#AND THE CONTRAST BETWEEN HIS AND SLITHER’S DESIGNS
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nico-the-overlord · 7 months ago
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Yeah I can totally respond to these normally now yep, very cool designs!
…I am a liar iVE BEEN FLIPPING MY LID SINCE I GOT TAGGED IN THISVWUWKSHWIZBIQ
Pony Sanders Sides (My Little Pony)
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SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @nico-the-overlord ! It made a post that inspired me to look at my mlp au again
Ive chosen to redesign the designs i made, looking back some of them were just kinda boring :/ but like janus and remus are the same. Also they all have names! Id honestly love to draw more of them
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hoshigray · 1 year ago
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𝐓𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 | getō suguru
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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: rigger! Geto x fem/afab! reader - shibari; rope bondage (boxtie, breast, crotch, elbow) - blindfolded - gagged (handkerchief) - fingering (f! receiving) - pleasure denial - oral (m! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, little/pretty bird, sweetie, ) - mention of drool/saliva and tears.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: c'mon now, y'all KNOW geto would be into rope play. matter of fact, it's canon cuz I'm part of gege's assistant team, lol. also, tysm for 2.5k, y'all are too kind ♡
inspired by a talk b/w me and @ramonathinks (ily hon!!)
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"Thank you so much for the help, Geto."
"No problem, now be good and always behave from now on."
"Oh, I will!" The spiky raven-haired offers a warm smile to the woman as two men usher her out of his room, the three dark figures seen from the sliding door disappearing with footsteps heading to the corner of the hallway. Geto then gets up from the tatami flooring and stretches. 
He then stands and looks at the door for three seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
After a full minute, his purple eyes peer at the sliding door to his right, taking light steps when approaching the room next door. Geto hovers an ear next to the door, trying to hear something from the other side if it contrasts with the silence of the room he’s currently in. He gives it a few more seconds before sighing through his nostrils, a sly smile creeping up. Geto brings a hand to the handle, finally sliding it to the right and revealing what was inside.
And to his mischievous glee, his smile grows from ear to ear. Because it wasn’t a what that had him chuckling to himself — it was a who. 
And who laid on the tatami floor before him was you. You were nude, your body covered in red rope, your mouth gagged by a red handkerchief, and your eyes covered in a black blindfold. 
There, you lay on your side on the floor. The red rope around your body restrains your arms and hands behind your back in a boxtie position, and your bare chest prompts up for exposure. The cord separates your breasts to each side, leaving a unique and alluring design that crosses throughout your abdomen and down south. No undergarments in sight; therefore, your chasm was out in the room’s air, the red cable slithering down between your folds, leaving a wet residue on the strict texture. 
And, good Lord. The whimpers you use to comfort yourself in this situation. All naked and isolated to the confines of this dark room, away from light and hospitality. Your meek voice is the only thing that holds familiarity to you. That is until you hear Geto close the door behind himself, the sounds of his light footsteps dancing around the room.
“Well, hello there, little bird.” The warm tone in his voice sent shivers down your spine, for you could hear the words parade condescendingly. Geto walks around the room, lighting up the candles. The smell of smoke and the rosy scent enter your nostrils. “Sorry for leaving you in the dark like this. Were you lonely?”
 He can only hear the mumbles confined from the handkerchief, which he can only assume was confirmation. “I apologize, baby. I had to leave our little session to tend to some business with some monkeys.” He said the last word with such slight vexation; you were bright to listen hard enough to catch it. Geto comes to you and sits next to your restricted body. “But now, you have my full attention, sweetie.” 
Cold, slender fingers touch your cheek, causing you to jerk at the sensation. It makes him snicker. “You know why I have you like this, yeah?” His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping off drool at the corner of your mouth. “I saw you, my pretty bird, in the garden yesterday. You looked so beautiful and pure with the world — my world.” They snake down to your neck and brush your collarbone. His fingertips now become warm from the friction of your enchanting skin. “Then, I saw some parasite — a man worth for sore eyes — come and talk to you. He even had the gall to touch your hands with his filthy palms.” The hand now comes to your breast, a small gasp when they brush your nipples. “And you, such an amiable and accepting person, let him touch you like that. Unbeknownst to my vision.” Those same digits tweeze the bud or your mound, resulting in a sharp pant covered by the cloth in your mouth. “Who? Who told you to let that happen? Hmm?” 
Of course, he doesn’t wait for your response; what response? Your muffled moans and puffs of air? How silly. Geto brings his mouth to your other nipple, taking it in and sucking on it. The lapping motions of his tongue and the grazes of his teeth distract you from his hand snaking down with the red rope to your cunt. His digits now intrude on your southern lips, playing with your wetness in a teasing manner. And when you feel his forefinger about to enter your slit, you can’t help but sway your hips to invite him in. And it’s detected by the raven-haired man.
“Oh? You want me to put them inside, baby?” He already knows the answer; it’s no surprise when you nod helplessly. However, he clicks his tongue. “I don’t know, angel. Or should I even call you that anymore — how can an angel of mine be stained by the stench of such a foul monkey, huh.” His fingers move away from your cunt, now toying with the flesh of your inner thigh. Oh, the way your brows trench and how you whine for him. It always awakens something in him — something carnal. And how can he subject himself to the cries of his little bird? “Alright, alright. But if you really want me so badly, prove it to me. You can do that, right?” 
Geto removes his hand and mouth from your body, your chasm and nipples feeling outcasted from his warm touch. You jolt when the handkerchief in your mouth loosens and soon meets the tatami floor. Yet, your vision is still shielded by the black cloth. “Su–Suguru,” you chant his name in trembles. “Please forgive me, I—“
“I will forgive you,” the sound of clothing rustling fills the space, indicating that he’s now removing his monk attire. The black yukata comes undone, revealing his upper body while he pulls his pants down to his thighs. Something touches the plump of your lips, the tip seeking entry to your oral cavity. “Just suck me off like you always do, and all will be forgiven. You’re still my angel, right?” And with that, you accept the head of his cock with patient yearning, hallowing your cheeks while your tongue welcomes the underside of his limb. And it takes everything in Geto’s power not to rut your face with relentless vigor. He wants to take this slow first. He needs to see if you deserve his kindness. “Mmmm, good. Just like that…”
A few bobs to the base of his length is enough to put you in a trance, especially with the blindfold hindering your sense of vision, forcing you to rely on others. His smell is so intoxicating, the taste of his precum overcoming your tastebuds and the slap of his balls on your chin. Unhurried thrusts slowly but surely dial up to speed by the seconds. Your euphoric hums become frequent as his dick hits the back of your throat, every inch of him sinking deep into your mouth and throat that strains of saliva streak down to the dent of your chin. Your toes curl when he grinds his pelvis down to your lips, nose pressed to the pubes that fill your nostrils with his raw scent. Good God, it feels so good, the throbbing sensation in your chasm between your legs flourishing within.
And it goes the same for Geto, too. Both his hands find purchase on your head, keeping you in position for him to rut your face. Your tight throat grips him so nicely, the gummy walls holding onto him so deliciously that he can’t fight the wanton need anymore. Erratic hits to your face become apparent, making your mouth soaped with saliva that drips down to the room flooring. And you take the jabs to the back of your throat with ease, mewling on his cock with pleasure while being used like a toy as the head of his shaft bullies your insides. 
He pulls his head back, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his body jerks to the electric shocks climbing up. He’s close/ So, so close. “…Haaahh—Mmmph!! Damn, you feel so good for me…I’m cumming, angel. Gonna—Ahhhh! Christ…Hmmph!!” With gritted teeth, Geto drills his dick deep within your throat, the warm fluid excreting out his glans greeting its velvety walls. Blissful hums from you vibrate your throat, sending shivers to Geto while he experiences his crescendo. 
When he’s finally done with his high and his load is inside you, he gradually removes his length from you. The tip of his cock resting on your tongue, which licks off any excess come. He then moves to free your shut eyelids from the black blindfold, your eyes fluttering at the scene of the warmly dimmed room, and Geto is now inches away from your face. Your watery eyes sparkle from the candlelight, and tears strike down and slide down your breast until the red rope captures it. “Forgive me, Suguru. I will always be yours. Only yours…”
He gives you a playful sneer, using a finger to wipe a tear from your cheek. He'd be a fool if he let you off the hook, especially now when you look at him as if he's your entire world. That's all he wants from the person he loves more than anything.
“You’re forgiven. And now, my pretty bird,” you can see the slight devious glint that harbors in his dark, violet eyes. 
“I shall reward you.”
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© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – transparent edit made by me + dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.
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kyogre-blue · 1 year ago
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This awful nightmare month had FOUR paralogues. So tiring. And they don't even let me kill Flayn or Seteth! Or let me see Rhea murdering those two NPC imperial suckups. Disappointing all around.
To get my notes under the char limit, I'll put the part about the first paralogue here.
Immediately after Claude's death/deportation, we get invaded by Almyra. Holst "fell ill" but big doubt.jpg, since he does not show his face to either Hubert or Edelgard (Hubert can only comment that "it's said" that Holst looks and smells awful). The Alliance supposedly can't cooperate enough to muster forces to support the Locket, even though we just spent lots of time playing up how Claude maneuvered everything to go down with the least amount of damage possible and how the Alliance has been extremely peaceful and cooperative to our occupation and invasion. The Goneril soldiers book it immediately when we arrive, no green units for us. And at the end, Holst politely passes the duty of guarding the Locket to the Empire. Which is another way of saying he refused to do it anymore, possibly on account of the dead little sister. You know, just maybe.
This is hilarious in general, and you can read all kinds of funny things into it, especially since this is the route where the game lies to you all the time with a straight face, so you are free to interpret practically all things you're told as complete bullshit (and you'll be provably right at least half the time).
Personally, I think it's very funny to assume everyone who says the Alliance occupation is going oh so well is either wrong or lying. I mean, sure, Claude supposedly arranged it so things would go peacefully whether he won or lost, BUT he was wrong at least twice about his allies surrendering peaceably and his dying words are about how he misread the entire situation. Yeah, logically this is all structured to contrast how the Kingdom and the Church won't go down as peacefully, but it's funnier if the Alliance is also not peaceful about this at all.
Almyra certainly is not looking like a future friendly neighbor, despite Edie's optimistic outlook.
Live blogging:
Hubert reports that Thales has started collecting the Relics from the Alliance (cool! definitely not a problem! Hilda wasn't casually able to oneshot everyone with that awful axe!)
He also suggests that we have one of our Lions recruits pretend to be a hostage to force their family to betray the Kingdom. Lovely man, so practical.
Byleth: you're using too many Proper Nouns, I can't keep tracks :( Edelgard: don't worry about it, kitten
Nader's in good spirits, at least. The Almyran forces have a lot of wyverns, mounted archers and also giant birds.
Edelgard thinks we can befriend Almyra, she would even consider a treaty. It's not a land ruled by blind fealty to the goddess (lol), so as long as communicate openly and respect the differences between our cultures... OK. We're not gonna mention Claude at all, which is funny.
Next paralogue! Hubie is investigating Solon, Kronya and Arundel. He wants to know their identities, their origins, their numbers, their base of operations, their plans, and where they acquired their dark powers, how they disguise themselves. He calls them "those who slither in the dark."
Now, working backwards from this, it means that he doesn't know these things in early war phase (where we are now), unless we assume he got further in his investigations in other routes.
Also, as has been pointed out, although this is a descriptive name that Hubert came up with, it's also used by Rhea for some reason.
It's a shame that Arundel is just Thales, he has a pretty nice design.
Hubert calls Arundel "Regent" even now. Weird!
We're sent to help some Agarthans who were experimenting in the Sealed Forest but their demonic beast subjects ran wild. Hubert later suggests that this was all a setup to make Edie's faction feel powerless in the face of the Agarthans' experiment (because they are aware Hubert is investigating them), but it backfired because Hubie isn't intimidated at all. He's looking forward to when Edelgard finished uniting Fodlan, and then House Vestra will fight the Agarthans in the shadows. (Hilarious from a narrative standpoint.)
Incidentally, you only need to save more than half the mages to get Arrow of Indra. The "Mysterious Mages" that you save also do not have Agarthan Technology abilities unlike the shapeshifters. Ladislava is popular with the citizens of the empire. She doesn't put up airs, is talented and also beautiful. She's known as the Scarlet Warrior.
There isn't much unrest in the former Alliance territories, perhaps thanks to Caspar's dad's strength (aka keeping them in line by force).
Riegan was once a branch family of Blaiddyd, which is very mysterious given their different crests.
Ladislava's troops depart at the end of the month (February) to the western front. They have high mobility. iirc she's a wyvern rider.
It's a bit funny to get the quest for the Almyran merchant same month as the Almyra invasion paralogue.
Claude told Lysithea roughly that she shouldn't focus too much on whether they win. Unlike Judith and Hilda, she listened lol.
Hubert hanging out in the Deer classroom, thinking about Claude. Relatable. He says that Claude has a compassionate exterior, but underneath is cold and calculating. Harsh! Also, not really in line with Claude's behavior toward his allies.
Linhardt says that there's a passage from the Holy Mausoleum to the Holy Tomb, but he can't figure out the mechanism. It's not really clear where the Holy Tomb is, and I've seen the speculation that it's under the amiibo gazebo... but the Holy Mausoleum is in the cathedral, so the two being connected... it's possible both are true, but kinda weird if so.
Dorothea: They'll write operas about this... I'm sure a pretty actress will play you :) And Edie :)) Maybe they'll throw in a love story :)))) hahaha (extremely awkward laugh)
Just realized you steal Zoltan's idol from the advisory room in the cathedral. Nice.
Hubert and Edie A: He emphasizes again that he's devoted to her due to personal feelings but also that he's not loyal in the sense of following her orders. He does what he thinks is best and if Edie disagrees, or doesn't like it, or is kept in the dark for her own good, well, that's how it is. He also mentions that his devotion became personal after Edie returned from the Kingdom, which calls back to how he and Ionius treat it as some kind of malicious kidnapping.
Petra paralogue: Church is threatening Brigid :( Well, per the Empire's perspective. Catherine is here <3
Jokes aside, Petra's perspective is interesting. Brigid is trapped between the Empire and Dagda, and they don't have the ability to stand against either one. They were dragged into war with the Empire by Dagda, which they then lost, and Petra's father was even killed. So they became a vassal state of the Empire, but given the whole racism issue, they probably were not in a good position. So Petra is focused on basically proving that Brigid is a useful and valuable ally for the Empire. Which is a rather practical approach.
Leonie paralogue... Interesting details that you need recommendations to get into Officers Academy. In the Alliance this means paying nobles to get them. Raphael mentions that his family sold their business to pay for him, iirc, since he wasn't up to running it anyway. Ignatz's parents are more successful, so perhaps they could just afford it. Leonie's entire village had to chip in to buy her way in. Presumably Ashe was sent by Lonato directly (though interesting choice given that the uprising happens very early in the year, so he must have already been planning it). I think the only other commoner is Dorothea, who... well.
Linhardt brings up the crests perpetuate the nobility angle and says to take it up with the Goddess for handing them out like that. But given where Leicester crests actually came from... sigh
Linhardt read about the legend of Saint Indech, so it's free real estate for any other character to read in an AU. Very nice.
Lake Teutates... Indech is a giant turtle. Man, these "dragons" are all kinds of shapes lmao. He attacks with water spikes.
Leonie calls the Immovable One a "magic beast" which we haven't seen so far, only wild beasts and demonic beasts.
Linhardt immediately caught on that the Immovable One is Saint Indech.
Petra has been in Fodlan for 9 years as of the war phase, so she came 3 years before the Academy.
Garreg Mach can be entered from the north by following Aillel, the Valley of Torment.
The map this time is a modified version of the monastery defense map from end of Academy Phase and second battle of the other routes. Previously, I didn't realize that the right hand third is gone. Presumably, this is the gorge that Byleth fell into...
We're fighting an expeditionary force led by Alois, while Rhea and Catherine hold off the rest of our army at the Sealed Forest. Aaah, they're so cool <3 They're also set up an ambush.
OK, so the situation with Flayn and Seteth is that they just retreat when defeated, regardless of who fights them. I thought there would be some scene about specifically sparing them, but nah. They just leave on their own. You don't even have any unique dialogue with Seteth, and Flayn just talks about how she won't kill you since she owes you her life.
Rhea murdered the heck out of Ladislava and Randolph off-screen. Shame, I would have loved to see it.
We killed Alois tho! He felt that, since we betrayed Rhea, Jeralt would not have approved.
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hereathemoment · 2 years ago
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a piece where the sisters have a good relationship and picks up after ACOWAR
The space upward from the bridge of her nose and below the middle of her forehead is devoured by darkness, but the subtle shimmer or her hair contrasts the deep onyx of the cloth smoothed against her eyes. Although the coronet that sits like a crown atop Nesta’s head gently coaxes her hair from the back of her neck, several strands still manage to slither across her cheekbones and chin. She’s wearing a billowing white top with a sleeve that flutters at each tug that dips the tea packet into a steaming cup her hand cradles in the crook of her lap.  
Feyre interrupts the silence’s solace with each jitter of her leg. “So,” she says through the widening of her smile, “how are you? How was your trip?” The pause between the two questions was too brief for Nesta to even begin an answer, but Feyre was too deaf from the buzz of her excitement at seeing her older sister to listen anyway. “Is Lucien visiting here, too? How long are you staying? Will you stay the night?” The velvet of the armchair Feyre sits on crinkles as her hands grip the space beside her thighs. The curve of her body forms an acute angle, Nesta notes, as her sister leans forward in sheer delight. Rhysand goes so far as to gently pull her shoulder back before she’s in any real danger of toppling off the chair, and Nesta cuts into her questioning with a soft smile that grows as she answers her.
After the war with Hybern, many families were displaced across all the courts, and supplies were necessary to begin the rebuild. Each court needed something from the other, and the alliance forged during the war remained intact to form a tentative peace across Pyrinthian. Lucien suspected the peace between each court was delicate enough to have been tied with the stems of soft flowers and got to work implementing trading strategies immediately. After Amarantha, after the war, Lucien was willing to climb every mountain standing in his way if peace awaited at one of their peaks, glowing with the promise of a bright future. His relationship to Jurian and therefore to the human lands, to the Autumn Court, to the Spring Court, and to the Night Court made him especially well-suited to the job of arranging shipment of supplies and services across each court in Pyrinthian. Nesta had overheard his discussion with Helion on the remnants of the battlefield about arranging the shipment of medicine and appointing travelling healers to each court and she designated herself as his merchant partner.
She did not weep at her father’s grave as Feyre and Elain had, in fact she did not shed a single tear for him. Her feelings for her father were too complex and mangled to warrant consideration after the war, so instead she buried them deep within her. She decided to join Lucien partly to honor her father’s memory in the hopes that it would soothe the aching crater left on her soul after his death, hoping to bury its impact on her entirely. When Tamlin provided a home and a fortune to her and her family after Feyre chose to follow her betrothed into the fae realm, Nesta took extra care to learn the mechanisms of running an estate. Elain was left in her care, and she did not trust her father to provide for them after all those years of his failure. So she took on the burden of being the head of the household and taught herself how to manage the books and manage the staff and manage the business. She refused to fail her duty to her sisters again. She refused to wait for a time when her father would save them, knowing it would never come. Until it did.
Unwilling or incapable of examining her feelings about her father’s death, Nesta jumped at the opportunity of an escape and informed Lucien she would be accompanying him on his trade routes. She then began to advise him about which goods should be prioritized in the exchanges between the courts and the human lands. Her advice was based on the extensive reading she committed to all those months ago as an oblivious human homeowner and Lucien was able to supplement her knowledge with his own experience in the field. Although Lucien was initially reluctant to bring her with him, she pretended she did not hear his complaints, pretended she did not see his scowl. His opinion on the matter was irrelevant to her; Nesta had decided to help facilitate trade amongst the courts and so she would do exactly that.  Besides, it wasn’t Lucien’s company she was interested in—it was the distance from her family that she craved. She didn’t want to be crushed again by the weight of her family’s expectations of her, of his expectations of her after he promised her life as death loomed over them. She needed to go somewhere she could breathe. She needed to take care of herself so that she can come back and take care for her sisters.
She wanted to stay busy, she wanted to help the people in need, she wanted to process each drip of grief she felt so that she wouldn’t be drowned once more in her sorrow. So, with light hugs and gentle kisses on the forehead, Nesta left her sisters in the capable hands of their new brothers and left. After months at sea, Nesta returned to her sisters feeling more free than she’s ever felt.
“But you have to stay longer than two weeks! You’ve been gone for so long!” Elain immediately urged after Nesta answered Feyre’s many questions. She was doing better, she had told them vaguely. The courts are healing after the war slowly but successfully. Now that trade is well-established amongst the courts, Lucien and Nesta have parted ways. Eager to see Elain an Feyre again, Nesta immediately traded the glittering shores for glittering Night once more. The melted warmth of Elain’s eyes pleaded with her as Nesta’s little sister wrapped her hands further around Nesta’s arm and leaned closer into her side.
“Your old room is yours in perpetuity,” Feyre smirked at her own teasing assurance, and climbing to join Nesta’s right on the sofa. At this, Rhysand left the room to give the sisters privacy, and upon his absence, Nesta tugged her mask down to her neck and blinked her eyes at her sisters. Uncharacteristically easily swayed by their insisting, Nesta relented to staying for a whole month. “I’m not quite ready to give up being a pirate, travelling as a vigilante had always been a dream of mine.” While Elain was busy arguing to Nesta that the merchant exchanges were too law-abiding to be true piracy, Feyre had caught her eye and regarded her critically.
“Isn’t…” Feyre began shakily, “would you not rather… wouldn’t it be better… to be on land?” Although she had asked as gently as she could, the realization of what she was alluding to struck Nesta like a sword down her spine. The sofa legs scrapped along the floor an inch with the force of Nesta’s back slamming into it as thoughts of the Cauldron hit her. She then unfolded her legs from their criss-cross position and rested her elbows on her knees as if a great weight was pressing at her back. Nesta released her hold on the tea bag and allowed it to sink to the bottom of the cup as she stared, seeing more depth than existed there. Wind drifted between her and Elain’s body as distance seeped between them, but Feyre placed a hand on Nesta’s back in comfort anyway.
A few deep breaths later and Nesta was able to ease back into a sitting position. “I refuse to cave to my fear of water. I deserve a relaxing bathe with bubbles and fancy soaps and I will be damned,” Nesta said gutturally, “before the Cauldron takes that from me for an eternity.” Her grip on her teacup tightens before she loosens her hold and takes a sip of the bitter liquid. “When we lived in that cabin,” she continued, “bathes were the only comfort I had to look forward to. The only time I had to myself. The Cauldron won’t take anything more from me.”
At this, Nesta swiveled her attention from Feyre to Elain and guided a gentle hand down her hair. Elain had no memories of the Cauldron, a blessing that paired with the seer abilities gifted to her. To Elain, the Cauldron had been a deep slumber until she awoke and the horror that she was Made fae crushed her. But Nesta had refused to be lulled into complacency by the Cauldron and instead clawed her way into the depths of its hell where she saw too much, felt too much. She saw it all and the memories of it threaten to choke her if she’d let them.
Nesta looked between her sisters as she continued, “Being on a ship and sailing out to sea allows me to face my fear of drowning head on. It lessens the struggle I feel as I bathe.” Although she can now sit in a tub without panicking, the erratic pounding of Nesta’s heart when she sinks her head below the surface convinces her that she needs to stay out at sea for a while longer. Until she can bathe without becoming terrified. If Feyre and Elain think she is pushing herself too far, they keep it to themselves, but the worried glance they share together doesn’t go unnoticed.
Elain soon turns the conversation toward pleasanter topics, which is a great relief to them all. Over the course of a few hours chatting together, Nesta’s excitement at seeing her sisters eases into exhaustion and she excuses herself so that she may rest in her room. They exchange blessings for good sleep despite it being midday, and Feyre and Elain watch without comment as Nesta tugs the black cloth back over her eyes and walks without error up the stairs and toward her door. Although she’s eager to relax with her sisters before she leaves for the sea again, she is relentless in her own self-prescribed training regimen. Prior to drinking tea with her sisters, it had been months since she’s bothered to look with her eyes—the shadows that curve along the stairs and creep around the corner to her room see for her. When she first emerged from the Cauldron, she thought it was the wind that had been calling out to her. She was convinced that she was crazy, that her fae ears were too sensitive, that she was still drowning in the Cauldron and was being punished with the tantalizing promise of comfort that would never be hers. It took her months to realize it had been the shadows reaching out to her, yearning to embrace her, and months more until she began to reach for them too. Her shadows are less restless now that they’re home, and she is blanketed in a deep sleep under the cloak of Night.
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a-k-a-l-i · 2 months ago
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With Love and Passion, I am Balanced
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It's the Force's time to gain the spotlight. The Dark Side and Light Side of the Force is not as it all seems. Here you can see the love and tragedy they have faced.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The Force.
Mostly seen as energy, mostly seen as one being, is only what people like to believe. They believe a lie only because they have forgotten the truth. The truth, which is simple, is not as it seems.
Jedi believe the Force is energy that bounds all living things together.
Sith believe it is simply a power to be claimed, used for their personal gain.
Which one is right? Which one is wrong? The answer?
Both of them, yet, neither of them.
The Force is split into two beings that rule as the thread that sews life into fruition. Yet, they also use their own power for gain, of course not in the way one would expect.
Jedi and Sith alike lived together, ruling their own side of the galaxy until they lost their way. Bringing unbalance and chaos, the Force watched as their champions fought, disappointed the warriors could not find a way to bring balance.
Day and night.
Light and dark.
Harmony and chaos.
These two contrasts lived in unity, in the only place where one could.
Eirithion.
~S~
A palace, built on floating rock structures, was set high in the clouds. Waterfalls flowed freely out of designated spots of the grand building. The palace was enormous, futuristic. It had open stairways that led to different parts inside the castle, where you could view the water crystals as you please. A large lotus flower floated just above the palace, stardust twinkling down giving the palace a shimmering glow. White castle walls, gold turrets with silver streaks. The stars hung closely to the home of the Force. The form of the palace was like no other, large arches, glass stairs. A towering pink flowering tree with a thick, white trunk, stood in the middle of the castle where you first enter. Tiny black crystals were the budding of the pink flowers.
Each time the wind flew by, you could see the sparkling trail of crystal butterflies. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white, black. Each color represents the harmony between light and dark.
The throne room held many glass windows, flowers were stationed at the top of the arches, two thrones, one black, the other white. A red crystal was positioned above the black throne. A blue crystal, above the white throne. Yet, there was a purple-ish white crystal, above the two others, signifying the balance between good and evil.
Below, where the land is fruitful, mountains, plains and sparkling oceans lay, villages were set up. People lived together, uncaring of the chaos that comes by daily. The trees, when the moon arises, glow with a thousand tiny lights. The animals, during the night, luminate, making their path light up as they walk.
The two rulers of such a world, as well as the galaxy, were known mononymously as the Force. Yet, to each other, they were simply known as husband and wife, Hadeon and Meira.
25,000 years ago
Sitting leisurely on a plush couch reading a book, Meira closed the world from around her, her focus set on the object that she now read in her hand. Eyes moved slowly from one side to the other, lips were bitten as she continued to read, losing focus of the surroundings, not noticing the shadows that crept up behind her, threatening to devour whatever lay in their path.
Black tendrils slithered slowly up the couch, their cold touch gripped the woman by her neck, though applying pressure, it was not enough to cause her discomfort. Forcefully, she looked up to meet her captor.
Red eyes bore into blue ones, a smirk playing on the man's lips.
"Whatever has you so entrapped, my light?" A deep voice said slowly, his fingers traced the side of her face, mesmerized at such beauty.
"If you must know, dear husband," her voice twinkled like a thousand stars, "I was reading a book I bought from Skyriver, they truly have such fascinating stories."
Barking out an amused laugh, he settled himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her, "Meira, do you have some connection to Skyriver? Out of all the galaxies we have created, you travel to Skyriver frequently, is there something I need to know?" His eyebrow now raised, the man took his wife's white hair, loving the way it shines when light hits it.
"Hadeon, I simply like their imagination," Meira reopened her book, forcing away a smile that threatened to appear. Hadeon huffed and relaxed, simply enjoying the peace before he turned it all into chaos.
An hour later, he opened his eyes to the sound of a book being shut. Feeling the weight of his wife leaving, Hadeon turned to see Meira put the book back in its proper place.
"Now, I believe we have duties to attend to?" she walked out, laughing in a musical tone as she heard him groan out.
Now seated on their thrones, a large eye-shaped orb appeared, waiting for its command.
"Show us Skyriver."
Hadeon sighed in mock exasperation, wincing when his wife pinched his ear. Meira giggled before she once again turned her attention to the orb in front of her.
The Skyriver Galaxy was shown, planets were brought up as the Force continued to watch, liking the changes made until it stopped on one planet.
Ahch-to.
There a man was meditating, his body hovering above the ground.
"Well, well," Hadeon was surprised, yet, at the same time, he was not.
"He could use our power…" Meira muttered.
"But to what extent?"
Meira shook her head, "he is not us, he could use only a small fraction."
"How much do you want to bet there are more like him?" Hadeon smirked. She gave him a glare.
"I know enough not to bet against you, cheater."
He looked affronted but did not deny the accusations.
"We'll see how this goes, this is the first time since we created beings that they have ever shown sensitivity to our power," Hadeon thought aloud. Meira nodded.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Years later, they continuously checked on him. The man slowly built an order and taught others who were like him. They studied their newfound powers, and uncovered ancient texts. Now knowing it is considered the Force, the man devoted his entire order to serve the Force, namely the lightside.
"The Lightside?" Hadeon was now laughing with his entire being, "what kind of stupid name is that?"
"You should know what they call you," Meira allowed a smirk to appear as he now stopped laughing.
"What…I swear if I get some stupid name, I'm destroying your followers."
"Oh, my dear husband," the white haired woman patted her husband's dark blonde hair, "you are considered the Darkside."
A slow feral grin made its way onto Hadeon's face, "well, I like the sound of that."
"I knew you would," mirth was present in Meira's eyes.
"Do they know that you could become part of the darkside just as I could be part of the light? But we just favor one side more?" Hadeon crossed his arms.
"Let's not switch sides now, they're still growing."
20,000 years ago
"Meira! It's time!" Hadeon rushed out to his throne that was surrounded in shadows. Waving his hand, a table full of treats materialized.
A white portal flashed to his left, out came the Lightside of the Force, Meira.
"Did I miss the battle?'
"Just in time, my light."
For the first thousand years, the Jedi had become such an established order that Meira considered them her followers, her warriors, her champions.
Hadeon was feeling jealous, though he refused to admit it. Then, a group of Jedi broke away from the Order and became a new group, known as the Sith.
Jedi and Sith lived together, uncaring of the other. Another thousand years passed, soon Jedi and Sith fought battles, each wanting to destroy the other.
The Force watched such battles with amusement, each taking bets on who would win.
Certain years, the Jedi would win, which caused Hadeon to sulk and claim his wife cheated. Other years, the Sith would win, causing Meira to pout and refuse to give her husband the affection he wanted. Of course, it was all fun and games on their part, and they happily returned to each other's arms after a few hours of disappointment.
For the next 3,000 years, the galaxy would be torn apart by the battles the light and dark would have.
"The Sith are becoming powerful, my love."
"Yes, I'm proud of them, of course, we would rule with an iron fist if they could only work as well as the Jedi do," Hadeon muttered in disbelief, shaking his head. Meira merely smiled.
She had become weakened one time, when the Sith completely extinguished the light. Hadeon worried and fussed over her, he knew she could not die, after all she is immortal, but that did not stop the bad thoughts that entered. Meira healed a few days later, much to the relief of her husband. The same thing happened to him when the Jedi snuffed out the dark.
There had to be a balance. When the Jedi and Sith cause unbalance, they weaken a small amount.
"Do they not know balance!?" Meira fumed, her eyes darkening. Pacing in one of the palace's sitting rooms, she could only let out her anger in short outbursts. "They only claim to know us, yet, they abuse us. We are unbalanced, the power we have gifted them is unbalanced!"
Hadeon stood a few feet from a large window, gazing out and into their domain. Ruffling his dark blonde hair, he told his lover to calm down. Walking over to soothe her nerves, Hadeon kissed her.
And he kissed her like there was no tomorrow.
Meira melted inside, she hated the way their followers viewed the other side of the Force, of them. The Jedi viewed her husband as evil, while he was by no means on the lightside, he had good qualities, qualities that made her fall in love with him more.
"My light, everything will be alright."
"Was it a mistake to let them continue one like this? Skyriver hasn't seen peace in five thousand years."
Hadeon put her head under his chin, gathering her up in his arms.
"We will feel balanced again."
10,000 years ago
The air was crisp, the water sparkled with a thousand lights. Crystal butterflies flew together with the wind. Oh, balance has never felt better than this.
Meira rose from a peaceful slumber, feeling the other side of the bed, her head rose and a frown appeared. Where could her husband be?
"Time to eat."
A man, with a strong built figure, dark blonde hair, red eyes, and a smirk on his lips came into view holding a tray full of food. Meira laughed in delight.
"Must we eat now? I'm still feeling unsatisfied from last night." Her head rested against her fist, a small smile illuminated her face.
Hadeon licked his lips, putting the tray on a small table, he pounced on her. Giggles floated through the air.
They kissed, their hands roaming.
Breathy sighs, quiet growls, but most of all, sounds of passion.
Oh yes, this morning is perfect.
"There have been whispers of a 'Chosen One' and they would bring balance to the Force."
Meira raised her eyebrow when Hadeon told her what the Jedi were whispering about.
"A Chosen One? Mhm," a smile appeared, "I see."
"Have you been keeping secrets from me?"
"Me? Of course not," the smile formed into a smirk, "you will find out in a few thousand years."
Hadeon gaped, "what!?"
Laughing, Meira left the room, her hips swaying.
"That's too long!" He ran after her.
"A few thousand years will feel like a month to you."
"No, tell me now," Hadeon had all but demanded of her, cornering his wife against a wall.
"Give me a month."
"Fine."
9,000 years ago
Hadeon stalked his wife. She had promised him a month, it's been a month. How much longer is she going to keep such a secret from him?
She turned out to the garden, walking past a golden Jteri fish pond. The night sky glittered with stars, a full moon shone bright, making it very romantic. Yet, all Hadeon could think about was the secret.
Meria stopped short of a nearby bench, she took quick, fast paced steps, inhaling deeply.
"You can come out now, my love."
Hadeon reluctantly moved away from his hiding spot, not an ounce of guilt showed on his facial expression, his stance confident.
"Will you tell me now?"
Meira patted the seat next to her, which he snapped his fingers and appeared on the seat in a puff of smoke. She held his hands, forcing him to stare into her eyes.
"Something wonderful has happened…Hadeon, I'm pregnant."
Shock and joy. That's what the Darkside felt.
He leaned forward, took her head in his hands, and kissed her.
He kissed her with all his being, feelings could be felt, love, compassion, joy.
Feelings that could not be felt from the Darkside, could be felt now.
The Darkside and the Lightside made a child from their love.
That love would be the balance between light and dark.
Hadeon went to Moraband, the Sith homeworld. His eyes glow a sickening red, it's been a few weeks since he found out he was going to be a father. The darkside was powerful on this planet, not an ounce of his wife's love and light could ever step here. It made her sick, physically and mentally.
He wanted his Sith minions to hurry and become as powerful as they once were. Yet they were stuck on their own arrogant ways to see past their blind sighted nature and look at the bigger picture. Of course, he would never hurt his wife, she could always let go of the light and join him in the shadows, that was the idea anyway. It's been a constant battle of what side their child could take. Would they be dark or would they be light? Which side of the Force would they favor?
The Darkside growled lowly, he wondered briefly when the fighting began, in all their immortal years, they have never been unbalanced. Ever since the first Jedi came to be, unnecessary fights have been issued, now instead of enjoying the petty battles the Sith and Jedi would partake in, he and Meira fought as if they were part of such a troublesome Order that favored half of them. Just last week, they argued over names, and not the normal arguing either. Loud shouting, telekinesis, and crater-like holes were included, stupid isn't it? He surely thought so.
Heading over to the Sith Temple, he was pleased to see Sith students working hard on his side of the Force. Soon the Jedi would be over, he could just smell the sweet, sweet victory the battle would promise him.
"Impressive, most impressive."
Meira crossed her arms, her belly unnoticeable yet. She mulled over her marriage with the Darkside, oh how being unbalanced was such a disturbing feeling. Yes, the two of them were like fire and water, but they had always made it work, after all, they were the Force itself, the powerful energy that binds everyone and everything together. She now regrets allowing the first Jedi to keep the Force as well as teach it to the other beings. They hate the darkside just as much as the Sith hate the light.
For a few thousand years, the Jedi and Sith were in harmony, until they lost their way, making the Force bend to their selfish ways. Meira hated the thought, but she knew her husband was slightly pleased at the notion. He started to act like them now and she fears what he could do in the future. Meira's only hope was the child they created together, the child will bring her husband back, she was sure of it.
If she had to lock her husband up to regain the balance in them, then so be it.
900 years ago
Night consumed day and tiny creatures chirped to fill in the silence. Now in her nightgown, Meira braided her hair to keep it out of her face. Hadeon read a book from Skyriver fully engrossed in it, not noticing the grin his wife had.
"I remember you telling me some thousand years ago that you hated Skyriver books, my darknight."
Hadeon snorted, peering his eyes over the rim of the book, "I said you favored Skyriver books over the others, Meira, not that I hated them."
The woman stood from her chair, allowing her nightgown that was bunched at her knees to fall. Her once toned stomach was now full with child, she waddled slowly over to her side of the bed. Climbing in, she settled herself quite comfortably until she decided to drape herself over her husband.
"May I help you? I do believe this spot is reserved for one person only," Hadeon said seriously, his eyes sharp. She looked at him, giving him a smile that only he has the privilege to see and what a privilege it was.
"Yes, as a matter in fact you can," she took the book from his hands and plopped herself on his lap, "there much better."
Hadeon laughed, "well then, my love, ready for bed?"
She shook her head, "tell your child to calm down, I can't sleep when the baby is set on kicking my delicate ribs." Setting his palms on her stomach, he let his presence soothe the child. Meira sighed in content, letting herself fully relax.
"Oh, you work wonders with this child."
Hadeon smirked, "he might be taking after me then, I can already sense the darkness growing."
Meira's eyes shot open, quickly moving away from her husband who's smirk didn't falter.
"He will be nothing but drenched in the light, I will not allow him to be corrupted!"
At this, his eyes hardened, "corrupted?" He seethed, "is that how you view me? I am half of you, you are half of me! We are one in the same, do not forget your place. Without me you would not survive."
She scoffed, "As long as we are both still alive, we can still live on without the other," Meira removed herself from the comfort of the large bed, "I suggest you keep your dark paws off me and my child!" She turned around and stalked out of the room in a hurry.
"YOUR CHILD!?" Hadeon thundered.
The Force once again became unbalanced.
2 years ago
Drenched in sweat, muscles sore, and feeling fatigue, Meira successfully delivered her child into the galaxy. Hadeon smiled a pure smile, one she hasn't seen in 25,000 years.
"He is beautiful, he has your hair, my love," Meira laughed a watery laugh.
"But with your eyes, he is such a tiny thing," the new father carefully traced his son's face, bending down to kiss his forehead.
"What should his name be? We had many options," he whispered.
"I do believe you chose Osiris, didn't you?" Her eyes met his which had softened considerably.
"Ha ha, yes, but I believe I have grown fond of another name, one we decided on years ago, way before we created galaxies."
Now she was confused, her head tilt in a manner that made his heart melt.
"Anakin."
Her eyes watered, "I…I had forgotten about that name, Anakin…our little Anakin. Born of light and dark, love and passion."
They kissed, a strong feeling filled with joy.
Anakin whined quietly, causing the new parents to chuckle. Meira held the baby to her chest, rubbing his back slowly.
My family is now complete.
The white eye-shaped orb came into view, showing two Sith, a master and an apprentice.
Going by the names of Plagueis and Sidious.
Meira could only watch in horror as her husband's servants of the dark tried and failed to create a being of pure darkness. Anakin babbled, giggling as he played with his mother's long dress. Hadeon came to the throne room, lifting his son using his powers, who laughed in delight, grabbing his father and giving him sloppy kisses.
"Do you know about this, husband? Do you know what your followers are doing? This could upset the balance we have set upon Skyriver!" She was furious, that much he could tell.
Shifting his son on his hip, he turned to face the wrath of the Lightside.
"I could have, perhaps, honestly, I believe this seemed to have slipped my mind."
Meira fumed, "I don't see my warriors going around disturbing everything, this is going too far, Hadeon!"
Shocked and surprised by his mother's yelling, Anakin let out a loud wail. The Darkside glared at his wife.
"Look at what you did now," he left the room, "your followers are just as bad as you are."
Hadeon and Meira were now concerned with the Sith's rise to power. At least, it was only apparent to them, the galaxy still had no clue. The woman was disappointed that as much as her Jedi loved to gloat about being powerful in the Force, they could not sense the darkness brewing.
"We need to stop this."
And it wasn't Meira who said this, she shot a surprised look at her husband.
"You want to stop this? What changed your mind?"
"My Sith can do whatever they please, except for creating life, that's not their job," his voice was set firm, his jaw set.
"The Chosen One."
Hadeon furrowed his eyebrows, "what do you mean?"
"The Jedi received visions, visions of the future, visions of the Chosen One. The Chosen One will bring balance to us."
"Great, so where do we find him?"
Her eyes settled on a small being, no taller than an Ewok on the Endor moon, playing with a tiny ball, levitating it a few inches off the ground in hopes to have it fly.
Hadeon followed her line of vision before he vehemently refused.
"Absolutely not, this I will not allow."
"Think about it, he is the son of us, the Force, we are light and dark, he is born of light and dark. Anakin is the balance because he carries both, not one," stressed out Meira. Hadeon let out a deep, dark chuckle.
"Find another to use to become that petty Chosen One, not our son."
Meira circled her arms around the man she loves, settling her head against his chest.
"Our Ani is the only way for us to achieve the balance we need…I hate the thought just as much as you do, but I know this is the right way…" blue bore into red. Red held its gaze a millisecond longer until it retreated.
"Fine, I suppose your idea does have its reasoning, how do you plan to do it?" sighed Hadeon, he felt more weary than he ever has. She only shook her head, muttering her plan softly, as if she was afraid her son could hear the separation his parents had for him.
1 year ago
"Dada, Dada!" Little Anakin wobbled slightly as he walked towards his father. Already, the young Force being was showing signs of powers. Both Meira and Hadeon were surprised, of course, they knew little about Force babies, since they themselves have been around longer than they can remember and no child has ever been born between them.
The father simply grinned at his offspring, encouraging him to walk a little closer.
Oh how he was going to miss this. After his wife told him of the plan, he made sure to spend the last few remaining weeks with his son. Cheering softly once Anakin had reached him, Hadeon picked him up, setting off to find the mother of his child.
Constant worry etched over her face, who would be the perfect substitute mother for her only child? She closed her eyes, looking into the future when she saw her. The perfect one.
Shmi Skywalker.
She was not married, which was perfect, and she would love the child no matter what. Oh, this was wonderful.
Opening her eyes again, the white orb showed the planet Shmi Skywalker lived on. A desert planet was brought into view, and instantly, Meira grimaced.
"Sand, how revolting."
Hadeon walked through the doors dramatically with Anakin on his hip. "Found her yet?"
"I did, Shmi Skywalker, she lives on the planet Tatooine."
He raised an eyebrow, "that planet has slave owners and scum crawling all over the place. Why don't you take him somewhere else?" He showed two planets, both abundant with water, "Alderaan or Naboo. The House of Organa seems like a good match, or maybe the House of Naberrie? They will give our son the love he deserves."
The Lightside only shook her head, "he has to be born with no father, and quite frankly, the House of Naberrie will play a part in Anakin's life in a different way."
At this, confusion spread over his face, to which his wife laughed, plucking her son from his arms.
"Currently, the youngest daughter of Ruwee and Jobal Naberrie, Padmé, is three years old, if Anakin leaves by the time she is four, Shmi Skywalker will be pregnant with our son and when he is born, Padmé will be five." A picture of the smiling young girl was shown, dressed in a pale yellow dress, her brown curls wild.
Nodding, Hadeon only stared at her, "what does the daughter have to do with anything?"
"Oh my dear husband," a light tone coated her laughter, "Padme will be the future wife of Anakin," his face was nothing short of surprise, "so we can't have him growing up with her when she will only view him as a younger brother," Meira simply showed young Anakin his future wife, "you see her, Ani? Isn't she a darling?" Anakin stared and babbled, reaching out towards the image of young Padmé Naberrie. His mother cooed and grinned.
Yes, this is perfect.
Stars twinkled brightly on this night, which entranced Anakin to no end. His wide blue eyes glowed, a smile formed on his chubby cheeks.
"I have a feeling he will want to travel the galaxy once he reaches of age," Meira sighed softly, the baby in her arms, drifting off slowly.
Hadeon watched his small family, this is all he asked for.
Balance between the dark and the light.
Tears quietly fell, hearts cracked slowly, sadness filled them. Such emotion was strong enough that both the Jedi and Sith could only search the Force for this weird feeling.
Yes, sacrifices had to be, one that the Force wished they could choose a better option. Yet, they knew, no matter how heartbreaking it was, this was the right choice.
Present
Shmi Skywalker didn't know how it happened. Chest heaving desperately trying suck in breaths of air, she cried out in agonizing pain, why, why, why?
The med-droid handed her a small being, clothed in blankets.
"It's a boy," it told her unemotionally.
A boy.
A baby boy.
"What have you chosen for the name, ma'am?"
Oh, oh dear, what should she choose?
Meira's eyes glowed, nudging a name into the new mother's mind. Her husband smirked, letting out a laugh. When she wants to be, the Lightside can be quite devious.
"Anakin," Shmi said after a moment of silence. The droid bore its yellow, unblinking eyes at her.
"Anakin it is."
The brunette gasped softly, her young son had the purest blue eyes she has ever seen. Though that of course begs the question, how?
"Anakin Skywalker…it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" She asked him in a quiet voice, the little baby could only stare sleepily at her.
He whined, who was this woman? He remembered being with a different one, yet, this new mother radiated warmth and comfort. Anakin could not be displeased. Smiling a toothless smile, the boy raised his hand to his new mother who took it gently.
"I promise, Ani, I will love you with all my being."
20 years later
The Clone Wars.
How fascinating.
Both light and dark were truly impressed and disturbed.
When the clones were created, Hadeon promised to destroy every single one, not out of anger, but because the Kaminoans dare to do the job his wife could only do.
Only his wife, Meira, the light side of the Force, could create life.
This, the clones, was pure mockery.
Hadeon had brooded for days, causing Meira to laugh.
"These beings are becoming too smart for their own good..." Hadeon muttered, popping a juneberry in his mouth.
"Darling, stop being a grouch, this is all part of the events that we need to have balance," Meira appeared into her husband's line of vision, soothing his emotions by caressing his hair.
"Doesn't mean they can just do whatever they want, honestly, we need to punish them."
Letting out a little musical laugh, she left the room, sparkles left in her wake.
Her back was facing away from the glowing orb, biting her nails for comfort.
"Love...?"
"I-I can't, Ani shouldn't be fighting in a war, I did not give him up just so I can see him lose limb after limb," Meira wept.
She stuck out a hand behind her, searching for comfort which she found when she felt a warm hand encase her own.
"It will be alright, darling, he is our son, he is part of the Force. You know how exceptional Anakin is," the Darkside gave a small smile, believing this to comfort his fear-stricken wife, and he was right. Meira turned around, still grasping her husband's hand, and peeked over Hadeon's shoulder, eyes widening as she saw her only son slice battle droids after battle droids, without a scratch on him.
"He's amazing...we created him...we made him...my love," Meria gasped in awe.
Hadeon bellowed a deep laugh, "he is wonderful, I couldn't ask for a better son, Anakin will be the best, that I'm sure of."
3 years later
"She's PREGNANT!?"
Jaws were dropped as they watched Padme take a pregnancy test.
Slowly, Hadeon and Meira looked at each other, smiles stretched across their faces. They were going to be grandparents!
"Padme is having a girl."
Raising her eyebrow, Meira laughed, draping her arm around him, "My love, she is carrying a boy, I would know."
"This is where you're wrong, she's going to have a girl, just you watch," Hadeon batted her arm away, scoffing at his wife.
"Haha, what's the-wait! I'm too young to be a grandmother!" Meira held her face in shock, "I'm far too young!" She wailed.
Crossing his arms, he gave her an unimpressed look, "you are far too old to be a mother, yet here we are. You look young, but you are not."
He quickly dodged five books that were flying through the air.
"You take that back, Hadeon! I will cut off what you hold dear," Meira gave him a withering glare.
"You brought up the subject!"
"I said I was young, not old! You need to get yourself checked."
Hadeon snorted, "I'm the kriffing Force, I'm perfectly fine."
"Language."
Fire consumed the once beautiful Jedi Temple.
Meira stood, her fists shaking with anger.
The clones that had once brought peace, now brought destruction. She found it to be funny, really, they were in a way like the Force.
The clones can be used for good or evil.
She felt herself weaken, one by one, the Jedi were struck down.
Falling to the ground, she held her chest, where is Hadeon? She needs him...she hasn't seen him in weeks and she was starting to get worried.
"Ha...deon..." she gasped out weakly.
Standing shakily back on her feet, she stumbled to their room, casting the door wide open.
Using her psychic link she shared with her husband, Meira gasped out.
Her remaining strength gave out, she tumbled to the polished floor.
All she could feel was darkness.
Anger.
Hate.
Suffering.
Pain.
Agony.
Despair.
Not an ounce of love was felt.
What is this...who is this?
She has never felt feelings like this before, not through their psychic link. These are foreign emotions that seem intent on tearing the bond of light and dark apart.
As she continued to poke around, she all of a sudden found herself out of the link. She tried to search again but it was like he wasn't there.
No.
She knew what it was.
Meira, Hadeon's wife, was forced out.
Casted out.
Not wanted.
Her heart broke.
The man that she loved, has love in his heart, even though he is the darkside. He carried a light inside of him just like she carried a darkness within her.
It's how it was done.
It's peaceful.
"HADEON!"
He felt awful, of course. But, he really couldn't feel the guilt. Honestly, he could blame the darkness. He never wanted to hurt her. Not all things could end in happy endings. They were never meant to love each other.
Or is that the deepest, darkest part of his power talking? He wasn't sure and he didn't want to know.
He was ecstatic, his Sith were finally going to rule. The Jedi had their time, now it was his turn.
Walking down the hallway with a purpose, Hadeon let out a cackle, red lightning emerged from his fingertips.
A feral smirk appeared, he ran his fingers over the pitch black throne. Power...
Inhaling, he sat gingerly on the decorated piece of art, in his opinion at least.
"I'm sorry my love, my light, but it's my turn now."
15 years later
Meira stood alone in the throne room, her gaze turned to the empty seat next to hers. Her husband disappeared a few weeks before Anakin turned, finding out he fully embraced the darkside that the Sith practiced.
Tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to fall, she gave up everything to bring peace to the galaxy, yet, all she had acquired was heartbreak and loneliness.
Her husband now became her enemy, she missed the warmth Hadeon brought with him when they laid together. Meira would watch her grandson, Luke, live happily on the desert planet, unaware of the large destiny he must face.
Her thoughts drew to her son. Anakin should've been here, to bring back the balance she so craved. What was she thinking? Why did she give him away?
Her knees gave out. Tears now flowed freely. She has been alone for many years. Her husband hated her. Her son doesn't remember her. What else does she have to give? She protected Anakin with all her being, yet she saw him turn to the darkside. In a way, she was proud. After all, he spent twenty-two years as a Jedi, following her teachings, now it was his turn to follow his father.
But that didn't stop the heartache that she felt.
The Jedi Massacre was the biggest she has seen, the Jedi now arrived in her domain…their domain, if her darknight was still here.
She had allowed Padme access to the Jedi part of her world. She deserves that much, Meira felt terrible, knowing that she had caused the bright, young girl's life to be cut short.
A loud wail bounced throughout the large, highly decorated room.
Surely that wasn't her?
It had to be one of the servants here.
It continued on, not stopping, oh how pitiful it sounded.
Meira stifled the cry of anguish, and forced in the rest of the tears that were waiting to fall. No, no, she will not sit here and cry, she hasn't mourned it twenty-two years, she will not be doing it now. On her hands and knees, she didn't heed her own instructions and let out her despair. The Jedi were the cause of this, of her pain. Ironic, wasn't it? She would laugh if she didn't feel the heartache she felt right now.
Oh, Hadeon, my love, my moon, where are you? I need you, our son needs you, take care of him…please.
She tried thinking of a happy memory, though all they brought on was pain…but her mind brought an image of her grandchildren…yes, there is one. Luke and Leia, two little bundles of joy. A tiny smile came across her face, a wet laugh ripped through her. Meira knows they will bring back her champions, her legacy, her son. But most of all her husband. They will know of love and light. Nothing else.
9 years later
Anakin.
Her lovely son.
Dead.
Burned.
She knew she should mourn, yet all she could think about was how happy she was. Meira wanted to laugh, cry, dance, in joy. Her son did it. He brought balance to the Force.
To them.
It took forty-six years, but he did it.
Already, she could feel the peace she once felt that has been missing since the Jedi first appeared.
Strong winds crashed the large doors open, black smoke and tendrils slowly appeared. Out came a man, looking as handsome as he did years ago.
Hadeon looked over every single thing in this room. Nothing has changed, he laughed silently.
There, with her back faced to him, was the love of his life, the light that only she can bring. The guilt, the shame, the regret, the penitence, the remorse, all these negative emotions were eating him up from the inside . Yet, the love, the joy, the adoration, the fondness he feels towards this being, it was indescribable. She looked as perfect as she did when he left her.
"My light," he whispered, eyes pleading in hope.
Her back did not turn, but it did tremble, it trembled with such force he was worried.
"D-do you realize how…I feel? I was distraught, I was worried, I was in pain, I wanted nothing but for you to come back to me! And here you are, strutting around like you just came back from pulling pranks on the beings of Skyriver!" She turned to face him, tears flowed, her voice shook, yet, he could feel her relief, "I wanted nothing more to see you come back, but it took you forever!"
Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits, she stalked towards him with ferocity that he felt himself shake. When the Lightside was angry…she was angry.
Grabbing his face, she pulled him into a long overdue kiss. Emotions were pouring into the single movement. They pawed at each other, only allowing their feelings to do the talking.
Hadeon picked up Meira, setting her on his throne. There they allowed only passion to speak.
Meira missed this feeling, nothing could ever compare to her lover.
Hours passed, but they did not stop, too much was missed. They could talk later, right now, they needed each other in ways only they knew how.
Now in their bed, peaceful silence could be felt. Meira traced shapes on her husband's bare chest. Hadeon kissed the top of her head. They had been talking for what seemed like days to them. Shouts, tears, throwing of items were what their talk had detailed. But they knew that they loved each other. They were meant to be together, how could they not? They were the Force, they were two parts of one whole, they were the opposite, yet they were the same, that was something that could not be broken.
"I want to see him."
Meira knew what he was asking, her husband hadn't seen him in over forty-six years, at least, not in the way he remembered.
"He is with the others, in Harmonia Pellem, we can see him the next thing tomorrow morning," she whispered, her eyes threatening to shut close. He nodded, making them both comfortable.
They slept in blissful silence, only the small critters could be heard, but they created a song, a song of love, peace, and harmony.
~S~
Anakin lowered his head, there he was, in the presence of the Jedi once again. He felt such overwhelming guilt that it threatened to overtake him. He didn't know why the Force decided that he should still be here.
When he first arrived, he felt peace, love. Feelings that he had not felt since he killed the emperor, since he first saw his son with his own eyes.
"Forgive you, we do," Yoda spoke first, no accusations were present in his voice, only acceptance, forgiveness.
"Master Yoda…with all due respect…why? I-I killed you all, I slaughtered all the Jedi without a second thought, I'm responsible for everything and more!" He forced the tears away.
A chuckle was heard, when he looked up, he saw his old master, Obi-wan, who looked as young as he did during the Clone Wars.
"You brought balance to the Force, Anakin, though the events that had followed were not ideal, you still did it, and for that, I'm proud of you."
The two hugged, which was long overdue if you asked Obi-wan.
"Thank you, Master," the young man bowed lowly to the other Jedi, he smiled a small smile.
"There is someone waiting for you, Anakin, go down that path, where you will see a pond, that person is there," Mace said, clapping a hand on Anakin's shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze.
Anakin did as he was told, and saw a woman, with brown curls, smiling at the fish that performed tricks.
His voice caught in his throat.
Oh, she is so beautiful, somehow, she looked even more ethereal than she ever did.
"Anakin!" Padme gasped in joy, she ran to him, tightly hugging his body, she cried. Her body racked with deep shakes that stirred Anakin out of his stupor.
They embraced, whispers of love and mutters of 'I'm sorry' were present over and over again.
"I-I'm so, deeply sorry, I do not deserve your forgiveness, I will beg on my knees until I have righted all the wrong I did" Anakin cried.
"No, Ani, I forgave you long ago, I love you, no matter what, you came back to me, that's all I wanted, all I asked for. You saved our son, you killed the emperor, you deserve so much. You went through Palpatine's torment, I wanted to help you so, so, so much," she kissed him again, Padme felt relief in her heart. Her Ani was back home.
Now walking back where the Jedi Council were at, Anakin gave them his apologies, to which they accepted.
"But, I do not understand, where are we?" Padme spoke up.
"You are in the Force, the planet where dark lives in harmony with light," a female spoke, her voice sounding like many melodies all coming into one. White hair cascaded down her back, blue eyes twinkled.
"I am Meira, but you know me as the Lightside of the Force."
A man materialized right beside her, his clothes an obvious contrast to her own.
"You know me as the Darkside of the Force, I am Hadeon."
Meira smiled demurely, "This is Eirithion, the planet of harmony, and we welcome you."
"But, the lightside is with the dark?" Ki-Adi wondered.
The Darkside chuckled, "I am her husband, so yes, I would like to be with her."
The Jedi were in shock, never before has this happened, since when were they together and married?
"But I thought marriage was forbidden…" Padme asked, her voice quiet, it was not every day you talked to the Force.
"I never said that, I encourage my followers to love, and if that includes marriage then so be it," Meira's head tilted, "over the course of time, the Jedi has corrupted my ways and teachings, I was…unhappy at the notion."
"That you were," Hadeon muttered, wincing when his wife pulled his hair.
"So, this means Anakin is the Chosen One then?" Obi-wan got straight to the point.
"He is, because he is our son," the Darkside revealed, causing everyone to still.
Anakin's breath stopped, "W-what? I'm not human?"
"You never were, do you know why you struggled with both sides of the Force? Why you feel at peace when you use both?" The Force woman asked, her voice was kind, "you were born here, but we–I–gave you to Shmi Skywalker."
"Why? Did you not want me?" Anakin's head swam, he was grateful that they chose such a kind woman to raise him, but that wouldn't stop the thoughts of feeling abandoned by the Force rise.
Quickly the woman went over to her son, the Jedi clearing the path for her.
"Oh my dear sweet Ani, I loved you with every fiber of my being, but you were chosen for something special…one that I could not ignore, there were times that I regretted my decision, especially since Hadeon left," eyes turned to him, who glared in response, "but I could never, we could never think of abandoning you, I promise." She hugged him, which Anakin reciprocated.
Oh Force, I'm married to a literal Force god… Padme's eyes widened, though at the same time, she was not surprised, her Anakin will always find a way to make her gape in shock.
The three Force beings hugged, finally feeling complete.
~S~
When Shmi Skywalker first opened her eyes, she didn't know where she was, but when a woman, glowing with such brightness that it almost hurt to look at her, appeared and said that her Ani was here, she knew that everything was alright.
When she saw her son, grown up, looking handsome, she nearly cried.
Their reunion was sweet as it was sad.
He told her everything, from start to finish, Shmi was glad that everything had turned out alright in the end.
She had her son and her daughter-in-law, what more could she ask for?
~S~
There was finally peace, peace that has been lost over 25,000 years ago.
They continued to look out for their descendants.
The Force was complete.
Dark lived alongside Light.
Day danced with night.
Hadeon and Meira had their son, their in between.
Balance is now achieved.
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themattress · 1 year ago
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Hegemon Edelgard is the saddest ending for her but also the logical conclusion to the horrors that have already been inflicted on her. She is already a monstrous tool of the Slithers, so she might as well fully give up her humanity and embrace it.
Referring back to this post, I will say that I actually like the idea of Hegemon Edelgard. Beyond what is said here (it being the logical conclusion for her decision to throw away her humanity for the sake of a better future), it does contrast Dimitri's arc in Azure Moon well: just as he's finally shed the monster he used to be, Edelgard chooses to become a monster.
My issue with the execution is that it's used as a convenient way to destroy any nuance in the battle between Dimitri and Edelgard, and between their respective ideals. Because Hegemon Edelgard is designed in such an obviously evil manner and given such obviously evil things to say ("There can only be one ruler of the world!"), players will readily agree that Dimitri and his ideals are good, Edelgard and her ideals are bad, and Edelgard's defeat so that Dimitri can be the leader of Fodlan is unquestionably a happy ending that will work out for everyone.
I feel like Hegemon Edelgard should have been used in a way to highlight the tragedy of her situation more, and the thing Dimitri should take away from it being that doing absolutely anything necessary to achieve your goal, no matter how justified you think that goal may be, is wrong; thus he was right to have learned that through his failed revenge quest. It also sets up him offering Edelgard mercy at the end better - killing her would ensure the outcome he desires, but he's no longer willing to stoop to murder to get what he wants, making it all the sadder when Edelgard forces his hand anyway. You can then be left still able to think that perhaps Edelgard's vision for the future was better than Dimitri's, but still accepting that Dimitri deserved to win since he ultimately didn't carry things too far while Edelgard did.
Saw a post that has reminded me of a thing that I feel helps make Edelgard work so well as both a hero and a villain depending on the route you play. And it’s that Edelgard seems to be thoroughly convinced she is the villain of the story. She wants to revolutionize Fódlan and improve people’s lives at any and all costs. And one of those costs is Edelgard herself. Not just her life but her entire reputation and the memory of her that will live on. And she’s just…fine with that.
Like she’s unhappy. That much is apparent. She doesn’t sound happy in her wonderings with Dorothea about if she’ll be remembered as a tyrant. Her tea time quotes involve things like her wondering how her life would be if she wasn’t born a Hresvelg. And given that her dreams involve things like “Get married for love” and “Be allowed to take breaks and be free to do so” that’s a rather sad and concerning thing. She feels very isolated and doomed and is generally just not happy.
But on a certain level, for her, that’s fine. What actually matters isn’t if she’s happy or if people remember her well. What matters is if the changes she wants made are made. What matters is people’s lives get better and that the systems she hates are torn down and dealt with. Her philosophy is very “The ends justify the means,” prior to Byleth’s sticking up for her and one of those ends appears to be “The complete destruction of Edelgard, the person.”
Which puts more of a damper on things when it’s not her route being finished. Because at the ends of those routes a lot of the things that she wants done are done. The Crest based aristocracy is always finally being dealt with, for example. Or how you find out about and deal with the Slithers in VW. The Church as an institution is probably always the biggest remaining thing that she hated, though I suppose at the very least management changes from the politically corrupt Rhea to Byleth (unless you S support Rhea). Edelgard even says herself that the faith is not what she has issue with and she does say that there are several things about the religion that she finds good and admirable. Her issue is with the Church as an institution and how it has hurt people and continues to hurt people.
And by the end point of these routes, Edelgard has thoroughly cemented herself in the narratives as a villain. People in game talk about her like she’s an evil monster and wonder how she could possibly justify anything she has done. She’ll even turn into a very literal monster at the end of the one route. In the other two she admits that nothing will end until she is dead and she accepts that. Hell, even the character’s reputation in the fandom itself is affected by this. She is a very polarizing character and one of the extremes of opinion on her is that she is just a thoroughly loathsome villain who cannot and should not be redeemed.
But that’s fine for her. Because she did, on some level, believe that she was the villain and what really matters is not her reputation anyway. What matters is that the changes happen at all.
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kyunisixx · 3 years ago
Text
chiaroscuro
artist!Robert Plant AU one shot.
a/n: this really started out as a song I wanted to write. But I knew I had to turn it into a longer writing!!
themes: fluff, mild implications of nsfw and tw: childhood trauma.
summary: in which Y/N becomes a muse for Robert, a landscape artist in more ways than one. (Man, that summary is so shit but let's roll with it)
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pairing: artist!Robert Plant x fem!reader
chi·a·ro·scu·ro
the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting.
an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something.
"Lean back for me a bit more, darling. That's right, relax."
As she moves, the old sofa creaks beneath her. Chilled air gusts through a partially opened window, making her shiver and sending miniscule bumps all over her bare skin. Her eyes drift over the fixtures inside the cozy cabin, illuminated by an outmoded oil lamp situated on the man's table. Several tiny moths were floating around it as the flame wavered ever so slightly from the breeze.
Scattered were all paintbrushes and smudges of paint were messily smeared all over the table. A round board was placed so close at the edge (one she heard him call before —a palette). In the middle is a rustic cup with half-empty, now cold tea. But a paint-smudged hand grasped on its handle and swiftly brought it over to a mouth. 
Then her eyes met his.
His frizzled, curly blond locks are pulled into a disheveled bun. One he pinned up so carelessly with a thin, unused paintbrush as to prevent it from obstructing his view but a few ringlets managed to escape and are now framing his face.
Ivory-colored shirt, a few buttons undone to reveal smooth skin of his collarbones which were also marked with a few shades of paint. Some scattered across his jawline to his cheek. 
Lips are pursed and eyes are pulled into deep concentration, they are set into a particular part of her. As if to capture the exact curvature of the crease on her waist.
Salient was the cleft on his chin and the sharp edge of his cheekbones by the incandescent light lent by the lamp, making him look like a contrast between sinister and elegance.
He dipped a brush and carefully made short strokes on the canvas, pausing every now and then to look at her.
The sun was setting and the sky was shaded a dull gray, providing so little of brightness which seemed to have darkened even more being situated in a lush forest.
Many months ago at this time of the day, she would have just been getting up from her sleep. Wake up and get ready for a long shift. It was a routine she had gotten so used to every day.
Take a bath. Eat. Pick out an outfit. Put on makeup. Be into the persona.
She would become a completely different person as soon as she stepped into the establishment she knew for as long as she moved into the town a few months ago.
From having to move into different cities and using different names to hide her identity. All of it to escape the filthy and haunted ghost of her past. 
Screaming. Glass breaking. Bruises. Slamming doors.  All of the things a child shouldn't have to go through. She took a risk and ran away from it.
And here is where she ended up thirteen years later.
Lacklustre eyes unmoving as they steadily stared back at her in a blurry mirror inside the changing room. All the girls' chattering seemed to have been muted and faded in the background as she gazed at her reflection. She picked up the small item in her hand, before taking the cap off and swiped the crimson lipstick across her chapped lips, creating a thick shade.
"Y/N, you ready to go?"
She turned her head back to Don, the club manager. She smiled and moved her head in a single nod.
“Sure, Don. Just give me a short moment”. She adjusted the strap of her black velvet dress and walked on the familiar, dimly lit hallway. Her stilettos clapped quietly on the floor as she padded and stopped in front of a red curtain covering the doorway from the side to the stage. 
"How's it going, folks? Alright, alright. I'd get right into it. This is the moment you've all been waiting for. The crowd favourite, slithers like a python, mistress of the night; Marilyn"
Then, she waited as the main lights switched off and took her cue to enter as smoke filled the platform. Coloured lights gleamed right through. She situated herself right in the middle then circled her hand on the pole as the first note of the song started to hum quietly. Like a distant patter of rain—calm before the storm. Her hips moved into the rhythm and fluidly sneaked around the pole as the cloud of smoke started to clear out. Gazing into the crowd of men, her blood-red lips quirk into a smirk.
It was the only time she knew she had complete power and control. And she relished it, savoring the potency. 
Her hands smoothed all over her now slightly perspired skin as men clamored and hooted for her. Bills were haphazardly thrown into the dancefloor. Something that she wasn't used to when she first started, it made her feel cheap. Dirty. But her routine carried on almost every night, she eventually got used to it and had even grown to like it.
Then she spotted him. 
Big ball of golden hair illuminated by stage lights. He was situated amongst the sea of predators, his eyes followed the fluidity of her movements. But what struck her the most was the way he was watching her. It wasn't shadowed by lust, but more of an intense wonder and curiosity. It was as if he was memorizing each part of her curves, but for another purpose.
Her gaze somewhat mirrored his. He definitely wasn't strange-looking. Hell, he might have been the most beautiful man she has ever seen. He didn't belong to a place where no good men wander around. Both his beguiling beauty and aura was completely out of place for such a place like this.
The song then came to a stop. Her number was over but her eyes remained locked with his. It was only then she came back to consciousness as Don's voice boomed into the large speakers, signalling the end of her performance. She collected the bills scattered on the floor and walked off the stage, throwing a last glance into the crowd as she took her exit.
He was gone.
He wouldn't show up for a couple of days. She was sure, of course. The moment she steps out, her eyes would already be skimming through the lounge, and would sigh in disappointment if she didn't spot any sign of him.
"Have you seen your mysterious man yet?"
One of the girls she was closest to, Hershey, asked as she counted the thick block of bills on her hand.
"He wasn't out there tonight"
"You could have been hallucinating. Anyway, you told me he was 'like an angel'"
Hershey laughed, mimicking the way she had said the last part with a breathy tone and added, "Or could have been disappointed in your dance number, ran away and swore to not step a foot into this place again"
She stopped momentarily, chuckled lightly and sighed, "You may not be far from the truth but we'll see."
Then he would be there the next night, positioned right at a table at the back. His curly locks gave his identity right away, with his elbows propped up and fingers poised against his chin, bearing the same gaze. 
Later that night, he'd be waiting right outside of the club.
"The show was spectacular."
She tilted her head to him, nodded and smiled.
"Thank you."
She wasn't sure how it ended up with her sitting on a stool inside a cozy 24-hour operating diner so late at night, chatting with her "mysterious man" late at night, who introduced himself as Robert. He was apparently a landscape artist and has traveled the world where he finds inspirations for his works.
"The best place I have ever been to? Hm. I'd say Machu Picchu, set in the high mountains of Andes in Peru, above a river called Urubamba. I had to hike all the way up, and you could see the breathtaking view when you reach the top."
"That does sound very lovely." She sighed wistfully.
"Have you ever traveled anywhere outside the country?"
"Oh no, I have not. I move to different places a lot but I've never gone out, never had the chance to."
"Ah, you should! It's wonderful."
She nodded, "Do you only do landscaping?"
"Well, no. I do a little bit of abstract art but I focus mainly on landscaping. I was thinking of expanding more, though. Maybe portrait, or nude art."
"That's a good idea. An artist has to come out of his comfort zone and be able to become great."
"Yeah…", he trailed off, as if lost in thought. "I hope this doesn't come off as strange or I as a creep. But may I ask you to be my muse? Don't worry! We'll only do portrait." He added the last sentence quickly.
She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, her brows furrowed deep in thought.
"You don't have to s—"
"I'll do it."
A few days later, she was again popped up on a stool inside his flat just a few blocks away from the club. His place was spacious, but had a very rustic feel to the interior design. A few souvenirs from different countries were neatly placed on a shelf and most of his paintings were hung stylistically on the walls (in which she stared at in complete awe for what she could tell an hour each painting until he had to drag her away to his studio)
Her fingers fiddled as she tried to stay still under his calculating gaze. She never had much problem with how she looked and never had insecurities. Perhaps she just didn't care enough to be insecure. But at that moment, she thought of how she must've appeared to him and if she was good-looking enough to be an inspiration for his art.
"Are you alright there?"
"Yes! Yes, I… Yeah I'm alright."
His hand stopped and placed the paintbrush on the table. "Are you sure? If you're not comfortable or if you need a break, we could stop for a bit."
She shook her head vigorously, "No, it's okay. Don't worry."
"If you say so."
She let her eyes travel from his bare foot, to his khaki trousers, to his satin shirt with top three buttons undone, to his face. Oh, his gorgeous face. It was pulled into a deep concentration as he stared at his work, giving her some time to study his majestic features.
His eyes flickered to hers as if sensing her stare and playfully frowned, a small smile curled on the side of his lips.
"What?"
"What?"
He laughed, "You were staring."
"I was. Is it a crime?"
"No, I wouldn't say it is." He said with a teasing edge to his voice. 
It was their arrangement which they stick to a few times a week. On her day off, after work if she wasn't feeling too exhausted. There was an obvious attraction lingering inside the room of his small studio but none of them acted upon it other than just casual flirtations thrown around. He was a perfect gentleman and had always been accommodating. A couple of times he would insist on paying her in which she would always refuse to accept. 
"The tea you make for me is enough for a payment." She had jokingly said. "Do not worry about it, Robert. Really, it's okay. I'm making enough from my job."
One night, after their sessions, they had too many drinks and bottles were littered over the table along with his paint brushes which had long dried of paint. 
"Tell me about you, Marilyn. Mistress of the night, who apparently, slithers like a python." He mused, mentioning her alias. His glossy eyes filled with mirth.
She snorted, took a long swig of beer and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. 
"Marilyn is… Nobody. I'm nobody. I came from somewhere that in my mind, ceased to exist." She stared ahead. "I ran away from home. Who calls it a home anyway?" She laughed humorlessly.
"My parents fought a lot. They spent so much time fighting, they didn't even have time for me. Looking back at it now, I could have just preferred that. But then, they turned their anger towards me." She sniffed and quickly wiped the salty tears before they even slid down to her flushed cheeks.
"I went to my grandparents. They loved me so much and I loved them so dearly. But they were not my parents. Eventually, both of them passed away and I was left on my own. But I was eighteen. I didn't have to go back to my parents. So I went to different cities, finding places where I could feel like I could fit in. Looked for jobs, and then I ended up here. I made friends and I have my own place, but it still never felt like home."
He was quietly staring at her, and the silence was deafening. Then he lifted his free hand to her face and ran the back of his index finger to dry her cheeks. Her hand caught his and brought it to her lips and placed a soft kiss. 
"But with you, it feels… different. I like hanging out with you. I like being with you. You feel like home to me, Robert."
Her voice echoed softly as he took his time to reply. But he didn't, instead, he leaned down and sealed his lips against hers. 
He layed limply on top of her body as he shuddered from his release. Both tried to desperately catch for their breath as her hand smoothed down his back and the other combed through his damp locks. He slid out of her and dropped beside her, not too long before he enclosed his arms over her and pulled closer. He catches her lips on his in a lazy kiss and smiled.
"You feel like home to me too, Y/N."
Her heart soared and nuzzled her nose against his.
"I want to paint you like this. May I? You are so beautiful. In light and in shadow."
She blushed, "Yes, but right now? I'm tired."
"No, no. We'll do it tomorrow. I'll take you somewhere." His warm breath hit her skin as he whispered.
"Where?" She whispered back.
"Well, I'm not telling you that. But it was what I helped my Father build when I was younger. It's somewhat like a special place for me, and I want you to see it."
He gazed at her as he waited for her to respond.
"Okay."
Under the light of the lamp, she peers at him under her lashes.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Mm? I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You know what it is. Cut it out or I'll never get to finish this."
She huffs. "You're no fun"
"I can prove you otherwise in a few minutes."
He continued to do his finishing touches and leaned back to admire his work.
"That isn't too bad. But nothing compares to the real art."
"And what might that be?"
"You, my love." He stood up, walked over to where she was, placed his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her to him.
"I've been waiting for this for hours."
"I've been giving you hints and you insist on finishing your art."
He chuckled. "Of course I had to."
His fingers danced their way from her sides to her hips, rubbing along the marks littered across her skin.
"Are you ready to see it?" He murmured against her neck. She shudders as she nodded, giving their playful banter a break. 
He bit her earlobe softly, "Okay."
He walked over to his canvas and carefully turned it around to face her.
She gasps.
.
⭐ writings list ⭐
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taglist: @jonesyjonesyjonesy , @princesspagey , @ritacaroline , @jimmys-zeppelin , @rebel-without-a-zeppelin , @reincarnated70sbaby (if you wanted to be added in, let me know 🤘🏻🤗)
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diary-of-an-onliner · 4 years ago
Text
feet on the ground [f.w.]
word count: 3381
warnings: none
a/n: this is based on, and a counterpart/continuation of @ickle-ronniekins 's head in the clouds — thanks for the inspo babe, this one is for you
Fred Weasley was not happy. Sure, he had made a lot of questionable, or as other people like to say 'bad', decisions in his life, but taking Care of Magical Creatures was one of the worst. Yes, it made Hagrid ecstatic, and that's always a good thing to see; yes, it's useful for his future business. However a hellfire-cracken the size of a shoebox was making him rethink his choices.
For the lack of a better distraction, he focused on digging a hole in the grass with his trainer as Hagrid’s rumbled instructiones flew over his head, missing both ears and zooming away into an indifferent oblivion. George is taking this already, he looked to George, who was quite enchanted with his partner, and thoroughly enjoying it, couldn't we have split up? He kicked the dirt lightly, startling the girl next to him.
Neither Fred nor his Slytherin partner were thrilled with each other,but misery loves company, so it might be for the best.
"How's the weather up there?" said his partner, who was crouching eye — er, shell-level, with the creature, but keeping her distance nonetheless. Her hair waved and flickered on her shoulder as she bounced on her heels.
"Immaculate, thanks for asking." he said, not wanting to get closer to the scorpion-lobster lovechild from the asshole of hell. "Y'know Hagrid said those things burn, bite, and sting, right?"
"So do I.” she said sarcastically, still keeping her gaze tied to the monster. “I'm not going to touch it, I'm just looking. You're aware we need to sketch it, label its parts and write an essay about it later?" Fred shifted his weight from foot to foot restlessly.
"Yes." his nostrils flared.
She pursed her lips and, after a moment of silence, said: "I dare you to touch it."
He crossed his arms. "I am not taking dares from you. We met three minutes ago and I haven't enjoyed a second of it."
"What's up your ass?" she turned to him, still crouching. "Actually, I don't care. Just don't take it out on me." The creature clicked their — tail? — pincers? — their something.
"I wasn't—" she raised an eyebrow and he fell silent, and looked away.
"'m not very thrilled to be here." he mumbled. "And that ugly death trap isn't making it better. Can we start over?" he asked, sighing and tiredly sweeping his left hand through his hair, and offering his right to her.
She took it and pulled herself up, then promptly smoothed out her skirt, shook his still proffered hand, and introduced herself.
Unlike his messy untucked shirt, her uniform was pressed down to the socks and her shoes held no traces of mud. It gave her a calculating, and slightly cold aura, as if she was drawn with a set of rulers and a compass. She was probably more geometrical than anyone who had ever taken Care of Magical Creatures.
"Fred." he said, even though she knew.
"Well Fred, we will be working together on this Blast-Ended Skrewt for the next few weeks, so that 'ugly death trap’ is our son you're talking about." she chided with a smile that better belonged on a sly fox rather than a girl.
"You sound very attached to it." he shot back. An idea, a thought, a silver of a notion that this might be fun slithered along the floor of his skull.
"Him.” She corrected with her pointer finger in the air. “And it's called being a good parent." she lightly jabbed him in the chest.
"Okay then. Go pet your son." Fred smirked.
They turned toward the beast which was playing in the grass like a puppy. It seemed to be wiggling its tails.
Her eyes narrowed: "Which part is the head?"
"I don't know. We should probably figure it out, since the other side shoots flames." he said in an amused tone.
"It's supposed to be a sucker, so it might be the penis-looking side." he chuckled, but when she turned to stare at him expectantly, his red eyebrow jumped in question. A breeze ruffled their hair.
"Go on then, don't be shy, we need to compare." she said flatly.
He burst out laughing so hard, a few people around them turned to stare - quite a dangerous thing to do at the moment seeing as some of the beasts started snipping. A yelp sounded from afar, and Fred laughed even harder.
At least his partner is funny.
"Seriously though, this thing is going to fire-fart on us soon and we need to figure it out."
“You don’t feel better in nature?” her tone piqued as she turned the pages of a book. Their desk was covered with them, during the first of their many study meetings.
“No.” Fred played with his quill, spinning it through his fingers. “You do?”
“I feel clearer, especially near water.”, thump, she shut her book and discarded it.
“How come?” he balanced on the back legs of his chair, eyes darting around.
“I don’t know. It’s not a thing I question.”, flip, flip, flip, “It just lures me out of my head, and makes me feel a little more real, like I’m aware of my own existence. Sharper, yknow?”
Fred shook his head.
“I don’t have a need to get out of my head, it’s great in there.” he joked. She snorted and passed him a book with a piece of paper sticking out.
“Don’t you? You seem to be in there a lot though. I think you think too much.” Fred chukled, “That’s something I've never been told.”
“Then it’s about time.” she threw his way, but she had yet to look at him, Fred noted. The idea of her as geometrical played around in his head. “Try it next time. People exist a little sharper sometimes. It stops you from feeling like you’re going to float away.” her eyes finally flickered to him like two needles of her compasses, and shot him down. His chair hit the ground.
Before Fred had a chance to say something else or roll her idea around in his brain, she passed him a piece of parchment with a soft order to, “Write.”
His diagram of their unnamed child was much neater than hers, but his illegible handwriting distracted from it perfectly.
"That is not a t."she said, her hair almost electrified from stress-combing it with her hands.
"It's obviously a g." he chirped, but his tone sounded worn down all the same. She squinted at the paper with her mouth open for a moment, then gave up.
"How are you still this peppy?" she asked as her gaze lazily rolled itself away from the books. His tie was completely undone and being used as a bookmark, his shirt unbuttoned and ruffled like his hair, ha, carrot head!, but he took no note of it as he balanced on the back legs of his chair again. Every so often, a clank would sound amid their conversation when the chair struck against the stone floor and his feet hit the ground, before he leaned back again.
"What are you talking about? I'm knackered." he yawned.
She looked up, and her thoughts leaked out of her head. The scenery through the window behind him was gorgeous, lit on fire by the dusk— oversaturated reds and pinks which lined the dark purple clouds.
With a loud tap on the library floor, the front legs of Fred's chair touched the ground and his head covered the sun perfectly, giving him a golden lining and making his orange hair melt into the background. The clear lines of his face looked almost chiseled in contrast to the haziness behind him.
A weight settled in the center of her torso, an iron bowling ball rolling between her stomach and her heart. He was handsome. She knew this. But she used to know it the way one knows they should drink water when they’re thirsty. Knowing you needed it after you drink him in, swallow, and sign, is another story.
She felt a warm metal line grow out of her chest, like a vine towards the sunlight, enter his chest and settle.
For a few moments she imagined it. She tried to note the dragging sensation of warm iron and let herself be pulled to him. She imagined the ball rolling in his center, and all his squirming being in an attempt to adjust it instead of just staying awake.
Then she blinked. Took in the real scene. Despite being exhausted, she felt tranquil in their little corner filled with books and a few very ugly sketches. She picked one up.
“Are we allowed to call his head a dick?” She questioned, but Fred just yawned and shrugged. His chair tipped back again.
“You’ll hurt yourself.” She said flatly, words moving from line to line like trains with the shittiest track designs ever.
“The thrill keeps me awake.” he closed his eyes, hair still a burning red. She didn’t dare look at the Sun for too long. Her eyes tried to follow the words. The ball rolled.
He slid another sketch towards her. “I think we should use this one.”
She put the first one aside, their hands brushing as she took the new parchment. She heard the scraping of his chair on the floor as he moved closer until his collarbone pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to point. The body heat he was emitting only reminded her of the weariness her body carried. It also refashioned her bowling ball into an anchor slowly sinking through her stomach, tickling her insides on the way down.
The sketch was neater and much simpler than others, no more than a handful of black lines on a yellowing parchment.
“This part is the head.” Fred pointed out. “I think. It looks weird and there isn’t exactly a good reference for a randomly cross-bred demon.” He seemed so focused on his drawing that she got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes intentionally. Stupid, really. They’re both just tired and have a lot of work.
Look at me.
He didn’t.
She banished all her stupid silly thoughts, and tried to turn to the books for the next few hours.
Fred stayed circling warmly on the edge of her orbit, moving around her but never looking, never acknowledging her as anything other than a voice and a pair of friendly working hands. The silly stupid thread she felt earlier vibrated. She didn't bring it up for fear they wouldn't finish all their work if she were to derail the conversation, so she waited until the end of their study session.
However, when the anticipated end neared, his chair hit the stone the last time and when she turned to him, Fred was lying on his arms on the table, asleep. His outline was as bright and as sharp as ever, but his face was soft and smooth from relaxation, like a marble statue melting. The anchor in her stomach lurch up at the sight, but she swallowed it down, smiled, and laid her head on the table too.
Another sunny afternoon had George almost skipping to his quirky partner. And Fred was glad, he liked to see his brother happy and loved teasing him for being in love even more — but he still hated the bloody beasts. He was thankful for George's efforts to cheer him up, but Fred refused to move out from under his personal gloomy cloud, choosing to carry it alone instead, the way one would an umbrella.
As soon as George mentions his partner, he knows it's time to leave him to his beloved, as he does, with minimal mocking involved (—but come on!).
As Fred approached her, he saw her roll her eyes. Funny. Something about knowing she's as un-excited as he is made his chest swell up with what can only be described as the sudden understanding of the real depth of companionship between you and a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend. I might not like this, but I am not alone.
"They're four feet long already. Your future sister-in-law," said his partner, gesturing to George's love with her head, at which Fred smiled warmly, "said we only get to work with them for another class. I think she might cry." His clouds stopped thundering.
"Don't be rude." he replied but did not sound angry in the least.
"I'm not. She's a nice girl and God bless her for being passionate about this. We need people like her, otherwise the rest of us would have to care as well." she reasoned.
"There's that warm and welcoming Slytherin care I've heard all about." he said sarcastically.
"Rude. Gingers truly are soulless." Fred got nudged in the ribs.
"Oi!"
"Oi yourself!" she flipped her hair and flashed her foxy smile. No, it's fox-like. "Don't start things you can't finish."
"Well, I'm ready to be done with this thing." he looked pointedly at the snapping creature reaching out to them like a baby in a cot.
They received their instructions from Hagrid to feed, entertain, and check the health of the creature and set off to work. After a few minutes of silence, Fred spoke.
"I think there's something wrong with this thing." he squinted.
"Him." She corrected, "He's our son."
"Well I think our son is pregnant." Fred’s face soured.
“No way." she replied, kneeling closer to the beast than she'd ever dared before. "How do you know?"
"A hunch?" Fred shrugged his very nicely shaped shoulders. No! "I'm not sure. It did eat three times as much as the others. It should be a lot fatter."
"He." She absent-mindedly corrected, trying to get a good enough look.
"He doesn't look sick but he's being weird." he squatted next to her, bouncing on his heels.
"Maybe he's lonely. We both ditched a few times." She bumped her knee into his. "I dare you to touch him."
Fred laughed as he turned to her. "I'm not that commited of a father. You do it."
"Why me? You need to do something too!" she whined as their son approached in a rather puppy-like gait, as if he was going to rub against their legs, and Fred's gaze slipped off her, like that day in the library.
"I'll do whatever you want.” he paused "Within reason, of course."
"Touch him."
"Within reason."
"Fine." their dark-shelled son stood before them now, but they were not as hesitant this time. The beast looked at Fred with either his head or his stinger (how is it still not clear?).
Slowly and shakily, her hand reached out. She almost withdrew it, but it already made contact with their son's back and he made a sound similar to purring, which was both surprising and unsettling. Her face bent in disgust as her entire palm pressed against his black shell, gleaming maroon in the sunlight.
"Ew. He's slimy." she detached her hand to see a catran-like substance coating it. "How is he slimy?"
Fred's nose was scrunched as well but an amused gleam flickered on his face nonetheless. “Disgusting.”
"Well, I did it." she complained, trying to wipe her hand on his arm, but he rose to his feet quickly, laughing.
“Keep that to yourself.” Fred warned, trying to avoid her swift attempts to use him as a rag.
“Come on!” She whined. “We’re in this together. If I have to be gross then so do you.” she jumped up after Fred.
He felt weightless as he maneuvered around her and the clawing beast that still purred by their feet, and he realized how warm the sunlight was. His little cloud was gone. In that distracted second of their impromptu three-creature quickstep, she wrapped her clean hand around his hand and pulled herself closer to him.
She grinned from ear to ear, and Fred felt her wet, cold hand sliding down his shoulder. She wiped a few times down his arm and chest with a wickedly satisfied look in her face as he wondered why he didn’t mind it so much. His eyes danced over her face the way his trainers had over the grass mere seconds ago.
“What?” she asked. Wait, she was speaking.
“Um, nothing.” his face rearranged itself from a goofy smile (What?) and he looked at his stained shirt. Before he even had time to comment, her voice made the center of his stomach tighten.
“Do you think he'd lick one if she asked?” Fred followed her gaze to George, looking as dreamy as his partner who was purring back at their Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sunlight covered them too.
Her hand still held onto him.
Fred sighed, both amused and lightheaded from a new discovery threatening to unveil its face in his mind. George laughed so loudly it reached Fred’s ears, and he responded, “Yes.”
“Would you lick one for me?” she batted her eyelashes.
“Absolutely not.” he said without missing a beat.
“What kind of a father won't even lick his own son?” she put a hand on her chest, faux-horrified.
“I still think our son is pregnant.” he said, grinning at her.
“What kind of a father won't lick his own pregnant son?” she humored.
“You're making this worse than it has to be.”
Her eyebrow rose as she offered: “You can always do this alone?”
“No.” something ugly and covered in spikes spun in Fred's stomach.
“Well then,” she said smugly, as if she knew, “you need to start cooperating.” She tugged on his arm with her hand that was there the whole time. Her arm slid around his as she pulled him along, and Fred adjusted his collar with his fingers. When did they get so far away from the group?
“You don’t pet him, you don’t groom him with your tongue like a cat, what do you do? I haven’t seen you change a single diaper!” she over-exaggerated. “I’m basically a single mother!”
He laughed and apologized, feeling lighter and sharper than he had all day.
His future sister-in-law was wrong. They worked on their loving, puppy-like hell scorpions for three more classes, and had another one in a classroom, correcting their essays. During that class, they found out that their son really was pregnant, at which they laughed all the way to the Great Hall.
Fred felt something heavy rolling over his intestines when he thought of the end. It wound itself around his organs until his lips dropped. Nevertheless, he grinned at George (who definitely saw through him), and, with his chin up like a proud lion, departed from him to sit next to his partner, one last time.
He thought about her more often than he expected to, and he feared he might have to stop soon.
As he slid next to her, his metaphorical tail curled closer to him. She beamed brightly at him, and offered her closed fist.
“You ready, partner?”
No, he curled his fingers with a smile, I don’t think I am, and bumped their hands together.
“Doesn’t have to end? Didn't you listen?” she asked him incredulously as he caught up with her. He couldn’t say he has, as his ears buzzed deafeningly loudly since they received their O.
Maybe she had a point when she said there were moments when people felt more defined as he was more sure than ever that he existed in the corridor leading to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom, as his limbs filled with lead at the way she spoke.
“I just thought if you—” his mouth shit on its own. “You know—”
“Holy shit, you really didn’t listen?” but this time she laughed. “Hagrid said we can pick our own partners for the next project.” Her arm curled around his own, “So unless you want to dump me, we march on.”
Whatever heavy thing has been making his stomach a winter home the past week flew off to their summer residence.
She definitely had a point about grounded moments, because when her hand squeezed his arm, the lead leaked out and the awareness of every part of his body slammed into focus.
And Fred smiled back.
She smiled promisingly at him, his heart stuttered, and his sneakers sunk into the stone beneath him.
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blushing-starker · 4 years ago
Text
Anon asked for alpha Peter and omega Tony for a baby announcement. Thank you to the wonderful @vaguekiwi for motivating me and sharing her thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, anon.
"Tony, Tony? Are you up? It's 7:30am already, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in forty minutes. Tony?"
Soft hands curl into already silver hair, scratching at the strands in an attempt to wake him up gently. Butterfly kisses on a cold nape, a ridiculously hot nose nuzzling everywhere. Peter knows scenting the billionaire is basically the only way one can ensure a calm morning.
Not today. And not for the next few months either.
He loves his husband, appreciates the nearly romantic demeanor, he does. But "unless you have a cup of coffee for me, there is no way in hell i am gonna leave this bed. your child has kept me up with nausea the entire night. I wanna hurl my guts out more than that time Rhodes found Dad's liquor cabinet. please, tell me you have coffee."
"..." Tony is severely displeased by the fact he can read Peter like a book even with half his mind shut off because fine, he's right and dammit all.
"I want that weird drink you make. The one with milk, cinnamon and chunks of brownie. And French toast with waffles. No jam, not too much butter, as much sugar as possible. Now, go before I scream at you for having the only dick that could get a hormone fucked forty something omega pregnant. "
The kid scrambles from bed, practically face plants with all the covers tangling long legs and yup, this is the person that the universe designated as his soulmate. Because Tony Stark can never have a partner with a reasonable, normal amount of enthusiasm, stamina and a sense of balance.
That sounds like he's ungrateful, he's not. But it turns out being three months pregnant gives him plenty of perspective to peer at life in a whole new way that does not include caffeine, alcohol or sex.
Would he kill and die for this amazing human being that makes Tony's heart race no matter the day, that inspires him to be a better version of himself? Yes, no questions asked. No hesitation and no regret.
Would he clobber Peter for doing the impossible and technically causing Tony incredible discomfort on a daily basis thanks to what his doctors can only assume is a superhuman baby he already loves and adores more than life itself? Also yes.
Things aren't mutually exclusive in this household.
Pep, bless her, has yet to find out about their future mini Parker so there's been no respite on the whole 'running a multi billion dollar industry ' thing. And yeah, while it's not exactly easy, he can focus on other things and not fall into a panicky state of mind — because him? A father? Of a super baby? Tony Stark, infamous playboy with a hedonistic streak, a dad?
Just thinking along those lines makes shame and self doubt slither over a metallic plate. Working, dealing with innovative scientists, crafting the new world of tomorrow, guaranteeing the safety of their planet, shapeshifting into a role model, a mentor (for the interns and school kids he visits, not Peter, of course, thank God they left that dynamic ages ago), loyal friend, reluctant errand boy (fuck the assholes in charge of the Accords), great husband, good man, it all distracts a fearful child from thinking, what if I turn into Howard?
"I couldn't find brownies, so cookies it is! Aunt May had a few boxes sent in when I told her work was keeping you on your feet all the time. Said it'd be a good idea to snack along the day in case you—" Peter freezes, tenses with a not-so-narrow back held ramrod straight. Oh, his husband brought him breakfast in bed.
How could he ever think to clobber such a nice, wonderful—
"Your scent is odd."
"Yeah, well fuck you too then."
Five seconds of silence.
"I'm bringing you one cup of coffee and the hormone pills."
" Yup, that's a great idea. "
---------------------------
Tony’s mumbo jumbo with self loathing is firmly put on the back burner after inhaling a delicious breakfast and chugging that one glorious cup of coffee. Until they go to the bathroom and he sees himself in the mirror.
"We gotta tell them."
"You said you wanted to wait a while before saying anything."
Peter strips, ducks into the warm shower, lets out a pleased little sigh and Tony wants to rip his fingernails off. Is it bad, having sex while pregnant? No! The doctors, every single one of them, said it's a perfectly normal thing to do. It'd be bad if they didn't have sex because Tony, thanks to his crazy hormone production, needs the extra attention for his body to understand this is a happy process that shouldn't include sad pheromones or stressed out moments. Will Peter put him out of his misery and allow a quickie in the mornings? No.
"Take more than five minutes in that shower and I'm joining you."
Listen, he grew up in the 80's and 90's, Tony wasn't immune to peer pressure. Did he cave and eventually do so many squat competitions with Rhodey his butt turned into a duck's butt? There's no evidence, he's made sure, but yes. And Starks have always turned out to be beautiful, doesn't matter your gender or age. Finding a companion for the night has never been a problem for anyone in his family tree.
That, and his work as Iron Man has kept him — well, not ripped like Cap, certainly not as lean and (God help him) athletic as Peter, but fit. Sturdy. Firm. Solid. (Peter once muttered the words 'daddy-like' in regards to his body and he nearly choked on water.)
The passage of time has made him a bit slower, dusted once black hair with, as his husband says, stardust and the corners of his eyes now show how much time Tony spends laughing or frowning. All in all, he looks fucking spectacular for his age and experience as a villain-punching-bag. Thing is, he has a belly. A bump. A curve where it was once, well. Less curvy. Is it a problem for Peter? Nope, as acknowledged every time his alpha tackles him if he so much as looks oddly in the mirror. Is it a problem for him? He'll get back to you on that.
The point is, there's a belly when just a few months ago there wasn't such a pronounced belly. It's great, of course. Proof their child is growing steadily and Tony's body is adjusting to it accordingly. A small part of him, the omega part he actually lets live, is fascinated and proud. He's doing that, Tony's the one growing a human being, creating life out of nothing in his own body. That child, although not the only physical embodiment of their relationship, is a result of his love for Peter. Of how much his husband loves him. They love each other so much they're gonna start another family together. That chokes him up a bit, reminds him how grateful he is for Peter and for the other Avengers. If they hadn't been so accepting of his status, would he have ever considered going through with this?
Anyway, he's not gonna start sobbing this early in the morning when there's no alcohol involved. It's fantastic seeing his child develop, good, warm and fuzzy feelings, yada yada yada, it's also not very easy to hide. And Tony...Tony wanted to hide it from his family because.
Because Peter hasn't been the only partner in all his life that has wondered about a future with a white picket fence. Because when he was Peter's age, in his goddamn prime, a doctor, ten doctors, all the doctors told him the same thing, smashed his dream into a million pieces. Tony was nearly infertile. There was a one in a million chances of him getting pregnant. If he did, they couldn't be sure his body would be able to maintain two hearts. And then the cave happened.
So yeah. It happened to his cousins, his aunt, a few uncles, his grandmother. Tony would do a baby announcement, but only the second that baby was outside of him and safely in his arms. Now there are still several months left and nothing certain. But time is a bitch and beginning to show the world, maybe those extra pounds aren't from eating the Parker's amazing breakfasts.
"Tony, you know I don't wanna risk-" Losing control of my strength. They've been together long enough that Tony can see quite clearly between the lines.
"Hurting us, yeah, I know, I understand. I'm getting too wide, we're gonna have to tell them or Natasha will take one look at me and whoops, impromptu announcement from someone else. It's a miracle she was out on those missions when we found out." Thank God for renegade troops.
He's still looking at himself in the mirror when Peter comes out, barely dries up and slides behind him. His husband is slightly taller now, can easily hook a curved jaw on Tony's shoulder to peer at the image they make. Contrasts, he supposes, have always enthralled Tony. The study of light and shadow. Variations of the same basic components. Where his body is aging, showing signs of wear and tear, Peter's is evolving into something beautiful, majestic. Silver hair, chestnut brown. Scarred canvas, silky smooth and sunkissed skin. Soft, fragile curves, chiseled lines that deserve to be revered more than Michelangelo’s David. But their eyes, their eyes are equally tired.
“We can tell them if you want, have dinner together and just, just say it. Like that -”
“No. It's our kid, we're not gonna act like it's ripping off a band aid. This is special, unique. Dinner is good. Fantastic, actually. Wait for dessert, and announce it. “ Peter comes ever closer, wraps arms that could carry the world around him and how did he get so lucky?
They've lied to each other in the past. Mostly in the beginning, when they were too worried about hurting their new relationship to show their desires and wants. Tony didn't explain the Training Wheels Protocol. Peter tried to fight high level crime on his own. Things got hard to understand, like being in the right place at the wrong time. Puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, an extra inch of space prohibiting them from seeing all the possibilities that the truth could bring. They were walking the same path, just in parallel lines that never crossed.
But then he'd been rejected, thrown away and able to realize how fucking stupid it was to let Peter go when being near the kid, it felt like finally breathing after residing in the deep end of a pool for a thousand years. So Tony ran after him one day, crashed into his AP English class, half assed an excuse for the baffled teacher, yanked Peter out of the room and proceeded to have the best make out session of his life with his back against the kid's locker. And now they don't lie, ever.
Which is why it's so hard to accept Peter's, “You're beautiful, Tony. The handsomest man I've ever seen in my life. I loved you before, I love you now, I'll love you forever, Anthony Stark. You carrying our kid doesn't change that, how could it, Tony? It's going to be ok. The three of us will be ok and I won't stop thanking whoever decided I'd get to marry my wet dream.”
Scorching kisses trace his pulse point slowly, sharp nails start dragging against a too thin shirt, but it's the fact that Peter hasn't looked away from him, is confidently holding his gaze through the glass, that makes Tony shudder and stop breathing.
The bathroom is flooded with pheromones, cinnamon and honey assaulting an unprepared billionaire, and he'll die if they stay like this, can't function properly, brain switching gears, trying valiantly to remember baseball stats, past wounds, May's cooking because Peter's gonna wreck his sanity if those hands keep winding down, if those lips don't stop unraveling him like a Christmas present.
“If I'd known you'd get this handsy and romantic, I would have complained about how I look earlier." It's a gasp, half murmur, half plea as Peter grins at him shamelessly. “I know it's rude and wrong and sexist, but I like comforting my omega, acting like a stereotypical alpha. Makes me feel like I'm doing my job of making you happy. “
He quirks an eyebrow, is glad Peter can be comfortable enough to take the reins every once in a while. “You're telling me that assuring me I'm still drop dead gorgeous, “ his husband snorts, nips at Tony's shoulder for that quip, “ makes you horny because you feel like an alpha comforting, and I quote, ‘your omega’? “
Peter reverts back to the shy teenager who could barely ask a girl out to the homecoming dance, ducks his head into Tony’s neck with a blush quickly spreading over damp skin. “Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. Your wet dream also thoroughly enjoys it so you better break tradition and have sex with me to remind me I'm the hottest man you've ever seen. "
He's actually serious about this, his self esteem hasn't exactly been, you know, the best and Tony's mood always improves significantly after playing around in bed with Peter. Besides, it's a sign of trust. Peter won't hurt him or their child, will be able to hold back his strength. He always does.
Listen, it's not exactly moral, but he has more than enough problems to go ahead and analyze his attraction and dependency on Peter while pregnant.
“So, I can distract you from your bad thoughts by acting sort of possessive and taking you to bed? " Oh, he adores when his husband is afraid of showing a new side of himself and asks for permission ever so sweetly.
“Babe, if you don't, I'll kick you out of the apartment. Give me possessive Peter Parker any day you want, like I'm gonna complain about a gorgeous, brilliant twenty something year old all over me. Now what's it gonna be, alpha dear, bathroom or bedroom? I wouldn't mind the tile but, oh God, I forgot you could pick me up." Tony clings to broad shoulders, can't help but laugh because aren't they a pair?
-------------------------
After having what he's sure was the best sex of his life, Tony stumbles out of the bedroom with torn clothes, a dazed look in his eyes and several bruises blossoming around his neck. Peter's halfway out the doorway when Tony whistles, makes sure all their family is paying attention, blurts out, “Peter and I are having a kid. I'm pregnant, woohoo, it's great, it's amazing, save your congratulations for later. We'll do a proper thing soon, if anyone interrupts and they're not dying, I'll kill you myself. See you in a few hours, " and yanks him back in while Friday activates Sock on the Doorknob Protocol.
Rhodey and Nat clink glasses while waiting on the others to pay up on their bets regarding Tony and Peter's odd behavior.
--------------------------
Later, much later, like, two days later, they have a proper dinner with their family in the tower. There are balloons and streamers, cake and ice cream, warm hugs and gentle cheek kisses, subtle tears and full on weeping (Happy had to borrow a box of Kleenex), pictures and videos and a pile of gifts taller than Tony.
The most important thing, though, is that the A.I recorded the reaction after Clint asked about baby names. He's grateful they went to the doctor before tonight. The visit revealed a treasure Tony thought he'd never have. Now it's time to reveal it to their pack.
His husband snuggles up to him, is so ecstatic the whole dining room smells like cinnamon and honey, like joyous love he'll never get enough of. Tony grins at him, curls their hands together and repeats the same thing over and over again in his head.
It'll be ok. They'll be ok. If the universe keeps giving Tony the greatest gifts he could ever want, maybe it's time he stopped looking at the horse's mouth. That's how it goes, right? Right.
He turns to look at Peter, loves him so much it aches, feels tiny feet pressing against his stomach. Guesses he's not the only one smitten with this incredible human being.
“We were thinking Marie,” Peter smiles at him, eyes lit up and lovely.
Tony is never going to forget this moment, this warmth in his chest.
“And Benjamin Parker-Stark.”
Their family loses their shit and both Friday and Karen have ample proof.
(@puppypeter look, omega tones! @tonystarkisaslut thank you so much for allowing me to use the prompt board! I am still accepting prompts! Although I can't guarantee getting them ready within a few days, I'll try to finish them on the one week mark depending on how long the fic is!)
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askhubertvonvestra · 3 years ago
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*The guard came back* Minister Vestra, Prince Dimitri has been taken care of. He...He didn’t even fight back. He let the healers take care of his injurie, he didn’t say a word or made a move. He refuses to eat, to talk...It’s kind of disturbing, especially compared to the fury he showed on the battlefield...Oh, pardon me! I’m digressing. What shall we do with him now? I seems dishonest to rid of him now...
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You’re not wrong. It is a notably stark contrast between his ferocity on the battlefield and his complacency now. Still, I wouldn’t recommend you rely on it. There is no telling when he may change his behavior, in light of what he’s suffered. Be cautious above all else.
I’m not about to murder a man we just healed, so you may rest assured on that front. This course of action is highly unexpected from our mutual enemy, and His Highness may be the only one who can help us see what changed within Those Who Slither in the Dark. It’s a sinister design, no doubt. The sooner we know it, the better all of us will fare.
Perhaps I’ll ask the professor to visit him. They were close with him once, and they may at least get him to eat. Talking will surely follow. We don’t have the time to rush this and make mistakes... But perhaps an unwelcome guest would be more likely to get him to speak than not.
Very well. Get me a plate of food. I’ll see to this myself.
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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years ago
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Keep You Alive
Summary: An arranged marriage could be the end of the world for a queen whose heart is not her own anymore. It’s when Griffin has to make sure it won’t be the end of her life, that fear truly sets in in the place of trust long gone. Bringing back something dead will be a feat – magic or no magic. And the strongest magic in existence is against her. AU.
This has sat unedited for a long time and now that I felt the Griffin and Valtor feels returning, I finally broke it out of its little prison. What can I say? I'm a sucker for arranged marriages.
CW for some violent descriptions, mentions of blood and murder and sexual content.
Griffin's heartbeat punctuated each of her steps into the cold stone of her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. At least for the night. In the morning things would be different.
Her palm was clammy in Valtor's warm grip that never faltered despite the discomfort that had to bleed through to his end as well. He'd barely let her out of his reach all evening, and not once out of his sight. If he'd chosen to share her life and she'd agreed for her own sake and not that of her kingdom, it would've moved her, would've sent flutters through her heart. She wasn't above romance. It was above and beyond her.
Now the treacherous organ had leapt in her throat beating as if the tremble in her vocal cords wasn't straining her composure and self-control. The door closed behind them – her guards sealed outside to leave only silence in which her pulse pounded against her ears. And his. The quiet couldn't hide her like the celebration had.
Her wedding had been one of great splendor, talked about in the whole of the Magic Dimension. A feast of bread and wine from the rich wheat and grapevines her land bore. Silk and jewels from Valtor's mothers. No parental blessing or a hand to lead her down the isle where he'd waited like death coming to claim her at the end of the line. She should have taken another path but there'd only ever been the one for a queen with the naive heart of a free woman.
Valtor had unveiled the world in front of her only to capture her eyes in the frozen cage of his. He'd whispered a compliment of her beauty on the tail end of his loudly proclaimed vows of emptiness. He'd kissed her hand countless times with his burning lips and her mouth only once. But once had been more than enough to stain like the pouring wine. Spilling red. Dripping blood. The words were spiraling in her mind like the rusty railings of the winded staircase she was tumbling down. Right to where her own bed awaited like a tomb for the coffin of his embrace.
His arms were around her and pressing the smooth fabric of the dress into her skin. Like an ice block sticking to her flesh to rip it off upon removal. She'd bleed to death but her foolish heart only pumped her veins fuller of red too dark to be a precious stone. She could almost smell the smoke rising from the ashes in her lungs where his breath lingered. But fear was good. Fear made you alert and sharpened your senses. Fear kept you alive. And that was her one goal tonight – survive her own wedding night.
Valtor's deft fingers found the laces of her bodice to differentiate from the stillness of his hand back when hers had rested in it. He'd been... not inept–as much as she wanted to call him that, she couldn't afford delusions–but stilted, as if the life had drained from him. And now he'd drain hers instead of working for the creation of a new heir for her kingdom. There'd be no more heirs if she didn't play her role right, no more autonomy... no more peace.
Her lips were swallowed in Valtor's kiss silently slithering over her senses like a starving snake. His fingers threaded in her hair to make the elaborate hairdo–designed to hold the crown on her head–give way like a broken dam with just a few strategical touches. The pull of his power was wringing tears from her soul as her hair spilled down her figure just like his breath flooded her lungs. He had more magic than her, his mothers more still – the only ones to still yield the craft in its full potency. She had to count on their arrogant use of it, on their lack of strategy to defeat them.
The taste of sweet wine and sugar from the buffet of pastries was bitter all the way into her throat with his tongue shoved in her mouth as if to block out her air. Their first kiss had been far less vindictive out there in public and she had to give him credit for his own acting if not anything else. He was at least putting decent effort into her assassination.
It was her own breath assaulting her ears once he let her have a gasp of oxygen. She was panting next to his barely quickened inhales, the puffs of cool air in a jarring contrast with his flushed cheeks. His adrenaline had to be rushing as high as hers. The only thing they had in common was the opposite ends of her murder they stood on.
"You're breathtaking," Valtor lied through his teeth, his facade impeccable with all the magic underneath filling potential cracks. All she had to fight him with was her own wit and skills.
She let a smile crawl on her face despite herself. If it were as breathtaking as he claimed, he'd drop dead from suffocation. And if not, it would be a horror show to haunt him for his crime against her. "Are you sure at least half of it isn't just the dress?" She wanted it gone as much as he did. At least then they could stop pretending this farce had anything to do with love or her happiness. It was all about politics. That was all her life was ever going to be. Funerals over politics.
"To be honest, I haven't even noticed the pattern." That would be hard to believe if not for his keen gaze keeping track of her mannerisms and words in search of telltale signs about her awareness of the truth. "I've been thinking of what's underneath," he sent her stomach lurching at the thought of what would come after the stardust of her wedding crumpled in her feet. After her death.
"Why don't you find out?" her voice tempted, no deception in play. "Or are you afraid?" Challenges were the way into his head. She'd figured as much while he'd been prying around into her heart. He hadn't had one for her to return the favor. "I didn't bite when you pulled off my veil." She hadn't had to. He'd bitten the bait as the wedding ceremony dictated.
"Did you expect me to be bolder?" Of course not. He was no fool despite his arrogance. "We were in public."
"You've been a perfect gentleman all evening." Except for plotting her murder. She was no fool either. "Why don't you drop the act?"
The lightness dropped from his face leaving serious features carved in ice. He'd be the most gorgeous statue she'd seen. Instead, he was the vilest being she'd encountered. A charming prince to her face and a murderous backstabber when she turned away.
His fingers reached under the fabric and she assisted the dress off of her body to spare herself his prints on her skin after the few times she'd let them leave his mark on her being. His gaze was more than unbearable, flaying her alive for him to wear her title as his own once her kingdom was annexed by his mothers' empire to be erased from history. No name would mark her downfall, nor that of her land. No grave would remember her existence. So she wouldn't remember his in her being, wouldn't let him leave traces of it on her body. Not again.
Valtor let her step out of the dress of her own volition–a last courtesy to himself as he devoured the sight of her nakedness after he'd taken her underwear along with the masquerade–before pushing her back on the bed with the roughness of an animal. Something sparked in his eyes that could have singed her with a surge of passion had she chosen him to bed her. Now it was just a dull pain in her lower stomach from the nerves knotting themselves there as she waited to be burned alive.
Instead of his magic it was his scorching skin on top of her pulling a squeak out when his weight pinned her down and her nipples brushed his chest. He was lying on her, naked in the second it'd taken him to climb over her despite the stumbling from the wine or other intoxication. His hot flesh roused goosebumps on her own as her stiff muscles writhed in confusion below.
The hum he stole from her with his kiss carried her unbridled surprise like a charge of magic. She was revealing herself, caught off guard by his naked frame. His cock was pressed into her hip, hard as a rock and bruising her with the pulse of arousal it sent through her despite the cause of it being her own blood in his mind's eye. And his hands grabbed her thighs pulling them apart to open her up to him and fill her with the impulse to give in. His hot mouth on her neck singed her alertness and his muscles pressed into her, crushing her resistance.
He reached between them and a whine tore from her lips. Enough to startle both of them with her genuine desperation and distract him to give her the time to catch herself. All thoughts of his cock emptied from her head. Only the memory of the liplock she'd had on him was left after the wave of his magic, tangible even to someone with much less of it.
She grabbed his wrist with a couple inches to spare between her throat and the razor sharp point of the dagger he'd conjured. "If you kill me, you'll be dead by the next full moon." Her eyes burned into him the same way his skin did under her hand as he drove the blade through the air between them. His strength ate away at hers while his magic scorched her fingers like he'd set them on fire.
The blade stabbed through the bed on her left piercing her ears with the wail the mattress gave. It was like a shriek of death and the cry of a newborn all at once. She was alive. She just had to keep it that way.
"I've poisoned you," she fired out before he could change his mind and slice her throat open anyway. She held his gaze as it flared, the intensity of it licking at her to consume her or melt her skin.
"Wine?" was all he asked as he sat on top of her, his arms trapping her between them like thick steel bars.
"No." That would have been too risky with so many people around. "It was my lipstick." He'd ingested the poison at the wedding ceremony. And she'd ingested it, too, from his tongue stuffing her mouth. "It's a slow poison. Designer. It's tied to the phases of the moon and I'm the only one who knows the antidote." She'd been tempted to use belladonna and be rid of him, watching him struggle as even Belladonna failed to help her son. Even her magic wouldn't be able to counteract extract from the plant. But Griffin didn't want the revenge of the three witches. She wanted them to leave her alone. "It needs to be taken every month. Otherwise, the newest tide of the poison will kill you. So if you want to live, we're stuck together," she had to sell this even without his charm at her disposal. Considering she wasn't entirely convinced of being his only option. He always had tricks up his sleeves. Could she count on him being naked when he'd pulled a dagger on her out of thin air? "No more weapons in my presence. And you can't go to your mothe-"
"I won't." The reply caught her off guard again unlike his mothers' departure in the late hours after the wedding reception. They'd distanced themselves as insurance in case something went wrong. They'd renounce Valtor's actions and have an alibi. He was on his own as well. Under their control.
"You understand that I find that hard to believe after your attempt on my life." She could still see the gleam of the blade – brighter than her eyes and colder than his. It was just her magic suppressing the shaking of her muscles that nearly left her wishing for the fire he hadn't used on her. Or for the heat of his body. His erection still burned against her skin.
"I wasn't going to kill you," Valtor's words had her teeth grinding together before she could swallow the load of crap he was trying to feed her in revenge for the poison.
"Were you planning on keeping a lock from my hair then?" She'd push him off of her but just the thought of any more of him touching her was too much. She couldn't stand the beauty of his appearance and the ugliness of her own attraction to him despite the knowledge in her head.
She'd known his behavior had been an exercise in decorum and his courteousness had been practiced. Yet she'd still fallen for his horrible attempts at jokes that had been too genuine to be anything but, for his sharp mind that couldn't have been an imitation just like the diamonds he'd given her, and the look in his eyes when the sparks had died to leave behind an emptiness begging to be filled. She'd sworn no one could fake that. He'd deceived her and she had to accept it. Sooner if she wanted to be alive for the later.
"I was going to use the dagger, yes," Valtor had her attention pinned to the bed with a knife as well, dissecting it with the emphasis in his voice, the frustration in it. As if she was the traitor between the two of them. "I was going to draw blood from the hollow of your throat to bind us together with magic."
"What?" The hollow of her throat? How was that an explanation? A justification of his actions? Was that supposed to make her feel better? She was a sacrificial lamb in a game of politics, nothing more. She wouldn't be able to look at a chess set ever again even if she got the opportunity, if she survived her wedding to him.
"My mother can read minds."
Lysslis. Then her plan would have been no more than a delay of the inevitable. If Valtor wanted it, she'd die after Lysslis read her mind for the antidote. She was fully dependent on him slicing into her neck like she was a woodcarving.
"I was going to bind us together by mixing our blood. That way when she tried to read one of our minds, she'd see nothing. As if the 'voice' has jumped into the other."
Vocal cords. Her throat. Griffin brushed her fingers over the delicate flesh. He would've given her a fighting chance against his monstrous family and she... She gasped. She'd poisoned him in return.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She'd poisoned him. Poison! She'd thought he was her murderer. She'd swallowed her heart about a thousand times that day alone, the broken pieces slicing through her insides every single one of them. If she'd leaked blood, she would've flooded the whole planet. If she'd let herself cry, she would've shriveled into nothing after the sorrow had spilled from her body. "Why didn't you tell me? You should have told me!"
"I couldn't risk it. I thought she might read your mind."
Her blood froze solid in her veins when she had to move. What good was being safe in the future if she'd betrayed the past to his mothers? She had to warn-
"She didn't deem it necessary," it was the disgust with which Valtor spat out the words rather than their meaning that left her shivering as the ice freed her. "Probably thought it was a waste of efforts since you were to die anyway. They were so secure in their victory. I couldn't risk putting you in more danger. Or myself." His hesitation clenched her heart with her own distrust mirrored in him. "It would've been harder to keep my plan from her if I'd let you in on it. Our interactions always linger on the surface of my mind."
She was flushing again, this time from the warmth of the confession accompanied by that of his skin against hers. She laid her hand on his chest covering his heart, no flinching from him to choke her. "Valtor-"
"I thought you trusted me enough." His gaze stabbed her with the icicles it shed right over her vulnerable flesh. "I would've explained. I wanted to make it as painless as possible and sex magic can be used to a great degree for relieving distress, both emotional and physical."
Oh. Well, she hadn't known that. She had the archives she'd inherited from her mother and knowledge she'd gathered with Ediltrude and Zarathustra and Faragonda and there was still much more. He knew more than her after studying under the only ones that still possessed primal magic. All she'd had in her mind had been the warning she'd gotten and the dagger he'd held above her ready to shatter her skull.
"You were terrified of me," Valtor cupped her cheek and the familiar tenderness had her shaking as the terror oozed from her pores to stick to her skin. So much for her collected facade. "I thought you were just nervous because of our wedding night but you thought I'd kill you? Did I fail that hard at conveying my feelings for you? I know I was being subtle but I was certain we were on the same page."
They had been. They had been and then that page had been torn out of her hands. Her eyes welled up with tears when Zara accidentally tore a hair while braiding her locks but she hadn't even been allowed to cry or scream at his assumed betrayal. She'd had to keep her agony inside where it'd charged at its prison and broken all of her bones.
"I had a source that informed me of the plans for my assassination. A source that I've known longer than you," and that was miraculously still safe thanks to both their unassuming power that was safe in Griffin's mind, "and when you never tried to hint something was wrong or warn me in any way... it sounded reasonable."
They'd said they'd wanted a peace treaty between the Ancestral Empire and the Council's Sovereigns and their allies. Then why pick her as a side in the marriage? She was barely on peaceful terms with the Council, only thanks to her connections and her refusal to bow before Belladonna and her sisters. She'd been the perfect victim to show both sides what happened to anyone who opposed the Empire. Killed. Her kingdom annexed. Her heritage erased like it'd never existed.
"You should have told me before pulling a dagger on me." Even if she hadn't asked before she'd poisoned him. She couldn't have afforded it but he could have explained once in the safety of her bedroom. He'd acted every bit as suspiciously as she'd expected him to.
"Griffin, I'm so sorry you had to go through this," Valtor pulled her into him and she inhaled him. Still, she couldn't nuzzle her head in the crook of his neck, couldn't even hold on. "But poison?" Valtor's wide eyes betrayed his worry. "I never realized your extensive herbal knowledge could be used to such a hostile advantage." The joke fell flat and his chuckle broke its spine with nothing to land on. "Please, tell me there is an antidote that will neutralize it for good."
Griffin nodded. Of course, there was. She wouldn't have put on her lips something that could kill her if she skipped her monthly maintenance. The whole point had been to remain alive. "It will take time to prepare, however."
"Then it will be our second order of business. We still need to bind our blood together." His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger and his muscles met no resistance pulling it out of her poor mattress. She was the one swallowing at the screech the insides of her bed made as the blade slid through them on its way out.
"Do we have to do this right now? Can't it wait? At least until the morning?" Possibly never? The only thing she wanted was to curl up in a ball and sob her eyes out, every shuddering breath a reminder that she was still alive. Though, a knife to the throat was definitely preferable to Lysslis in her head. Or Belladonna's frost and Tharma's lightnings coursing through her veins.
Valtor studied her for a moment, the blade motionless in his hand yet it drew her cautiousness. Her gaze darted to it to return to Valtor just as quickly but the message was clear. "You still don't trust me." No question about it. It was a fact. To both of them now.
"I want to. I really do."
The softness of his hair between her fingers. The warmth of his laughter vibrating in her ears. The hardness of his erection pressed into her. She wanted to feel all of that without flinching every time he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek or slid it down her body to grab at her curves. But it wasn't up to her. They were alone in the bedroom but there was a whole kingdom that she carried on her shoulders. She couldn't stumble and shatter it. Not after she'd refused to bow and let it be taken.
She shook her head. "I know how this game is played." He'd been honest with her but not open. Even his reasons couldn't illuminate the shadows of doubt in her mind where the monsters hid from obliteration. She just couldn't close her eyes and turn their shine on the inside to free herself of the creeping suspicion. She didn't have that power.
"I am not playing a game. And neither are my mothers."
Valtor raised the dagger and Griffin pressed herself into the mattress even though she had nowhere to escape. A jolt shook her when Valtor pierced the headboard with it leaving the blade sticking out. Her headboard. As if ruining her mattress hadn't been enough.
"We don't have to do the spell at all if you're not comfortable with it. But once my mothers learn you're still alive, there will be retribution. Towards both of us. We have to be ready for anything. They knew I was fond of you and thought it a bonus test of my loyalty. It would be in our best interest to get this done as soon as possible." Valtor shuffled down, letting the world loom over her without his body on top of hers to shield her.
"Wait!" Griffin grabbed at him, relieved by the pause that followed even if the silence wound tight around them with nothing more she could say. Everything turned to ash on her dry tongue despite how hard her voice clawed at her parched throat.
"I can't watch you flinch away from me. It's the same as stabbing me with the dagger." His tired eyes skipped into the distance as if to find support of his words in the past. The realization gripped her throat worse than slicing it open would be. "If you can't trust me, then don't cure me from the poison. It will be torture to live when I've finally found someone I could love and then driven them away," he slapped her in the face without even moving. Maybe that was the key to the impact. He was as still as a statue. Cold, hard stone colliding with her fragile flesh.
"I wanted nothing more than to trust you but you never tell me the whole story," she sat up. If he viewed her as an opponent, then she'd be one. "First, it turned out you were their son, then, you showed me you had magic, and now all of this. I try to understand but every time I feel secure in our relationship and in knowing who you are and what I mean to you, you crack in half and there's a whole another person under the crumbling shell... and I need to start again."
"If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you already," Valtor's irises were bursting with flames. A sight very similar to Tharma when she got angry.
Griffin closed her eyes and pushed her frustration out through her clenched teeth. "And I can still kill you." Looking at him hurt with his insistence to follow up on her threat, every step they made leading them closer to that despite their unwillingness. "This is getting us nowhere." She had no strength for more. They had to put an end to all that.
She spun around and grabbed the dagger, pulling it from where he'd wedged it in her headboard. It took up the last of her energy and she was running only on resolve as she pointed the sharp tip towards him. Slowly she inched closer until the edge of the blade was pressed in his chest to no reaction from him. He stood there like he was made of stone but he wasn't. The heat of his skin was tangible on hers and his hot blood would spill if she applied gentle pressure.
"Well? Aren't you scared?" She was putting all her efforts into steadying her hand. One wrong movement would be fatal whether she cut through him or not.
"Afraid of what? Put this into context so I can be fully honest with you. Not leave anything out." He was pushing on purpose and she had to stab him just for that. He was lucky he was her weakness.
"Afraid of pain? Of humiliation?" She'd seen his ego. If it stood between them, he wouldn't see anything over it and if she poked it, he would never forgive her. No matter what he said about his feelings for her. His ego was his weakness and it could be exploited against both of them.
"What humiliation is there in being claimed by a woman?" Claimed? Did he think she was going to cut a brand into him? After he challenged her to kill him? "You are my queen and I vowed to be yours." She leaned forward, falling, the dagger nipping at his peck before she could brace herself against the bed. "I meant that, whether you believe it or not. And I am yours to kill, too."
"What about pain?" her voice trembled with the weakness she couldn't afford in her hand.
"Pain... Pain is a reminder. You can only feel it if you're alive. Breathing is pretty much a guarantee for pain but at least you know you are still in the game." Much too poetic for her. All she got from pain was pain. It was why she'd asked him to be careful with his words.
"What about pleasure?" she lowered her arm, the dagger still clasped between her fingers but now too heavy to hold in vain.
"Pleasure doesn't tell you anything. Not even if it's real or not. But it sure leaves you wishing it was." Valtor looked at her, his gaze clutching hers. "You want the truth? I did consider killing you with this dagger. I was afraid of what defying my mothers would mean. So I considered completing their order. Once again. Like every single time before but I couldn't use my magic. I would take the dagger and carve it into your heart until there was nothing left of it and all your blood was soaking my hands, my skin, all of me. Until your pain soaked all of me so I'd remember–always–that I was alive and you were not. That you'd been alive until I'd spilled all your pain and left you to die to save my own skin." Valtor paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I can't watch you bleed, Griffin. But I will if it means you're safe. I will cut into your throat and hope the burning reminds you that you're still breathing. I know that's familiar to you, it's real. And you're the most real-"
The dagger clanked against the floor. Somewhere in the far end of the room. Somewhere they wouldn't have to look at it and he'd only be able to look at her.
The sound broke them loose from their respective traps and she lunged at him. Valtor met her halfway, opening his mouth for her tongue to claim him, this time truly. Not like those kisses before that they'd both poisoned. They didn't have to be each other's pain. Only each other's lives. No matter what had been carved on their beings by uncaring hands and pointy words.
Valtor laid her back down on the stabbed mattress. His care morphed smoothly into passion as his hands roamed her body squeezing at her curves and caressing her responsive flesh. She threaded her fingers in his long blond locks to hold his mouth where she could reach it and suck on his lips, trace her teeth over them and nip at his pain receptors.
His hand traveled down her body in lieu of his busy mouth and found its way between her legs to stroke her willing arousal to the surface of her being after the heavy conversation. It didn't take long for her nipples to perk up against the warmth of his chest. His fingers dived in her wetness after a couple pulls on her purple strands once he got the hint of her own tugs on his hair even if some of them had been just passion and not a hidden message.
One last reassurance sought–as if her frantic breathing was not enough confirmation of her craving–and Valtor filled her. Too slowly for the pleasure to explode inside her, her lungs only fully expanding once his whole length was inside her to breathe in their closeness, no fear tainting their joint existence. It was just the thrill of Valtor's touch that set her skin ablaze and sent her heart racing.
The chamber was filled with their shared sounds, a whole concert taking place in private and leaving no room for the stifling silence they'd entered to. The air around them was alive and vibrant with their movements–maybe even some magic–as she met the thrusts of his hips and he left hickeys wherever the hitches in her breath drew him like a map.
Her nails dragged over his back to leave her own traces and hold on as she pressed her cheek to his chest listening to the deep groans he spilled for her. It wasn't the pain that made him tremble like the strings of a harp under her fingers, nor was it fear. It was the mark of her presence that drove his voice inside her mind and if he could trust her pleasure, she could trust his pain, his blade in her throat.
She bit into his shoulder and held on like a bloodthirsty hound while the waves of orgasm shook her. If they took her away, she'd carry a piece of him with herself. His arms around her held her in place, though, held her whole and the confession of her pleasure tipped him over the edge of his own orgasm.
"Griffin," the strained grunt of her name against her ear was like a gunshot missing her body but still carving into her ribcage. Only, it didn't dig into her heart.
It cut it loose from all the strings it sliced itself onto every time it moved, shaken off her throne by the hands grabbing for her crown. She was safe in Valtor's lap, in his arms.
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liannyeong · 4 years ago
Text
Crimson (Chapter 3)
Summary: Jaebeom tours Yujin around the mansion, and the start of the wedding preparations.
Word count: 2463
Pairing: Jaebeom X OC
Warning(s): None
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
A/N: Phew! Managed to get this done in time! And it’s a longer chapter too :D Do support my works by buying me a coffee! Follow me on Twitter for updates ~ See you next week! ^^
Jaebeom takes Yujin to the garden first. Standing a few steps away from the garden arch, pink flowers decorating the iron base. The vibrant petals contrast against the surrounding plain green hedges. Jaebeom doesn't bring her into the garden though. Instead, he briefly explains that it's more of a maze instead of an actual garden.
"What's in the middle of the maze then?" Yujin asks, looking beyond the arch. Interestingly, the sun is bright overhead, but the garden pathway is rather dark, and there seems to be a kind of fog clouding it, giving a mysterious aura.
"Oh, nothing much. Just a water fountain, that's all," Jaebeom responds, bringing her attention to the mansion instead. Yujin slightly frowns. Why does the fae seem rather dismissive?
"The mansion has an east wing and a west wing," Jaebeom gestures to the rectangular blocks that emerge from the centre of the mansion. "And there are three floors. The first floor is a common area, where the kitchen and the dining hall are located in the west wing. The east wing is where the servants' quarters are located."
"The second floor is made up of sleeping quarters for the rest of the household. That one, however," Jaebeom points out at the balcony just above the front door to the mansion, "is the ballroom. The third floor is the library in its entirety."
Next, Jaebeom brings her back inside the mansion. They step into the kitchen first, where Chan -- the one who served them earlier -- is focused on cooking a dish. There are two other faes busily moving about in the kitchen. None of them seem to be affected by their presence. Yujin catches the greenish glint in their eyes.
"Does your household employ different elemental faes?" Yujin asks when they exit the kitchen.
"Elemental faes prefer to stick to their own kind. But here, it's different. We don't follow the general notion."
"What about Jinyoung? He's your brother but he's not a Fire fae."
Jaebeom smiles ruefully.  "That's because he's my half-brother."
Yujin expects him to go on, but he doesn't. He leaves the conversation as it is. The next room over is the dining hall, but having been there during breakfast, Jaebeom skips to the servants' quarters.
"This is where the servants stay. If you need anything, you can approach them. Preferably, you should approach me though," Jaebeom murmurs the last sentence to himself but the silence in the house makes it loud and clear to Yujin's ears.
They head up the stairs, to the second floor. Jaebeom shows Yujin the ballroom, pushing open the large wooden door. It's basically empty, the daylight streaming into the room through the glass doors, casting a glow onto the marble-tiled floor. Beyond the doors is the balcony that she saw from the garden arch.
"We shall hold our wedding here," Jaebeom suddenly says, a huge grin on his face. In an instant, Yujin feels her heart drop. The tour has made her temporarily forget the reason she was brought here.
"Well, let's continue on." The fae walks out of the room, Yujin trailing behind.
He goes past the stairs and to the start of the hallway of the west wing, pausing there. "At the very end is where my room is located," Jaebeom states. "If you ever need anything, you can find me there."
Then they go up to the third floor, where the library is. The stairs form a bridge-like structure that splits into two pathways. The library appears taller than the other two floors, thanks to the roof that is shaped like a dome. It is made of entirely glass, allowing for the steady stream of sunlight. With the vast space -- a result of the merging of the two wings into one -- Yujin guesses there could be thousands of books in total: there are aisles of books, and every wall is turned into a bookshelf too!
"All the books in the library are my personal collection," Jaebeom gestures at the aisles. “But you’re more than welcome to read them.”
Yujin stares at Jaebeom, mouth gaping at him. She has always wanted to read new books but never had the chance, considering the financial situation of her family. They only have enough to sustain their survival, rarely anything more to purchase new things. Only once did her father gift her a novel that she has read multiple times throughout the years.
"Thank you, I’d like that a lot," Yujin can’t help but return a smile, genuinely grateful and happy. This seems to please the fae, for he looks at her as if she’s never smiled before.
"Well, uh--" Jaebeom clears his throat, “Come this way.”
Moving past rows of bookshelves, right at the very end, there is an arched glass window, with cushioned seats lined on the windowsill. Looking out, Yujin gets a bird's eye view of the mansion grounds, including the garden maze. She spots a fountain in the center, true to what Jaebeom said.
“It's nice, isn't it?” Jaebeom comments.
Definitely, Yujin thinks to herself.
“Well, that’s all there is in this mansion,” Jaebeom concludes. "I hope you’re more comfortable and familiar here."
“Yes, thank you for showing me around."
“Anything for you,” Jaebeom replies, eyes rather fond. "Ah yes, you’ll be fitted for your dress today, in the late afternoon. Yeri will remind you again."
“I shall leave you to yourself then,” he says, bowing politely and making his way out.
Yujin redirects her attention to the view outside. How advantageous is this, she realizes. Having a view from this angle will allow her to monitor the movements around the mansion.
She might have just arrived here and so far, no one has tried to harm her. Still, she can't get complacent. She can't let her guard down. There's a lot of things she doesn't know, questions that remain unanswered. But it's better she doesn't delve too much into it, she muses. The fae are skilled in deluding people, she reminds herself. It's better that she focuses on finding a way out of this place. She shouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary.
---
Yujin is woken by a shake on her shoulder, her eyes still heavy. She peeks an eye, the sun already casting slanted shadows through the windows. Yeri is standing next to the bed, reminding her of the dress fitting. Yujin quickly freshens herself up before following the servant lady to a guest room situated in the west wing of the mansion.
“Why couldn’t we do the fitting in my own room?” Yujin wonders aloud.
“It’s Master Im’s orders, Lady Shin,” Yeri responds as calm and dignified as usual. Then, she comes a little closer, and whispers, “Master Im doesn’t want anyone near or in your room.” She lets out a small giggle.
Yujin frowns. In an instant, the fae immediately reverts back to her composed self, as if she's done something wrong. Her sudden shift in mood has Yujin letting out a small laugh. Yeri smiles at her sheepishly.
The guestroom is as large as her room in the east wing. Seeing no one else in the room, Yujin decides to take her place at the loveseat. She’s rather thankful to have borrowed a book from the library and brought it along. She was reading it to pass time, but accidentally fell asleep until Yeri came. Basking in the silence of the room, Yujin flips open the book and continues on the page she left off.
She didn’t keep track of the time. She was nose deep into the novel when the door swings open and a commotion follows. Looking up, Yujin sees a male fae entering the room in the longest strides she has ever seen. He stands in the middle of the room, leaning his weight onto one foot. His legs are long, Yujin notices, and his cheekbones are visible beneath his slightly tanned skin. The next thing Yujin notices is the fae’s blue-colored eyes -- a sign that he is a Water fae. Yujin slowly rises to her feet.
“You must be the Shin Yujin,” the fae says with a subtle accent, looking her up and down. Perhaps elemental faes have different cultures and slightly different languages, much like human races.
“I’m Bam, your couturier,” he introduces himself. Before Yujin can even respond, he waves his hand and a mannequin appears in front of him, at the empty space between the guest bed and the loveseat. Bam steps forward, moving his right arm in a fluid motion and a measuring tape slides smoothly down his arm and into his hand. If Yujin had blinked, she might not have even noticed it.
“Measure her, please,” the male instructs and it’s like the measuring tape comes to life. Similar to water, the tape flows from the fae’s hand and slithers its way towards Yujin. It coils around her ankle, then spreads to her hip before covering her entire body like a tight-fit suit. It measures the littlest of details, leaving no skin untouched. Once done, it flows back down to the floor, creeping up to the mannequin. The mannequin morphs to be an exact replica of Yujin’s body.
“Alright, let’s see,” Bam goes. He crosses his arms, fingers underneath his chin, brows furrowed in thought. He tilts his head to the side, humming to himself. Then in the next moment, he suggests, “Perhaps a basic dress?”
Bam snaps his fingers and what appears to be snowflakes starts falling above the mannequin, to reveal a long simple dress. It is plain white, no design apart from the lace on the cap sleeves. The material hugs at the waist and tapers to her thighs, accentuating the Yujin’s curves. The tail fans out at the bottom, forming a smooth circle on the floor.
“What do you think?” the fae asks, glancing at Yujin. She doesn’t even get a chance to form her opinion, let alone open her mouth as Bam waves his hand, shaking his head. “On second thought, never mind. Let’s try another… I think… You’ll go better with an off-shoulder dress.”
Another snap and the basic dress moulds itself into an off-shoulder dress. The sleeves are long and tight to skin. There’s a dip in the middle, towards the cleavage but it’s not too low that it is racy. Around the waist is a rose gold embroidery, and the skirt flows loosely, multiple layers of light chiffon.
“What do you think?” Bam asks again, looking rather proud at his design. This time, Yujin has the time to step forward and feel the material.
The dress is beautiful, Yujin must admit, though she wonders if it suits her.
Just then, Jaebeom barges in, door slamming against the wall, his expression sour. “Bam!” he bellows.
“Oh, hello, Jaebeom,” the Water fae greets. “I think I’m just about done here--”
“How dare you make my bride wait!” Jaebeom raises his voice at the other, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Is this how you treat your clientele? Showing up late?”
Bam cowers. Yujin feels the temperature plummet. Watching the scene warily, she notices the candles around the room dimmed low, almost extinguished.
“I chose you as our couturier and yet, you treat my bride like a fool?”
“I’m sorry, Jaebeom, I had other business to attend to--”
“Excuses!” the Fire fae roars.
“Jaebeom--” Yujin intervenes, though her voice is small. Her own heart pounds in her ears. She definitely doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of Jaebeom’s wrath, but she feels the urge to defend Bam. The Water fae has his head hung low, avoiding any form of eye contact with the other fae. Yujin doesn’t know where she got the courage to move forward, such that she touches Jaebeom’s elbow. “It’s fine. It wasn’t a long wait -- not with a book to keep me company.”
Jaebeom looks over his shoulder. His anger seems to dissipate almost instantly. Out of the corner of her eye, Yujin notices the fires are back to normal. “Are you sure? I can punish him, if you’d like.”
“That won’t be ideal, would it? We need his service for our wedding,” she placates the male.
Jaebeom exhales steadily. Then he turns back to Bam, who is still looking down at his feet. Jaebeom jabs his finger into his chest once more, and spits, “You should be thankful to the mercy of my bride. Else, you’d be dead by now.”
The Fire fae faces Yujin once more, gently tapping her shoulder, a smile on his lips. His hand slides down her arm to hold her hand up between them. “If there’s anything you are displeased with, don’t hesitate to call me.” He brings up the hand higher, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Gently letting her go, Jaebeom turns on his heels and leaves the room. Yujin can’t help but notice how Bam immediately relaxes.
“Thank you for saving my life,” the couturier expresses his gratitude with a slight bow, a relieved expression on his face.
Yujin offers a kind smile. “I don’t think I did anything but you’re welcome.”
“Such amazing ability, you have,” Bam says. “I can’t believe that it’s true.”
Yujin cocks her head to the side. “What is?”
“Well,” Bam starts rather hesitantly. “Jaebeom has always been a hot-headed person, much worse than what you saw earlier. But his temper has mostly died down ever since he moved to this mansion, you see. Occasionally, he does get angry when it comes to important matters. But the fact that he was furious at me for being late and that you calmed him real quick… You really have Jaebeom wrapped around your finger.”
Yujin got reminded of Jinyoung, who said the same words. She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe he doesn’t like truancy.”
Bam shakes his head. “I’ve known him all my life. And I’ve never seen him like this.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You must mean a lot to him, considering that he’s protective of you.”
Yujin doubts so. There must be another reason for Jaebeom to behave in such a manner. Even if he is protective of me, it's because he needs me for something. But I wonder what...
“Ah!” Bam’s face suddenly lights up. He whips around and snaps his fingers at the mannequin. The sleeves are gone, and thin straps are added instead. Then, just slightly above the chest, a gold jewelry wraps around the mannequin. Magic flows downward, constructing a long chiffon cape that drapes all the way down, almost touching the floor.
“How do you find this?” Bam presents it to Yujin, his blue eyes gleam with pride.
“It’s-- Majestic.” Yujin finds herself amazed by the elegance it holds.
Bam grins wide. “Perfect for the bride of the Im house.”
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softowlhours · 4 years ago
Text
paperclip chains
akaashi keiji (officeAU!)
a collection of scenarios following you and akaashi as you try and finesse the art of navigating life as working adults.
genre: a bit sad at times, but hopefully fluffier in the future.
a/n: my first piece of writing and this is pure self indulgent because work is hard and nothing makes sense sometimes. hope you all enjoy and find some comfort in it. 
word count: 3500~
pt. one 🦋 blank like a sheet of paper. 🦋
[friday. 3:00 p.m.]
someone had cracked open the window. the air inside the office had been much too oppressive, stale with the smell of the murky, insipid coffee you could get from the cafeteria. for free. staff privileges, they call it. late afternoon sun pours in through the large square windows. it ignites the office, dying it in the shades of an inferno. however, the warmth of it does not reach akaashi’s heart. the way the rays set everything aglow was in contrast to the chill crisp autumn air. akaashi could hear the leaves rustle, clinging to the branches waiting for that particular gust of wind, strong enough to blow them off. the leaves would then twirl and twirl until they’d softly land on the damp earth becoming one with it again. he wishes he were a leaf.
He tries to focus on nature’s gentle melody, but the hubbub of the office is overbearing. the incessant clicking of alphabets on the keyboards, the murmur of pages being turned, someone sneezes loudly and it is immediately followed by lazy ‘bless you’s’. his ears are attuned to the low electric groan of the printer, and he hopes someone would get up and unclog the jam of papers before the white noise drives him insane. he ends up doing it himself, almost losing a finger in the process as he tries to pull out a badly stuck paper from the printers’ rollers. today had been one of those days where nothing had gone right, a domino of disasters triggered the moment he’d opened his eyes. these days had been coming by way too often lately for his taste. he felt tired.
none of these turmoils showed on his exterior though, he wore a calm, unbothered mask. despite his depressing inner monologue, he diligently read through the manuscript highlighting bits he’d like to go over with the author at their next meeting.
it wasn’t like akaashi hated his job, infact, this was his dream job. he loved what he did but sometimes his love for his work was eclipsed by the politics the workplace was entrenched in. the naivety from when he had first joined almost a year ago had worn off quickly. it took him a mere week in the workforce to understand that a job demanded more than the list of skills and tasks specified in the job description. in any office, beneath the veneer of civility, there always remains an undercurrent of competition, jealousy, idle minds looking for entertainment at the expense of each other. there were people who did not love their job, the free loaders who somehow never did their share but managed to take home their bag of coins. they would slack and slack some more until the burden of their neglect would be shifted upon the shoulders of the new comers. too timid to resist. he pulls out his leather bound planner, a gift from his friend to celebrate him landing the role of an assistant editor all those months ago. it is almost filled from start to finish with his scribbles and the leather is soft with constant handling. his eyes scan past all the work he had wrapped up for the day, until one of his seniors had dumped an endless stack of files containing short stories that had been sent in for the monthly writing contests. they’re not short anymore when you have a hundred of them to read at once. apparently, the senior had a date he’d forgotten about and had to leave early. akaashi couldn’t report this to the boss, he knew how offices worked. its venomous hierarchies slithered like snakes ready to diss whoever defied them. rookies must act like rookies. akaashi quickly jots down in his planner a list of things he must get done over the weekend and the bulleted list slowly fills up two entire pages.
when he wasn’t picking up after someone’s mess akaashi did enjoy what he did. he enjoyed being on top of his work, found an euphoric satisfaction in duties well done. while his colleagues took it easy during the day and whined as they worked overtime in the evenings to meet deadlines, akaashi was most probably done for the day by then and already at home; fresh out of the shower and lighting his favourite candles that made his bedroom smell like cinnamon. he’d curl up under his soft comforter letting the tension of a busy day dissipate from his body. he kept his favorite books on the nightstand and would read them as he waited for sleep to come.  
“akaashi-chan,” he hears the soothing voice of his supervisor, an old well natured man in his sixties who had worked here for almost thirty years. he walks upto akaashi’s desk, his eyes crinkling with a gentle smile as he takes in the mess that was his desk.  “its difficult being a rookie, huh?” hatori-san says. “i would’ve just let you gone home, but the design and printing departments are an anxious bunch. they’re breathing down our necks for the final draft of the magazine two weeks before the release date.”
“please don’t apologise, hatori-san. It’s always like this towards the end of the month.” you aren’t the one who should be apologising.
“hmm...” the elderly muses, “maybe you should dilly dally like your colleagues, afterall, who is to blame you? the youth are meant to be reckless. ”
“but hatori-san if i did that not even a quarter of our magazine will be ready by the end of this month!” akaashi’s voice is filled with amusement, and mild terror.
hatori-san chuckles. “yes, yes i’m aware. i’ll rely on you then akaashi-chan. i do have a bit of good news for you though.” a bonus-
“we’re getting another assistant editor on monday, hopefully your workload can be halved from then on and a be little more manageable. i’m worried you’re starting to look older than me akaashi-chan.” he jokes. “i’ll leave her in your care.”
❀ ✿  ✿ ❀
[friday. 8:20 p.m.]
he stays in the office until late that night, finishing as much of his work he can before the words on the screen begin to blur and he can feel his brain churn in his head. he packs the documents he needed to read over the weekend, putting them neatly in his black briefcase. the temperatures have dropped quite low and with his tan coat on and a scarf wrapped around his neck, he steps out into the world. outside, tokyo is buzzing with life, the lights twinkle and a bubbly atmosphere engulfs even this usually grim and dull part of the city; where most companies found their home. salary men and women chatter excitedly as they pour into the office district from the high rise buildings of concrete and glass. groups of people stand on the sidewalk chatting amicably, smoke rises from cigarettes, plans to go hangout at karaokes, bars and restaurants float in the air.
it wasn’t that akaashi did not have friends, or ever had trouble making any. he was easy going, attentive and though not the loudest in the room, he was enigmatic. people were drawn to him. especially the weird and loud ones. not that he minded. not that he ever judged. which is what made people open up their hearts to him so easily. they knew he’d take them for who they were. but, like earlier today he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that clawed at him. he had his dream job but the hours he spent on his desk day after day, the endless exchange of apathetic emails, the unlimited cups of coffee, had all amalgamated into a kind of hollowness. he felt empty instead of fulfilled. he idly wonders if bokuto-san ever felt this way, or knowing him, did he charge straight ahead without any inhibitions? if you asked bokuto whether he could see himself playing volleyball for the next twenty or fifty years, bokuto would say ‘yes, ofcourse!!!’ in a heartbeat. and akaashi knew bokuto would mean it.
he wonders how hatori-san had spent his entire life in that office. could i do the same?
akaashi considers hanging out with some of his friends from university, maybe take hatori-san’s advice and just let go and forget everything for a while. he could be your typical 20 something, going to the bars with his 20 something friends where they’d shit talk their rude colleagues. He could console that one friend who wouldn’t stop crying over his ex-girlfriend who left him 3 years ago, every time he’s drunk. he could go home with that girl at the opposite end of the bar who wouldn’t stop looking his way, and who in his drunken haze, he thinks to be pretty. but eventually akaashi decides he is too tired to do any of that.
much later, when he settles into bed, he mindlessly picks up a book from his nightstand. he starts reading from where he had left off the night before but his eyes don’t really register a single word. for all he knew, he could’ve been staring at a blank sheet of paper. after a few more minutes of seeing nothing, he puts the book away and buries himself deep underneath the covers.
he feels the tears fall.
❀ ✿  ✿ ❀
[monday, 9:45 a.m.]
its odd. akaashi feels well rested. very very well rested.
his eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is the blue sky peeking from the gap between his curtains. he’s afraid to look at the time.
9:45 A.M. well, shit.
akaashi feels winded by the time he makes it to the floor where his office was.from the door he sees hatori-san standing next to akaashi’s chair, his back towards him. akaashi’s heart is in his throat, an apology that sounds fake dances on his tongue. he then hears hatori-san chuckle. a soft female voice says something he cannot catch. ah, the new assistant editor.
“good morning” he calls hoarsely, as he approaches them.
“Ah, hello akaashi-san,” his supervisor beams, “meet y/n. hopefully, your new partner in crime.”
“i was told i’m supposed to help slow down your aging process.” her voice is soft, and despite the shyness there is a mischievous lilt to her tone.  “i’ll do my best. please do guide me.”
hatori-san excuses himself. she’s practically buzzing with excitement, akaashi notices. before he can say anything, she pulls out a brand-new notepad from her bag, pen clicking open. she looks ready to take on the world.
he has to bite back a smile. she’s cute, cheeks flush and lips in a pout as she  jots down something on it. he genuinely wonders what it is she writes, considering he hasn’t even spoken yet. her hair is neatly tied away from her face but a few stray tendrils fall and delicately frame her face.
he wonders if this is how he had looked on his first day at work. face pink and eyes bright. probably not as cute though, oh no, definitely not cute. he internally cringes at the memory of his awkwardness.
but you miss it. that excitement.
“it’s fine.” he says, “please just sit down and relax, i’ll guide you as we go through our daily routine.” he gives her a small smile.
they spend the morning, going through the basics of the trade, she's a fast learner, he notes. and later during the lunch hour he divulges to her the little ‘how to survive in this office 101s’. he tells her how how she mustn’t drink the free coffee they hand out at the cafeteria (even though he’s come to accept it himself, for he welcomes caffeine in any state and form). he suspects they reuse the coffee grounds more times than considered acceptable. how if you ever jammed the printer, try and leave before anyone realises it was you if you don’t want to be the recipient of death glares from colleagues all day long. He tells her which restrooms are the best and which elevators reach their destinations the fastest. the grimmer and more ruthless bits of working here can wait, he thinks.
passion was something he lost some time ago and hasn’t been able to find ever since.
“make sure to take it easy.” he mumbles to her as they are putting away their trays, “if work gets too much, you can always place the manuscripts and drafts  on my desk when i’m not looking.”
she looks at him incredulously. laughter bubbles from her lips as she tells him with mock indignance that she’s better than that. she asks the cafeteria lady for two cups of the infamous coffee, offering him one.
“lets toast!” y/n proposes .
“to what?”
“to all the times we’ll be the the last two brain cells holding up this company. together.” she jokes, touching her paper cup to his. 
he likes the sound of ‘together’.
❀ ✿ ✿ ❀
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bang-tan-bitches · 4 years ago
Text
MONSTER MASH 2020 ENTRY 3
Room Service
Waves hit the shoreline as Y/N scuttles quickly down the sidewalk that borders the beach. Her front desk job at the Hotel Corll is waiting to meet her at the end of the walkway. Light posts slowly line just ahead, then besides, and then behind her, flickering on as the sun sets and the icy fog rolls inland. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N catches a glimpse of a freshly printed missing persons poster, with bold Arial black letters in contrast to the young pretty redhead with a coy smile, blue eyes peering back. She considers the expense of printing in color ink then moves on. She was already late getting out of her clinicals as it were. As she rounds up onto the hotel property she takes in the sleek lines and wooden facade of the luxury hotel, hoping tonight isn’t as busy as yesterday. She could barely keep her eyes open during her clinicals today, earning a scolding from her nursing professor much to the amusement of her fellow classmates. Bunch of morons.
​“Took you long enough!” A voice rings out as Y/N steps into the lobby. Her coworker Soohyun is waiting with a grin, coat on and purse in hand, for her to approach the desk so she could finally go home. The lobby is as intimidatingly large as it is cold. Cream marble floors lead up to the dark oak front desk, with wooden columns lined in neat even rows between the entrance and where Y/N will be standing for the rest of the night. Vaulted ceilings seem to encase the room, a remnant from the hotel prior to renovations. Though the fireplace casts a glow from the sitting area, it is difficult to penetrate the natural draftiness of the building, though its easy to blame it on the shoreline the hotel sits on.
​“Jungkook is actually already here, just had to go use the restroom,” Soohyun scoots to let Y/N place her schoolbag into the employee cubby under the desk. “Was pretty quiet today, so should be an easy night, though I’m surprised you didn’t just call off sick. You look…how do I say this, ghastly?” Y/N stands back up, pouting at the comment.
​“I would, but rent’s comin’ up soon, and you know my roommate always slacks on her half,” she says as she logs in for the start of her shift. “I’ll survive. Besides, I’m off tomorrow. I’ll just sleep in then.”
​“Alright, your choice,” Soohyun responds. “Any case, I’ll see you in the morning! Good night!”
​Her heels clack on the floor as Soohyun struts her way out of the building, posh bag in hand and not a hair out of place despite the end to a long shift. Y/N looks positively bedraggled in comparison, her flats scuffed badly on the sides and a small stain on her shirt from her attempt at chugging her coffee before getting on the bus. As she swipes in with her master key, Jungkook steps behind the desk, returning from the restroom.
​“Hey Jungkook, how’s it goin’?” Y/N asks. Jungkook just nods his head and grunts in response, doe eyes half-lidded as he quietly prepares for the shift. He is a quiet man who attends the same school that she does, though he is studying photography. Stoic and observant, he only speaks as needed, but is a hard worker and is always at the ready to tend to guest needs. Standing at his computer station, his lean height towering over Y/N, he prints out the list of remaining check ins for the night.
​“We have two VIP guests tonight. Looks like Mr. Jung extended his weeklong stay in the Hindley Suite for another night. He requested extra towels for his stay tonight. Kim Namjoon has not checked in yet though he did call to let us know he will probably be checking in late.” Jungkook reads off monotonously from his computer screen.
​“Looks like Miss Lim left a note, she says the Holmolka suite is not available to be rented out? Ah geez, did somebody trash it last night?” Y/N crumples up the pale-yellow post it that was stuck on her computer screen and tosses it in the trash.
​“Seems so,” he deadpans.
​Miss Lim is the long-time owner of the Hotel Corll, a heavy smoker with too strong Chanel No. 5 seeping from her body and too red lipstick trying to make up for lost time. With a plastic personality that matches her new nose and lips, she is a real piece of work. At least the job pays well. That reminder has served Y/N well in her comparatively shorter time working at the hotel. Nothing like the hospitality industry to suck the life out of everyone that deals with it. Miss Lim’s gaudiness reflects in her property from the gold painted- furniture to the overly lavish light fixtures that look like a Versailles fantasy from hell. However, this seems to not be a detriment to the establishment’s business. In fact, despite appearances, the hotel gained a small, loyal, and wealthy following due to the hotel’s strict confidentiality code. It has done well for Y/N’s pockets.
​About an hour after the night shift began, Seokjin, the head housekeeper, and Yoongi, the live-in handyman, walk into the lobby wearily. Their eyes are drooping in exhaustion. Seokjin’s blonde tresses gleam as several pieces of hair are left in disarray. Yoongi takes his cap off to run his well-worn hand through his hair and then returns the hat to its original position. They both make their way to signing out of work, looking as if they were both asked to run a marathon.
​“Are you two just leaving now?” Y/N asks. She looks a bit puzzled that both employees are still on the clock even though their shifts usually ended two hours earlier.
​“Had to finish essentially rebuilding the Homolka suite,” utters Yoongi. “Took damn near all day to complete.”
​“The guests from last night absolutely decimated the room, you’d have thought they were raised with by wolves!” Seokjin exclaimed. His irritation was agreed upon by Yoongi with a harumph. “Now if you excuse me, I’ve got to get home and soak my feet,” he continues. “I think they have earned their reward. Good night!” And with exhausted feet, he slowly wobbles out of the building. Yoongi simply waves his hand goodbye and makes his way to one of the two elevators to go up to his small room.
​As the evening wears on, more guests straggle in through the hotel doors and up to the front desk. The quiet mumbles of guests checking in, ringing credit cards through the clerking system to confirm their reservations, and authorizing payment becomes the soundtrack to Y/N’s evening. The monotony and false smiles are what’s getting her through the evening. At nine o’clock the long-awaited VIP guest Mr. Kim Namjoon steps through the hotel’s door. He walks up to the front desk with an even and patient gait. A false smile sits on his plush lips though it fails to reach his eyes. Like cold fisheyes Y/N thinks. Jungkook and Y/N both stand to attention, almost as if preparing to be disciplined by the school principal. With stillness and silence, Mr. Kim reaches Y/N’s section of the front desk. He always did prefer young women. The more impressionable the better.
​“Good evening Mr. Kim, how may I help you?” Y/N asks. A shiver of trepidation slithers up her spine. His handsome face just serves to accentuate the fear.
​“Just checking in, and how are you this evening?” Mr. Kim responds, the partial smile never slipping off his face. Y/N voices her learned pleasantries and decides at that moment she never wants to be caught alone unawares by this man. She takes the black card from his proffered hand to finish the check in process, the sooner the better.
​“This is the Lalaurie suite, correct?” he asks. “And to confirm, can you please make sure the complimentary room service is added to my reservation? There was a mix-up the previous time I stayed here and wouldn’t want a repeat of that, would we?” His tone says amicable and easy going, but his eyes say otherwise. His eyes convey zero tolerance for mistakes.
​“Yes, of course Mr. Kim, anything for our most loyal guest. Is there anything else you would like added to the reservation?” Y/N weakly inquires.
​“No, not at all. Oh, and I have a guest with me on this reservation, though she will be arriving later. Please call my room when she does.” And with that, Mr. Kim takes his room key and makes his way to his preferred suite. Y/N releases a sigh of relief as Jungkook’s shoulders visibly relaxes. He still says nothing.
​The night continues as a typical and quiet one for both front desk employees. Jungkook receives requests for extra towels and bathroom amenities which he delivers every so often while Y/N begins the night audit for the hotel. That is until the two figures enter the hotel and disrupt what was supposed to be a normal evening. They are covered in head to toe blue, their badges visible as is their handguns on their waists. Both men step up to Jungkook’s side of the desk. Great, the cops are here.
​“Officer Park, how may I help you?” Jungkook asks with the usual lack of enthusiasm. Of the two policemen in the hotel, Officer Park Jimin is a recognizable face amongst the staff as he is an acquaintance of Miss Lim. Or one of her many lovers as Soohyun loves to put it. Between his cocksure expression, his flirtatious demeanor, or an ass designed to fill out tight pants, the sentiment is not too far of a stretch for Y/N to believe. As for the other cop, neither Y/N nor Jungkook have ever seen the officer before. With a knowing glance between the hotel employees and Jimin, this does not bode well. And they all know it.
​“Hello, I am Officer Kim Taehyung, and apparently you seem to already know Officer Park,” Taehyung supplies with a suspicious glare thrown Park’s way. “We’re here as we’ve received an anonymous call about this place yesterday. Seems some folks happened to have been walking outside the hotel and happened to hear screaming and pleading from an open window. Would either of you happen to know anything about it?” Taehyung shifts his gaze between Jungkook and Y/N in expectation. They are more screwed than they previously thought.
​“No.” Jungkook replies as succinct as possible.
​“No,” Officer Kim straightens up and forces his shoulders back, eyebrows furrowing. His demeanor is growing more aggravated by the second. “That’s it huh? Hey, what about you?” He throws out to Y/N, who makes it a point to match Jungkook’s countenance closely. “You see anything suspicious at all?”
​“Nope, I wasn’t even working yesterday. Been off all week,” she lies through her teeth. “But, if you need to speak to the owner, you can give us your name and number and we can relay the information to her.”
​“See I would, but the girl who we came to speak to yesterday gave me the same bullshit and now I’m here again. So, I will ask one more time, what do you two know about whoever that was screaming bloody murder on your property?” says Taehyung.
​“We don’t know anything,” supplies Y/N. “Now unless you got a warrant or something, I going to have to ask you to leave. Now.” Her lips purse in barely retained frustration. She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin defiantly. She refuses to be cowed by this fool. She has encountered much worse than the likes of him.
​“You know you two could get in big trouble for lying to an officer of the law, right?” Taehyung encroaches into Y/N’s space, face molded into a sneer, dark eyes peering into hers. He was a man used to getting what he wanted. However, before he could go any further, Jimin steps in.
​“Hey, come one Tae, she’s got a point, no warrant not much we can do. And besides, you know Chief told us to drop this. Let’s go.”
​Although Officer Kim looks prepared to argue, with his partner standing down, he knows he will have to leave and regroup before anything further happens.
​“Fine,” he relents, “but I will be seeing you again. The both of you.” And with heavy steps he exits the building, fury pulsing through his body. Jimin hangs back.
​“It might be time for the boss lady to start pulling her connections for that one,” he throws his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at his partner. “Could be trouble if it isn’t nipped in the bud.” Park tips his hat, winks at Y/N, and leaves, easygoing and stride confident. Perv.
​Jungkook picks up the phone as soon as the officers leave, speed dialing Miss Lim with the update. She picks up on the first ring, fully aware of Officer Kim’s previous visit. Her words are difficult for Y/N to hear through the receiver. Despite not hearing the words, she can tell her employer is instructing Jungkook to navigate through the clerking system to look up the previous occupant of the suite. It was the Holmolka suite. With a few clicks here and there, it looks like the Mrs. Ushakova that rented the room on the aforementioned date is added to the Do Not Rent list, all her guest privileges cleared and an alert placed on her account. Mistakes as done by Mrs. Ushakova are not allowed by establishments such as the Hotel Corrl, where silence and confidentiality are sacred dogma. Her indiscretions come with repercussions. Jungkook hangs the phone up.
​With the hours flowing by, the previous lethargy felt by Y/N has now been replaced with worry due to the police’s visit. She hopes that the remainder of the night shift can continue as normal. Though that remains to be seen, as Mr. Kim’s guest now arrives. Y/N has seen her face before. In fact, she just saw her this morning, at St. Francis for her clinical rotation. The girl giggled particularly obnoxiously, in-light of Y/N’s reprimand via their professor. She just can’t seem to remember the girl’s name for the life of her. She must be more tired than she realized.
​“Call Mr. Kim’s room, he should’ve mentioned that I was supposed to be arriving.” she hadn’t even made it all the way to the front desk before she starts haughtily commanding the employees to do her bidding. Jungkook takes this as his cue to simply crouch low under the desk as if he were searching for something. He isn’t. As the girl reaches Y/N, she lays one well-manicured hand on the large oak desk while leaning on the other one. She examines her nails as though she was contemplating different acrylic shades that can replace her current pearlescent one. Y/N hesitates for a beat, a sliver of concern for her classmate becoming more discernible after another second. Unfortunately for her, the girl notices, her eyes flicking upwards.
​“Hello? I said I was expected, shouldn’t you be notifying him?” she asks, her snobbishness a blatant fixture on her person.
​After another missed beat, Y/N clicks through her computer program. She is aware of exactly who this girl is, and as such, dithers her way around the clerking system. She can’t just let her classmate go to Mr. Kim’s room, can she?
​“Sorry, he doesn’t seem to be checked in, are you sure this Mr. Kim is staying here?” Y/N asks. Jungkook side-eyes her from below, still looking for nothing.
​The girl narrows her stare, scrutinizing the female operating the front desk. Realization dawns on her as she smirks. She fails to read the near-imploring gaze her classmate working the computer gives her, a sign of precaution.
​“Oh, I know you. You’re that dumbass from this morning! At St. Francis Hospital? The one that went into the wrong patient’s room and tried to give her the wrong medication? I remember you,” the girl’s smirk expands. “Now you see, I know my date for the night is here, I have it right here in his texts,” She brings her phone up as if to show Y/N the incriminating evidence. “And I don’t think it would do so well for your job here if I just call him and let him know that you of all people are stopping him from getting my services for the night, would it? How about this, you don’t stop me from doing my job and I will make sure you don’t lose yours!” She flips her hair with a flourish. Y/N pauses for a moment, a sickeningly sweet smile appearing on her mouth.
​“Ah, it seems I have made a mistake, he has already checked in.” A few extra clicks on the computer and a newly scanned room key later, she picks up the hotel phone to make a call up to the Lalaurie suite.
​“Mr. Kim, your guest is here, shall I send her on up?” With Mr. Kim’s confirmation delivered, Y/N delivers her classmate to his suite, hospitality in full swing.
#​#​#
​ A few minutes after 3 o’clock in the morning, the front desk phone rings. Y/N is reading a chapter in her textbook about proper bedside manner whereas Jungkook is playing solitaire on his computer. Like second nature he picks up the receiver. Mr. Jung is calling. With little being said, Jungkook turns to his colleague.
​“Hey, Mr. Jung wants his extra towel service now, you think you could do it?”
​“Sure, gotta get away from this book or I might go cross-eyed.” She replies. She takes her master key and walks towards the elevator down the hall. She presses the glass button, standing in front of the elevator doors, a tacky reflective emerald green coating the doors as she waits. She looks up at the electronic number screen above the doors, the numbers still descending, five, four, three, two, one. A ding sounds out as the doors slide open and Y/N steps in, pressing for the twelfth floor, where the most important guests stay. When the doors reopen, this time many stories above ground, she takes a left down the hallway where in a small corridor next to the elevator is a well-maintained utility closet. To provide Mr. Jung his towel service, she grabs a laundry bin, a couple plastic tarps, several bottles of bleach, gloves, and many white fluffy towels made from the finest Egyptian cotton. Only quality at the Corll. Bin in hand, Y/N rolls the container down the hallway, past the elevator to one of the only three rooms on this level. Arms going jiggly from pulling the cart to its designated location she finally stops in front of the Kemper suite, Mr. Jung Hoseok’s room. She knocks on the door three times, and before a fourth one rings out, Hoseok swings the door open, blood coating his clothes and body, from his hands to his neck, splatters across his visage.
​“Oh! Thank you! You can put that over here,” he says appreciatively, pointing to a corner of the room next to the flat-screened television. Y/N rolls the bin full of supplies past the lean black haired man, across the blood soaked carpet, past the cold blue corpse lying in a pool of his own liquids, past the California King euro plush mattress to the corner of the room.
​“There you go sir. Now you do know that because you are staying in our Kemper suite you have complimentary room service, right? Are you sure you just want the extra towel service?” she asks doubtfully.
​“No, no, its fine, I always preferred doing my own disposal, I can get it just right that way!” Mr. Jung smiles enthusiastically. With a smile and a nice hundred-dollar tip in hand she looks over at the redhead splayed on the floor, blue eyes staring wide eyed at the ceiling, fear frozen in their features. She looks smaller than she did on her own poster Y/N notes, before tucking the money away and leaving the room.
​She shuts the door behind her and turns towards the elevator when she notices something at the other end of the hall. Someone is crawling. Y/N lets out a deep sigh, tucks her tip into her pocket, and stalks down the hall in exasperation. As she gets closer, she sees its her classmate from before bleeding profusely, begging for help.
​“Please, please help me! I’m- I’m dying!” she gurgles out, sobbing in between her words. Y/N bends down, and huff expelled, grabs the girl’s long hair soaked in her own blood before she starts dragging her back down the hall, back to her client’s door. She screams and cries and begs for her life, but Y/N is unphased, continues dragging her classmate to her doom. Three door knocks echo through the hallway. Namjoon opens the door, perplexed by the sight before him. He is freshly showered, a towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping down his built chest. Cold fisheyes looking back.
​“Sorry to bother you sir, seems you almost lost one.” She calmly says, as she lifts up the girl’s hair as she screams.
​“Ah, my apologies,” he then reaches down into his bag sitting by the door. “I thought I had finished with her. It seems I was incorrect.” With deft fingers he grasps the handle of a large hunting knife from the front pocket of his bag.
​“No! No! Please!! Don’t-!” and with one swift slice, Namjoon swipes the blade through the girl’s throat. She falls forward, death rattle sounding out between her lips.
​“It’s fine Mr. Kim, she couldn’t have made it far anyway.” Y/N asserted.
​“Eh, I still pride myself in thoroughness,” He wipes the knife clean on the towel slung across his hips. “Could you make sure room service comes tomorrow after I have checked out?”
​“Of course, sir, I will make sure to notate that for the morning shift. Have a good rest of your stay.” She bows her head a bit in deference and turns to make her way down the elevator.
#​#​#
​As the morning sun rises, Yoongi makes his way to the hotel lobby for the free coffee and continental breakfast served there. He yawns into the air before grabbing an apple fritter in one hand and black coffee in the other. He turns to Y/N and Jungkook still manning the front desk, counting down the minutes until they can leave. He acknowledges the both of them but before he could go finish his treat Y/N stops him.
​“Yoongi, before I forget, make sure the Lalaurie suite gets room service after Mr. Kim checks out. Its his special request.”
​“Seriously?” he grumbles, “He is always ruining our mattresses! And we then we have to replace them! Last time, the new housekeeper accidentally walked into his suite before he left and he was honest to God cuddling the body! Who does that?” Y/N shrugs in response, her eyes bloodshot. She’s ready for the nap of a lifetime. Before she gets any more exhausted, Soohyun comes in for shift relief. Thank God. Jungkook offers a short update on the cop debacle and after not much longer both employees pack up and walk out the lobby doors.
​Y/N shuffles towards her bus stop down the walkway, adjacent to the beach. She makes it past the light posts fading off, one by one as she walks past them. She walks by the missing persons poster and takes in the crisp clean air. She decides she is going to go home, sleep, and then wake up for a study session. If she wants to eventually be a top-notch nurse, she needs to act the part. She feels the tip money burning a hole through her pocket reminding her of a job well done. It gets messy but the pay is nice.
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angelguk · 5 years ago
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another prerequisite to the things i never told you fic that is coming [eventually]. i do suggest u read this or else oc’s behaviour/reactions will not make sense in the main fic. kinda angsty. jeongguk is mean. jeongguk’s girlfriend is mean. listen to being freezed by heize. 1.8k.
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He’s late. You should have expected that. And yet, it still stings; an odd pain tightly gripping your heart as a gentle autumn breeze whispers through the air. Sunlight wanes against the worn brick pavements, splaying across your dirty sneakers, the shoelaces untethering themselves despite the firm knot you’d tugged them into before sprinting up the hill where you promised to meet. You tap your feet against the ground, the pounding that your soles make harmonising with the erratic beating of your heart. His present is clenched between your tense fingertips, the crinkle of plastic melting into the rustle of leaves. They sway gently above your head, courtesy of the zephyr that settles over the hill. You hope he likes it. You’d taken time out of your exhausting high school schedule to thread together his bracelet. Lilac, violet and a dash of white flowing through the amateur design. His favourite colour is purple. Or at least that’s what you can recall. You don’t remember the last time you had a full conversation with Jeongguk - despite him being your best friend.
And it was all because of her.
Even the thought of her name has your heart plummeting to your gut, your fingertips taut around the plastic bag that contains his presents. There was also a new sketching pad and a bunch of expensive colour pencils you’d forked your savings over for bumping inside the bag, hopefully not rumpling the card you'd made for him. But it was worth it. You know how much Jeongguk likes to draw. But you don’t know if he’d appreciate these gifts as much as you think he would have if she wasn’t in the picture. Jeongguk has changed, drastically, since he’d started seeing her. From the way he styled his hair to his interests - little by little the things you knew and adored about your best-friend gradually vanished, replaced by a person who was virtually a stranger to you. Sometimes you go whole days without seeing him, he’d even swapped seats with a classmate to be closer to his viper of a girlfriend. She’d been so smug when you’d walked into class to find nosy Yongsun as your new seatmate instead of seeing Jeongguk planted in the chair whose leg he’d carved his name into at the start of the year with a sheepish grin tugging at his petal pink lips. You had felt her eyes boring into your head, and when you snuck a glimpse at her direction (right in front of the class where she could suck up to the teacher; a position that Jeongguk had always abhorred) you couldn’t miss the sly upturn of her lips. Jeongguk would have seen it too, if he wasn’t so busy writing her a stupid cheesy love note. 
He would have seen a lot, if he bothered to pay attention.
You’d only showed up to the hill because this was your tradition, something she hadn’t been able to taint with her toxicity just yet. There’s only a slither of hope inside of you that believes he’ll show up. But you stay regardless, because it’s your best-friends birthday and you’ll be damned if you let some girl who’d only shown up in the middle of the school year take this away from you too.
It’s the rough pedalling of a bicycle that yanks you from the pit of despair that you’re currently wallowing in. Jeongguk’s face appears around the bend a second later, soft brown curls ruffled by the wind that wipes around his frame. He’s still got his school uniform on, white sleeves rolled up the elbow and his navy tie loosened from its hold. It’s a stark contrast to the sweatpants and knitted jersey you’d tossed on after coming from school before hurrying to the hill. And then her face pops up from behind his, the dark bangs cut across her forehead unmoving even with the breeze whistling around you.
You don’t say anything, the greeting you were about to mutter caught in your throat. Instead, your gaze follows them cautiously, watching the disdainful look his girlfriend gives you as she halts her bike behind Jeongguk’s.
“Hi,” Your best-friend says. He even sounds different. It makes your heart ache violently.
“Hey Jeongguk,” You return, praying he doesn’t note the waver in your tone. And then you throw her a glance. “Hi, Minjoo.”
She doesn’t say anything in response. Apparently, her nails are more interesting than acknowledging your presence. What’s worse is that Jeongguk doesn’t even bat an eyelid at her behaviour.
“Happy birthday!” You try instead, gaze flickering back to Jeongguk. But your heart drops when you find him sending you the same air of disinterestedness emitting from Minjoo. “I haven’t even seen you today! How are you?”
“I’m fine, just busy.” You hate how monotone his response is. “How are you?” That simple question is enough. Something to show you that he still cares. You hang onto it like a fish caught on bait.
“Exhausted, dude. I have so much to tell you. Where are we going for dinner? The stories I have have to be told over food.” Birthday dinner was part of your tradition. Exchange gifts on the hill, share anecdotes over food, spend way too much at the arcade before moving to linger at the park until sundown and then crash at each other’s house (at yours on your birthday and at Jeongguk’s on his). It wasn’t extravagant or wild. It was simple. Like your relationship. Nothing complicated. Just the two of you together, enjoying each other’s company.
The silence that spans between the two of you indicates that, for the first time, in the sixteen years you’d know Jeongguk, that something was complicated.
He scratches the nape of his head first, bottom lip caught between his lip as he thinks of a way to navigate through the problem that you’re still unaware of. If it’s Minjoo’s presence, you can work through that, an assurance already drifting from your lips. You don’t know why she hates you. But if she’s the girl that Jeongguk loves, you’ll tolerate it. He’s your best friend, after all, the person you cherish the most. You’ll just have to learn to find the things that Jeongguk loves about her with your own eyes. You’ll get there eventually. You know you will. Because you don’t know what your life would without Jeongguk. 
But then he glances back at Minjoo, who’s staring at him impatiently, rapping her long nails against the metal handle of her bike and you sense that something is off. Very off.
“Are we not going out?” You softly murmur, intentionally putting emphasis on the ‘we’ as your eyes flicker between their unreadable faces. Their eyes are speaking full-length paragraphs to each other but you don't understand what any of their weighted gazes mean, the look Minjoo is giving Jeongguk practically indecipherable. “Are we going to eat at your mom’s? That’s okay! I haven’t seen your mom in a while.” You stand up without thinking, your sneakers shuffling the fallen copper leaves around, a resounding crunch emitting from your steps. Minjoo stares at you like you’re dirt for doing that. 
“Um…” Jeongguk eyes are apologising when the words aren’t even out of his mouth yet. They’re round, innocent, gaze anywhere but on you. “We already have plans.”
It’s clear, immediately, that that we doesn’t include you.
“Oh.” Your voice is meek even to your own ears, a strange small sound that makes your heart crumble inside of you. “Okay. That’s fine. You can just take your present then.”
He plucks it out of your hands, not even bothering to peer inside, feet already moving to place themselves on the pedals of his bike. Minjoo’s already turning her own bike away, bone straight onyx hair staring back at you, shoulders triumph in a manner that makes the pain gripping your heart spread across your chest, gaze swimming with the torrent of tears that you’re furiously blinking away. 
It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all.
“Jeongguk!” You catch him before he speeds off, Minjoo already flying down the worn pathway. Her silence isn’t missed.
“What?” He spits the word out like you’re a nuisance. It takes everything in you not to punch him right across his pretty face.
“We need to talk.” The words wobble into each other, tone quivering with the tears you swallow.
“Now?” He ruffles his hair again, an exasperated sigh floating from his lips. There’s a sly eye roll that you catch instantly. Your heart lurches sharply in your chest.
“Yes now.” 
“Can’t it wait? Minjoo’s planned something and she’ll get mad at me if I mess it up.” The impatience in his voice is palpable. You really want to punch him in the face. It’s alright for him to suddenly abandon a tradition that both of you treasure, at the drop of a hat all for some even that his annoying girlfriend planned for him? And she’s allowed to get annoyed about him messing the surprise up while you’re meet to just swallow the sudden despondency that sits heavy on your chest? 
“It can’t wait.” You try to be firm, but like the autumn leaves that hang loosely from the branches above, your resolve is weak. It crumbles, when he settles on his bike, huffing loudly, a frown marring his features. And you hear her voice, frill as she screeches his name. She’s a banshee, a bringer of misfortune and pain. Some part of you wants to sew her mouth shut. That part grows bigger when you note how his back straightens and his eyes widen, feet faltering back to the pedals of his bike.
“Later.” Jeongguk dismisses you. “We’ll talk later. I don't want to fight with you right now.”
And then he’s off, swift with his movements, a hurry that indicates trepidation driving his frame further and further away.
You plop back down on the bench, fists clenched with the ire that blazes inside of you. You ball your hands into your lap, blink away the sudden heat you feel in your face and try not to dwindle on the fact that Jeongguk didn’t even thank you for the present. Or look at it. Or even pretend to care. It hurts. More than you expect it too. You wish you could erase it, all of it. Especially Minjoo. How she’s managed to worm her way into Jeongguk’s life and rip him right from your fingertips is lost on you. But it’s becoming clear now, how little Jeongguk values the relationship you have. If he even cared in the slightest, he would have stayed to listen. Faced whatever consequence Minjoo would have waiting for him with valiance. But with how fast he scrambled, it’s evident Jeongguk didn’t think it was worth it. You weren’t worth it. Not anymore. 
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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 4 years ago
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Um, hi! Is it okay if I request a few items? Specifically some items that can be found in the Feywild or fey enchanted/cursed? Sorry for the trouble.
Sure I take requests :) Here is a variety of items that are generally related to fey. 
A cup-hilted rapier crafted by the fey and decorated with a fantastic depiction of the Wild Hunt. A bearer grasping the handle is flooded with the energy of a predator on the hunt: excitement, hunger and bloodlust. When wielded in combat, the wielder can hear the bellowing sounds of a hunting horn blasting in the distance, rousing him into a murderous frenzy.  
A cold iron scroll tube containing a signed parchment, entitling the bearer to one unspecified favor or service from a local fey princeling. Knowledgeable PC’s will know that although the favor doesn’t seen to have a catch or price, nothing is ever truly free with the fey.
A fey made tome bound in sheet of smooth bark gilded in silver entitled “Lexicon of Stealing Mortal Babies”. The text is a guide to obtaining newborns from humans with tricks. The book is written in sylvan and the pages are transparent sheets, made from giant insect wings with text painted on.
A sealed glass vial filled with the dried and shredded mushrooms from an entire fairy ring.
A strange flute of rubbery blue fibers interspaced with five holes. If played as an instrument by one skilled enough, it can replicate the unearthly music of fey creatures.
A jagged amber rob with a dead fairy sprite entombed within.
A discrete brownish book the size of a deck of cards without decoration or title. Its contests reveal themselves to be a Changeling training manual and guidebook on how the fey train the supernatural shapeshifters to infiltrate humans, live among them and carry out their nefarious goals.
Weeping Willow: A foot tall willow sapling in a glass bottle that survives indefinitely while sealed in the glass. When the glass is broken, the sapling can be planted in the ground and begins to grow at twice the normal rate for a willow tree. This specific plant is a magical species known as a Weeping Willow. Instead of drawing water from the ground by its roots it to sustain itself, it instantly teleports freshly shed tears from sentient creatures into itself. The moment a sentient creature cries within the Weeping Willow’s range of effect (A 500 ft radius centered on the tree), the tears immediately vanish and are used as sustenance for the tree. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that the actual origin of this magical species is not well known and most stories believe it to have been the helpful but misguided attempt at a comforting gesture by a minor god or fey creature.  Legend has it that the creator saw that sentient creatures always seemed to cry when they were sad and thought that if the willow took away their tears, they wouldn’t be sad anymore. Other stories believe the willow to be a form of foul parasite that thrives on suffering and sadness. Those stories portray a trickster fey or petty demon who sows seeds of Weeping Willows which subtlety encourages anguish within its area in order to feed on more tears. Regardless of it’s origin, Weeping Willows are fairly rare and are usually found in places where tears are commonly shed as those are the only places where it can survive. Adult Weeping Willows can be located in places of great or recurring misery such as war memorials, hospitals, hospices, orphanages, graveyards and prisons. Whether its effect on the creatures in it’s radius is a blessing or a curse is up to each person to decide on their own.
A sealed glass vial filled with pure spring water taken the Feywild.
A brass bell that always stays highly polished and resembles the sound of strange laughter when rung. It is rumored to open doors to the Feywild.
Pillow of the Sleepless Fey: A comfortable pillow which appears to be designed for a child. Stitched into one side is the name Nodwick. If a creature sleeps upon this pillow during the night, small fairies will come to him and will extract 1d6 teeth while the user sleeps. The miniature fey will sprinkle generous amount of fairie dust in the user’s mouth which instantly heal the wounds and take away all pain associated with the process. Upon awakening, the user is filled with a supernatural vitality which causes him not to require any sleep or rest for a number of days equal to the number of teeth lost plus one. If the fey are prevented from removing the teeth for any reason, the user is not affected by the fairie dust and does not receive any benefits.
Caustic Talon: A scimitar made entirely from rare, enchanted ironwood and blessed by a fey spirit in the form of a forest dragon. The fey creature’s personal style manifested itself on the weapon and the blade retains the grain of the ironwood, its dark grey and deep brown streaks are now lined with brilliant streams of emerald acid that slither between the grain of the wood. Deep green dragon scales run along the spine of the blade, turning into leaves as they meet the hilt. The vine-wrapped handle spirals down to the dragon-headed pommel, its face locked in a fierce snarl. When the weapon is swung, the acid in the blade can be heard sizzling in anticipation of landing a hit, but the caustic liquid never spills its power in waste. Half of the damage dealt by the scimitar is considered acid damage while the rest is normal for its type.
Fey Pillow: A silvery cushion which sparkles in the moonlight and always feels cool to touch. When used, the creature will hear the whispers of the fairy king while they sleep. In the morning the cushion will produce a small crystal that contains the creature's dreams which may be watched on it's reflective surface. There is a 5% chance that the crystal's dreams belong to a prior owner of the cushion. The crystals the pillow produces melt into fresh dew after 24 hours.
A letter from an unknown sender that simply reads, “I told you so!”. The return address is plainly labeled “Feywild”.
A sealed glass vial filled with magically preserved, High-Elf Pipeweed. Knowledgeable PC’s will know that this hemp originates from the forest courts where it has been impregnated with the deep magic of the Feywild. When the smoke from burning it in a magical fire is inhaled, it may grant arcane visions of the future or the past, and as such is favoured by oracles and soothsayers. Under the effects of antimagic it merely produces a light-headed feeling and a desire to eat apples.
A steel flask with a safety latch attached. A sloshing liquid can be heard inside. The flask contains a delicious fey honey.
A wooden scroll tube containing a parchment scroll, sealed with wax that is an invitation to the Yew-Lord’s banquet. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the title of the Yew-Lord, as a powerful Arch-Fey.  
A pan flute carved from the bones of a unicorn which when played, do not make the slightest sound to most creatures. Only fae and fairy kin creatures can hear the tortured sounds of the unicorn’s spirit and they will often seek revenge for their fallen kin.  
Crosswind: An ancient longbow originally gifted to a forest ranger who had pledged his life and service to a fey lord. The weapon is made of a light wood and is rather thick, rounded, and has stylized etchings of wind, that are filled-in black. Pink roses and vines are carved along the front and sides of the bow and it is found with a deep leather quiver containing a dozen white arrows fletched with hummingbird feathers and tipped with an unknown green stone. The bow is strung with a string plucked from the fey lord’s own harp and a musical note rings out each time the weapon is used. When fired the bow releases a strong gust of wind that blows along the arrow’s wake and slams into the target. Whenever an arrow loosed by the bow hits a creature of medium size or smaller, the target is pushed back five feet from the blast of wind. —Note: A medium creature is typically no taller or longer than eight feet.
Minor Weapon Enchantment; Bumbling: The emblem of a fairy circle is gilded in silver on the weapon’s grip. The entire weapon is a masterpiece of flowing graceful design, delicately ornate scrollwork and is a tribute to those who made it. Running along its length is a poem written in iambic pentameter, penned in Sylvan, the language of the fey. Those who are able to read it, discover it is not much more than a limerick disparaging the mortal humans and extolling the virtues of the fair folk. The verses have particularly harsh words to say about the incompetence and clumsiness of humanoids and how that in contrast, the fairy peoples are naturally adept in all ways. Any non-fey creature who wields the weapon finds that they are slightly less proficient than usual at completing their normal everyday task, as if the poem was a warning rather than boast. The weapon is treated as a +1 but while the weapon is being wielded and for one hour afterwards, a non-fey wielder suffers a penalty of -1 on all of his skill checks.
A massive cloth and leather banner emblazoned with the unified crests of ten different fey courts.
A bone signet ring displaying the symbol of a large spreading tree. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the image as the symbol of the Yew-Lord, a powerful Arch-Fey.
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