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[iamfatimabaig]

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[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: paparazzi

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re running away from the paparazzi and you bump into a gorgeous stranger who offers to buy you a drink

warnings: mild swearing

a/n: this was a request from an anon who wanted to see grayson hawthorne x reader where the reader is a famous singer. I hope you enjoy… this is what I managed to come up with. Note: this is the grayson equivalent of starstruck for jameson

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @f4iry-bell

I step out of the recording studio at exactly 6:23 am. I’d stayed there over night with a few people to try and get the sound I wanted from the new single I hoped to drop soon. Unfortunately I hadn’t managed to accomplished what I’d set out to do, so now I’m just feeling pretty lousy and absolutely exhausted. It’s so early in the morning that I wasn’t expecting to be met with bold flashes of several cameras as soon as I stepped foot out of the building. I curse under my breath and begin to walk in the opposite direction as quickly as I could. I swear one of these days I’ll be blinded. I wish I hadn’t decided to wear heels as they were not proving useful.

The paparazzi were relentless as per usual and continued to follow me down several different roads. They cry out my name and various questions. I begin to wonder who’s tipped them off that I was there, no one was supposed to know. But I let the curiosity die quickly. I glance behind me and realise they’re closer than I realised. So mutter a quick prayer and begin to run. As fast as I can in my heels. I knew for a fact I looked like a wild idiot, but I didn’t care now I needed to get away. The flashes were more frequent now, the clicking of the cameras louder. My feet are screaming for me to stop, my breath shallow. I really should plan my outfits better. Just when I think I’m screwed, I notice a small, secluded alleyway and decide to take the chance and run down it. I hope they didn’t notice.

On the corner is the door to a coffee shop, so I take the chance and dash in. Not many places are open at this time, so I count my lucky stars as breathlessly a make my way to the counter. I make sure my back is turned to the window, so prying eyes won’t recognise my face if they pass. I grip into the counter and catch my breath back.

“You look like you could use a coffee,” says a voice directed at me.

I look up to see a well dressed man, looking at me. He looks slightly recognisable but not enough for me to know exactly who he was. He had pretty grey eyes that stood out against his pale complexion and golden hair.

“Thanks, nice to know I look as horrendous as I feel,” I scoff sarcastically, not realising what I’d said be for the word had left my lips.

“You don’t look horrendous,” he offers kindly, too kindly.

“You just told me I look like I could use a coffee,” I state, running my fingers through a matted clump of hair.

“That was my way of offering to buy you a drink,” he explains to me.

“Oh…” I say, my eyes wide as red creeps up my cheeks.

I felt so stupid and horrible. This poor guy was trying to be nice, which he didn’t have to be, and I had totally just shut him down.

“Oh god sorry,” I ramble, “that was totally rude and-“

He laughs, thankfully cutting of my meaningless waffling, “don’t worry. Let me rephrase, can I buy you a drink?”

“Do you really want to?” I ask, arms folded, looking at him quizzically.

“Yes I really want to,” he assures me.

“Then that would be nice,” I agree.

He seemed trustworthy enough, though I was really going to regret saying that later is he turned out to be some sort of axe murderer. The coffee barista who looked as equally exhausted as I felt asks for our order. I quickly murmur to the man who offered to buy me a coffee what I wanted and he orders two of the same. He very kindly pays and the barista goes off to make the drinks.

“Sorry again about that,” I laugh sheepishly, “it’s too early for me in the morning to function politely.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he shrugs, “believe me I’ve had much worse interactions.”

I look him up and down, trying to gage who he might work for. A finance department maybe? Or maybe he was lawyer? Though he looked awfully young.

“You look too fancy to be hanging out in a coffee shop,” I say, trying to fish for some answers.

“Is that because I’m wearing a suit in 6:30 in the morning?” he asks me.

“Possibly,” I say, my eyes trailing down, “and those shoes.”

He chuckles softly, “even fancy people need coffee.”

“So you are a fancy person?” I reply, cocking my head towards him.

“Possibly,” he smiles, mirroring what I’d said to him.

I purse my lips, still trying to work this guy out. Presumably he was rich, the guy even looks expensive. And he seems too perfect to be real. I lean back an analyse him. He looks to be around twenty or so and holds himself with confidence. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit tired despite the time.

“Here’s your coffees,” the barista says, her expression flat and her tone even flatter, “enjoy.”

“I’ve never heard someone sound so melancholy saying the word enjoy,” I mutter once she’s gone around the corner.

He grins, “maybe she’s not a morning person.”

“I mean fair enough there,” I say. He passes me my cup and guides me to a table, “oh thank you.”

“I’m Grayson,” he tells me as we sit down, shifting his eyes so they exactly meet mine.

“Y/N,” I say, opting not to use a pseudonym as I would usually do. Something about him settled me, made me feel like I didn’t need to hide who I really was.

He smiles slightly and stares wistfully elsewhere.

“What?” I ask him as I take a large sip of my coffee.

The caffeine enters my blood stream and flows straight to my brain. Suddenly my energy levels are raised and I’m more alert. I actually feel awake now.

“That’s a pretty name,” Grayson replies quietly, the smile not leaving his face.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling unusually flattered. It wasn’t just the words he said but the way he said it, so tenderly, like my name was the most beautiful thing that had ever graced his lips. My cheeks are heating up again.

He opens his mouth to reply, but I notice a familiar flash in the corner of my eye. My mind plays a string of colourful words I wouldn’t dare say out loud.

“Oh god,” I groan, “duck.”

“Ducking isn’t going to help, we need to leave,” he says to me, standing up, suddenly alert and ready. He seems a little too prepared for this situation and I’m sceptical. But I don’t have time to be sceptical.

“But you just bought the coffee,” I complain. I feel horrible, he’s just spent good money on that and now I had to leave it.

“Forget about the coffee,” he replies, gesturing for me to stand up.

I get up, “I’ll pay you back as soon as we’re out of here.”

“Come on, there’s a back door we can slip out of,” he explains.

I don’t have time to question how or why he knows that or whether I should follow him. Paparazzi burst through the door, some yelling questions, some taking pictures.

“Oh shit,” I curse, covering my face with my hand, as if it’ll do anything.

“Run?” He suggests to me.

“More like sprint,” I scoff, “I really hope you don’t mind ruining those fancy shoes.”

“Who said I can’t sprint and keep them in perfect condition?” Grayson winks at me.

I roll my eyes, smiling widely, trying to suppress the blush that I can feel rising in my cheeks. He swiftly grabs my hand and pulls me towards the back door. I’m too flustered to even care where I’m going, my cheeks were now positively rosy with colour as I grip his hand. He leads me out and begins to run, not letting go of me, actually he holds on even tighter. Suddenly I feel my legs begin to drag and I realise that I might break an ankle if I carry on in these heels. I tear my hand out of his.

“Keep going!” I yell.

He immediately stops and runs back over to me, “what’s wrong?”

“I can’t keep up with you in these heels,” I heave. Actually I probably couldn’t keep up with him full stop, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Take them off,” he tells me.

“What?” I gape.

“Just trust me,” he says.

After a brief second of intense eye contact, I slip off my shoes. Then to my surprise he does the same.

“Put mine on,” he instructs, handing me a pair of clearly very expensive shoes.

“Are you kidding?” I ask.

“Stop with the questions and just wear the shoes, otherwise they’ll catch up to us,” he replies, eyes darting around, scanning for the paparazzi.

I look down at the shoes, which didn’t have a scratch nor crinkle in them. They practically looked fresh out of the box.

“Oh my gosh they’re actually still in perfect condition,” I gape, “how did you even manage that?”

“It’s a talent,” Grayson shrugs.

“Clearly,” I say, “oh god I’m going to end up ruining them.”

He shrugs, “I have too many shoes to count, it doesn’t matter.”

“What about you then, what will you wear?”

“I’m going to wear the heels,” he says, with a straight face, as he picks up my pair of black high heels.

“Really?” I reply, slightly curious on how he was going to a) get them on and b) run in them.

“No, but you should se the look on your face,” he smiles, “I’ll carry them for you.”

I want to slap his arm but I settle for rolling my eyes, I quickly throw his shoes on. They’re one hundred percent going to slip off but I didn’t care by this point, they were more comfortable than my heels.

“Thank you,” I breathe, just as a crowd of voices seemingly get closer.

“Ready to run,” Grayson asks me, extending his hand for me to hold.

“No,” I reply, gripping it tightly.

“Good,” he nods, “let’s go.”

We start to sprint again and quickly fall behind, losing a shoe more than once, praying the paparazzi did not catch that one. Grayson takes my hand back into his and it gives me the energy to move slightly faster.

“My car is this way,” he shouts over his shoulder, dragging my left suddenly.

He stops so abruptly I crash right into his back losing my balance. I can feel myself falling and brace myself for impact as I hit the floor but it never arrives. I open my eyes to find Grayson had caught me. His hands fit perfectly around my waist and held me from my inevitable doom on the pavement. We are frozen for a moment, a beautiful holy moment.

“You okay?” He asks, hurriedly.

His face was so close to mine, his lips look so soft. I can feel his hands on my body and I don’t want him to let go. I want to stay here for all eternity, just so I can feel this good. But I knew it wasn’t possible.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” I nod, standing up straight as his hands fall from my waist and I dust myself off.

It was odd how now my waist seemed colder than before, less complete without his strong hands upon it. I shake the notion from my head.

“This is my car,” he points at it, “jump in.”

“I can’t get into a stranger’s car,” I exclaim, folding my arms across my stomach.

“Says the same girl who followed the stranger to his car,” he says, not even bothering to suppress his chuckle, “besides we’re not strangers.”

“Yes we are,” I argue.

“What’s my name?” He asks me with a straight face.

I stare at him, confusion decorating all of my features. He gestures for me to carry on and answer.

“Grayson?” I say hesitantly.

“And you’re Y/N,” he says, “see, not strangers.”

Annoyingly he has a point but I think he can tell I’m not entirely convinced.

“My car has black out windows, they won’t be able to see us,” he tries.

“Or see you murder me,” I mutter.

“I’m not going to murder you!” Grayson exclaims, trying not to laugh.”

“How do I know that?” I ask him.

“Get in the car,” he tells me, rolling his eyes.

“Sounds like something a murderer would say,” I grumble.

He’s about to reply but is cut off.

“THEY’RE OVER HERE!” someone yells.

I weigh up my options, sigh and then get into his car. I didn’t want to run in to the paparazzi and this was my best option right now. I was fairly certain he wouldn’t murder me but it’s better safe than sorry right? Besides it meant I get to spend a little more time with this intriguing soul. We both sit in silence for a few moments before I lean down and take his shoes off of my feet, passing them to him.

“Thanks again,” I beam, “for buying me coffee, lending me your shoes, letting me stay in your car and not murdering me.”

He returns my heels, “no problem. It seems to have been an eventful morning.”

“You can say that again,” I sigh, then look at his shoes, “I don’t think I managed to keep them as unscathed as you did but…” I trail off, not really knowing how to finish my sentence.

I think he senses it as he replies with a simple, “they’re fine.”

We fall into another silence, as we both awkwardly put our shoes on and stare out of the windshield. I don’t think either of know how to rally approach conversation. I sit there and take in the dramatic events of this morning wondering what the day might bring, when I realise I probably owe Grayson an explanation.

I sigh, “look I’m really sorry about that by the way.”

“What? Why are you apologising?” he asks, blinking rapidly.

“For the paparazzi,” I clarify

“Why are you apologising for the paparazzi?” Grayson says, running a hand through his hair.

“Who did you think they were chasing after?” I laugh.

“Me…” he murmurs. My jaw drops, that was not the response I was expecting. He looks too serious to be joking.

“You? You’re famous?”

“I’m Grayson Hawthorne,” he says

My eye widen. How hadn’t I put two and two together? A blonde man, who looked to be about in his twenties, dressed in an expensive suit with gorgeous shoes, with impeccable running speed and the first name of Grayson. All the signs were literally screaming in my face and somehow I’d missed them. It’s as if I walked right past a neon sign, decorated with bold flashing lights.

“I thought they were chasing after me,” I say, leaning back in the seat and gazing out of the window.

“How comes?” Grayson questions.

“I’m a singer,” I shrug, not making eye contact with him.

“You’re joking,” he says.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I reply flatly, as my eyes finally will themselves to meet his.

“What do you sing?” he asks me, a spark in his eyes. He almost looks excited, for me, for my music.

“Songs,” I laugh cryptically.

He rolls his eyes playfully at me, “What songs?”

I name him a few of my most famous hits that most would’ve heard of. Though my heart was racing in my chest, what if he’s heard my songs and he hates them…

“You’re not Y/N L/N are you?” he asks me, narrowing his eyes.

Damn it.

“The one and only,” I manage to say, a smile plastered on my face, wishing for the ground to swallow my body up whole.

“My brother listens to you all the time, though he’ll never admit it and would kill me for telling you that,” he says, “but I must admit I’ve never listened to you myself.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved in my life. The breathe out slowly and calm down slightly.

“Let’s keep it that way,” I tell him.

“What if I don’t want to keep it that way?” he replies, mischief underlying his tone.

“You’re going to have to,” I say, making sure I sounded stern enough to warn him to never listen to a song.

“I could just google you,” he points out, taking out his phone. I’ve never wanted to smash anything more violently.

“You could,” I shrug, “but it was make me severely angry.”

“Oh no!” he says sarcastically, a stupid witty grin on his face.

“Hey!” I exclaim, smacking the top of his arm.

I know I’m not really a threat for him at all and when I leave he would most likely google my music and never want to talk to me again. But I convince myself that was okay because if we never see each other after today it wouldn’t matter what he thinks about my music.

“Can you sing for me now then?” Grayson asks, his voice soft and very persuading.

“Absolutely not,” I scoff, folding my arms. His voice was not persuading enough.

“Why?” he replies, almost offended.

“I’m on a vocal rest,” I tell him.

“You’re not doing a very good job, all you’ve done is talk,” he grins, looking to amused at himself for my liking.

“I’m on a vocal rest from just singing,” I lie, “I can still talk.”

“Is that even a thing?” he asks, probably sensing that I’m an awful liar.

“Yes?” I say trying not to sound guilty and failing.

“I think you’re lying,” Grayson replies, a playful look in his eye.

I’m about to answer when my eyes flick over to the dashboard where the time was red on the screen, “Oh my gosh!”

“What?” he asks, alarmed at my sudden burst.

“I’m meant to be at rehearsal in five minutes,” I groan, reaching for the door.

“I’ll drive you,” he says quickly.

“You don’t have to do th-“ I begin.

“Address?” he interrupts me, starting the car up.

“Noble Studios,” I sigh, accepting my fate. He probably wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He nods, “Wait how you on a vocal rest if you’re going to rehearsal?”

“I’m on a vocal rest until I get to rehearsal,” I say, making it up as I go along.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do you ever get any sleep?”

“What?” I ask, confused at the randomness of the question.

“Well you’ve just been in recording studio and now you’d going to rehearsal,” he clarifies, “so do you ever get any sleep?”

“Usually no,” I blow out a breath.

“You should go home and rest,” he tells me.

I blush deeply and replay the words over and over again in my head. The words he said to me. I steal a glance at him for a moment and quickly turn away.

“I will after rehearsal,” I explain, “but I’ve got to make it, I’ve got a concert tomorrow night.”

“Then after this rehearsal you promise me you’ll rest from then until tomorrow night,” Grayson tells me gently.

I nod, too shy to meet his eyes. The silence we fall into is comfortable until I’m brave enough to break it.

“Who do you listen to anyway?”

“What?” he asks quickly.

“What artists?” I wonder aloud, “you said you’d never listened to me, so then who.”

“Frank Sinatra is one of my favourites,” he murmurs, almost with a shyness in his tone.

“Frank Sinatra?” I giggle.

“Are you laughing at my music taste?” he raises his eyebrows.

“No I’m laughing because it’s so on brand for you,” I chuckle.

Of course Grayson Hawthorne liked Frank Sinatra. With his shoes and suit and general demeanours, who else would it be? I could even imagine Grayson singing his songs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“It’s a compliment, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I grin playfully.

“Do you even know who Frank Sinatra is?” he says to me, like I’m a complete moron.

“Of course I do, he’s that rapper right?” I tease him.

His head whips towards me faster than the speed on light. He’s staring so intently at me I’m worried we might crash. He death stares me, a mix of offensiveness and utter shock in his expression.

“I’m kidding,” I giggle, “Frank Sinatra was a singer popular in the 40s and 50s, taking on a classical pop style in his music.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he snaps, hands tight around the steering wheel, as he gets his eyes back on the road again.

“I think it was,” I sing song.

“You made me doubt you competence as a person,” he shakes his head.

“Well I’m sure if we ever meet again I’ll probably do something to make you doubt my competence again, count that as the practice round,” I wink as he pulls up outside the studio, stopping the car parallel to the entrance staircase.

“I hope we do meet again,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” I murmur.

We both look up at the same time, our eyes meeting. Both unable to look away. My heart hammers in my chest and my leg bounces up and down. I’m so addicted to the sight of him that I contemplate skipping rehearsals.

“Thank you,” I whisper, tearing my gaze away. Why did I have to be responsible?

“You better keep that promise,” he tells me.

“I will, don’t worry,” I smile, “thank you so much again, you’ve been a life saver.”

“I think we sort of saved each other,” he replies, it was a little cheesy but makes me smile widely nevertheless.

I sigh, a lean back, “We’re going to be all over the newspapers tomorrow.”

I didn’t know why I was still talking but my mouth always seems to struggle when it’s time to stop moving and so something productive. Or maybe… maybe it was because I wanted more time with him.

“All press is good press,” he shrugs nonchalantly. He knows what it’s like to deal with this crazy lifestyle, he gets it. I didn’t think I’d really ever get to know anyone who would understand how I feel.

“They’re going to speculate we’re dating,” I warn him.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Grayson asks me, quirking a brow upwards and tipping his head to the side.

“Are you flirting with me?” I blurt out before my brain can filter my words.

“If I was would you want me to stop?” he questions.

“No,” I murmur, without a second a hesitation.

“Can I have your number?” Grayson asks.

“What?” I reply, slightly in shock whilst still trying to process the information.

“Incase you ever need me to drive you away from paparazzi again, of course,” he says, biting his bottom lip ever so slightly.

I smile tickles my lips, “of course…”

I quickly fumble around for the pen at the bottom of my bag and look for some paper.

“Just write it here,” he says, running a finger across his hand.

“Are you sure? What if you get ink poisoning?” I ask.

“I’ll have your number so it would’ve been worth it,” he smiles, smoothly.

A chill runs down my spine and I feel all warm and fuzzy.

“You know you’re really good at this whole flirting thing,” I tell him, smiling like an idiot on drugs.

“I’m glad you think so,” he replies. Why did his voice have to be so addictive? It isn’t fair!

I slowly lean down and write the numbers etched into my brain onto his hand. I concentrate hard to make the numbers look neat and tidy, incase a girl with messy handwriting was a red flag for him. I take a minute to analyse his hands, they were strong, slightly tanned but looked so soft. I remember back to when my hand was in his when we were running and how perfectly mine fit into his. Maybe one day we’d hold hands just for the feelings between us and not in a freezer attempt to escape flashing cameras and annoying people. I bring my head back up and stare at the number, thinking how awful my handwriting looks. I tip my head up further and my eyes meet Grayson’s. He wasn’t looking at the number on his hand, he was looking at me.

Now our faces are inches from one another’s but I’m selfish enough to want them to be closer. After a few moments of our eyes being cemented in place, analysing each feature of one another’s faces, I slowly realise that I need to leave. My rational senses pull together and I step out of the car to begin to make my way towards the rehearsal centre. I can hear the car hasn’t yet left. He’s waiting, I can feel him watching, he’s making sure I’m safe. It makes me beam even wider.

“And hey,” I say, turning around, “you ever want a free concert ticket, it’s yours.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” Grayson smiles, causing a warmth to blossom in my heart.

I had a feeling this wasn’t the last time we were going to meet…

a/n: sorry this took me so long!! I got wayyy to carried away whilst writing this… originally it wasn’t going to be this long but here we are. anon, whoever you are, I hope you enjoyed this and if not I can try again!! you were my first request ever and that means a lots, so thank you!!

also I feel like I wrote Grayson really out of character but the reasoning behind that was in my mind I thought in public settings or around his family he has to be the serious one always on task etcetera but when he meets someone who doesn’t know he’s Grayson Hawthorne, he allows himself to be someone more open… IDKKKK but thanks for reading anyways 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

[httpsdana]

Hello There!

My first question is have you seen the video where Kenan Yildiz is gifted a prayer mat from a friend?

Could you maybe do a fic where like him x muslim reader after a long day just chilling and pray together and yap about their day and it’s all fluff and cute 💕

thanks!

Shoulder to Shoulder~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

The day had been long for both her and Kenan, filled with responsibilities, noise, and the kind of exhaustion that settles in thejr bones.

But now, the world outside had quieted, and the warmth of home wrapped around the two of them like a comforting embrace.

Kenan had just returned from training, his bag dropped carelessly by the door as he stretched his arms above his head, sighing in relief. She smiled at him from where she was seated on the floor, her prayer mat already laid out for Maghrib.

“Welcome home,” she said softly, the gentle cadence of her voice enough to make his tired expression soften.

“I’m home,” he replied, the words carrying a sense of peace. “And it’s so good to see you.”

He stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before settling on the mat beside her. She could feel his presence even in the small movements he made, the way he reached to adjust his shirt or brushed his fingers against her briefly.

“Let’s pray together?” she asked, the suggestion simple but meaningful.

Kenan nodded immediately. “I’d love to.”

The room fell into a tranquil silence as the two of them faced the qibla, side by side. The rhythmic recitation of the prayer filled the air, the serene connection to something greater grounding them both after a chaotic day.

When they finished, they raised their hands together for a quiet dua, their voices low but full of sincerity as they asked for blessings, peace, and guidance.

Instead of getting up right away, the two stayed seated on the mats. Kenan leaned back on his hands, his head tilted slightly toward her as if waiting for her to speak.

She didn’t, though, at least not immediately. Instead, she shifted closer and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“More than okay,” she murmured. “I’m just... happy. I love this. Sitting here with you, no distractions.”

Kenan smiled, leaning his head lightly against hers. “Me too. It feels good, doesn’t it? Like all the stress just... disappears.”

The two of them stayed like that for a while, the weight of the day melting away in the shared silence. He reached up and played absentmindedly with her fingers, his touch soft and reassuring.

Eventually, they both shifted slightly, still seated but more upright now. Kenan broke the quiet first.

“How was your day?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

“Busy,” she admitted, letting out a small sigh. “I had to sort out some uni stuff this morning, then I went grocery shopping. And don’t even get me started on the traffic—absolute chaos.”

Kenan chuckled, his laughter low and warm. “Traffic’s always chaos. Did you at least get everything you needed?”

“Most of it,” she replied, a small pout forming on her lips. “But they were out of the cookies you like.”

Kenan grinned. “I think I’ll survive.”

“What about you?” she asked, nudging him lightly. “How was training?”

Kenan groaned dramatically, falling back onto the mat as if the memory alone drained him. “Tough. They’re really pushing us this week. My legs feel like jelly.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Poor thing. Want me to make you tea later?”

He looked at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” she teased. “But only if you promise to do the dishes tonight.”

Kenan groaned again, though there was no real protest in it. “Deal.”

The conversation drifted from there, flowing easily between silly anecdotes and more meaningful topics.

At some point, she found herself laughing so hard her sides hurt, and Kenan reached out to wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“I love hearing you laugh,” he said suddenly, his tone sincere.

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the sweetness of the comment. “I love laughing with you,” she replied, her voice just as soft.

Kenan leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You make everything better, you know that?”

“And you,” she said, smiling at him, “make me feel like I can handle anything.”

The two of them eventually stood, putting away the prayer mats and moving to the couch, where the night continued in the same quiet, loving rhythm.

She made tea, just as she'd promised, and he pulled her close, his arms around her as they sipped their drinks and talked about nothing in particular.

It was in these moments, the ordinary ones filled with shared love and understanding, that they felt most at peace. With Kenan by her side, the world seemed softer, kinder—a place where she could simply be.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Celebrating Ramadan With Ace and Deuce

Platonic Ace x muslim!fem!reader x Deuce

Masterlist

First of all these boys would be so accommodating with you if you’re a muslim

They’d try to learn as much as they could about your religion either from you or asking a few Scarabian students.

They’d even ask the Scarabian students for things like lunar calendars or tasbihs or travelling prayer mats in case you need one 

They do their best to make sure you’re comfortable if you’re the type that has issues being too close with the opposite gender, always making sure to keep a respectable distance between you and ensuring that the rest of the student body do the same

If you want to pray, they’d just wordlessly use their bags as your sutrah and basically be your bodyguards until you’re done 

Also, for the hijabi girlies, they’d be so respectful. If your hair starts to show they’d avert their eyes quicker than you could blink and inform you. If anyone bothers you or looks at you in a way that you’re not comfortable with, they’d be decked onto the floor in a flash.

You bet they would have a few spare hijab pins or carry an extra shawl in case of emergencies 

Anyway, back to Ramadan

So when you tell them about fasting, they’d first get all shocked. Poor Deuce is besides himself thinking that you’ll be starving yourself for a whole month before you elaborate on how it’s just from sunrise to sunset and then explain the spiritual significance for it. 

Not going to lie, these guys are so the type to be like “you can’t even drink water?? 🙃”

They’re both super proud of you and are just in constant awe of your strength 

I feel like they’d want to do it with you as a show of unity, and to help you with your homesickness, but since they’re both athletes (especially with Deuce being in such a high stamina/adrenaline sport like Track and Field), you suggest that they start with half fasts to ease themselves into it

(also props to everyone that still works out during fasting hours - you’re all incredible and absolute superheroes. My mum goes to the gym practically every morning and I’m still amazed every time.)

Also, when you’re doing your make up fasts to compensate for the ones you missed due to mother nature, you bet they’ll be right by your side fasting with you

I bet Deuce would feel genuinely offended if someone ate in front of you. Like he’d just stare at someone as if they’re smuggling contraband instead of just munching on their sandwich.

They make sure to do as much as you can so you could rest as much as possible. They set the table for iftar and suhoor (they even get up before you and wake you up), and do the cleaning up whilst you go to pray

Food usually comes from Sam’s shop or Trey (I don’t remember how they were during the culinary crucible but I really wouldn’t want those two in my kitchen before iftar whilst I’m fasting)

They’re always carrying your bag/things and practically never leave your side. Ramshackle is practically their second home at this point.

They love to learn more about your practices, especially traditions that you would do back home and you feel so loved to share that with them. You even teach them arabic (which ends with you getting a stern talking to from Jamil when Ace practices your lessons during basketball club)

Having a henna night with them would be so fun, just listening to nasheeds as you apply henna to both yourself and your best friends (who would take it so seriously and make such a noticeable effort to stay completely still until it dries and it’s both endearing and hilarious)

Okay but one time my sister fell asleep on her hand with henna on it and she woke up the next morning with a faded orange matching pattern on her cheek and that totally happens to Ace

They would totally (with Scarabia’s help) decorate Ramshackle with lights and lanterns to make it all festive

Just the two of them acting as your family in this strange new world 💛

[000noway]

Obey me new pet Au description and Prolouge.

About the Au

Okay so I got this Idea while watching Wonderful Precure and the clifford movie. I thought it would be cool to do a new type of pet au where the boys are animals that turn into humans.

Long ago animals and humans lived in harmony. Humans loved animals and took care of them. Animals loved humans back and swore to protect them. But soon the two sides wanted more; they wanted to understand and talk to each other. Luckily a spirit heard their prayers and gave animals the ability to talk and transform into humans and the gift of magic so they can protect the humans they love. But one day arguments rose between the creatures, fights broke out between the animals mostly the ones owned by aristocrats and the strays about who deserves the power more and the spirit punished them by taking away their gift but for the first time in years animals are gaining the ability again and because of that the world is changing in small ways.

How do you think the story would change if the brothers were animals that the main character adopted and took care of since they were a kid and one day they gain the ability to turn into humans with powers and they figure out Diavolo (a stray that visited them a lot) is also the head student council officer at MC's school. He tells them that for the first time in history animals are gaining the power they lost long ago, and the world is changing because of it. So, he asks them to live in the private school dorm for a year. The brothers will be enrolled in school and have to get used to being human and take special lessons every day to control their powers and Mc will be there to help them.

Prologues below:

The rain was pouring down around ten-year-old MC as they were running to make it home. As they cut through the park, a whimper pierced the air. They stopped mid-run, ears pricked, and followed the sound to a bench. There, under the bench shivering and whimpering, was a tiny, albino golden retriever puppy. His fur was matted, and a nasty gash marred his hind leg.

"Are you okay?" MC asked, reaching out for him. Unfortunately, the puppy saw this as a threat and bit their hand. MC pulled their hand back, wincing. They were about to leave, but took one more look at the puppy. That's when they saw his look—a look that somehow MC just knew meant, "I'm sorry, please don't leave me here."

MC took a deep breath and stretched out their hand once more, but this time they waited for the puppy to come to them. The puppy hesitated, eyes wide with fear, but eventually inched closer, sniffing MC's hand. Slowly, he nudged their fingers with his nose, a tentative sign of trust.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," MC whispered softly, moving slowly to pet the puppy's head. The puppy flinched at first but then relaxed into the gentle touch.

Gathering her courage, MC gently scooped up the puppy, careful to avoid his injured leg. He let out a small whimper but didn't struggle. Holding him close to their chest to shield him from the rain, they hurried, determined to help this little one. They ran through the park and back into the city but after a while they realized they didn't know where they were... Suddenly they felt a rush of wind in the air. They turned to see a weirdly decorated pet shop with lights still on.

"...Was this always here?" MC asked, nervous. Another whine broke them out of their thoughts. They looked down to see the puppy nudging his head towards the pet shop. With no other options, MC walked up to the door.

Just as they approached, the door swung open, and a tall, enigmatic figure emerged. The shop owner's eyes twinkled as they spotted MC and the puppy.

"Ah, you've found our little escapee! Thank you for bringing him back," the shop owner said with a warm smile.

Confused, MC looked down at the puppy, then back at the shop owner. "Oh! He's yours?"

"In a manner of speaking," the shop owner replied mysteriously. "Please, come in. I'm sure you have questions."

Intrigued, MC followed the shop owner into the store. Their eyes widened in wonder as they took in the sight of various animals: a majestic horse with a glossy black coat, a vibrant blue snake coiled on a branch, a sleek golden blond cat grooming itself, a fluffy white and pink bunny hopping about, and a large, friendly-looking St. Bernard wagging its tail.

The shop owner introduced each animal in turn: Lucifer the horse, Leviathan the snake, Satan the cat, Asmodeus the bunny, and Beelzebub the St. Bernard. "And the little one you're holding is Mammon," they added, gently scratching behind the puppy's ears. The shop owner then took mammon from them and started bandaging his leg.

MC's brow furrowed in confusion. "They have such unusual names... And you said they're brothers?"

The shop owner nodded, explaining that the animals had been together for so long that they were like family. "Beelzebub and Belphegor are even twins, born on the same day at the same time."

MC looked around, puzzled. "Belphegor?"

The shop owner gestured to a covered cage in the corner of the room. "Can I see him?"

"No" The shop owner said strictly before relaxing. "He's a bit shy. Now, would you like to get to know them better?"

Excited by the prospect, MC eagerly agreed (I've always wanted a pet!). Over the next week, the store owner would deliver the pets to Mc's house so they could spend one on time with them and at the of the end of the week Mc could decide which one to adopt.

Mammon:

The golden retriever puppy's tail wagged furiously as he chased after the ball MC had thrown his newly bandaged leg doing nothing to slow him down. His albino fur gleamed in the afternoon sun, a stark contrast to the lush green grass of the backyard.

"Good boy, Mammon!" MC laughed as the puppy bounded back, dropping the slobbery ball at their feet. They reached down to ruffle his ears, and Mammon responded with an enthusiastic lick to their hand.

The day passed in a blur of fetch, tug-of-war, and belly rubs. As evening approached, MC flopped onto the living room couch, exhausted but happy. Mammon curled up at their feet, his eyes a gradient of cobalt blue and yellow drooping with contentment.

"MC! Have you seen my necklace?" Mom's voice rang out from upstairs. "I can't find it anywhere!"

Before MC could respond, Dad joined in. "My cufflinks are missing too. That's odd..."

A sinking feeling settled in MC's stomach as they noticed Mammon slink away, crawling under the couch. They peered underneath, meeting the puppy's guilty gaze.

"MC, did you take our jewelry to play dress-up again?" Mom asked, entering the living room with Dad close behind.

"No, I didn't," MC replied, their mind racing.

Dad's eyes narrowed as he spotted Mammon's tail poking out from under the couch. "I bet it was that dog. He probably thought they were chew toys."

"Let's check," Mom said, lifting the couch skirt.

Sure enough, there lay a small pile of glittering jewelry. Mom gasped, quickly gathering her necklace and Dad's cufflinks.

"That's it," Dad declared, his face stern. "We can't keep a dog that steals. He'll have to go back to the shop tomorrow."

"No!" MC cried out, throwing their arms around Mammon as he crawled out from his hiding spot, whimpering. "It's not his fault! He... he probably just thought they were pretty. He didn't mean any harm!"

"But MC," Mom began, her voice softening at the sight of her child's tears.

"Please," MC begged, hugging Mammon tighter. "I'll teach him it's wrong. I'll take responsibility. Just give him another chance!"

Mom and Dad exchanged a long look. Finally, Dad sighed. "Alright, one more chance. But you have to keep a close eye on him, understand?"

MC nodded vigorously, relief washing over them. As their parents left the room, they felt Mammon's wet nose press against their cheek. Looking into his eyes, MC saw a new depth of trust and affection.

"Don't worry, Mammon," they whispered, hugging him close. "I'll always be here for you."

Mammon's tail wagged slowly, and in that moment, a bond was formed that would last a lifetime – and beyond.

Levi:

MC peered into the glass terrarium, their nose almost touching the surface. Inside, coiled tightly around a branch, was Leviathan, his vibrant blue scales glinting under the heat lamp.

"Come on, Levi," MC coaxed, tapping gently on the glass. "Don't you want to come out and play?"

The snake didn't even flick his tongue in response.

MC tried everything they could think of. They dangled a toy mouse in front of the terrarium, attempted to lure Levi out with treats, and even tried to reach in and scoop him up. But Leviathan remained stubbornly coiled, his eyes barely open.

Sighing in defeat, MC slumped down next to the terrarium. "Fine," they muttered, pulling out their laptop. "If you won't play with me, I'll just have to entertain myself."

They opened up Tetris, their favorite game. As the familiar music filled the room, MC began to play, their fingers flying over the keyboard as they stacked blocks and cleared lines.

Every so often, MC glanced at Leviathan. To their surprise, the snake's head was now raised, his beady eyes fixed on the colorful blocks falling on the screen.

"Oh, you like this, huh?" MC grinned, turning the laptop slightly so Levi had a better view. They played for hours, occasionally chatting to Levi about their strategies or groaning dramatically when they made a mistake.

As the sun began to set, MC's eyes grew heavy. "Just... one more game," they yawned, but before they could start, they drifted off to sleep, the laptop still open beside the terrarium.

The next morning, MC woke with a start. They had a moment of panic when they realized they'd fallen asleep in Levi's room, but then their eyes widened in disbelief at the sight before them.

The terrarium door was open, and draped across their laptop keyboard was Leviathan. The screen showed the Tetris high score table, and at the top was a new name: "LEVIATHAN."

"No way," MC breathed, leaning in for a closer look. They must be dreaming. Snakes couldn't play video games... could they?

As if sensing their presence, Leviathan's head rose. He flicked his tongue out, almost seeming to smile, before slithering back into his terrarium.

MC sat there, stunned, staring at the high score and then at Leviathan, who had resumed his usual coiled position as if nothing had happened.

"Levi," MC said slowly, a grin spreading across their face, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

From that day on, MC made sure to bring their laptop whenever they visited Leviathan. They might not be able to handle him or take him out to play, but they had found a unique way to bond – through the pixelated world of video games.

Beelzebub:

MC stood in the kitchen, watching the massive St. Bernard with concern. Beelzebub lay in the corner, his big brown eyes sad and unfocused. His food bowl remained untouched.

"Poor Beel," MC murmured, recalling the pet shop owner's words. "He misses his twin."

Throughout the day, MC tried everything to cheer up Beelzebub. They offered him treats, attempted to engage him in play with squeaky toys, and even tried to coax him out for a walk. But Beel remained listless, only raising his head occasionally to let out a soft whine.

As evening fell, MC's parents gently suggested it might be best to return Beelzebub to the shop. "He seems so unhappy here," Mom said softly. "Maybe he needs to be with his brother."

MC nodded reluctantly, their heart heavy. They went to bed that night feeling defeated, wondering if they'd failed Beelzebub somehow.

In the middle of the night, MC woke to a strange noise. Rubbing their eyes, they crept out of their room and down the stairs. As they neared the kitchen, they heard a distinct crunching sound.

Peeking around the corner, MC's eyes widened. There was Beelzebub, surrounded by torn chip bags, cookie boxes, and various snack wrappers. The big dog was enthusiastically munching away, his tail wagging for the first time since he'd arrived.

"Beel?" MC whispered, stepping into the kitchen.

Beelzebub's head shot up, a half-eaten cookie dangling from his mouth. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then, to MC's surprise, Beel's tail began to wag even harder.

Laughing softly, MC sat down next to him. "I guess you were hungry after all, huh?"

Beel responded by nudging a bag of chips towards MC with his nose.

"Oh, you want to share?" MC grinned, opening the bag. "Don't mind if I do."

For the next hour, MC and Beelzebub sat together on the kitchen floor, sharing snacks in comfortable silence. MC stroked Beel's fur, and the big dog leaned into their touch, his eyes now bright and alert.

"I know you miss your brother," MC said softly. "But I promise, we'll make sure you see him again. And until then, you've got me. We can be snack buddies, okay?"

Beelzebub responded with a gentle lick to MC's hand, then rested his big head on their lap.

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, MC's parents found them there – their child fast asleep against Beelzebub's side, the big dog curled protectively around them, amid a sea of snack debris.

Mom and Dad exchanged knowing looks. There would be no talk of returning Beelzebub to the shop now. It was clear that he and MC had found their own special bond.

"We're going to need to buy more snacks," Dad whispered, and Mom nodded with a smile.

Asmo:

MC scooped up the fluffy pink and white bunny, marveling at his soft fur. "You're so cute, Asmodeus!"

The bunny preened, twitching his pink nose. MC's phone buzzed, and they were surprised to see a notification from a popular pet Instagram account. "Wait, is this... you?"

Asmodeus's account was filled with glamorous photos, each garnering thousands of likes. MC scrolled, eyes wide. "Wow, you're famous!"

Throughout the morning, Asmodeus demanded constant attention, posing dramatically on furniture and nudging MC's phone. Eventually, MC suggested, "How about a walk in the park?"

At the park, Asmodeus hopped excitedly in the grass. He struck a pose near some flowers, looking at MC expectantly.

"Oh, you want a picture?" MC laughed, pulling out their phone. "Okay, smile!"

As soon as the photo was posted, a group of excited fans surrounded them.

"Oh my gosh, it's Asmodeus!" "He's even cuter in person!" "Can we take selfies?"

MC, overwhelmed, clutched Asmodeus protectively. "Um, sorry, we need to go..."

They hurried home, Asmodeus trembling slightly in MC's arms. Once safe inside, MC set him down gently. "That was scary, huh? Maybe we should take a break from photos for a while."

Asmodeus's ears drooped, and he hopped away to sulk in the corner. Despite MC's attempts to cheer him up, the bunny remained despondent for the rest of the day.

The next morning, MC stood before their closet, fretting. "I have nothing to wear for picture day at school!"

Suddenly, they felt a nudge at their ankle. Asmodeus was there, tugging at a blue shirt with his teeth. He hopped to some jeans, then to a pair of shoes, assembling an outfit.

"Asmodeus, are you... helping me?" MC asked, amazed.

The bunny sat up proudly, whiskers twitching.

MC tried on the outfit, twirling in front of the mirror. "It's perfect! You have great taste."

Asmodeus preened, clearly pleased.

"You know," MC said thoughtfully, "maybe we could do a little photoshoot later. Just for fun, not to post online. Would you like that?"

Asmodeus's ears perked up, and he did a little hop of excitement.

For the rest of the day, MC and Asmodeus had their own private fashion show. MC tried on different outfits, with Asmodeus offering his approval or disapproval with adorable head tilts and ear wiggles. They took silly selfies together, laughing at their exaggerated poses.

As evening fell, MC sat on the bed, scrolling through the day's photos. Asmodeus nestled in their lap, contentedly grooming his ears.

"You know, Asmo," MC said softly, using the nickname they'd come up with, "you don't need thousands of likes to be special. You're perfect just being you."

Asmodeus looked up, his pink eyes meeting MC's. He gave a gentle nudge to their hand, as if in agreement.

From that day on, Asmodeus seemed more relaxed, enjoying his time with MC without the pressure of his online persona. They'd still have their little fashion sessions, but now it was their special secret, a bond forged through a shared love of style and fun.

Satan:

The moment MC opened the carrier, a blur of golden fur shot past them and leapt onto their bed. Satan, the elegant Persian cat, stretched luxuriously across the pillows, his green eyes challenging MC to object.

"Hey, that's my bed," MC protested, reaching out to move him.

Satan's ears flattened, and he let out a warning hiss that made MC quickly retract their hand.

"Okay, okay," MC sighed. "You can have it... for now."

Throughout the day, MC found their usual routines disrupted by their feline guest. When they tried to watch TV, Satan sprawled across the remote. As they attempted to do homework at the desk, the cat knocked their pencils to the floor. Even meal times weren't safe, with Satan perched on the kitchen counter, swatting at any food MC tried to prepare.

By evening, MC's patience was wearing thin. "Why are you being so difficult?" they snapped, frustration evident in their voice. Satan merely yawned in response, turning his back to them.

Feeling defeated, MC retreated to the library, their safe haven. They curled up in their favorite armchair with a mystery novel, hoping to lose themselves in the story and forget about their challenging day.

As the room grew dimmer, MC began reading aloud, their voice bringing the characters to life in the quiet space.

"'The detective crept down the darkened hallway, her heart pounding. She knew the culprit was close, but where...?'"

So engrossed were they in the story that MC didn't notice the soft padding of paws on the carpet. It wasn't until they felt a warm weight settle against their leg that they looked down, surprised.

There was Satan, curled up beside them, his green eyes fixed intently on MC's face as if hanging on every word.

MC's voice faltered for a moment, but seeing Satan's ears twitch in interest, they continued reading. As they wove through the tale of mystery and intrigue, Satan remained a rapt audience, occasionally reaching out a paw to touch the pages gently.

Hours passed unnoticed. When MC finally closed the book, the room was dark except for their reading lamp. They looked down at Satan, who was now purring contentedly.

"You like stories, huh?" MC said softly, cautiously reaching out to stroke Satan's fur. To their surprise, he leaned into the touch, his purr deepening.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier," MC continued. "I guess we just needed to find the right way to hang out together."

Satan blinked slowly at MC, then stood up, stretching. He hopped onto the arm of the chair and gently headbutted MC's cheek before leaping down and padding towards the door. At the threshold, he looked back, meowing as if to say, "Are you coming?"

MC smiled, rising from the chair. "Alright, let's go. But maybe we can share the bed this time?"

As they followed Satan out, MC felt a warm glow of understanding. They had found common ground in the world of books, a shared love of stories bridging the gap between them. From that night on, their evenings were filled with reading sessions, MC's voice weaving tales while Satan listened, a loyal and appreciative audience.

Lucifer and Belphegor:

MC stood before the large covered cage, curiosity burning in their eyes. Beside them, Lucifer, the young black horse, stood tall and proud, his watchful gaze never leaving the mysterious container.

"So, I can't even peek?" MC asked, their hand hovering near the cloth cover.

Lucifer snorted, shaking his mane as if to say, "Absolutely not."

Throughout the day, MC tried to interact with the unseen animal in the cage. They spoke softly, offered treats, and even played music, but received no response. Lucifer remained vigilant, his hooves clicking on the floor as he paced around the cage.

As evening approached, MC's energy waned. They leaned against the wall near the cage, eyes heavy. "I wish I knew how to help you," they murmured to the hidden animal before drifting off to sleep.

In their dreams, MC felt a chill, as if something nearby was cold and afraid. They jolted awake, their gaze immediately drawn to the cage. Was that a shiver they saw beneath the cover?

Without thinking, MC grabbed their favorite pillow – soft and adorned with a whimsical cow print. They carefully slid it under the cage's cover. "Here," they whispered, "this might help."

To their surprise, they felt movement. The pillow was pulled further into the cage, followed by what sounded like a contented sigh.

Lucifer, who had been dozing in the corner, raised his head, giving MC a look that seemed almost approving.

The next day, MC split their attention between the cage and Lucifer. The horse remained aloof, tossing his head whenever MC approached.

"Come on, Lucifer," MC coaxed, holding up a brush. "Don't you want to look your best?"

Lucifer merely turned away, his tail swishing dismissively.

Later, as MC helped their parents prepare dinner, they overheard a conversation.

"It's amazing how well they've handled all these animals," Mom said. "Especially that big horse. I was worried he'd be too much."

Dad nodded. "They've shown real responsibility. Taking care of Mammon, bonding with Leviathan, even cheering up Beelzebub. And now, being so patient with this mysterious caged animal."

MC felt a surge of pride at their parents' words. Unbeknownst to them, Lucifer had been listening too, his ears perked forward with interest.

That evening, as MC sat near the cage, quietly reading aloud (a habit they'd developed with Satan), they felt a gentle nudge on their shoulder. They looked up to see Lucifer, his dark eyes softer than before.

Slowly, carefully, MC stood and held out the brush. To their amazement, Lucifer didn't move away. He stood still, allowing MC to gently brush his mane.

"Thank you, Lucifer," MC said softly, running the brush through his silky black hair. "I know this is a big step for you."

As they brushed, MC glanced at the cage. The cow-print pillow was just visible under the edge of the cover, and they could have sworn they heard a soft, contented snore coming from inside.

In that moment, MC felt a wave of affection for both animals – the proud horse finally allowing himself to be cared for, and the mysterious creature finding comfort in a simple gesture of kindness.

"I don't know what's going to happen," MC murmured, "but I'm glad I met all of you. Each of you is special in your own way."

Lucifer nickered softly, as if in agreement, while the cage remained peacefully quiet, its occupant seemingly at ease for the first time since arriving.

Last day:

The morning sun streamed through the windows as MC stood in the mysterious pet shop, heart pounding with excitement and nerves. Around them, the brothers were gathered – Mammon's tail wagging furiously, Leviathan coiled in a travel tank, Beelzebub sitting patiently (though eyeing the treat jar), Asmodeus preening in a small mirror, Satan looking regal atop a cat tree, and Lucifer standing tall and proud.

And there, in the corner, was the covered cage containing Belphegor.

The shop owner smiled knowingly at MC. "So, you've made your decision?"

MC took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. I want to adopt them all."

A collective energy seemed to surge through the room. Mammon barked joyfully, Asmodeus did a little hop, and even Satan's tail twitched with what seemed like approval.

"All of them?" the shop owner repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's quite a responsibility. Are you sure you can handle it?"

MC thought back on the past week – the challenges, the surprises, the moments of connection with each unique animal. "I'm sure," they said firmly. "They belong together, and... well, they belong with me too."

The shop owner nodded, a mysterious glint in their eye. "Very well. But remember, Belphegor must remain in his cage for now. You cannot see him or let him out. Are you okay with that condition?"

Beel whined at the news.

MC glanced at the covered cage, feeling a pang of sadness mixed with their excitement. "I understand. As long as he's with us, that's what matters most."

As the adoption papers were signed and carriers were prepared, MC knelt down among their new family.

"We're going home, all of us," they said softly. Mammon licked their hand, Beelzebub nuzzled their knee, and Asmodeus posed for one last shop selfie.

When everything was ready, MC carefully lifted Belphegor's cage, making sure the cover stayed in place. "Don't worry," they whispered to the unseen occupant. "You're part of this family too."

As they left the shop, the owner called out, "Remember, MC. Love, patience, and understanding. That's what they'll need most from you."

MC nodded, somehow feeling that these words carried more weight than they could understand.

The journey home was a symphony of barks, meows, squeaks, and the occasional whinny from Lucifer, who was being led on a rope behind them. MC couldn't stop smiling, even as they wondered how they'd manage this menagerie.

Finally home, MC set down the carriers and cages in the living room. Their parents, though still looking a bit overwhelmed, had prepared a welcome area for each pet.

As MC began to help each brother settle into their new home, they paused by Belphegor's still-covered cage. Gently, they placed a hand on the cloth.

"I know I can't see you yet," they said softly, "but I want you to know that you're just as important as the others. We're all together now, and that's what matters."

From inside the cage came a soft sound, almost like a contented sigh.

MC looked around at their new, unusual family – Mammon already investigating every corner, Leviathan setting up near the TV, Beelzebub eyeing the kitchen, Asmodeus admiring his reflection in a window, Satan claiming the coziest armchair, and Lucifer standing regally by the fireplace.

Despite the chaos that was sure to come, MC felt a warmth in their heart. Somehow, they knew that this was just the beginning of an extraordinary adventure.

"Welcome home, everyone," MC said, grinning. "Our story starts now."

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader\

Chapter 7: Skinny Love

Synopsis: You and Astarion go shopping for a dress and end up stumbling upon a very special Violin. After a week of Astarion avoiding you, you decide to do something about it.

Disclaimer- put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. I did take the picture of ‘Birdie’ and Astarion on my PS5

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for all your support and love!

 Gods above, Astarion thinks, if you do exist- some assistance with self control would be appreciated.

  This is probably the eighth dress you have tried on and while he can tell you aren’t happy with it, he and his body certainly are. Just like the last dress, and the one before, and the one before that. 

 It had been about a week and a half since you both arrived in Waterdeep and he immediately began teaching you how to fight like a rogue, but also provided you with typical bard weapons like hand crossbows. He bought several different types of weapons for you to try- so far you seem most adept with the Rapier, hand crossbows, and hand to hand combat. 

 However, this means both of you had been excessively close and touching frequently- sometimes in compromising positions that make Astarion want to take you right there- eat you out while you cry out his name like a prayer on the sparring mat Gale so graciously conjured up. 

  His libido hasn’t calmed down- it’s gotten even worse- along with his intense feelings towards you. Yesterday’s debacle didn’t help. Astarion had taken a fairly easy contract so that you could practice sneaking around. Well, the family came home earlier than anticipated and Astarion had dragged you both into a large Wardrobe that was obviously never used and only for show. 

  You had tried to argue  in protest because you didn’t know what was going on- Astarion found himself holding you tightly against his chest, your back to him, and his hand covering your mouth. 

  He could smell your arousal, the way your heart started up again like a kick drum after it stopped, and you certainly couldn’t hide the minuscule moans that had left your lips when he pulled you closer to him whenever someone walked by. He just hoped you couldn’t tell how hard he was against you. 

But do you actually want him or was that just the nature of the circumstances?

  It’s become borderline unbearable- sleeping next to you is a wonderful experience, but he’s often up early trying to tell his body to calm the hell down- his imagination getting even more imaginative.

“What about this one?” 

  You hop up on the little platform and look in the mirror with your hands on your hips before twirling to look at him. 

 You look like a dream- the lavender satin fits your curves in all of the right ways and accentuates your hips, ass, and breasts without being overly showy. It’s modest- the top wrapped in a different direction than the floor length skirt and the straps are meant to hang, unsupported along your shoulders before dropping down along the back- reaching just below the skirt so that it looks like you are almost wearing a cloak of sorts. 

  “You are a vision,” he whispers, the words he’s been trying to hold back all day finally come flying out of him. 

 “So yes?” You ask nervously, while picking at your nails. 

  He nods, too worried he may give a full blown love confession in the middle of the dress shop if he opens his mouth. 

  Thankfully, shoes and purchasing everything was the easiest part of the day- the sun beginning to go to sleep. You kept insisting on letting you do something to pay him back for buying all these items for you, but he doesn’t want you to feel like you owe him a damn thing. 

  You don’t have money- you were quite literally a cat up until two weeks ago. Astarion is more than happy to make sure you have what you need- reminding you, once again, that if it were anyone else it would be a nuisance, but you are worth it.

 You are Astarion’s Godsend after all. 

 “Gods,” you stop in front of a music shop, “look at that beauty.” 

  Astarion follows as you are completely enraptured and away from the world- pulled inside towards the beautiful instrument and you just stare at it. 

“Ah- I see I have a fan of the classics!” The elderly man comes up and gives you a firm pat on the shoulder that Astarion has to help you rebalance from, “Made of Englemann Spruce with Maple sidings. Rosewood fittings along the pegs and the floral pattern as well as the leafing pattern are hand carved.

“It’s not for sale- it’s a part of a little competition I have put together.”

“Competition?” You are practically frothing at the mouth, “what competition!?” 

  The man smiles widely, he must be an older bard and a teacher. Symbols of Oghma are along the walls and Astarion is absolutely thrilled that your first real choice of stop doesn’t have a single attractive individual around. He doesn’t have any desire to fight for your attention.

“It’s not so much a competition, per say, but lots of people have turned it into one. Anyone who walks into this shop and sees this Violin is drawn to it for a reason,” he says, “but only one person is meant for this Violin. It’s waiting for someone- otherwise it sounds like shit.”

  You laugh at the man’s last sentence, “so temperamental.”

“Aren’t they all?”

  You look at the Violin and Astarion studies your expressions. There is apprehension and fear, but also so much hope- so much hope that you may be the one the Violin has been waiting for.

 “Would you like to play it?” The elderly man rasps, “I have never felt it produce such intense energy nor yearning to be played as it is right now.”

“I know,” you whisper, “I can feel it.”

  You take the violin and Astarion notes how you hold it as if it’s a living breathing human being that deserves respect. You hold the violin as if you are worshipping it- not a single sound comes from it as you gently pick it up and cradle it against your face.

“What are you going to -“

 You hold up a finger to the old man- listening to the violin. Within in an instant- beautiful, bright, cheerful music pours from your finger tips and into the violin. 

  Astarion feels the breath he doesn’t need being stolen from his lungs and brought to life as it always should have been- the air feels warmer, but in a soft spring day kind of way. The sun’s rays seem to warm the room even though it is the evening and Astarion feels utter- complete bliss. So calm and relaxed, the store clerk seems to feel the same way.

   Astarion feels disappointment float through the air when you stop playing and he notices how you look at the clerk with wide, desperate eyes.

“Is that what you were looking for?”

  The man smiles and you hand him back the violin- he begins to move to the part of the store where the cases are.

“About 400 years ago- I had a feeling I needed to make this violin,” he says wistfully, “I could never figure out why- it all had to be particularly done in a certain way and when I tried to play it, it wouldn’t produce a single noteworthy sound.

“I thought I did something wrong,” he shakes his head laughing, “but then Oghma came to me and said that the violin is waiting for it’s person, it’s purpose and that I will know when they arrive.”

  He places the violin in a deep blue velvet, hard case and locks it. Before handing it over to you- you look like you are on the verge of tears and honestly, so is Astarion. He is so happy for you he could scream it from the rooftops.

“I’m glad I no longer have to look,” he says with a wink, “take care of the old gal, will you?”

“With my life, sir!” 

  You are giddy and hugging your new violin to your chest- dancing along the streets and skipping occasionally from giddiness. 

  You almost miss the empty park- almost.

 Astarion gently grabs your arm and guides you to the park- a few people are wandering around or sitting at the bench. One elderly woman looks at the sky crying. 

 “Oh, do you want to go for a quick walk?”

“No- I want you to play.” 

  You look at Astarion like he’s grown a second and then third head. 

“I couldn’t,” you shake your head, “I haven’t played for a group in years and-“

“And yet you are still one of the most incredible violin players I have ever heard,” he whispers, not wanting to have anyone else pressure you, “I understand if you don’t want to, but I think it would be a disservice to all of humanoid kind to not hear you play tonight in this park.” 

  You look up at him- searching his face. Astarion is begging and pleading that you don’t discover how disgustingly love sick he is for you. He doesn’t want to ruin your friendship- he doesn’t want you to run off because you can’t possibly ever return his feelings and don’t want to hurt him. 

 “You really think so?” 

“I know so, my Darling,” Astarion says, absentmindedly cupping one side of your face and swiping his thumb along your cheek gently, “you are brilliant and I will take every little morsel of your talents that you are willing to share.” 

  That seems to do the trick- you walk out on the little stage meant for bards and you begin to set up. You make sure the instrument is tuned and you seem to be thinking hard about something. You look at him while placing the violin on your shoulder and pressing your chin into it. 

  One of Astarion’s favorite songs hits the air and he feels engulfed in it. Your last several months of traveling had allowed you to teach him a lot about violin music and how to feel it, not just listen to it. Astarion always jumped at the opportunity to take you to see a Bard in the park after the first time at Baldur’s Gate.

  You know how to play other instruments as well, but your favorite is the violin, so he always made a point of traveling faster if there had been a violinist heading to the town nearby. Gale kept him updated as you traveled- it was very easy to make happen for you.

 He never wanted to walk down the Crypt of the Rothwell steps and see you grieving for your biggest fan, your mother, ever again. She died, not even saving herself, because she loved you so much she couldn’t bear to live without you. Astarion, as much as he wishes he didn’t, understands exactly how your mother felt and he can only imagine the bliss she felt at the idea of being reunited with her again or at least, not feeling the pain of your absence, anymore. 

  You only play songs Astarion likes- he notices. It fills his heart with hope, but he also didn’t realize how many happy, cheerful songs he has taken such a liking to. 

 It is because of you, after all, so it’s fitting that you would be the one to perform them. It sounds better when you play them and Astarion is certainly ruined for any other bard from here on out.  

  His entire life, his soul, and even 200 years of torment seem to have been balanced with every moment he has with you- now you are here and playing violin for him as if it’s the simplest task in the world. 

 After 200 years of keeping his candle alight, you are still helping him to see more clearly- your love, your life, your laugh, everything about you, has given him back a spark he never thought he would find again.

 He would marry you tomorrow if he could. You could travel together, live anywhere in the world, and the possibilities are entirely endless. Maybe one day you will both find a couple of wish scrolls to reverse your respective afflictions.

  You would never know what it means to be unloved again. You would never want for anything because Astarion would find a way for you to get whatever you needed and then some. 

 You play with the same vigor you started with- even though it’s been about an hour. People are gathered around you in awe, but not a single gold coin. 

 Astarion gets up and places a couple coins in your case- others quickly swarming. You look at him and Astarion swears he sees the emotions he wants you to feel towards him.

 Love, happiness, belonging. 

  Several hours go by before you end up back in bed with him- cuddling close. Astarion had complimented you until your entire face and neck were a blush red color and, admittedly, he was thrilled that you had turned down every man who had asked to get to know you tonight. 

 However, there was one thing he struggled to understand.

“Why did you play songs that are my favorite, Darling?”

 You look embarrassed and avoid his gaze.

“You are the only one worth playing for,” you whisper, “and I wanted to do something for you because it makes me happy when you are happy.” 

  Astarion looks at you and you look at him. 

 “You make me happy just by being you,” he whispers, “never change, Birdie.”

  You smile and snuggle closer into him. He doesn’t even try to stop the pleased sigh that leaves his body. You relax significantly more after that. 

 “My mom used to put a gold coin in my case when I played in public,” you smile, your tears a mix of wistfulness and grief, “she said it made other people feel obligated to do it.” 

 Astarion snorts, “that was exactly what I was thinking- great minds think alike.” 

  You laugh and the sound fills his chest with adoration. He is truly truly fucked. Astarion doesn’t know what it’s like to be in love with someone, but this feels pretty damn close to what books describe.

  He isn’t ready to shatter the illusion or go plummeting like Icarus when you ultimately reject him. 

 Astarion is grateful for your breathing evening out and he let’s himself continue to bask in the illusion that you are his and he is yours.

*****************************************************************

   You stand near Astarion’s location and sip on your flute of Champagne- trying to soothe the bruises to your ego as Astarion confronts his mark. He flashes you a look every once in a while- frustration and fear. 

  You weren’t supposed to be there, but you had snuck after him- letting him think you would stay in Gale’s tower and spend the evening with them. 

  You had argued against it for the entire day- he used to take you everywhere, why is he suddenly leaving you behind all the time?

 “You have no proper fighting skills,” he said in exasperation, “and it’s not like I can fit you into my bag anymore- even that wasn’t safe enough!”

  He left in a huff and you waited a while before trailing after him. Unfortunately, he caught you pretty quickly right outside the party- pulling you into the bushes and telling you to go back. You refused and he caved, but you had to stay out of the way. 

  “I want you to know that I personally have no problem with you being here,” Astarion says to the imposter Marqui of Nesmé , “I actually find dogs to be relatively good company from time to time.”

The man looks positively flabbergasted under the pounds of make-up and a disguise glamor- he’s evidently not very good at protecting his identity. You can hardly judge though- Astarion  is all melodramatics with pretty words and funny quips- he could disarm even the most apathetic of individuals. 

  Astarion is also hardly inconspicuous with the amount of male and female attention he attracts- the Marqui is obviously noticing this now too as people begin to murmur around them. 

 You are already anticipating possessing the ‘Marqui’ and dragging him outside before he (or Astarion) can crash the Duke of Waterdeep’s Ball. Duke-what’s-his-nuts had demanded that his guards rid Waterdeep of all Werewolf presence that had infiltrated the citiy’s walls. The order was put out due to the recent slaughtering of livestock and increased infection rate, but his guards failed. He was furious! He wanted to be the one who gets to brag about saving the day!

 Thankfully the Duke isn’t privey to the fact that the stranger who will be earning his gold this evening is like a  character from a children’s book; most of his plans are not thought through- despite how many times he has learned that lesson- and the execution is… well sloppy.

 However, you would be lying if you didn’t say the lack of a plan is rather exciting. You enjoy thinking on your toes- you miss being the ‘brains’ of the operation and getting to be involved, but you will settle for this for now.

  The man says something that you can’t hear- Astarion puts his hand over his chest in shock and takes two dramatic steps back. You can’t help the little bit of laughter that rises up your chest- Gods he’s adorable.

 “Did you just-? Did anyone else hear that!?” Astarion says with fake distress, “this man just threatened me!”

  The other man is panicking now- realizing that Astarion is, in fact, the one fearless asshole who isn’t going to let him leave alive without a fight.

“Will you shut your mouth already!? I did not threaten you! I merely suggested you walk away! I can give you gol-“

“With a knife to my chest, nonetheless,” Astarion says, barely containing his grin and keeping up the act, “I am positively flabbergasted- bamboozled. How dare I be treated this way in my own Duke’s home!”

 “And then attempt to bribe him!?” Some gorgeous woman says before throwing her croissant at the werewolf man, “do you have no shame!? This man is a sweetheart! A hero!” 

  Suddenly multiple nobles are throwing their food or drinking glasses at the man. Red, angry magic begins to flow out of his skin. You are struggling to contain your laughter- how in the hells Astarion managed to pull this off is a mystery to you, but you are enjoying every moment.

 “Fifty years! We’ve been married fifty years!” the unknowing widow cries, “you aren’t my Daniel!”

 “Of course I a-“

 Astarion looks positively annoyed that the woman has stolen his spotlight and is causing the Marqui to panic even more- you had heard rumors that the Marqui had been abnormally affectionate with his wife as of late and referring to her as “My Marquess”. That poor woman has to be so confused.

 “GUARDS!!!!!” Astarion screams, “THERE’S AN IMPOSTER TRYING TO FOOL A DEVASTATED WIDOW!”

 “WIDOW!?” 

  Leave it to Astarion to find the worst way to tell a Wife she’s now a Widow. 

 The Marquess cries out dramatically for the crowd- well known across the town as having a flair for the dramatic. In the meantime, Wolfie is still trying to fix his blunder, but continues to fail miserably. 

“Uh your name is…. Allison?”

 “MORGANA! MY NAME IS MORGANA!”

 The crying continues and the Marquess slaps the man staring at her with his eye twitching.

 Astarion flashes the Werewolf a shit eating grin- the same grin he wears when he knows he’s caught someone in a lie. The imposter is trembling in rage, the Marquess is performing her grief with so much agony that she looks like she is going to pass out, and Astarion continues to Goad the man.

 You look around the crowd with watchful eyes- the scene Astarion is making is attracting more attention by the minute. Yet he’s still incredibly charming while he throws insults in the Werewolf’s direction. All the women and men are practically swooning- if only they knew what a terrible planner he is.

 “Ha!” Astarion releases a laugh of victory, “you didn’t even bother to try to find out his wife’s name? How inconsiderate- look at the poor thing- she’s devastated! Her husband is dead, she has the face of an ancient spinster, and some stinky heathen didn’t even bother to try to play the part right.” 

  The Marquess is definitely more upset about the comment on her looks than her husband being in the Fugue plane. She doesn’t remain sad about it for two long though because the Werewolf summons a shadow blade and shoves it between her eyes. The crowd begins to scream and run around frantically in the ballroom.

 You catch the man flashing you a wicked smile through the crowd and sizing you up out of the corner of his eye before looking at Astarion. You barely hear what he says next as you make your way over. 

“I’d be careful with your next move, Spawn,” the man’s voice is suddenly louder and more malicious, “it would be a shame for your lovely friend over there to develop Lycanthropy, wouldn’t it?”

  Astarion waivers for a half of a second before he goes completely blank. Your stomach turns over at the statement- probably because becoming a Werewolf is one of the last things (maybe even a throw away item) on your bucket list. You aren’t sure you can become a werewolf, but you would prefer not to find out.

  The werewolf and Astarion  continue to face off in the middle of the room, the guards struggling to get past the sea of “innocents”. 

 “Well, aren’t you one to ruin the fun?” Astarion says darkly, a stark contrast to his earlier tone, “now you’ve gone and made it personal- it’s a shame, really. I was hoping we could be friends someday.” 

 “A disgusting creature like yourself? My friend?” Wolfie laughs bitterly as his transformation begins to take over.

 “Pot,” Astarion gestures to the man before himself, “meet Kettle.”

 The man lets out a hungry growl and his skin tears unnaturally.  Now in full Werewolf mode- the Imposter begins to lash out at Astarion who manages to dodge every blow until Mr.Werewolf picks up a woman and flings her at Astarion- he topples over to the ground from the impact and surprise. Wolfie begins to stalk towards Astarion, licking his sharp canines as he creeps forward.

 What happens next takes mere seconds, but it feels like it happens in 10 hours as your legs make their way across the gap, silver dagger in hand, before unceremoniously lodging the weapon into the Werewolf’s throat. A high pitched, pained howl escapes the werewolf’s lips as he keels over. That was so much easier than you tho-

 “GUARDS!” The Duke says as the guards come running towards the scene, “THAT COUPLE NEED TO BE ESCORTED OUT OF MY HOME! Those degenerates are not supposed to be here!!”

  Thought too soon.

 “YOU RAT BASTARD!” Astarion yells, “you hired me to kill him!”

 “Oh did I?” The Duke shoots back with a grin, “and why in the world would I waste my money on the likes of you?”

 You just barely helped Astarion up from his daze when the Vampire is grabbing your wrist and dragging you through the crowd, away from the guards. Eventually he drops your wrist when you are right on his heels, but the guards really aren’t that far behind. 

  You follow Astarion closely as he takes sharp corners and jumps over furniture as he leads you out of the looming castle and up one of the towers. It feels like yards are being added to their escape attempt because the stairs never seem to end. You are beginning to hear the rattle footsteps of guards getting closer to you and your heart rate speeds up even more in fear. 

 “Star,” you manage to yell out between breaths, “what’s the plan!?”

 “I’m working on it!” He yells back at you.

  Astarion suddenly changes course, exiting the tower through one of the doors. You chase him across the ramparts, through another door, and try not to lose your balance as he goes sprinting right down a hallway with an open window.

His plan is to jump!?

  You are suddenly being yanked into Astarion’s chest as he goes leaping out of the window- a scream of terror dies in your throat as you go plummeting towards the ground from the 80 foot drop. With a flash from Astarion’s hand- you go tumbling and you both land at the portal entry in Gale’s house.

 Your head is still spinning, but Astarion is already upright and he looks furious. 

 “What in the HELLS WERE YOU THINKING!?” he screams, you flinch at the sound, “are you trying to get us both fucking killed!? No scratch that- are you trying to get yourself killed!?”

 You don’t know how to respond. You feel frozen and small. 

 He sighs, “this is a mistake- I am going to write Halsin tomorrow after the wedding and see if you can’t live with him for a while.”

“What!?” You sound even more shattered than you thought you would, “Astar-“

“No,” he begins to stalk towards the door, “you can-“

“YOU USE TO TAKE ME EVERYWHERE!” You scream at the top of your lungs, not wanting him to keep bowling you over in this conversation, “and now what!? I’m boring- I’m not enough? What is it!? Because you are not sending me away like I’m a child! We are EQUALS!”

  Astarion looks at you and for the first time all week- you finally see him again. He looks broken all over, like he had only left Szarr palace mere days ago instead of months. There are even tears in his eyes and you move without thinking- wrapping your arms around him- he is quick to reciprocate and hug you even tighter.

 “That isn’t it,” he whispers, looking defeated, “I don’t know if I could handle losing you again- especially not now.” 

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You choke on your own words, “what is going on?” 

  You feel him shake his head- a sign he isn’t ready to talk about it yet. 

“Okay,” you sigh, “if that’s what you want, I will live with Halsin for a while.“

  Fat, wet tears hit your shoulder and you know he’s thinking. About what? You aren’t sure, but you hope he is changing his mind. The last thing you want is to go live with Halsin. You want to be with Astarion and you accepted a while ago that a romantic relationship would never be in the cards for you- despite how in love with him you are.

“No, it’s not what I want. That’s probably actually the very last thing I want, but I am so worried about you that what I want doesn’t seem important,” Astarion sighs and holds you even tighter, “I will start taking contracts that you can go on again so you can keep practicing.

“And it would be nice to have you back,” he murmurs, “it’s all rather boring without you.” 

“Then please stop pushing me away,” you plead and he looks at you- still holding onto each other, “I don’t know what happened, but I feel like you don’t want me around at all anymore.” 

  “I am… going through something personal and,” he pauses, “I just need more time before I am ready to talk about it.”

 You furrow your brow and you can feel your frustration trying to get the best of you, but you have to respect his boundaries.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I promise- I want you around,” Astarion says, wiping away the tears staining your cheeks, “more than anything and once I figure out my, uh, personal matters- I will let you know what I find.”

“Okay.” 

 You leave it alone- Astarion says he needs alone time.

 You can’t help but feel defeated. You had hoped he had the same feelings for you when you played all of his favorite music. Obviously he doesn’t. 

  Alone time usually means he’s off to find someone in a brothel and probably won’t be back until the morning at the latest. He will come home smelling of someone’s cheap cologne or perfume and will surely have a story to tell about the person's bed he ended up in last night. 

   You feel your unwilling tears begin to flow as you sit on the couch on the balcony in the living room- your arms wrapped around your knees and your knees to your chest. 

  Or maybe he is meeting with someone he really really likes and doesn’t want to introduce you. Maybe that’s the personal matter- he doesn’t want to introduce her or him or them to you yet because he’s worried you are going to be an absolute freak about it and go crazy since it’s obvious you are obsessed with him. 

  At least you tried or at least that is what you keep telling yourself. 

“Birdie! How was- wait what’s wrong!?” 

  Oh no, it’s Tav. You really like Tav- you do- but she is Astarion’s friend and is probably going to tell you to get over yourself.

  You wave a dismissive hand, “oh nothing- just so moved by how beautiful the moon is.”

  There isn’t a peep from behind you so you assume she shrugged and walked off. 

“Where is Astarion?”

  Nope, too good to be true. 

“He is, um, having alone time.” 

  You don’t mean to make it sound so venomous.

“Oh? I might need some more context,” she says with an awkward chuckle, “that doesn’t sound terrible?”

 You let out a huff of annoyance.

“It means he’s at a brothel or, considering our earlier conversation, he’s with a person he really likes,” you murmur under your breath. 

  The silence is damning. 

 “Why would you think that?”

  So you are right- Tav sounds uneasy. 

 “Gods,” you hop off the couch and look at Tav with your bloodshot eyes and arms crossed, “I don’t know because I played all of his favorite songs at the park as a sort of impromptu, ‘here is a set for you! The person I care about more than anything else in the world’! Oh by the way- THIS IS A TRADITIONAL WAY A BARD PROFESSES THEIR FEELINGS!!!!

“We fall asleep in the same bed, in each other’s arms and up until the day we went fucking dress shopping- I really thought I had the right idea. Obviously…. I was wrong.” 

  Tav is just looking at you and she looks like she has no idea what to say to you. You just shake your head in defeat.

“Good night Tav,” you say, “I hope this can stay between us.” 

 You go past the shell shocked woman and go marching back upstairs to your shared room with Astarion. Tav told you that you were welcome to any room if you wanted your own, but that was when Astarion wanted you around. Maybe it’s time to take her up on the offer. 

  You pack your stuff together and drag it out the door towards the next room over. You catch a glimpse of Tav who looks like she’s panicking and has no idea what to do.

“Oh um that room is going to be occupied!”

 You look at her lamely, “when?” 

 “Uh two days from now.”

 “Okay,” you say flatly, “then in two days I will clean everything up for you and find an inn- if that’s alright with you.”

“You really don’t want to stay with Astarion anymore?” Tav says with a nervous chuckle, “maybe you should talk to him before you-“

“There isn’t anything to talk about Tav,” you snap, immediately regretting it, “I-I am sorry. I- please. I can’t keep humiliating myself like this.” 

  Tav looks extremely conflicted.

 “Okay.”

***********************************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan @beepersteeper

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-seven

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

masterlist

“Wylan, tell Jesper to keep to the western streets,” Matthias called out.

Wylan ducked down, and the tank veered west.

The tank clattered and clanked over the cobblestones, swinging right and left over the curbs and back again to avoid the few pedestrians, then sped into the harbor district, past taverns and shops and shipping offices.

Kuwei tilted his head back, his face bright with joy. “I can smell the sea,” he said happily.

Y/N could smell it too. The lighthouse gleamed in the distance. Two more blocks and they’d be at the quay and freedom. Her country could finally rest and be at peace.

“Almost there!” cried Wylan.

‘Almost home,’ the Inferni thought to herself with a small smile on her lips.

They rounded a corner, and Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“Stop!” Nina shouted. “Stop!”

She needn’t have bothered. The tank jolted to a halt, nearly flinging them from their perch. The quay lay directly before them and beyond it the harbor, the flags of a thousand ships snapping in the breeze. The hour was late. The quay should have been empty. Instead, it was crowded with troops, row after row of them in gray uniforms, two hundred soldiers at least—and every barrel of every gun was pointed at them.

The chime of the Elderclock could still be heard echoing through the night. Y/N looked over her shoulder. The Ice Court loomed over the harbor, perched on the cliff like a sullen gull with feathers ruffled, its white stone walls lit from below, glowing against the night sky.

“What is this?” Wylan asked Matthias. “You never said-”

“They must’ve changed deployment procedure.”

“Everything else was the same.”

“I’ve never seen Black Protocol engaged,” Matthias growled. “Maybe they always had troops stationed in the harbor. I don’t know.”

“Be quiet,” Inej said. “Just stop.”

Nina jumped slightly as a voice echoed over the crowd. It spoke first in Fjerdan, then Ravkan, then Kerch, and finally Shu. “Release the prisoner Kuwei Yul-Bo. Put down your weapons and step away from the tank.”

“They can’t just open fire,” said Matthias. “They won’t risk hurting Kuwei.”

“They don’t have to,” said Y/N. “Look.”

An emaciated prisoner was being led through the rows of soldiers. His hair was matted to his forehead. He wore a ragged red kefta and was clutching the sleeve of the guard closest to him, lips moving feverishly as if imparting some desperate prayer. Y/N knew he was begging for parem.

The ache in her chest caused her to stand an inch closer to Kaz’s side.

“A Heartrender,” Matthias said grimly.

“But he’s so far away,” protested Wylan.

Nina shook her head. “It won’t matter.” Had they kept him down here with whatever troops were posted in lower Djerholm? Why not? He was a weapon better than any gun or tank.

“I can see the Ferolind,” murmured Inej. She pointed down the docks, just a little way off. It took Y/N a moment, but then she picked out the Kerch flag and the cheery Haanraadt Bay pennant flying beneath it. They were so close.

Jesper could shoot the Heartrender. They could try barreling through the troops with the tank, but they would never make it to the ship. The Fjerdans would gladly risk Kuwei’s life before they ever let him fall into anyone else’s hands.

“Kaz?” called Jesper from inside the tank. “This would be a really good time to say you saw this coming.”

Kaz looked out over the sea of soldiers. “I didn’t see this coming.” He shook his head. “You told me one day I would run out of tricks, Helvar. Looks like you were right.” The words were for Matthias, but his eyes were on Y/N who looked back at him with sorrowful eyes of her own.

“I’ve had my fill of captivity,” Inej said. “They won’t take me alive.”

“Me neither,” said Wylan.

Jesper snorted from inside the tank. “We really need to get him more suitable friends.”

“Better go out with fists swinging than let some Fjerdan put me on a pike,” said Kaz. His eyes still locked onto the side of Y/N’s face as she looked over to Nina.

Matthias nodded. “Then we agree. We end this here.”

“No,” Y/N whispered. They all turned to her.

The voice echoed out from the Fjerdan ranks once more. “You have a count of ten to comply. I repeat: Release the prisoner Kuwei Yul-Bo and surrender yourselves. Ten…”

Nina and Y/N spoke to Kuwei rapidly in Shu.

“You both don’t understand,” he replied. “A single dose-”

“I understand,” Y/N said. But the others didn’t. Not until they saw Kuwei produce a little leather pouch from his pocket. Its rim was stained with rust-colored powder.

“No!” Kaz nearly shouted. He grabbed for the parem, but Y/N was faster.

The Fjerdan voice droned on: “Seven…”

“Y/N, don’t be stupid,” said Inej. “You’ve seen-”

“Some people don’t get addicted after the first dose. Y/N is one of the strongest Grisha alive.” Nina spoke up in her ex-commanding officer’s defense.

“It still isn’t worth the risk.”

“Six…”

“Kaz said himself, he’s out of tricks.” Y/N plucked open the pouch. “But I’m not.”

Kaz watched her with grief-filled eyes. “Y/N… Please.” His voice came out in a quiet plea that caused her heart to break. She’d see the same anguish on his face for only a split second after their hallucinations in Shu Han.

“Five…”

The first dose was the strongest, wasn’t that what they’d said? The high and the power could never be replicated. She could be chasing it for the rest of her life. Or maybe Kirigan would be proven right once again and she could turn out to be stronger than the drug. A Saint.

“Four…”

She linked her small finger with his. “If it gets bad… I trust you enough to know what I would want done and do what is best.” She gave him her strongest smile while her heartbeat quickened at the emotional pain she was feeling.

“Three…”

Then she tossed her head back and poured the parem into her mouth, downing it in a single hard swallow. It had the sweet, burnt taste of the jurda blossoms she knew, but there was another flavor too, one she couldn’t quite identify.

She stopped thinking.

Her blood began to feel as if it was boiling, and her heart was suddenly pounding and burning inside her chest. The world broke up into tiny flashes of light. She could see the heat radiating off everybody and everything around her.

She felt her eyes flare golden and red. Her body felt as if it was on fire but the pain seized for a moment. Her hands began to tingle with the familiar feeling of her flames being called from within her and her shoulders started to ache softly. The burn that came from between her shoulders was a pain she had experienced only a handful of times during her training with Kirigan when she was younger.

He had caused something inside of her to snap and without her realizing she produced wings of fire. Wings she would’ve thought were a beautiful sign of her power had Kirigan not tainted her view of herself. A Saint.

“Again!”

Y/N groaned as she pulled herself off the damp dirt floor. The midnight dew hardly did anything to help aid her pounding headache. She let her fingers tuck the sweaty piece of hair, that fell from her hair clasp, behind her ear. Her youth-filled eyes, now drained, looked at the General pleadingly.

“Can’t we take a break?” Her voice came out meek and small.

“No,” Kirigan snapped before taking a deep breath. “You have to keep training in order to make any sort of progress.”

“I’ve already made more progress than the others!”

“Only because I take the time to train you personally. Enough with the gripping and moaning. Run through it again.”

Y/N clasped her hands together and inhaled deeply before going through the intricate movements of calling and controlling her roaring fire. The flames were harder to control this time around because of her frustration. Her emotions caused the heat in her body to rage to the point she almost burned herself.

“Shit!” She cursed to herself as she fanned her hands in front of her body as she fell to the floor, tears pricking the back of her eyes.

“Again.”

Her gaze snapped to him in a burning glare. “Again?”

He did nothing but nod as he stood to the side with his hands in front of him.

“I can’t. Didn’t you just see? I burned myself, it’s no longer safe for me to practice right now.”

There was a flicker in his eyes but Y/N didn’t know of what. His lips settled into a small smirk. “Again.”

She shoved herself to her feet and marched up to him, her anger coming off her in heat waves. “Don’t you hear me?! I said. I. Can’t!”

Suddenly a searing pain ran through her shoulders and down her back causing her to fall to her knees at his feet. Her fists dug into the dirt and she cried out for the burning to stop.

After a few long moments of blinding torment, Y/N caught her breath before she noticed the unfamiliar weight and heat at her back. She turned her head slowly and saw flames of orange and red fanning out behind her, barely licking the floor from her position. She stared at the wings in awe for a moment before fear settled in the pit of her stomach.

“What did you do to me?” Her voice came out in a fear-stricken whisper.

“I showed you your true power.” Kirigan breathed as he stared at her in awe and wonder.

“You stare at me as if I’m a Saint.” Her eyes snapped up to his, “Look at me! You’ve made me a monster! If they were to see this… Imagine the fear that would take over the people.”

“Fear isn’t an enemy. It’s a powerful ally. You are now the Phoenix. A Saint.”

“Y/N?” Kaz whispered.

“Move,” Y/N said, and she saw the heat of her voice linger in the air.

She sensed the body heat from everyone, it was nearly suffocating. All the soldiers in front of her were trained to kill and take her people captive. She would make them pay. She saw Brum among the other Fjerdan soldiers and her anger grew tenfold. He would be first.

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

[sepptember]

there's a post about Pro-Palestine small businesses on instagram by @.counseling4allseasons and i wanted to share that post here.

mentioning businesses that aren't on this post are encouraged!! I'll reblog them to my account or add them to the post. If any of the links don’t work, please let me know.

note that all of the businesses in the insta post might not be included because I struggled to find the link, and some links may lead to an instagram account instead of a website.

Apparel:

Chérine Caftans - Moroccan traditional wear

Hirbawi - Kufiya factory in Palestine

HULM Kicks - Palestinian-owned shoe store

Watan Worldwide - Cultural clothing/merchandise store

Ayan Resources - Palestinian-owned clothing brand

herababyco - Baby clothes

Modestveencouture - Palestinian-owned boutique with wedding, prom, and engagement dresses

Zaytoonas Stitches - Palestinian-owned embroidery store

Dignitii - modest active wear

Nöl Collective - Palestinian-owned traditional wear

RUUQ - Hijab body suits

Dar Collective - Cultural merchandise

Shopdehma - Modest clothing brand

Nayabhijabs - Hijabs

House of amiri - Children's clothing

this business is currently not stocking their inventory because they are working on broadening their brand. support by following them is still highly encouraged.

Yemen Wear - cultural Yemen apparel

Pali Power - Palestinian athletic apparel

Le dressing de moon - Palestinian thobes

La Farrah Boutique - Palestinian thobes

Skincare/Makeup/Fragrances:

Farsalicare - Skincare brand

Yaskinnatural - Skincare brand

Dyfbeauty - Makeup brushes

Mora Cosmetics - Muslim-owned clean makeup

Kadi perfumes - high-quality perfumes and fragrances

Alwafa Shop - Natural skincare

Abumiskperfumes - oil-based fragrances

Dr. Sebaa Co. - Muslim-owned skincare brand

Savana Goat - Natural and artisanal goat soaps

Lerenu - Scalp & haircare

Inika Organics - Organic makeup

Tuesday in Love - Wudhu-friendly nail polish

Home Goods:

Inspire me home decor - Interior design/home decor

The Little Bulbul - Islamic puzzles/mugs/prints

Olive & Heart - Palestinian owned candle shop

Candlescape & Co. - Palestinian owned candle shop

Create & Crescent - event kits and crafts

Kilim Design Store - carpet and flooring.

With a Spin - Home decor

Lifestyle:

Feyre Creations - events merchandise

Khair Designs - Interior design

Soul Detox - Palestinian-owned black seed oil mix and health capsules

Sophologynic - Palestinian-owned wellness-kits and organic honey

Creations By Sal - Custom wedding products and gifts

Crescent Moon Bookstore - Palestinian-owned children’s bookstore

Little Muslim Craft Store - Crafts for Muslim children store

Modefa - Home decor

Sitti soap - Natural soaps and more.

Vidamin Wellness - Organic vitamins

Mysalah Mat - Interactive prayer mat

The Happy Bakers - Egyptian-owned cookies

Little Busy Hands - Customized themed sensory bins

Shahrin Azim Henna & Jagua Artist - Henna Services, New York/NJ

Accessories:

Oroboros Watches - Egyptian-owned watch store

Kiro - Egyptian Jewelry Brand

Elegant Bijoux Jewelry - Lebanese-owned jewelry

Canava Handmade - Luxury Arab handbags States NYC

Deeya Jewellery - Luxury gold plated bridal/formal jewelry

[cryptidsnackpack]

okay this discussion is going to be SO LATE but i’m playing dream daddy (again) and i have ~thoughts~ about our friendly neighborhood youth pastor and his family.

so i’m going on dates with all the dad’s i haven’t in previous playthroughs. (i saw mat and damien and was like good day i do not need to peruse ANY other fathers today).

i’d never done joseph’s route before, bc he’s married duh and i have religious trauma. and he looks like every white man that is a problem. but this time around i wanted to watch the world burn and break that man. ANYWAY. he is- actually… delightful? and i love his dates?? i though that with (potential spoilers ahead i guess but this game is old af) his affair with Robert he would immediately start laying it on thick. but he just invites you to very fucking domestic events, and gets frazzled with basic intimacy.

so i GET that joseph cheated. i understand that a large part of mary’s drinking may be due to that. and i know the “good” ending is not really good at all, and pulls a weird moral gotcha on you. i am all for making players face the consequences of their actions in games but this one falls flat for a few reasons.

1. Joseph objectively isn’t a bad person. Yes he’s had an affair, yes he’s a youth pastor (okay only a little joking). BUT Joseph has his shit together for his 4 kids and i admire the FUCK out of him for it. As someone who was raised by alcoholic parents, seeing Mary’s attitude at her kids’ well being REALLY struck a chord with me. the game wants me to believe Joseph is the bad guy, but i’m watching his wife chug five bottles of wine while her toddler is missing AND SUPPOSED TO BE IN HER CARE. and then i see this dad who is trying, who is involved in community outreach, and keeps a stable home. also i see a lot of “well Joseph puts on an act to make Mary look bad in front of the neighbors”. I’m sorry??? he does not have to make Mary look bad, she does bad all on her own. the “wine mom” and “type a dad” schtick is so fucking heteronormative and played out, even for 2017 when the game was released. and hey maybe that was the point! but if it was, it wasn’t done well.

2. The worst parts of Mary’s character get glossed over in lieu of her being a “wine mom” stereotype. Maybe it’s because i’m an ex alcoholic myself, but i don’t have a lot of patience for the character and i know that. objectively i like Mary, i think she’s funny and tough. but she is a deadbeat fucking mom, and the game WHICH IS CENTERED LARGELY AROUND BEING A GOOD PARENT puts Mary on a pedestal that she doesn’t deserve to be on. would i get dinner with mary? hang out? go shopping?? fuck yeah. would i think, “this person who goes out every single night and flirts outrageously with everyone, ignoring their children and household responsibility for their husband” is a “good” person?? fucking hell no. i would not let that woman look after a hamster. let alone four children.

3. DIVORCE IS A VALID AND HEALTHY OPTION THAT SHOULD BE SHOWN MORE IN MEDIA. i cannot tell you how many nights i lay awake listening to my parents drunk and fighting and prayed (when i believed in prayer) that they would divorce. i WANTED my parents to divorce, because i, at the ripe age of 12 could see what apparently the adults could not. that these two people did not, and should not, be together. now that’s not saying that your “good” ending in joseph’s route should end in a typical romance. i don’t. what i mean is that two people should have come to the conclusion that they are doing irreparable damage to their family by staying together. and your character could have helped and supported in that decision. it is obvious that Mary is living a life she doesn’t want, and i do feel for her. BUT GET A DIVORCE THEN. I know the characters are married and staying together largely in part because of religion… but…. Joseph’s not “that” kind of christian? because i grew up in the church, i know the type. this guy ain’t it. So the “well divorce is a sin” for the character doesn’t work for me.

i love the game grumps and i LOVE this game, but this was an area where i feel like the characterization and “message” was a like clunky and more than hard to follow. i really felt like they missed the mark with this one, i mean hell just make the non-canon ending canon at this point. at least that would make more sense.

also this is not me saying that Mary should be responsible for all household duty bc she’s a woman or blah blah blah. but whether you wanted those kids or not, whether you want to be in that marriage or not, YOU made decisions. your kids didn’t choose to be born YOU did, so you need to step up and idk?? maybe not spend every night out at a bar with the local loner who boned your husband? also maybe your husband sought comfort in the arms of a relative stranger… for… a reason? not a morally sound or correct reason but we can maybe follow the dots.

[spacialexistentialcrisis]

I often think of masjid carpets.

The word "masjid" will be used as an umbrella term for any prayer room found anywhere: airports, train stations, schools, shopping centers, workplaces, homes, hotels, businesses, shelters, public facilities, etc. The majority of masjids have the opportunity to have thick carpets, ones that are soft on the feet, whether it’s for a quick prayer before it’s time for the next or for long nights of Qiyam. Some carpets are elaborate, an arched design studded with flowers and shapes that gives individual space for each person, while others are simple, ordaining that we stand shoulder to shoulder, toe to toe. No matter what masjid, what color carpet, or what thickness each fiber has, whether individual prayer mats are used or not in the masjids that don’t have carpets, how large or how small the space is, I think about them.

I think about the stories in the carpet.

The significance of thick carpets is the carpet shading (when parts of the carpet tufts face another direction, causing it to be a different color, i.e., the phenomenon that we all intentionally created in these carpets when we were kids—or even now as adults—making little drawings during lectures or during prayer). In this quirk of the (literally) fabricated ground we stand on, you can briefly look into the lives of others and only imagine what it may be like with the little clues they left behind.

The clear etchmarks of a hand being dragged from the top of the carpet row to the bottom, someone letting their hands linger, rake through the carpet as they get up from prostrating (sujood). Is it them clinging to the position, showing their desperation? Why does it seem as though they were dragged up from bowing down, their fingers scrabbling for purchase in order to continue their prayer? What did they plead for, what did they quietly beg for into the soft ground, leaving the trail of their supplication in the carpet as evidence of their worship?

Handprints, footprints, knee prints (?) so clearly marked that they make you wonder how long one must stand to create such a foothold for others to mimic. As if rooting yourself to one spot, unmovable, unbreakable, and in that moment, untouchable. Locked in, asking for what you want, what you need, knowing it will be answered in one way, shape, or form. Really, how long do you have to stay sitting, standing, or kneeling that I can only imagine that you and the carpet had become fused together at one point, not knowing where one began and the other one ended, just leaving behind that small, big attestation of your existence in that moment.

The people.

What about the people?

A little game of tic-tac-toe in the carpet against the wall at the end of the third row. "I'm bored" written on the ground at the back of the room. The carpet tufts facing one direction, all a uniform color in the first row save for a small handprint with a smiley face next to it. The trail of the wheels of a stroller, staying towards the back so there isn't a disturbance within the rows. The quick pattern of the heels of feet as children chase each other between mothers and aunties, fathers and uncles as they wait to pray. The youth, all unaware that someone's day is made when they notice their many big, small markings that show they are present at the masjid.

All the other markings made—was it by someone who frequents the masjid every day? All 5 prayers and then some, maybe passing their time in the comfort of what is a second home. Someone who's face is a marker for the masjid, one that everyone recognizes and knows. Or was it by someone who is coming back after a long time, hoping to reconnect? The deep markings made by a person who is begging to come back, to allow themselves to become familiar with the carpet, the walls, the lights, the shelves, and the people of the masjid. Their heart soothed once the bottoms of their feet are comforted upon entering the prayer room. Or maybe it was someone who is in the middle, not an everyday goer but also not someone who is in need to rekindle the love after a long absence. Just a person who happened to be in the area, managing to catch the congregation (jama'ah) before its done, or stopping by to complete a prayer before the time is over. Maybe their markings are light and brief, being pressed for time, or maybe they took a breather and sat, taking in their surroundings as a gentle reminder, a warm welcome.

Perhaps the markings were made by a wayfarer, a traveler. A quick stop in an unfamiliar region in the only familiar place, where everything would be the same no matter where they are. The brief moments they spend in an area being in a place of worship before they move on toward their destination. Leaving the evidence of their prayer as a souvenir of themselves to share with the rest of the masjid goers, people they will never meet again in this world. Where else have the feet that made those footprints gone, where have they traveled to, and where are they coming from?

Maybe the markings are from someone who isn't with us anymore. Their handprints we cover with our own, the only physical memory of them left for the world to see. Was this the last place they visited before they went to rest? Unaware their time on this Earth was drawing to an end; do they regret not making enough of an indent, of being rushed toward nothing but the afterlife? Or maybe they did know their time was near, almost up, and the dragging of fingers we see in the carpet is their final act of worship, clinging and hoping it would be enough. The unique markings we see, that we will never see again.

The slate is then cleared; the carpet vacuumed, washed, cleaned, waiting to have more stories written in it.

The ones wiped away, still in my mind.

{H.A}

SEC

[maree-go-round]

Under the Heng Gate - Chapter 27

Chapter 27 : My husband is hiding something from me.

Early the next day, inside a shop outside the city, Qichi sat quietly behind a folding screen, her head adorned with a veiled hat.

Outside the screen, Qiushuang, dressed in a yuanlingpao[1], was discussing her newly laid plans with a group of merchants. Just as she finished outlining her strategy, a commotion began to rise outside. The merchants were discussing the prospect of engaging in cross-border trade, exchanging their concerns and doubts.

"Conducting trade beyond our borders is no easy feat," someone sighed.

Qiushuang responded, "The caravan and personnel are all ready. What makes it so difficult?"

Facing the screen, one merchant explained, "Boss, you might not be aware, but trading in the northern territories requires a credential issued by the Protectorate."

Others quickly echoed, "That's right."

Qichi heard every word clearly.

Soon, Qiushuang entered and whispered, "Master, did you hear all that?"

Qichi nodded and swung her hand twice.

Qiushuang went out and dispersed everyone. Qichi stood up, adjusting her veiled hat as she stepped out from behind the screen.

Qiushuang returned, concerned, "Master, I've heard that not only do we need a credential from the Protectorate, but it also requires the Grand Protector himself to approve it. What should we do?"

Qichi pondered for a moment, "Let's go back and discuss it further."

They exited the shop and boarded the carriage. When Qiushuang joined her, she noticed Qichi had taken off her veiled hat and remarked, "Master, you seem to have slept poorly."

Qichi replied with a helpless sigh. She indeed hadn't slept well. After leaving the study hall the previous night and returning to her room, she was restless all night, unable to figure out what was troubling the man.

She even stood at the door several times, glancing toward the study hall. There was no light, and she couldn't tell if he was asleep or just sitting in the dark, silent.

Nothing seemed to have happened, yet she felt something was off.

Lost in thought, she felt a heavy weight, especially now that her business plans required his personal approval. She sighed again, wondering what was really going on with him.

The carriage moved on, and Qiushuang sat outside. Soon, through the door curtain, she whispered, "Master, it looks like we've encountered the Grand Protector's men ahead."

Qichi lifted the curtain and looked out. Near the city gate, she saw a few guards on horseback but not Fu Ting himself.

In just a moment, they had encountered them.

On their previous trip to Gaolan Prefecture, Fu Ting's guards had already recognized her carriage. One of them rode up and asked, "Is Madam in the carriage? Should we notify the Grand Protector?"

Qichi thought for a moment. If she allowed them to notify him, she would have to explain where she came from, which she preferred to avoid. She whispered to Qiushuang, "Is there any place nearby to visit?"

Qiushuang lifted the curtain and whispered back, "There's only a Buddhist temple. Why do you ask, Master?"

Qichi instructed, "Tell them I'm going to the temple. Let them notify the Grand Protector accordingly."

Qiushuang lowered the curtain and relayed the message, and the guards rode back to report.

Qiushuang instructed the coachman to change direction towards the nearby temple. The temple was situated on a small hill with a gentle peak next to the city gate, not far away, and they arrived quickly.

Qichi descended from the carriage and walked up the stone steps to enter the temple.

Inside the Hall of Great Strength[2], a few worshippers were kneeling in prayer for various wishes. Qichi alone stood before the statue, feeling out of place until she knelt on a prayer mat.

As she knelt, she thought about the guards notifying Fu Ting, wondering if he would come.

She didn't know how long she had been there when she heard whispers from other female worshippers glancing towards the hall entrance. Someone had entered from outside.

Qichi remained still until she saw a familiar figure beside her. She turned to see a pair of black Hu boots on the man's legs that she was used to seeing.

Lifting her veil, she revealed her face to him, "You came."

She seemed relieved; he had come after all.

Fu Ting had come from the military camp outside the city and stopped briefly at the gate, learning that Qichi had gone to the temple from the guards.

Qichi knelt upright on the mat, facing him. The other worshippers were watching them.

He took a step aside, glanced at the Buddha statue, and asked, "Why are you praying here?"

Qichi thought for a moment and replied, "For blessings in the northern territories."

Fu Ting looked at her, lightly tapping his leg with the whip in his hand, unconvinced. "I remember you don't believe in fate."

Qichi was at a loss for words. She indeed never prayed to gods or Buddhas; she only believed in herself. If praying to Buddha truly worked, she would sincerely pray for Heavens’ insight to understand what this man was thinking.

Turning back to face the Buddha statue, she clasped her hands together and said, "Then I'll ask the Buddha, is my husband hiding something from me?"

She turned to look at him, not asking the Buddha but him directly.

Fu Ting's jaw tightened, then relaxed. "There’s nothing," he said.

Qichi stood up, avoiding the gaze of the other worshippers, and softly asked, "Did I do something wrong to upset you?"

His face revealed nothing, only his eyes were deep. "No," he replied, his voice equally deep.

She had traveled a long distance to seek his help, which was right and proper, how could there be any wrong? It was he who had misinterpreted her attempts to please him as genuine affection.

Thinking this, his expression grew even more impassive. He inwardly sneered, finding himself somewhat ridiculous.

So, he chose to say nothing, feeling it would only bring more discomfort. As a man, he decided to act as if nothing had happened.

Qichi couldn't decipher his expression, nor could she ask anything, leaving her deep in thought. She refused to believe that there was truly nothing.

The abbot of the temple, having heard some news from somewhere, approached from the back of the hall to greet the Grand Protector and his wife.

"Would the Grand Protector and Madam like to light a Buddha lamp together?" Seeing the two just standing there, the abbot suggested something for his esteemed guests to enjoy. "Lighting the lamp together symbolizes a wish for longevity and a harmonious marriage."

Qichi looked at Fu Ting. "Would you light one for me?"

He nodded. "If you wish, then we'll light one."

His reply was straightforward and without hesitation.

Qichi, however, furrowed her brows. His eyes hadn't met hers at all when he spoke. This unwavering compliance, rather than being comforting, only made her uneasy.

"Never mind, I don't want it," she decided, thinking that she didn't believe in fate anyway.

Deliberately, she turned to the abbot and asked, "Forget the lamp. Master, with your discerning eye, could you predict the future of my marriage?"

The abbot clasped his hands in prayer and chanted a Buddhist mantra. "Madam, your marriage will surely be blissful, with many children and grandchildren in the future."

Qichi couldn't help but laugh internally. She hadn't expected a Buddhist monk to be so intimidated by power, making such auspicious predictions without even examining her face or hands.

She glanced at Fu Ting to gauge his reaction.

He pursed his lips, saying nothing.

Qichi looked at him for a moment, unsure of his thoughts. Lowering her veil, she sighed, "Let's go."

As they exited the gate of the hall, Luo Xiaoyi was waiting outside. Seeing her, he smiled and asked, "Sister-in-law, what brings you to the temple today? What did you pray for?"

Qichi glanced back and replied, "I didn't pray for anything. I just heard some pleasantries, true or not."

Luo Xiaoyi thought she might be dissatisfied with her visit. "Why not stay a bit longer and pray for something?"

"No need," she said. "Are you heading to the military camp?"

Luo Xiaoyi replied, "No, we were just about to check on the new settlers in the reclaimed wasteland."

Qichi looked at Fu Ting, who was striding out of the gate of the hall with long steps.

"I'll go with you," she said, walking towards the carriage.

Luo Xiaoyi watched her board the carriage and then turned to Fu Ting. "Third Brother, should we reply to that letter?"

Though reluctant to bring it up, the letter from a prince was something that couldn't be ignored.

However, he regretted mentioning it immediately as he saw his brother's face darken.

Fu Ting's eyes turned cold. "Reply to what? How the wife of the Grand Protector conducts herself is none of Prince of Yong's business."

With that, he strode down the stone steps of the temple.

Luo Xiaoyi, after a moment, hurried to catch up. He knew his brother's temper—firm and unyielding.

He thought to himself, knowing how protective his brother was of his sister-in-law, he should have kept quiet.

The so-called ‘new settlers’ were the refugees who had been settled earlier. Half of the young and strong people had already joined the military voluntarily, while the rest had become new settlers.

The vast Hanhai Commandery had ample land for reclamation. With spring approaching, many areas had already been cultivated, and it was time to register the fields for future tax collection.

When Qichi got off the carriage, she saw a vast expanse of uncultivated land. The ground was grayish-white with traces of recent cultivation, exposing black soil underneath.

Nearby, Qiushuang was conversing with some of the new settlers. Upon seeing Qichi, the new settlers bowed in gratitude.

Just as she was wondering what was going on, Qiushuang came over and explained, "Master, do you remember sending us servants to distribute money to these refugees? They still remember it. I told them it was the Grand Protector's wife who provided the money, and they are very grateful."

These were all things that happened when she first came to the North. Qichi had long forgotten about this small act of kindness, surprised that it was remembered.

She nodded at the settlers and looked out to see Fu Ting inspecting the land in the distance. His tall, imposing figure and stern face were unmistakable.

After watching him for a moment, she noticed Luo Xiaoyi and some subordinates busy measuring the fields.

"Go help them," Qichi instructed Qiushuang.

Fu Ting, having inspected the area thoroughly, turned back, his eyes naturally falling on her. Qichi, wearing a cloak and her veiled hat, stood there holding a ledger.

Seeing her, he thought she seemed to have recovered.

Luo Xiaoyi approached, "Third Brother, Sister-in-law is really impressive. She's calculated all the fields."

Only then did he realize what she was doing with the ledger. He gave Luo Xiaoyi a glance. "What are you good for?"

Luo Xiaoyi chuckled awkwardly, "Who knew she was so good with numbers? She's doing this to help you."

Fu Ting thought that she had indeed helped a lot. Half of these people here were settled because of her efforts.

Looking at the woman standing there, he said, "Take her back to the residence."

Luo Xiaoyi was taken aback but went to escort Qichi to the carriage.

Qichi lifted her eyes from the ledger and looked out, seeing Fu Ting walking away again.

Following him here, she still hadn't figured out what was bothering him. She couldn't shake the feeling that he seemed distant from her.

　　　　　　　　　　　　※

By the time they returned to the residence, most of the day had passed.

Qichi walked back to her room and saw Li Yan sitting there. It seemed he had been waiting for a long time. As soon as he saw her, he stood up and said, “Aunt, there's something I've been pondering over, and I've decided I must tell you.”

Qichi removed her cloak and asked, “What is it?”

Li Yan approached her and whispered, “Uncle came to see me.”

He then recounted the entire encounter, leaving no stone unturned[3].

Fu Ting had instructed him to forget about it after their conversation, pretending it never happened. As long as they remained in the northern territories, no one would dare to oppress them again.

However, Li Yan had never kept secrets from his aunt, so he couldn't help but tell her the truth.

Qichi remained silent for a long time after hearing the story, her fingers clutching the hem of her clothes. She recalled the man’s abrupt "please me" from the night before.

Finally, she understood what it was all about.

Seeing his aunt lost in thought, Li Yan felt increasingly guilty and couldn't help but say, "It's definitely because of me that you’ve been troubled, Aunt."

Qichi shook her head and slowly sat down. "This day would have come eventually."

After all, she couldn't keep it a secret from him forever.

Notes: [1] 圆领袍 (Yuánlǐngpáo): A round-collared robe, primarily worn by men, although in certain dynasties, such as the Tang dynasty, it was also fashionable for women to wear. It could be styled in another way by untying the collar (girl with black clothes on the right picture).

[2] 大雄宝殿 (Dàxióng Bǎodiàn): Hall of Great Strength, usually translated as Mahavira Hall, is the main hall in a Buddhist temple where the Buddha statue are enshrined. [3] 一五一十 (Yīwǔ yīshí): Lit. count by fives and tens; an idiom meaning ‘to tell everything in detail’, akin to ‘leaving no stone unturned’ in English.

[iamfatimabaig]

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[ahlulhaditht]

Reminder in Arabic translated below

علماء المغرب عام 700هـ عندما ذكروا مسألة تارك الصلاة ؛

قالوا: هذه مسألة افتراضية لا وجود لها.. فلم يتصوروا مسلمًا لايصلي !

الطرح 1/150

د. عبدالكريم الخضير

The scholars of Al Maghrib (Morocco, Algeria in old times) in the year 700 After Hijra, when they mentioned the issue of the one who abandons prayer;

They said: This is a hypothetical issue that does not exist..

They could not imagine a Muslim who does not pray!

At Tarh 1/150

Dr. Sheikh AbdulKarim Al-Khudayr

Copied from that Algerian channel "Manabir al kheir Al Salafiyya"

Bilād al-Maghrib (#Morocco) Sha'abān 1444 - February 2023, a man is waiting in front of his shop with the sajjādah (prayer mat) on his lap to go to Salatul Jumu'a a few hours back

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