him again, then Steven would give her exactly what she asked for.

“Tonight?” She asked, squeezing the phone between her shoulder and her head as she popped open the clasps to her bag. 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget a woman like her twice in a row,” Steven joked. But what should have made her gut curdle in pain only fell on deaf ears. 

Her purse was gone. Her purse that never left her damn bag, that she had stuffed her rent money in as soon as she’d gotten it was missing. 

“I-I’m gonna have to call you back, Steven,” She uttered through the heart sized lump in her throat. Her palms were already clammy with sweat, both from the drink and from her sheer panic, “Good luck on your date,”

“Alright, gators!”

She barely got a chance to murmur their goodbye back before she had thrown her phone down on the plain, white counter and dumped out the contents of her bag. 

Hair ties, the odd two pence, a pen she stole from the bank. But no purse. 

She turned her coat pockets inside out, the blanket falling down her waist and exposing her round breasts to the cold air. But she couldn’t care less. The goosebumps slithering up her arms did nothing to fight the hot panic as the sofa cushions were thrown off their frame, the young girl still turning up empty handed. 

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. 

This could not be happening. She hadn’t opened her bag all night, even when she got out of the taxi she had her phone readily in her hand and the bag tightly closed. Someone could have taken it in the club, sure, but that made no sense seeing as her bag was definitely still heavy with the wallet when she had gotten home, not near empty like it was now. 

Which only meant…

Her date had fucking stolen from her. 

“FUCK!” She yelled, throwing her vacant bag across the room with tears brimming her eyes. 

It seemed life had been digging a trench underneath Rock Bottom reserved for her at a time like this. And she was left clutching at the muddy walls, trying to drag herself to safety and anywhere that wasn’t her shitty situation where she pined over a man she could never have, where she was still walking the line between sane and whatever else was brewing inside her, fighting against tendrils of hatred and chaos, malignance, that wrapped around her organs and reminded her where she came from, what she was. A life where she got mugged by the men she fucked at her expensive pity parties. 

She just hoped Donna wasn’t too hard on her tomorrow after this shit show of a weekend. 

“Late, again,” Came the chiding voice the moment she stepped in the building. 

Sweat dripped down her back from her long trek through London to get to work. 48 minutes of power walking is what she had been reduced to, unable to get the bus or underground for lack of money. 

And she was still late. She was expecting a nice, fat kick to the teeth any time now.

“It’s five minutes, Donna,” You pleaded, yanking an earphone out. Music was the only thing that could block out the thrum of anger and agony she was in from the weekends chaotics. 

“Even Stevie-”

“Steven,”

“-Was on time today and he’s the worst for it,” Donna snapped, and the young girl could do nothing but slump in defeat. 

“I’m sorry, Donna. It won’t happen again.” She promised. She wasn’t sure if she meant it yet with her lack of transport, but she couldn’t lose this job. She didn’t even know how she was going to pay for this month’s rent let alone catch the bus, breakfast itself had been skipped in an attempt to conserve food. Her stomach ached from the exercise, crying out for anything to fill its distressed cavern. “I got robbed yesterday so I walked,” She murmured, avoiding the blue eyes that had narrowed in on her. She hated feeling pitied, feeling as though people were sorry for her. But it was the truth, and the truth sucked sometimes. 

She wasn’t sure what beam of light had shone out of Donna’s ass this morning, or whether she really did look just that pathetic, but the blonde woman just sighed and nudged her towards the gift shop.

In perhaps the nicest tone she’d ever spoken to her, Donna quietly said “Last warning, girl, alright?” The younger woman thanked her quickly, her small voice sheepish. Her boss looked down at her in discontent, “Alright, get going. And you’re on inventory with Steven tonight so best behaviour, I mean it,”

She nodded, turning on her heel to speed towards the gift shop. 

Turning from the main lobby to enter the Ancient Egypt exhibits, she’d not gotten halfway there when she’d caught up to Steven seemingly helping a customer. Odd considering the fact he wasn’t even in the shop yet, but knowing Steven he’d probably stopped to chat the guy’s ear off about something he knew too much about to be just a giftshoppist. 

She went to wave when he looked up and met her gaze, but the forlorn, scared expression she found there had her already negligent smile drop completely. Steven seemed relieved to see her, too nervous to say anything to the man himself as he stood too close for his comfort.

Her eyes fell to where the stranger held Steven’s hands tightly, murmuring something to him that seemed to have her friend freaked out. The whole sight threw her for a loop, and she called his name on instinct, the new man’s head shooting up to stare at her blankly.

Speeding up her pace, she met the two as Steven pulled away from the stranger’s strong grasp. “Steven, are you okay?” She asked gently, looking from her friend to the lithe figure of the man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but his presence, the way he dressed and held an intricately woven cane seemed meant to make himself superior. His hair was long and greying, still young enough to be attractive but probably a bit older than Steven. A neat sort of scruff sat on his chin, and old blue orbs took her in head to toe where she stood. Not out of lust, but out of intrigue.

“We were just talking, weren’t we, Steven?” The man said calmly, seemingly sizing her up himself. She looked over her shaken friend quickly, the alarm written over his face that had near brought him to tears telling her all she needed to know. 

This man was no friend. 

“Sorry, I don’t remember asking you,” She snipped in the cold politeness English people all knew how to enact, bringing her friend’s hand into her soft one for reassurance. Steven had never seen her so infuriated. And perhaps it was the weekend she’d had or the way the man so gentle he refused to kill insects seemed to be trembling beneath her hand, she wasn’t sure, but a fierce frown was deep set into her face that dropped into concern the moment she looked back to him, “Are you alright?” 

“Can we go, please?” His round, nut brown eyes were soft and welled up as he quietly spoke, as if asking for her permission to be away from here despite being the older of the two. Her heart dropped at his sad expression, and she felt him squeeze her hand as if needing to reassure himself someone was there to save him. 

She had no time to note the way the butterflies swelled in her stomach as he did so, focused on getting him away from the strange man. 

“Ofcourse,” She said softly, turning to direct him to their little corner of the museum, hoping that the stranger would get the hint and just leave them be. 

That seemed short lived when a cold hand wrapped itself around her lower arm, a gasp drawing its way from her lungs. She could feel the panic of being grabbed by the unfamiliar man crawling up her spine, her limbs going numb, her hearing dipping in and out of static at the adrenaline flushing through her system. 

She heard Steven say her name as her head snapped to where the man’s strong grip tightened around her wrist. He seemed to stare at her with something calculating, and she wished she hadn’t run her mouth despite the fact she did so to protect the same person who was now behind her, a deeper sense of panic blaring in his eye than before. 

“Let go-” Taking a deep breath to overcome the bubbling fear rising in her chest, her only words were cut off by a much clearer voice. 

“There is a darkness in you,” The stranger said, as if he knew it for a fact. 

Her heart plummeted. 

Was it so obvious? No one had ever been able to see it, she buried it so deep in the hopes no one would ever get a glimpse beneath her kind shell. But it was a facade, and even he knew it. The shock must have read clear on her face as he pushed on, as if to reopen scar tissue with his bare hands.

“And chaos, oh there is chaos.” Her lips quirked between her teeth as she tried to stop them from trembling, “A shadow looms over you, little dove.” She felt Steven pull her closer to him, but this man had her every morsel of attention. How did he know, if he knew then surely Steven knew too. Knew she was born so dead she felt she was living a lie by being here. The man laughed to himself, just a small breath but it was enough to break her spirit, “What is it those witches say about Macbeth? Something wicked this way comes.” He asked though he already knew the answer, as if to entrance her with his own spell, “And I see you are truly something wicked.” 

Her breath left her chest. The voice escaped her throat. Every intention of protecting Steven had practically evaporated out of her body as her co worker tugged her arm hard enough that the stranger let go of her. 

“Leave us alone or I’ll call the police, alright?” Steven murmured with a new sense of courage, “I don’t care if you’re friends with the security here, you leave us alone,”

But the man’s eyes hadn’t left her, as if he knew just how deep his words had struck with her. He wormed his way into her brain even as Steven led her away with a kind hand on her back, his own words of reassurance coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were being dragged under a current.

“He has no clue what he’s talking about, love. He was trying to get into my head too,” Steven said, but he could tell by the lost look in her eyes it was barely being registered. 

“Who the hell was that?” She asked after a moment, the feeling in her fingertips just about awakening once they were far enough away to be considered safe.

“You won’t believe me if I told you-”

“Steven, please,” She begged, looking up at him with a desperation he had never known from her. That man, Harrow, one of the women in the alps had called him, had truly shaken her up with the near omen he had given her. 

Steven couldn’t understand why, she was possibly the loveliest girl he had ever met. There was no one who so much as held a torch to her light in Steven’s eyes. She was kind. Gentle. Good. This Harrow had no idea what he was talking about saying she was wicked. She was anything but. 

Steven sighed, looking at her gravely. “Remember yesterday when I said I had that dream the other night. When I was in the alps, and those men were chasing me for some scarab I’d stolen,” 

She blinked at him emptily. In her defence, her brain had still been riddled with alcohol when he’d been rambling, and she had gotten caught up in her own personal issues since then to take much notice. But the scenario sounded familiar as she wracked her brain for the information, some light sparking in her eyes when it clicked to their phone conversation the day before. 

She stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing, “You said that was a dream, Steven. That man is very much real,”

“I know, I thought it was a dream,” Steven explained, “But now they’re here, and they keep saying I’ve got this scarab and what not. I don’t understand any of this, love. I’m sorry. I just know he’s dangerous and we need to stay far away from him,” 

The younger woman looked at him sadly. He was clearly in distress himself, and she felt a flash of sympathy run through her at his lost expression, yet his eyes were full of concern for her well being. 

She knew what it was like to struggle to know what was real and what was not. What it was like to feel as though you're barely keeping your head above the waters of reality. Yet she trusted Steven would tell her if he knew what was happening. 

She knew he was more honest than anyone she’d ever known, so she didn’t push. 

“Alright,” She said with a heavy sigh, rubbing her eyes to relieve the pressure building in her frontal lobes, “Alright, let’s just steer clear of him, okay? And if he comes back, we go to the police together.”

Steven seemed relieved, which wasn’t a surprise since he knew it was a big ask to have someone trust such a ludicrous story. Yet he didn’t know why he doubted her. She was loyal and would never dream of ridiculing him like other people might. She just took his word as gospel. 

She was too good to him. 

“Okay, yeah. Good plan,” He said, nodding and checking behind him to see if the guy was still after them when a smaller body pressed its way into his chest. 

She didn’t know why she did it, whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she hugged him. Tightly too, as if she had been holding back for a while (she had). They hugged all the time, when saying goodbye at her train stop, when they saw each other on a morning given they weren’t running late. But it never felt like this, so intimate. So much like she needed him so desperately. 

Perhaps it was childish, but the way he drew her closer, resting a head on top of hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did made her heart flutter even with the strange circumstances. For a moment, they both felt safe, like Harrow couldn’t get in their heads entirely because they had each other to ground them, reassure the other that they were not alone in the web his ominous words had spun them into, and that was enough for now. 

Yet the two of them barely spoke all day. 

Whether it was they were too busy with their actual work, or they were both in their heads thinking just what Harrow had meant by his prophesying. 

It wasn’t until inventory was nearly done that she spoke first. 

“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” She asked, his head cutting to hers from where he was scanning some Beefeater Rubber ducks. He seemed to notice the slight glint of fear in her tone, “As in, they don’t know where you live do they? Or me?” 

“No love, of course not,” At least he hoped they didn’t. Steven realistically couldn’t promise anything, he had no idea how far this Harrow’s network of followers ran. But he knew for certain he couldn’t stand to see her so scared. It ran a streak of anger in him that was unusual. Steven never found himself particularly angry, but it had run red hot when he saw the way Harrow had grabbed her and knocked the soul out of her with his words alone. “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you can take my bed,” After he’d swept away the giant ring of sand of course. 

She smiled at him finally, maybe the first proper one she’d shown him all day. And he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter that he had done that. Gods be good, she was pretty when she smiled, he thought. 

“Thanks, Steven,” She said quietly. He was confident the two of them could figure this out together, and if he was sure of her, then how wicked could she truly be? 

She knew it was a cop out, that she hid so much from him that he didn’t know the real her; that if he did he would turn tail and run as far as he could from the monster in front of him. That he would curse himself once he realised Harrow was right; she was polluted down to her marrow.

“I’ve only got this box left to do, love, then we can get out of here,” Steven promised, his eyes flicking over where she collected two half full crates of merchandise and headed out of the gift shop to the stockroom. 

“I’ll take these out and meet you in the lobby?” She called over her shoulder, hearing him agree as she walked away to the area meant for employees only. 

Sighing deeply, she put the crates down gently, sliding them into a bottom shelf out the way of clumsy feet (most likely her own). A thought jumped in her tired brain, and she was quick to turn out her pockets for any spare change she could use for the train fare back to Steven’s apartment. 

Just as she suspected: empty. Because why would she be so lucky as to have anything good happen to her. She could always try and persuade Steven to walk home and save the embarrassment of revealing what actually happened to her Saturday night, but she knew the pitiful look he would give her if she told him the truth of her date. The sad eyes that would flash that neither of them needed after a morning of such anguish. 

They didn’t need another of her pity parties today, and she grimaced at the thought of how horrendously the last one ended. Though she knew Steven was different, that he would never do anything so cruel to a stranger let alone herself. 

It only made her heart yearn for him more.

Sighing, she thought on her feet as to what to tell him as she left the stockroom, locking the door behind her with the key Donna gave them all a copy of. Her heels rhythmically clicked on the freshly polished floor that reflected her frowning face back at her as if to remind her to stop looking so tormented. 

She saw the light of the main exhibit at the end of the darkened hallway, heading towards it at no rush since she figured Steven would likely just about be done himself. Lost in her own head as to what excuse to give the man she called her only friend, she almost missed the deep sound snarling in the shadows behind her. 

Whipping her head around with a wide eyed expression, her eyes flicked around the hallway for any glimpse of what made that sound. 

But she saw nothing. Not in the way shadows were nothing, dark patches of nothing, as in she saw nothing there. Had anything been lingering behind her, she would have at least caught or heard any movement. 

She paused for a second to take another look, only to still come up empty. Her foot warily continued its original path, figuring the sound must have been the cleaners dragging something against the floor. 

“Hey, Steven,” She called upon approaching the lobby where he’d be waiting, “Do you reckon I could owe you a coffee for my train fare? It’s just-”

Her voice cut out when she heard the low growl again, much louder this time. Loud enough to have her wince and stop in her tracks in the centre of the room. 

She caught sight of the navy blue jacket she knew too well walking backwards slowly, his eyes trained on something in the adjacent corridor. 

“Steven-” She whisper yelled, his panicked eyes snapping to hers, “What the hell is that-”

His arm raised out to point at the shadow illuminating the wall. Her gaze fixed on the shadow of a wild dog of sorts, its snout long and open in a fierce grin. She could practically see the outline of the drool dripping from its sharp teeth, at least she hoped it was saliva she thought gravely. 

Her breath left her instantly. What the fuck was that? Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her, calves going numb as the adrenaline flushed over her body in tidal waves. She was always a dog lover, she’d had two as a kid, but something told her whatever kind of beast this was, it was not nearly as friendly as a tamed canine would be. 

And it seemed Steven realised it too as he was quick to cower behind a display of an ancient relic clutching his bag to his chest tightly. 

His frantic eyes pleaded for her to move, but she seemed frozen to the spot. 

The overhead tannoy rang melodically, as if God was preparing to make the announcement that they were truly fucked, something she didn’t need a bulletin to know. 

“Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The sound of that familiar voice had her heart plummeting into her gut that twisted painfully. Did this guy have attack dogs or something? How had he gotten them past security? They looked huge. “Give me the scarab and the two of you won’t be torn apart,”

The scarab? Everything Steven had said about his dream was true. And if that was true then that meant this guy was a nut job capable of having his entire team hunt her down for so much as associating with poor Steven who looked as lost as she felt. 

The shadow moved, shifting around the corner of the hall to enter the open lobby. A scratch-like sound found her ears, as if someone were running knives over a cold slab, and she realised with a shiver this thing must have claws.  

And they were approaching. 

An open mouthed growl echoed through the room, which only served to confuse her even more. From the volume alone she knew the thing was big, and in the very same room as her. Which meant she surely should be able to see it as she could see the entire length of the room it had to be walking down. 

But that was the thing. There was nothing there. 

“Steven,” She whimpered quietly. It was stupid, making that noise and attracting attention to herself. But she was scared. She wanted to know what to do. Wanted comfort that she wasn't going insane, that maybe this was all a practical joke and there really was nothing there. 

A second set of razor sharp nails entered the room from the same direction, yet again she could only decipher that on sound alone. The chorus of snarls that only got closer did nothing but have her step back on instinct. 

“Steven-” She said again, only to see him standing in a rush. 

“RUN!” He yelled, taking off towards the exit. 

She didn’t need to see the dogs to know they were in the way of her and the same route Steven had taken, so she settled for scrambling back the way she came. The black heels she wore for work to seem professional only proved to be useless when running from wild animals, it seemed. Who’d have thought it? 

Her feet pounded down the maze of exhibits, trying to make it to the exit where Steven had headed towards. But for every one step she took, two paws advanced on her like an apex predator heading for its kill. 

Which she no doubt would be. 

Turning past the Anubis exhibit her stomach dropped when she heard a strong body colliding with the same wall she had practically skidded past. Her lungs burnt with effort, her breaths coming out in wheezes. She had one last turn and before she would be seconds away from the fire exit that she could barricade from the outside. 

The feeling of the dog’s hot breath on the back of her ankles had her pushing herself harder, too scared to look over her shoulder. She was coming up to where the hallway split into two and she headed for the right where she was sure the back exit was. She couldn’t help but wish Steven was able to outrun the mutt on his own heels, having not heard from him since she had taken off in separate directions. 

Taking the turning past a remaining chunk of what was once a Cleopatra statue, her eyes adjusted to the dark corridor. Where were the slab paintings of the sphinx? Where were the memorials to King Tut? They should be here, they’re always next to this exit-

Her chest constricted when she realised her mistake. Her grave mistake.

In the panic of escaping the creature, she had taken the wrong turning. She should have gone left. 

Yet judging by the way the animal grunted with the effort of the chase, she had no option but forward. 

Forward to a dead end. To the Setekh exhibit room. 

The walls were alive with paintings recovered from ancient tombs. The god of Storms, among other things, was feared through all of Egypt in the later dynasty. He was associated with all things evil, mysterious and disordered. The huge altar that held the statue of Set, his long face foreboding and as cold as the stone it was preserved in, looked down at her in almost malice as her feet took her into the one place she had left to go. 

It wasn’t until she felt the walls surrounding her, the penny dropped how fucked she was. There was no way out, no cutting back the way she came as the creature ran into the vast room with her. Dodging one of the plinths containing statues of the demon god, she had barely a second where her pace slowed down as she considered how she was going to turn back before she felt it. 

A force stronger than a freight train hit her from behind. She heard every molecule of air get pushed from her lungs at the sheer weight of it, her throat audibly yelping. Its body collided with hers with a weight that she was sure must be pure muscle, and she was thrown to the hard floor with less effort than a child tossing a ragdoll. 

The impact had her ribs rattling in her chest, brain bouncing against her now bleeding forehead. The cold floor was harsh against her raw skin. Her nose made a loud pop as it smashed against the marble, a hot sting erupting over her entire face.

But the worst was yet to come. 

There was a moment when she was collecting her thoughts, head spinning from the collision. She was sure she’d damaged something in her skull as it pounded, harder than it ever had with any hangover. 

She’d give anything to be back on her sofa feeling sorry for herself. 

She hadn’t the time to pick herself back up when she felt something large do it for her. It must have been eight feet tall with how big its behemoth paws were as the one grabbed her leg and dragged her on her stomach towards itself. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Not ready to devour, not yet. Just playing. Torturing. Tormenting. 

Then came the claws. Her eyes looked down at her ribs, the thin air surrounding them making her cry out in horror - there still wasn’t a fucking soul in sight. No dog, or animal. Or human even. Nothing. Yet her shirt ripped almost too easily as it let out a deep hiss of what she would call a near laugh and sunk its talons into her side. 

That was when she started screaming. 

Her throat hurt from the volume alone, a banshee shriek akin to a horror movie. It reverberated through the museum halls, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Vision started slipping then. Whether it was panic or her mind protecting her from what was coming next she didn’t know, but all she knew was everything felt weightless for a moment. 

She thought maybe she was dying and ascending at that moment there and then. But she wasn't so lucky. She was still being made this creature's bitch as the God of chaos watched. What beautifully horrible irony.

It was then that it clicked in her stress-addled brain that she was not in fact weightless. That the reason she felt so was because she was now being suspended midair by the thing that had her in its vicious grasp. 

It took shockingly little effort for the creature to throw her through the wall-sized fortified glass surrounding the monolith and for her whole body to crumple to the floor. 

Steven slammed the bathroom door shut with a panting “Oh God”, his coffee brown eyes never leaving the thick metal that shook with the weight of the monster throwing itself at it violently. 

What the fuck was his next move? What even was that thing? He retreated further into the bathroom with a lost expression, clutching his arms for a semblance of comfort. 

“Steven,” The man in the mirror spoke in the same American accent he’d been hearing in his own home. 

Looking at his reflection, he was agog to find the man identical to him moving on his own, as if independent from Steven himself. That was not his reflection, he knew that much, no matter how much it looked like it. “Steven, I can save us,” He said darkly, his eyes and frown much meaner than any expression Steven would ever wear. 

The way he stood was entirely different too, as if he were bigger in stature despite being encased in the exact same body as Steven was. 

“W-What?” Steven whispered, backing away from the door that weakened by the second. 

He thought of Dove. Had she been able to get away, run out the front door and get help from anyone who would believe her? He hated the thought of those adorable little heels she wore clattering against the floor, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slowed her down. He always heard women complaining about walking in heels let alone running from fucking monsters in them. 

Where was she?

“But I can’t have you fightin’ me this time,” He had felt like he’d been playing tug-of-war with his body for some time. But against what, he hadn’t known. His own reflection? This man staring back at him in the mirror with a scowl he knew wasn’t plastered on his own expression? “You need to give me control. You understand?”

He swivelled on his heel to see the man in the full length looking glass behind him, who seemed to tower over him in frame. 

“No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?” Steven bumbled, his eyes looking over the stranger’s shoulder to see the door shaking on its hinges now. Dents were appearing now where the monster was caving its way into the bathroom, and one look at the length of its claws told Steven all he needed to know. He stood no chance against this thing alone. 

“That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time.” The man said, realising their predicament as much as he did. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, the lot of it. The entire day. From that Harrow guy to the idea that he could possibly lose her to some ancient wild dog. 

“No! No!” Steven cried, flinching as the door clattered one more time, the frame whining with the effort at which it held the assailant at bay. 

“All right, hey. Listen to me,” The mirror man tried to reason, but Steven was panicking too much to hear him. 

“Dammit, no! Stop it!” Steven slapped himself around the face a few times, begging with anything listening to wake him up from the worst nightmare he’d had yet. The image of her being chased by that thing wouldn’t leave his welled up eyes. He wanted to run to her, god knows he would have if that thing hadn’t been stood in between the two of them, blocking his way to her. “This is not real! You’re not real!”

“This is real. I’m real.” The man spoke calmly, as if a diametrical opposite to his own mood. He seemed to know more about what was happening, what that thing was, what it could do. Perhaps that was why Harrow had been chasing him in the first place.

Either way, Steven didn’t care. Not now at least. When the only person outside of his parents that he had ever held affection for was in danger. Imminent danger. 

“No! You’re not,” Steven yelled back at his reflection through tears. 

It was then he heard the screaming. A howl of visceral pain enough to rattle his bones at the familiar feminine tone to the voice. 

It was her. 

It was like nothing he’d ever heard, like an animal in a slaughterhouse. He trembled in his place at the thought. She was in danger. Oh god it had her. 

“I’m gonna die- She’s gonna die-” Steven whimpered, the tears rolling down his olive cheeks at the thought. He really was useless. 

“Steven, look at me.” He finally listened to his reflection with a pitied sniff, “You’re not gonna die, I can save us. But she is if you don’t give me control right now. Let me save her, okay?”

That was the straw that broke Steven’s resolve, the idea of her dying. He had never found it so easy to concede.

He just hoped the man using his body got to her in time. 

She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.

They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 

She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the glass wall. 

She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 

There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 

She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 

“Steve-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.

She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 

The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 

It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 

How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 

No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.

The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.

#Steven grant x reader #Steven grant fanfiction #Steven grant imagine #marc Spector x reader #marc Spector imagine #marc spector fanfiction #Jake lockely x reader #Jake lockely imagine #Jackie lockely fanfiction #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moon knight imagine #moonknight fanficiton #konshu x reader #konshu imagine #layla el faouly #Oscar Isaac x reader #Oscar Isaac imagine #Oscar Isaac fanfiction

[digenerate-trash]

tw yandere, tw rape, tw noncon, tw betraya,l tw virginity loss, tw somno.

AMAB Robin | GN PC

It's disgusting what he's doing. He knows that. But Robin can't seem to help himself as he climbs up on top of you. Even in your sleep, you seem to glow with a Divine light he can never seem to forget. It haunts his dreams. Beckoning him. It speaks in a soft voice as it leads him dreamily from his room to yours.

The light taunts and pleads all at once. And Robin wants to hold it... just once.

His hands roam your beautiful body. He pulls sheets and fabric away from you as he finally gets to look at your skin. Your perfect skin...

At first Robin is gentle. He leans down and plants a kiss on your stomach. It's light and soft. But Robin's mouth opens and he shutters as he drags his tongue along your skin. He can see your wings twitch and your nose scrunch up as he mouths at your flesh.

It tastes so sweet.

He bites. He doesn't mean to but he does. It causes you to jolt. But not wake up Robin sighs a bit before he moves his face lower down between your legs. He continues to kiss and lick until you’re moaning soft sounds in your sleep before he sits up fishing himself out of his pants

He's sorry you won't be awake for your first time- but with that halo, you kept insisting you were never going to lose your virginity. As if he had waited all this time for nothing.

Robin shakes off the guilt and lines himself up. He holds each side of your pillow tightly before he shoves himself into the hilt.

Instantly you're awake now. You are thrashing and squirming. Someone's attacking you- in the dark, you can't quite see them but you hit, kick, and try and scream as best you can. You can feel the halo over your head start to shatter. It sounds like broken glass echoing through large halls. Your ears ring as you scream and try to get free.

Robin pulls the pillow over to muffle your screams as he continues thrusting into you. Your body is still perfect even like this. Even when you're scared you're so alluring. Robin can't help himself as he starts to move faster.

At this point, you're struggling for air. The panic makes it hard to focus as you breathe in the small amount of oxygen that you can. Your wings twitch and you feel a bitterness reach your core as you lose your purity...

Still your body aches. And the edges of your vision blacken.

When Robin finally finishes your breathing has slowed. You are no longer fighting. He takes the pillow away from your face and checks to ensure you're still breathing. You are. Thank God... but your light is gone. Your hallow is shattered... your body no longer glows... Plagued with guilt he climbs off you and rushes back to his room.

The next morning you're a mess. You cry for hours before you can even think about getting up later Robin comes to your room to make sure you're okay and when you explain that someone had broken and defiled you he can't even look at you. You feel so guilty as you hug him close. Your grip is so tight you're barely paying attention to Robin.

His gaze stuck to his reflection on the mirror in your room.

It must be a trick of the light

Or just his sleep-deprived mind playing tricks?

But he swears he sees horns.

#Robin the orphan #yan dol #yandere #tw yandere #tw rape #tw noncon #tw betrayal #tw virginity loss #tw somno