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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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just a girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you move in with your sister when your luck turns for the worst.

Characters: Walter Marshall, possible Andy Barber

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

It isn't your proudest moment. You don't have many of those. There is little remarkable about, nothing of note, nothing admirable. You might stand a bit taller than most but it's rarely given as a good thing.

You never expected much of life. You resigned yourself to living in the shadows. In particular, you knew you would always bet outshone by your sister's light. You can't hate her for it; it's your own shortcoming. Besides, no one can hate Riannon, she's just that nice.

You are dark smear on the family name. It's why you didn't even think to ask your parents for help. You didn't even ask your sister, she offered, insisted really. You could never deny her and in this instant, you couldn't afford any other option.

It’s just for a while, you keep telling yourself. You’ll find a new job and a place soon. For now, you’ll just stay out of the way. It isn’t very hard; you take up much more room than your few possessions.

You keep yourself holed in the guestroom as you settle into your second day. You have your laptop on your thighs as you scroll the job boards. You have the experience but you expect your reference would be any good. You didn’t exactly end on cordial terms. Starting from square one, though the industry isn’t exactly even ground for men and women alike.

You hunker down to search through the various postings within your purview. Every classification is ticked off, even the years, it’s just that little note about contacting your previous employers that makes you nervous. Well, you at least have to try.

A knock comes at the door as you edit your cover letter once again. You sit up and close the computer. You slide it aside and get up. You cross the room and crack the door open. You sister smiles from the other side.

“Am I making too much noise?” You ask as your music plays music from its tiny speaker.

“No, no, not at all. Um, so you know Andy is out of town for the day so it’s just us,” she rocks, “and there’s a barbecue down the street so... I thought you could get to know the neighbourhood.”

You look down at her, the offer catching you off guard. You were prepared to spend the whole day hidden away and poring over job listings. Even when you had your own place, you tended to spend most of your own time inside.

Still, she is doing you a huge favour and it would be rude to say no. You shrug, “okay.”

“Great, I have some potato salad I'm bringing,” she chirps.

“Uh,” you look at her blue checkered capris and pristine white blouse, “should I change?”

“It’s up to you. I'm just going to get packed up. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Her excitement is palpable. She probably expected you to say no. You don’t want to let her down again. You’re tired of that feeling.

You close the door as she bounces away and you retreat to search through your still unpacked suitcase. Your clothes hang over the sides. You pick out a band shirt and a pair of dark grey jeans. You don’t have any shorts and you know your repertoire of dark colours only draws in the sun’s fury, and like of the vaunted HOA, but you don’t have many options.

You emerge with a pair of converse in hand and head into the kitchen. Rhiannon snaps the lid onto a big bowl as she beams up at you. You don’t understand how you share the same blood, she’s so different than you. Where you’re tall and gangly, she’s small and dainty; where your dour and reticent, she’s bright and bubbly. Your parents even kidded that you must’ve been switched at the hospital.

“Ready?” She asks.

You nod and look down at yourself.

“If you want to borrow a skirt or something, it’s pretty hot out.”

“It’s fine.”

You don’t take her offer as any comment on your choice, only genuine concern. If it was your mom, you would know it was more than that. To be fair, your mother is very direct with her critiques. Besides, even if her clothes would fit you, you don’t want to risk ruining any of her things.

“Alrighty, well, Marge will kill me if I’m late again,” she sings and sweeps around with the bowl. “It’ll be nice to get out, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you grumble and follow her down the hall to the front door.

She steps into her wedged sandals as you sit to pull on your converse and lace them up. You stand and get the door for her as she prances towards it. She thanks you and you trail her out. The sun hits you like fire. It’s so hot, though you think some of the heat comes from your own self-consciousness.

As you catch up to your sister at the bottom of the steps, you slow down to keep from outpacing her shorter legs. Even with her platformed soles, she’s still ahead shorter than you. You turn down the sidewalk as you shy away from the strange faces headed in the same direction.

“You want me to carry that?” You offer.

“Hey, I might be small but I can handle a salad,” she chirps.

“I know, I wasn’t--”

“I’m teasing. It’s fine, I got it,” she assures you as she hugs the bowl to her stomach, “I just want you to have a good day. Don’t think about everything else, okay?”

“Mm, okay,” you keep your head down as you slink next to her jouncing steps, “sorry, I'll try not to be too grim.”

“Whatever, you’re awesome,” she nudges you with her elbow, “you just be yourself and I know you’ll find some good friends around here.”

You try to smile but it hurts. She always sees the best in others, even when it’s not there. You keep pace with her and turn up another curated lawn. The walk is perfectly laid and the blossom tree sways overhead.

Rhiannon is welcomed through the open gate by one of those blonde women she has her book club with and you shuffle in with your hands in your pockets. You feel the woman’s harsh gaze and peek up. She looks at you the same way your mother does. Her name is Marge and her friend is Callie and there are dozens of the Stepford-like figures posted throughout the yard.

“Come, let’s put your salad out,” Marge insists.

Rhiannon looks at you and you chew your cheek, “go, I'll be fine.”

She looks reluctant but you’re already walking away. You ignore the smell of sausage and beef rising from the barbeque and the splash and laughter of children from the pool. You aren’t going to find any friends here. That much is clear. Housewives and little kids, you don’t really fit the bill.

You find your way to the far end of the lawn and stand by a tree you might just blend into. Or maybe you might bury yourself in the rose bushes. You pull your hands from your pockets and hook your fingers into your belt loops, swaying as you watch a bumble bee hover over the grass.

“Foo Fighters, huh?” A low drawl brings your head up as a man approaches with a beer bottle in hand.

“Um, yeah,” you look down at your shirt, tugging on the hem.

“You go to a show?” He asks as he stops near you, drinking from the bottle as he waits for your answer.

“Never been to one,” you cross your arms, “but I listen to them.”

“Ah, yeah, well, they put on a hell of a show,” he wiggles the bottle as he talks, “lot more fun than these things.”

You look up the yard towards the mingling of voices and sound. Despite your efforts to hide in a corner, you must have stuck out like a sore thumb. Shoot, maybe he thinks you’re trespassing.

“I came with my sister,” you point and shift towards the party, “sorry, um, Rhiannon. I didn’t... I was just looking at the roses.”

“Not my party,” he scoffs, “I don’t care.”

“Oh,” you blink and look at him. He's about your height, dark curly hair, and vibrant blue eyes. His dark beard is thick and stubble prickles along his neck. He wears a plain white shirt and jeans; the bare minimum. “Right, er, well...”

“Not a bad idea, hiding behind a tree,” he remarks, “but you're missing the key ingredient.”

He stops and stares, crooking a brow as if you should know what he means.

“Alcohol,” he raises his bottle, “they got a keg even. Probably the only good part about these bull—these things.”

“I don’t drink,” you mutter, “but thanks.”

You put your head down and stare at the grass around his shoes. You don’t know why he’s bothering you if it isn’t to make you leave. Obviously, you don’t belong.

“Never too late to start,” he snorts and stays as he is.

You don’t know how to make him leave you alone so you say nothing. The bee dips into a tulip’s mouth and you turn to watch it. Maybe he’ll take your silence as a hint.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #drabble #au #just a girl #series #night hunter #defending jacob #andy barber

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fallow-hollow · 7 months ago

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take you home

…ft! chilchuck tims x male! half-foot! reader

…tags! fluff, pining, confession, dates, mentions of drinking, post-canon

…word count! 1346

…notes! i fully agree with the fandom consensus that chilchuck is a closeted bisexual

Chilchuck was a pretty prominent union leader on the island, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that he’d do the same when he moves back to Kahka Brud to set up shop.

If you’re a half foot in the area, especially one looking for work, it’s pretty much impossible not to know Chilchuck.

No matter your field, he’s a great guy to go to for making connections and financial advice in general.

The first time you talked to him was about negotiating for a contract with a potential employer, but honestly, you’d always sort of admired him from afar. Hard working, sharp-witted, not to mention good looking.

“What?!” You nearly jumped at the man’s exasperated shout, being that he was fairly close to your ear. Chilchuck agreed to help you take a look at one of the contracts you’ve been offered, so you were currently letting him take a look at a copy. This, of course, led to the man peering over your shoulder, which didn’t help your absolutely hopeless crush on him. Not that you were complaining, though.

To make it even worse, he even rested his elbow right on your shoulder to point something out on the paper. “They don’t even include consequential damages litigation here! No way are you going to be tricked into being liable for their lost profits!”

Not turning your head due to your own embarrassment, you merely looked at him in your peripheral vision. “So, what do you think I should do?”

“Wellll….” As he deliberated on your question, the man leaned away from you, allowing you to turn your body towards him more. “If you’re dead set on working with this employer, I’d say negotiate as much as you can. On your own, you can get brushed off easily, but if you need…” he wore a smug grin whilst rubbing under his nose with his index finger. “I can put in a good word for you.”

And if you’re a half-foot, the guy is most likely taller than you. It’s noted that if the entire canon party were half-foots, he’d be taller than even Laios.

By this point in the timeline, I also imagine he’s patched things up with his family, but not in a romantic relationship with his ex-wife anymore. They’re friendly and see each other regularly, and she and his daughters even tease him about putting himself out there again.

From conversations you’ve had with him, you’re more than aware he’s been married before and has kids, and that doesn’t deter you from seeking a relationship with him at all. In fact, if you ever meet his daughters, you’ll likely get along well if you’re as amiable with them as you are with their father.

“I like him,” Puckpatti would declare the moment you left the room. “He seems sweet! You definitely need somebody like that to coax you out of your whole crab apple act, Papa.”

“It’s not like that!” He would instantly retort, causing his two more outgoing daughters to giggle. Even Meijack, albeit not as boisterous as her sisters, had a hint of an amused look on her face.

“Yet.” Flertom winked. “If you ever need some tips to speed up the process, you really shouldn’t be afraid to ask!”

The mere offer turned the man into a stuttering mess. “Stop that or I’ll— I’ll tell your mother!”

For a moment, Meijack’s eyes flitted to her father’s face before retreating back to the side. “She already told us she knew you swung that way.”

Chilchuck would’ve downright screamed if not for your return. “Hey guys, what’d I miss?” He dared not turn around, lest you notice how flushed he’d become in mere minutes.

Puckpatti, with a look so innocent that you could hardly believe she was tormenting her father just moments before, clapped her hands together and grinned. “No, you came at just the right time! I wanted to ask more about how you and Papa met!”

Chilchuck has never dated another guy before, so he doesn’t have a lot of experience in that field. Honestly, since his wife and he were childhood friends, I’m not sure if he’s dated anybody else at all. Most of the guys he knew well were coworkers, drinking buddies, or both, so emotional connection wasn’t always a priority.

Your friendly attitude and respect for his craft already drew him in, plus your little acts of affection drove him absolutely crazy. Give him a hug as a greeting and he’s doing everything he can to resist melting. Could a person really be this sweet with no ulterior motive? Someone like you has got to be even rarer than even the most valuable treasures.

More likely than not, you’d be the one to actually ask him out. You may need to repeat yourself when you ask him, though, cause the man might just die of shock.

Holding up the poster for the ‘couple’s night’ at the bar you frequented together was a bit of a nerve wracking experience, if you were being honest. Watching the other man’s eyes squint and scan over the text, you grinned and asked,

“Would you want to go together?”

For a moment, Chilchuck didn’t really know what to make of your request. You asking him to go out for drinks with him was a totally normal thing between you two, but why were you showing him that ad? After a minute or so of trying and failing to make the proper connection, he grinned and nodded like he’d figured it out.

“Ahhh, so you’re one of those people that’ll pretend to be a couple with their friend to get discounted drinks? Not really a thing I do, but since it’s you, I’ll consider it.”

Hey, why did you look so dejected when he said that? That’s what you meant, right?

Right?

“No, I meant…..” your eyes left his face in favor of lingering on the floor. Those words combined with your expression finally made it all slide into place, and the poor man could only blurt out with a feeling of intense guilt,

“Oh, oh, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t know you were asking—!”

You did end up going together that night, and it was pretty fun, too.

As a partner, Chilchuck is focused on providing stability. As much as he can act like a sleaze sometimes, he doesn’t seem like he does a lot of casual dating. He’d probably feel too old for that kind of thing either way.

When you’ve been together for a while, he may even offer to share finances and move in together. He says it would be “economical” and all, but you can also tell he clearly wants to be with you daily, and that makes you happy.

Protective as all hell. When he gets a little tipsy, he may get snappy with anyone he even thinks is looking at you the wrong way.

“Hey!” From beside you, you heard your lover’s voice slur. “You got a problem with my man?”

A sigh escaped your lips. “Chilchuck, he’s just collecting the empty glasses.”

Your words must not have either not reached him or not even affected him, because he continued to glare up at the waiter with a hazy, unfounded suspicion that truly only a drunk Chilchuck could possess.

A hand on his waist pulling him into your collar made quick work of sating him, a smile gracing your lips when he groaned into the fabric of your shirt. “We’ll leave soon, okay hon? Soon we can go home.”

Briefly, his half lidded eyes opened wider if only to look up at your face as if you were an illusion, something too good to be true.

“I get to take a pretty thing like you home with me….?”

Lord, for such a serious person, he really could make you laugh sometimes. It was probably just the lighting, but you hoped that the redness of his face really did intensify at your smile as you gazed down at him.

“You can every single night, Chil. Always.”

#ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ fallow’s works!#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon #delicious in dungeon imagines #delicious in dungeon x reader #chilchuck tims #chilchuck tims x reader

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cosmicpuzzle · 8 months ago

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Basics of Houses ➤

1st House

The 1st House is the Ascendant or Rising Sign of your chart. It indicates your primary motivation in life and describes you, your self-expression and vitality. It is your physical appearance, and the way others see you and interact with you. The house placement of your 1st House ruler shows the areas of life that are of primary importance to you. Also, planets in your 1st House influence how you present yourself to the world.

2nd House

The 2nd House is associated with personal assets and financial affairs. It governs all moveable possessions and wealth.

3rd House

The 3rd House is associated with your immediate environment. It rules your neighbors and your relationship with your relatives, especially your siblings and cousins. It also rules all forms of communication. It describes your early education and ability to learn.

4th House

The 4th House is associated with home and family matters. It describes your parents - especially the father - and your relationship with them. It gives information on your family history or ancestry and the nature of your later life. Real estate and property belong here.

5th House

The 5th House is associated with pleasure, sex, love affairs and children. It also governs artistic creativity, music, the fine arts, fashion, social entertainment, games and speculations.

6th House

The 6th House is associated with work and employment or service. It describes your dependents such as pets, employees, servants and tenants if you have any. It is the house of health and sickness. It governs doctors, nurses and dentists.

7th House

The 7th House is associated with partnerships, both personal and professional. It rules your relationship with other people generally, including those who oppose you. It also describes the sort of person you will attract as a mate.

8th House

The 8th House is the house of shared resources, other people's money, including the partner's. It is associated with wills, inheritances, death and loss.

9th House

The 9th House is associated with philosophy, wisdom, spirituality, religion, higher education and travel. It also rules those you seek for advice such as lawyers, priests and astrologers.

10th House

The 10th House is associated with your status in the world. It describes your reputation and level of public success. It is the house of career and, traditionally, the house of the mother. In most cases, your 10th House cusp is at the Midheaven.

11th House

The 11th House is traditionally known as "the house of good fortune". Your friends and benefactors are described here, as well as your hopes and wishes.

12th House

The 12th House is the house of ill luck. It is associated with sorrow and sadness, your self undoing and downfall, as well as your secrets, worries and anxieties. It rules hospitals, hospices, retreats, hideaways and prisons.

Source: Janus Light

For Readings DM

#astrology #astrology observations #zodiac #zodiac signs #astro community #astro observations #vedic astrology #astro notes #vedic astro notes #astrology community #houses in astrology #1st house lord in houses #1st house #2nd house in astrology #2nd house

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imgeekgirlfan · 3 months ago

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The Curse of Cassandra [EP : V]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content waring: a lot of blood, mind manipulation, referenced violence and murder, mention of killing killing killing and also killing

tags/themes: Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Today is the last day of your life. That is what you have seen in your vision. You prepare yourself and accept the unchangeable fate, unaware that your destiny has already been altered. and you cannot predict what kind of fate awaits you ahead.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N: still bummed about The Acolyte being canceled and unsure if I should continue this fic. However, Thanks to everyone who’s followed along—this fandom is amazing, and I love you all.

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

[Episodes 5] When you have lived with prophecy for so long, the moment of revelation is a shock.

Everything happens for a reason.

Your mother once taught you this, speaking of how fate works from the perspective of a seer.

The words suddenly come to mind again as you follow Qimir up onto the Fallon, the ship hidden in the darkness of Tatooine's vast desert—your home planet.

"The desert is your home and your tomb," you murmur absently. A sudden realization dawns in your consciousness. It’s happening, you think with dread, your pulse racing erratically. You’ve seen this scene a hundred times before, yet it still feels surreal as it unfolds before your eyes.

Four months—precisely. No more, no less. This is the exact time Qimir has to deliver you to his employer, as stipulated in the contract.

And it might just be the last stretch of your life, along with everyone else on this ship.

A new alertness grows rapidly within you as you step forward into the unfamiliar cargo ship. Everything is pristine, modern, and expensive. The air inside is cool, courtesy of the automated climate control system, yet you feel anything but comfortable. Partly because of the thick, heavy metal cuffs clamping down on your wrists, and partly because of the piercing gazes of the three guards, who look identical in their matching gray uniforms. They follow close behind, laser guns in hand, watching your every step without blinking. If you make even the slightest suspicious move, they won't hesitate to shoot you down instantly.

For a brief moment, your mind retreats into a temporary calm—a sense of resigned acceptance of a fate that can no longer be altered.

You shift your focus to the figure ahead—the tall, familiar man walking a short distance away. Qimir’s expression is as unreadable as a statue, devoid of any emotion. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at this moment. Perhaps he’s relieved, finally rid of the burden that is you.

A soft, cynical laugh escapes your lips. You can’t help but pity yourself.

So this is your reward for saving his life. In the end, he still sells you out for the bounty.

Before you could take another step, Qimir suddenly halted, causing you to stop as well. He turns to face you as if he had known you were watching him all along. It seems like he wants to say something, but the words never come. So, you decide to speak first.

"I should have left you to rot there," you say. The words sound harsh, but your tone lacks any trace of resentment.

A part of you wants to be angry at Qimir, but you know you deserve to be angrier at yourself. Who else could you blame? You chose this path willingly. It was your own weakness, your own foolish attachment, that led you to this pitiful end.

You notice Qimir's brow furrow, a look of surprise on his face, but you have no chance to hear his response as the barrel of a gun presses hard into your back, forcing you to move in another direction. The guard behind you roughly pushes you forward, guiding you toward the ship's holding cells, where you will await whatever fate has in store for you next.

Before you are taken away, you glance back at Qimir one last time. That was when you caught sight of the person who had hired him. The other man stepped out from the opposite door of the ship and approached Qimir with an air of authority.

The man was an elderly Neimoidian, his skin mottled in shades of gray and green, as was typical of his species. Tall and thin to the point of looking like a matchstick, he was dressed in luxurious dark silk robes with the peculiar headdress common to the Trade Federation. His large, piercing red-gold eyes, sharp as a hawk's, met yours in return, studying your deep blue irises with a hint of satisfaction before nodding to Qimir.

You didn’t know the name of this old stranger, and you were certain he didn’t know yours either. But he knew who you were and what you were capable of. That’s why he had gone to such lengths to obtain you.

Death was drawing near. You could feel it in your bones—the malevolent intent of something hidden, something that would soon be revealed.

The dark metal box was opened, revealing a collection of rare and priceless materials neatly arranged inside, their surfaces gleaming as they caught the light. Qimir picked up a Nova Crystal, inspecting it briefly before setting it back down with little interest. He had no desire for it, but he was compelled to take it as part of the reward specified in the contract.

But in truth, there was only one thing he had ever truly sought—only one object that mattered to him.

At the bottom of the box, lay a large piece of Cortosis. It had been carefully concealed, meant to be seen only by the bag’s owner and those granted permission to open it. Qimir reached for it next, examining it closely, his fingers tracing the subtle lines of the dull gold metal. It was genuine, he thought, the finest quality he had ever encountered.

The Neimoidians hadn’t exaggerated when they claimed their people could find anything in the galaxy, no matter how rare or scarce it might be.

“Is this all you wanted?” Blex, the branch manager and captain of the Fallon, asked with a hint of uncertainty. He had worked for the Trade Federation for decades, and this was the first time someone had specifically requested Cortosis. Though rare, it wasn’t particularly valuable compared to other metals, minerals, or energy sources that fetched far higher prices.

“Yes, that’s all.” Qimir nodded, carefully placing the cortosis back into the chest and locking it securely. He was well aware of the Neimoidians' curiosity regarding his unusual request. To most, Cortosis seemed like a worthless scrap, its softness making it nearly impossible to forge into weapons or armor. But Qimir knew its value far exceeded what others might assume.

“You’ve done well.” The old man wasn’t stingy with his praise. He had a particular fondness for bounty hunters who weren’t foolish and didn’t greedily demand more than they deserved. “I expect we’ll be working together often in the future.”

Qimir responded with a broad grin. For a moment, Blex felt an odd discomfort at the sight of that grin, but the feeling quickly passed. In the next instant, the human’s face returned to its usual friendly demeanor.

"I have a small question," Qimir began, his voice casual and still smiling. "You’re not planning to kill that woman, are you?"

The elderly Neimoidian let out a snort, as if he was on the verge of laughing. "Kill her? What nonsense are you spouting? Why would I kill something so useful?"

"Useful?" Qimir echoed, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "What use could she possibly have?"

Blex hesitated, realizing he had let slip something he shouldn’t have. "Nothing," he waved dismissively. "You’ve got what you came for, so be on your way. Don’t waste my time with unnecessary questions. My time is money, boy."

Normally, Blex would be quite irritated by anyone prying into his business affairs. But this time, he was in too good a mood to bother with an ill-mannered bounty hunter. The old man could hardly wait to leave this place and present that woman as a gift to the head of the Trade Federation.

This is an incredibly worthwhile investment. Blex thought gleefully, considering what he stood to gain from his superior. That woman was worth more than a hundred Nova crystals or Aurodium ingots combined.

Qimir, however, remained still, even after being told to leave. His gaze drifted out the ship’s window, where nothing but the faint glimmer of distant stars, silent and desolate. The Neimoidians were a cautious and paranoid race. They had chosen the rendezvous point carefully to ensure there were no outside witnesses and minimize the risk of any unexpected dangers.

How ironic he mused with grim amusement. A race so paranoid, and yet not a single one of them realized that the real danger wasn’t outside the ship—it was inside.

"You don’t need to answer my question." Qimir's voice suddenly turned chillingly cold, the smile vanishing as quickly as his demeanor shifted, as if he were an entirely different person. "Because I can extract the answer from your mind anyway."

He raised his hand, and with a single flick, the Neimoidian’s body seemed to be constricted by some invisible force, lifted into the air, and violently yanked toward him. Within seconds, Blex's throat was clutched in Qimir’s grip. The Neimoidian’s greenish face darkened as the grip around his throat tightened.

In that instant, Blex felt a sharp intrusion of the force, penetrating his cerebrum and dissecting his memories piece by piece. The pain was excruciating, as if a real blade were slicing into his brain.

Blex's eyes widened even further as he stared at Qimir. The realization of truth in this moment between life and death brought a mixture of surprise and terror beyond words. "Y-you... You have the force. Are you a Jedi?"

"Not exactly, but close enough," Qimir shrugged, a mocking laugh escaping his lips—a laugh that could easily send chills down anyone's spine. "If I had more time, I'd let you guess again, but unfortunately, time is money."

Blex didn’t even get the chance to beg for his life. As soon as the mind-reading process was complete, the Neimoidian merchant’s neck was snapped with swift precision. Qimir discarded the lifeless body like a piece of trash, throwing it to the ground before glancing up at the ship’s ceiling. He noticed the lights abruptly turning red, followed by the shrill blare of the alarm echoing throughout the spaceship.

Qimir began calculating in his mind.

There were about three minutes before every guards on the ship would storm his position, and it would take at least another five minutes to kill anyone who stood in his way to reach his second target, who was now securely locked in the holding cell on the lowest level of the ship.

Eight minutes is too long he thought, quickening his pace, not wasting any more time.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to you—the somber expression on your face, your strange mannerisms and words, and those blue eyes that always seemed to carry a hidden burden, as if you were harboring a crucial secret.

Qimir had never understood you, not even a little. He always thought of you as a living enigma, a puzzle he would never be able to solve.

But now he finally understood everything.

Eight minutes.

You think as you peer through the bars, noticing the two guards stationed outside your cell—a surprisingly small number, likely because they see you as nothing more than an ordinary woman, harmless and lacking the strength to retaliate.

“I don’t see why I have to waste my time guarding her too. One of us is enough. What could she possibly do?” One of the guards, whom you’ve privately nicknamed 'Scarface' because of the large scar on his face, grumbles to his companion. Despite the distance between your cell and the guards’ station, you hear every condescending word with crystal clarity.

These men underestimated you, and it was likely that many here, except for the Neimoidian merchant, didn’t even know who you really are or what you’re capable of. Their negligence in handling your imprisonment was unforgivable—like locking your arms tightly but forgetting to gag you.

You know this is your chance, slim as it may be. But it’s better than sitting idly in your cell, awaiting death. You must seize every opportunity and struggle with every ounce of hope left.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep, controlled breath, following the calming techniques your mother taught you. You steady both your body and mind, preparing for what needs to be done.

You know what you need to do. You've trained for this situation before, but the results were often less than successful. It’s an ancient technique that's difficult to learn and even harder to execute. During your training, you failed countless times, leaving you uncertain if you could actually pull it off when it matters most.

In the brief moment of calm, you focus your thoughts, replaying memories of your mother’s teachings. Her voice played in your mind, reminding you of the details you had once studied so intently.

Words, tone, and thought must align as one. For it is the forceful will, distilled from the vocal cords and heart, that becomes a command no one can resist.

You suddenly open your eyes, your thoughts halting as your heightened senses catch the presence of death creeping in from above, gradually drawing nearer.

There's no time left.

The realization sends a tremor through your body. You quickly leap to the bars and shout, "Let me out, now!"

Both guards turn to look at you, puzzled at first, before breaking into loud laughter. “You must be crazy if you think you can command me,” Scarface sneers.

You grit your teeth, knowing you have failed. Your panic made you pitch your voice too high; those men would feel nothing.

You refocus, breathing in rhythm as you had practiced. Your blue eyes gleam with intensity as you fix them on Scarface. This time, your voice rings out clear and unwavering, reverberating through the air—a blend of sharpness and depth that fills the room.

“Take your gun and shoot your friend. Then, release me and kill yourself, you bastard.”

The scarface jolts, his expression suddenly turning to one of impassivity, his eyes empty and emotionless. At that moment, you know you've succeeded.

You wait calmly for the outcome as the scarface turns his laser gun to shoot his own colleague, walks over to unlock the cell door and handcuffs, then lifts the gun to shoot himself in front of you.

It’s as difficult as it is easy you think. An inexplicable feeling takes shape inside you. You're unsure whether it's the sorrow of killing someone for the first time or the thrill of manipulating someone's mind for the first time.

You clench your fists, your palms sweaty, trying to suppress the strange feeling before stepping over the bodies with distaste and quickly moving on to find a way to escape.

However, as soon as you climb up to the top, everything in front of you turns into a nightmare you’ve seen before.

The ship is bathed in red from the emergency lights, and the blood is scattered across the floor and up the walls of the corridor. The more steps you take forward, the more you see corpses strewn across the floor. You smell the blood clearly and hear the moans and cries growing louder after the alarm has ceased. It indicates that some are still alive, but not for long. You've seen it in your dreams. These people will all die, and soon it will be you—the last one alive here.

For a moment, you consider retreating back to the cell, locking yourself away from the outside world, and hiding quietly behind bars until everything is over. But you know that the cell won't help. It will only make you an easy target. You need to get out of this ship before it finds you.

Suddenly, your determined thoughts abruptly stop as you feel a chill run through your entire body.

It’s coming. You can feel it.

Not from the front, but from behind.

Fearful instinct freezes your body like a deer in front of a lion, but curiosity compels you to slowly turn around, just to see it with your own eyes.

What you see leaves you confused rather than scared.

"Qimir,"

You utter it in bewilderment, addressing the man standing there, the one you always thought you knew well. But today, everything is different. His face is cold, and blood was smeared all over his body and face, making it difficult to determine if it was from his own injuries or those of others.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you look at Qimir, both fearful and astonished.

It can’t be.

You remember the vision vividly. The one who should have appeared here and killed everyone, including you, was the mysterious Sith with the cracked metal helmet. But in reality, Qimir is here, and he is the one who has killed everyone instead of that Sith. This has never appeared in your visions before, not even once.

You and Qimir lock eyes, frozen as if time itself has paused. But finally, it's Qimir who makes the first move. He begins to take a step toward you, but suddenly, you shout, your voice firm and echoing through the air, "Stop. Don't move."

At first, Qimir thinks you’re speaking to him. But as he observes more closely, he notices that your gaze isn’t on him at all but focused somewhere behind him instead. When Qimir turns around, he sees one of the security guards aiming a laser gun at him at a distance close enough to be fatal. Yet, the guard doesn’t pull the trigger. He just stands there, motionless like a statue, except for his eyes, which dart back and forth in terror.

Qimir swiftly raises his knife and slashes the guard's throat, the blade cutting through the major artery with ease.

As the guard's body collapses, you also fall to the ground, blood gushing from your nose down to your chin. You can feel your strength ebbing away, replaced by a sharp pain. It’s the side effect of using your power so abruptly, damaging part of yourself in the process.

You wipe the blood from your face, smearing it across your skin, then slowly force yourself to stand just as Qimir reaches you. He grips your arm, helping you to your feet. You want to pull away, but you have no strength left. Standing on your own is a struggle in itself.

You look up at him, countless questions on the tip of your tongue, but the only words that escape your lips are a faint whisper, "Why?"

Qimir remains silent, and suddenly, he raises his hand. You flinch, the image of being choked by that Sith in your dream flashing through your mind.

But Qimir doesn’t do that. Instead, he gently places his hand on your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away tears you hadn't even realized were falling.

In that moment, something deep within you sends a warning, alerting you to the significance of what's happening—a twist in the thread of fate, altered by an unknown variable, changing the course of events at the last possible moment.

You’re unsure and unable to comprehend what is happening until Qimir leans in, so close that your foreheads touch, and answers all your unspoken questions with a kiss.

As your lips meet, breath merging with breath, tongue with tongue, and soul with soul, intertwining and becoming one, you understand. Qimir is everything to you—whether it be the beginning...or your inevitable end.

#star wars #qimir fic #qimir x reader #the acolyte fic #qimir #qimir x y/n #the acolyte #the curse of cassandra #star wars fic #the acolyte x reader #the stranger x reader #qimir x you #the acolyte fanfiction #qimir the acolyte #star wars qimir #qimir the stranger #the acolyte qimir #dune fanfiction #dune fanfic

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whateverisbeautiful · 4 months ago

Text

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#5: The Eager (1.01)

gif cred: @kimwexlersponytail

I love how this second dream arrives right after Rick is welcomed into the CRM. No matter how involved in the CRM he has to be, he can always find Michonne in his mind to anchor him back to what matters most. And these dreams are like we also get to retreat with Rick to a familiar face. Our and Rick’s favorite familar face too🥰...

So after trying out his weaponized arm - which I also find his prosthetic symbolic because it’s almost like now Rick has been made into a weapon and we’ll watch him go on a journey of returning to be a person again throughout the miniseries - the scene fades to black and we hear some peaceful ambiance and then Michonne’s voice gently say, “I thought you were late.”

gif cred: @lousolversons

I love her calming voice in these dreams. They both have these heartwarming soft laughs as Rick dons a big smile and says a carefree and confident, “Yep. I am.” 😋

gif cred: @lousolversons

Rick knows chatting up this beauty on the bench is more important than employment. And...

It's sweet that he doesn’t care about work or being late anymore. Michonne, as always, has his sole focus and he just looks so genuinely content to be in this moment with her. He’s basking in her presence. 😇

And after so little smiling moments in his real life with the CRM, it’s nice to see Rick smile so freely in his dream and of course, it’s all because of his beautiful Michonne being by his side. I like too how they both have these little breathy laughs that feel like they know exactly why they’re lingering in each other's space right now.

There’s also something to be said about being late vs. lost. Rick knows he’s late to his job, in irl he’s 'late' getting home, and even in a more immediate sense, it seems he’s late to that arena meeting with Okafor and Pearl coming up. But it doesn’t matter because right now for just a brief moment he has her, so regardless of being late he’s at least no longer lost. Again, Michonne is his destination.

As Rick and Michonne fell for each other in TWD it also reshaped their end goal in this apocalypse. It was no longer just to survive and help others survive. That of course is still a major part of their calling, but in falling in love part of their goal and purpose became more personal - aiming to build a life together and enjoy each other to the fullest. And so here in this dream, we see how Rick’s goal reshapes as well. He just wants to enjoy her no matter what else is going on.

However, in the dream, Michonne can’t stay leisurely sitting with Rick for long as she smiles and says, “Uh well I can’t be.”

gif cred: @lousolversons

For me, there’s something so sweet about this scene but also sad because Michonne can’t stay, It’s almost like it's depicting how the real Michonne has to stay in their world keeping things afloat for their kids and community. She can’t be late for her duties.

Michonne stands up to leave but then she turns around to offer, “But I do eat here every day.” Def wanting to indicate to him that she’d be happy to see him again. 😊

gif cred: @lousolversons

Rick gives a little confident smile and asks, “Around this time?” because he knows she wants to see him again too. Just like he very much wants to see her. 😊

gif cred: @lousolversons

Michonne is tickled by the question as she says, “You’re pretty eager aren’t you?” It’s cute how she doesn’t tiptoe around Rick’s obvious attraction to her lol. And she has a spot-on assessment of that man Rick because he's always eager about Michonne. 😇

gif cred: @lousolversons

And then I absolutely love the way Rick shrugs and keeps the confidence going when he responds, “Maybe you are too.” 😊 Lol, I love it.

One thing Rick’s psyche knows is that he and Michonne are very eager for each other. #hungry. I like how he doesn't deny being eager to see her again while also addressing that what they're feeling rn is clearly mutual. And this feels reminiscent of all the little flirting moments they had both pre and post-canon.

gif cred: @lousolversons

And Rick is correct in assessing that Michonne is also eager because she was definitely bit by the love bug like Rick in these dreams and I love that he doesn’t tiptoe around it either.

It’s funny too cuz Richonne's TWD journey was a slow burn but in Rick's dreams, he’s like nah now we’re gonna move as quick as we low-key always wanted to move in real life lol.

I just love that he’s dreaming about flirting with Michonne like this and he clearly feels like she was someone he had to chase a little bit when she all seductively says, “Oh…I’m not” before shining her million-dollar smile and turning to walk away. 😊

gif cred: @lousolversons

When she said "Oh, I'm not" I was like - now Ms. Purple, do you know that we can see you? Because the eagerness was for sure mutual. 😋

It’s interesting that Rick's mind dreams up Michonne flirtily saying she’s not eager. It could be just because Rick remembers Michonne as being a bit more discreet than him when it came to falling in love with each other. Or maybe it’s more a present nod to how after years apart, Rick deep down knows the real Michonne has likely had to grow less and less eager about the possibility of ever being with him again.

When Michonne turns to leave, Rick watches her and yells out, “Can I at least…” I’m assuming he was about to ask for her name or number but we’ll never know because the dream is abruptly interrupted by a knock on real Rick’s door as he’s sadly plucked back into reality. 😞

gif cred: @lousolversons

But I just love that Rick was in full pursuit mode in these dreams and was craving to know more about this mysterious stunning woman who had stolen his heart before she left. Like he was so locked into her and did not want to let her go in these dreams. And I love it because the real Rick is the same way. That thing Rick told Michonne in their very first conversation in season 3 still holds true - “Can’t let you leave.”

It really was a great choice to have Rick dream about falling in love with Michonne because those two were constantly falling deeper in love on TWD. Like after each time jump in the main show I noticed I was never just like 'oh good, Rick and Michonne are still in love,' I was like 'oh wow, Rick and Michonne are more in love than before.' 🥰

And the dreams also show that Rick loved/loves pursuing her and replays that because really it’s the biggest win in the world that he wanted Michonne and got her considering she’s the greatest woman on the planet. 💁🏽‍♀️

It’s also so sweet that while in reality he already knows Michonne inside and out, in his dreams Rick is just so elated to rediscover her and learn/earn her again and again before having to endure another day with the CRM.

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

So then Rick startles awake and tiredly says, “Coming” and when the loud knocking on his door continues he says a more frustrated, “Coming” as Okafor says, “Come on Rick, class is in session.” I love Rick's sleepy voice and also it’s kinda cute cuz this implies that Rick knew he had somewhere to be but wanted to take a little nap and be with Michonne first before this meeting with Okafor and Pearl. Again, that dream time with her is his absolute favorite part of life.

Also him in that black fit - another towl blessing ijs. 😇

Rick walks with Pearl and Okafor to a dark arena where he takes out a walker in their path. Okafor grabs the dog tag off the corpse and has a very even-keeled reaction to affirming it was a soldier, likely a soldier he killed in the arena bombing. It just goes to show that Okafor has a certain level of detachment from what he’s had to do because he believes it was all for the greater good.

gif cred: @nerd4music

That seems to be a thing with people who buy into the CRM, you have to eliminate anything personal about you and just emotionlessly be a part of some larger purpose.

Okafor finally lets Rick and Pearl in on his plan to help the two become higher-ups in the CRM so they can improve it from the inside. Rick reminds Okafor he tried to escape four times and that’s the Rick I know. Of course, he’d been trying over and over to get home.

Okafor explains the whole A and B thing and how Rick and Pearl are A’s, meaning strong leaders with a mind of their own. (Even tho I think there's one sneak among these three As 🧐)

Rick and Pearl learn they weren’t killed like other As because Okafor looked out for them since he needed them to help change the CRM. And it’s interesting he hands Rick the Art of Peace book that Morgan studied with the cheesemaker. It’s like Okafor is going to be to Rick what Eastman was to Morgan, slowly trying to convince Rick to adopt his philosophy.

gif cred: @perryabbott

I like the line “Being a monster to fight the monsters, that can’t last.” It feels like it speaks to a major theme within this TWD franchise regarding who you think you have to become to survive.

Okafor says they’ll get the echelon briefing and the way Rick reacts you can tell he just does not give a damn about moving up the ranks. He’s pissed enough that he’s had to assimilate into the CRM at all when he just wants to go home and now they’re talking about him being brought further into this system. He’s over it.

It’s also really interesting to see Rick in ep 1 so disinterested in all this CRM stuff and Okafor’s mission and then when Michonne finds him a year later he’s clearly had a lot more time to be programmed. And I don't mean he gets programmed into believing the CRM’s values, but more believing that they are an impossible force to escape from and therefore all that can be done is to use your life to make the CRM better.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Rather than want to know more about Okafor’s plan, Rick instead wants to know about how under the table this whole arena meeting is. He asks if the CRM wants him and Pearl to be leaders and if the higher-ups even know about this meeting tonight and the insider info Okafor is spilling.

Okafor says the CRM doesn’t know and that he believes As in power is the only thing that can change things. Again Rick doesn’t care about all that, so instead he says, “So if we share with the higher-ups that you’re saying these things…”

It’s interesting that Rick is taking an approach of almost wanting Okafor to worry he’ll expose him. I don’t think Rick is actually considering sharing about this with the higher ups but I think he also wants Okafor to know he’s not sold on trusting this whole situation.

Then Pearl cuts Rick off to let him know that she and him are not a “we” so he has to speak for himself.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Rick adjusts the statement and because he’s actually an A he looks over at Pearl (a B with a poker face, imo) and says, “If I’m an A - If I think for myself…” then he turns to Okafor to finish with, “Why do you think I’m gonna go along with this?”

Something is interesting about seeing Rick as just a member of an army when he had led whole communities for so long in TWD. But as Rick challenges Okafor in this arena, we see that signature leader Rick. He’s not just some guy to puppeteer for others' missions, good or bad. He’s an opinionated leader in his own right.

Okafor answers that he believes if Rick or Pearl had a chance to save the world they would. “You’d have to.” Rick looks like he’s rolling that thought around in his head and thinking, “I would really only want to save the world if it’s with my wife, otherwise pass.”

gif cred: @perryabbott

The meeting continues as Rick's voiceover again gives his wife the details about how Okafor wanted his help to change things. Rick says “I’d play along. But it wasn’t my fight.”

Rick can be very hyper-focused on his missions and Okafor’s mission couldn’t become his fight yet because at this point his fight was still solely about getting back to Michonne and Judith. His sole goal is still to get back to the two ladies who were taken from him. And I appreciate that he always wants Michonne to be assured of that in these letters he writes.

But in this next moment, Rick gets a heartrending perspective shift on who's really the one that’s been gone. 😢👌🏽

#richonne #towl #reveling in richonne #1.01 #RIR (5)#the ones who live #twd towl #michonne grimes #rick grimes #rick x michonne #twol #michonne #rick and michonne #twd: the ones who live #twd #richonnefandom

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afewfantasies · 7 months ago

Text

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Chapter IV

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Misc references & details

Summary: Lorena gets her first visitor at The Retreat, her sister Felicia who has absolutely no tact. Both Lorena and Gale are confronted with uncomfortable truths. Gale is confronted with the feelings he's been trying to suppress for Lorena - his unlikely visitor and companion.

Pairing: Gale Cleven x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings: None

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love

Word Count: 2.2

PART IV - SISTER SISTER

It took everything in Gale to keep from smiling at the nerves coming from Lorena. He’d never seen a more nervous wreck of a woman, a ball of nerves and excitement. She had spend two hours on her hair and had Rose press out her clothing perfectly. He didn’t know how she wasn’t working up a sweat pacing in her heels awaiting the train.

“Lorena take it easy” he says with a hand on her shoulder eliciting looks from onlookers. She looks up at him settling at his side.

“Stop laughing at me” she mutters.

“I’m not laughing” Gale smiles.

“You are its in your eyes” she mutters and he breaks his composure for a moment chuckling.

“She’ll be here, and she’ll be happy to see you. It’ll all be fine” Gale says hopefully.

“That’s not what I’m worried about, what if daddy is on the train with her and he hauls me away?” Lorena asks.

“If your father gets off that train you let me know and we’ll make a run for it.” Gale says no longer smiling.

“Major Gale Cleven running, there’s a thought…” Lorena teases.

“You love your father, its the only option” he says as the roaring of the train and sounding of horn get closer. “It’s alright” he whispers down at your head standing in front of you slightly. You both wait near first class and very few folks exit the train. Felicia exits the train as the fifth person, she has a bag in each hand and there’s an attendant holding two more as she looks around in search of her younger sister.

“That’s her” Lorena squeaks running over to her sister she takes her into her arms both women jumping excitedly. Gale gets a trolley putting the four bags onto it and allowing the women to reacquaint themselves. It had been nearly a year now since the sisters had been together.

“Lolo you do know how to run!” Felicia smiles looking over her baby sister.

“I do” Lo affirms smiling as she takes her sisters hand. They turn to find Gale watching them. They shared little resemblance but enough. Gale can see the similarities in them, their mannerisms and smiles.

“Well, how do yo do?” Felicia says looking him over. “No wonder you like it out here” Felicia comments.

“This is Gale” Lo laughs at her sisters cantor.

“Nice to meet you” Gale blushes a little take a back by the forward sister.

“You made him sound like an old man” Felicia fails to whisper.

“Shut up why don’t you, and lets get on the road, we won’t be home until late” Lorena snaps embarrassed by her sisters mouth.

“Why? Are we’re far away?” Fefe asks Lorena who responds with a wink.

“May I put these in the back?” Gale asks motioning to the suitcases.

“Sure and it’s Felicia Clarence, I promise our mother taught Lorena manners she’s just so pretty she’s never needed to use them” Felicia smiles. Lorena scoffs at the irony of Felicia’s so called manners.

“Gale Cleven” he smiles shaking her hand. Both ladies sit up front in the truck leaving Gale without his usual person of space between him and Lorena.

“So how are mom and dad?” Lorena asks to fill some of the silence.

“Same as always, waiting for you to come back home” Felicia says honestly. Gale grips the wheel at the jarring reality.

“I keep telling them I won’t be home for awhile” Lorena reminds feeling claustrophobic.

“So this arrangement isn’t forever?” Felicia asks suspiciously sitting forward to point between her sister and the handsome stranger that was now both her landlord and employer.

“Lorena can stay as long as she’d like” Gale responds. Lorena notes there was o hesitation and raises a brow at her sister.

In not one of the letters had Lorena mentioned his fashion good looks to Felicia, not once had she described his physicality. He was dreamier than Felicia could have ever imagined, younger too. The Gale in the letters was an old man, chaste and probably well past his prime free of vice and with a bucketful of old man hobbies. Gale in person was something totally different.

“Middle of nowhere to let all that pretty and party planning expertise to go to waste” Felicia tuts shaking her head. “What happened to us having large estates across the street from each other filled with the finest china and a distinguished guest list?” Felicia asks.

“Felicia, I’m not like you I can’t just show my face anyways and pretend like the whispering doesn’t get to me when it does. I don’t need anyones pity either, I don’t need sharks circling I don’t need the drama of courtship and planing another wedding. I just need peace.” Lorena sighs being transparent with her sister.

“Whoa, you two really aren’t sleeping together” Felicia says shocked. Lorena and Gale both show healthy blushes, embarrassment burns their cheeks as Felicia says the quiet parts aloud.

“Fe!” Lorena grits.

“Sorry, I mean look at him but mama and daddy raised us with enough sense we wouldn’t morn one relationship while sitting with a man were in another with” Felicia says dismissively.

“Gale I told you she talks too much and she has no decorum. Please forgive her.” Lorena says embarrassed. Nodding he forces back a smile. He’d never seen Lorena embarrassed before.

“My apologies Gale, I’m just trying to figure out my sister. This is the biggest shock to all of us. If you knew where and how we grew up you’d understand my concern” Felicia reasons.

“I understand” Gale mutters.

“Do you?” Felicia pries looking at him. “Do you have siblings?”

“Only child” he responds keeping his eyes on the road.

“That must’ve been boring” she continues with her inquisition.

“It was alright” Gale shrugs.

“Well, we have a brother and then each other and that kept life interesting” Felicia shares. Gale turns looking at Lorena, she had never spoke about her brother in the past five months, not once, nor did she send him a letter.

“You have a brother?” Gale asks Lorena.

“Well we’re not close” she responds.

“They’re feuding because Kevin had an affair on his wife” Felicia discloses.

“It’s a dishonourable thing to do to your pregnant wife” Lorena mutters.

“He’s family, she’s not - he’s on your side you know. He’s scorned reggie from all social events he controls” Felicia says trying to mend fences.

“Hypocritical don’t you think?” Lorena chuffs still feeling the sting of her ex-husbands indiscretion.

“Him and Maria are doing better than ever. You going MIA scared him straight. You would be proud of him the kids are familiar with him, he’s been home and Maria is happy” Felicia adds but unlike both of Lorena’s siblings her marriage had been full of love and passion. It was alive and well, it was what Lorena wanted, she’d never had the luck of lukewarm love. If her marriage had been that perhaps it would have hurt less.

“Good for them” Lorena mutters trying to hide her smugness from Gale.

“You bitch” Felicia laughs shaking her head at her sister. Gale’s eyes grow in size as Lorena withholds a smile. “You’re pissed at Kev but you write Reggie” Felicia says taking it too far.

“Don’t go there Fe” Lorena warns sharply, Gale watches as the older raises her hands in surrender. Their dynamic is clear to him. Felicia has fashioned herself the antagonist, she’s the digger that’s relentless and doesn’t stop until she’s unearthed the truth. He watches Lorena read Felicia her rights at the gas station and the rest of the ride back is a lot more quiet with Lorena in a sour mood. He wonders if it was a bad idea on his end but only time can tell for sure.

…..

Gale straightens excited to see Lorena after last night, she’d gone up earlier than usual with her sister and he hadn’t wanted to intrude with a cool night. Felicia emerges in the doorway with a smile.

“Good morning” she smiles.

“Good morning, Rose brought by breakfast” he stands.

“Sit, its fine I can serve myself” Felicia smiles fixing herself a plate. Gale finds himself a little uneasy in her presence. “Relax, men show their tail after a month, it’s been about six since she’s been here you're a good man” Felicia says frankly. She’d decided that during the long ride into the Retreat. Lorena was herself and not a shell of who she had been, Felicia could see her sisters ease around Gale, anyone could see she was well in spite of the heartbreak.

“Thank you” Gale breathes relieved. Felicia’s personality was a kin to a bloodhound unable to let things go.

“She never had a real shot, she’s been spoiled rotten her whole life. Never had to fight for anything so um, she runs when she should be home giving Reggie hell for his betrayal” Felicia comments buttering her bread.

“Hell will find him when he realizes what he’s lost” Gale comments but Felicia scoffs.

“No, no Gale she’s not angry. If Reggie and that hussy run their course and his sorry ass comes back begging she’ll take him back. She’s still happy he’s alive. She is my sister but that girl is a special kind of crazy” Felicia says candidly. Gale sits back having lost his appetite at that thought.

“You think so?” He asks feeling bitterness.

“I know men, and I know my sister, that girl can’t hold a candle to her. Reggie still sends her money, people talk and the divorce was the girls doing. My brothers been doing a great job at blacklisting the vain bastard and absence only makes the heart grow fonder.” Felicia says talking like a man. Her words make sense to Gale, worse they scare him.

“But your folks won’t let that happen, he’s a coward and he humiliated her. She’s only just stopped crying whenever letters come” Gale shares.

“My folks miss their Lorena. They’d rather her up the block then on the other side of the country” Felicia shrugs. Its the opposite of what Gale wants to hear.

“What do you think?” Gale asks Felicia curiously.

“I think Lorena and Reggie were puppy love. I think he’s a scoundrel and doesn’t deserve to breathe her air. He doesn’t appreciate her or value her, there’s an absence or respect. Lorena deserves better” Felicia speaks frankly.

“I agree” Gale nods.

“Major Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven, I did a lot of research. Found out you're a great man, leader of men. You survived a prison camp in Germany and managed an escape during the coldest winter in 100 years.” Felicia says shocking him.

“You're right” he nods attention piqued.

“So fight for her” Felicia says silencing everything around him. The assertive strength in her eyes dissolves into something more soft hearted. “I know you love her Gale and she thinks the world of you. It’s an odd pairing and a peculiar circumstance but I can think of no other reason for her to be all the way here if it weren’t written in the stars” Felicia shrugs. Footsteps sound above them and Lorena emerges from upstairs. Swallowing her heart races at the sight of her sister and Gale who’s white as a ghost.

“What’d she say?’ Lorena asks unnerved placing a hand against Gales clammy forehead.

“I asked him if it’s common to go skinny dipping in the lake?” Felicia lies.

“Swimming naked?” Lorena questions her sister who smiles jostling her brows.

“Gale I’m sorry, her and Clarence her husband are progressive and he encourages this sort of thing. We’re all used to it” Lorena apologizes and Gale has time to recover.

“It’s alright Lorena, no skinny dipping in this spot. You want to do that near running water but it’s not safe now. You ladies don’t shoot and so one of the guys would have to keep watch and uh … no” Gale says turning a little red at the thought. Felicia laughs and Lorena casts an amused yet annoyed look at her sister placing her hand on Gales shoulder.

“He’ll ever invite you back” she scoffs.

“If she weren’t married I’d make an introduction with Bucky” Gale stands taking Lorena’s hand. He smiles holding her gaze until she smiles back and then he nods.

“I’ll be with the horses if you need me” Gale says bidding her a goodbye.

So fight for her. Felicia’s words dance around in his mind as he heads outside mounting his horse. It repeats on a loop. He would in every circumstance that Lorena needed, it wasn’t a second thought. Therein lied the issue. He’d never given specific thought to him and Lorena long enough. He was always rushing those thoughts out of his head. Marge had been sure he was no longer worth it. Yet, Felicia seemed to be convinced otherwise.

Hearing a scream Gale looks over to find Felicia in a puddle ad Lorena laughing hysterically. Finding his smile in hers Gale considered the unthinkable. In his heart, he’s willing to fight. In his heart he hopes Lorena feels the same.

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x black reader #mota #master #masters of the air #mas #masterlist #major gale #major gale cleven #major buck #major buck cleven #austin butler x oc #gale cleve #gale cleven x oc #major buck cleven x oc

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getstaffedup · 6 months ago

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Simplify your hiring process in the fitness, beauty, health, and wellness industries with StaffedUp. Our customizable tools empower you to attract and recruit top talent effortlessly, ensuring you find the perfect fit for your brand and culture, anytime, anywhere. Source: https://staffedup.com/industry/health-and-fitness

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fantasticsandwich · 3 months ago

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yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 4)

The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted through the air, encasing your senses as you and Cillian stepped into the threshold of the cafe. A buzz of chatter from the crowded space filled your ears, punctuated by the clinking of porcelain and the hiss of steam frothing milk. The cafe's modern decor, a blend of industrial chic and cozy warmth, seemed to draw in half the city, leaving you and Cillian at the end of a winding line of impatient patrons.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater, an eclectic pattern of colors that you had chosen to appear both sophisticated and approachable. Entering the queue, you the weight of the many eyes skimming over both you and Cillian—some curious, others envious. He stood beside at your side, the epitome of effortless elegance, his dark hair catching the soft glow of the pendant lights above.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” he remarked. “I hate when something I like becomes popular.”

“Seems so,” you replied, your tone light but your mind elsewhere. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, thumb flicking across the screen with swift, practiced motions. Emails, job listings, opportunities—they cascaded down the display as you filtered through them with a sense of urgency that belied the calm front you tried to project.

“Are you looking at anything interesting?” Cillian asked, peering over at your screen with a curiosity that felt too close, too keen.

“Just looking at some job postings,” you said, minimizing the list of applications before he could glimpse the titles. You knew he didn’t truly understand your need to earn your keep, to build something for yourself without the crutch of connections or favors. “It’s difficult to find something with flexible hours and decent pay. I want to find something that fits, you know?”

“I figure it’d be,” he said with a shrug.

Once he retreated out of your personal bubble, you scrolled through one listing after another, occasionally pausing to submit your resume into the void of potential employment. Each tap on the 'apply' button was a tiny leap of faith—a hope that somewhere out there was a chance for you to prove yourself capable, independent.

The cafe was stifling. You removed your cardigan and settled it over your arm, only for Cillian to sweep it into his arms. You glared as he draped the sleeves over his shoulders, tying them into a knot. It was an eyesore against his monochromatic ensemble, but as always, he wore it well.

You shuffled forward in the line, your eyes trailing over the scuffed tile floor of the bustling cafe. Cillian loomed beside you, his body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your blouse as he leaned a little too close for comfort, arms pressing into your side.

“I love this,” Cillian whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Our weekly meet-ups are all that get me through the week.”

You nodded, a quick jerk of your head, wishing your frazzled hair would shield you from the intimacy of his gaze. Your attention shifted to the chalkboard menu above the counter, where playful script offered promises of bold new flavors and exotic blends. You considered ordering a raspberry mocha or the spiced chai latte, something to break the monotony of your usual orders.

“Hey, Lee, what do you think about those new items> Do they look—”

“No. You know how particular your stomach is,” Cillian cut in, his tone laced with feigned concern as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "You should stick with the usual, and I’ll get the new stuff so you can still try it." Before you could protest, Cillian turned to the barista, his charismatic smile in place. “Two of the usual, please. And could you grab one of those pre packaged blueberry muffins?”

Whatever. I’m eating on his dime, you thought as he swiped his card.

With a sigh trapped behind you lips, you smiled and watched as he paid for the order, his flamboyant duct-tape wallet—the same one you made for him during a particularly boring summer—flashing briefly before being tucked away. The idea of eating another stiff, cellophane-wrapped muffin seemed ridiculous when there were trays of fresh pastries just a few feet away. But he was paying, and arguing seemed like it would cost more than you were willing to spend.

“Come, let’s find our table. Did you know the owner started reserving the one in the back for us? It’s nice when loyalty is rewarded.” Cillian steered you gently by the elbow toward an empty table in the corner. Releasing you, his fingers curled around the back of the chair, sliding it out with a graceful swoop that seemed practiced, almost theatrical.

No sooner than you sat, a broad-shoulder man rushed over with their drinks. “Here you go,” he said, gently placing them down. “I knew what to make as soon as you walked in.”

You settled into the seat, your eyes drifting to the cup placed before you—a frothy concoction topped with swirls of caramel and a mountain of whipped cream. You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, feeling its smoothness against your palms, the heat barely penetrating the barrier between them.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, more out of habit than genuine gratitude. Bringing the cup to your lips, you took a tentative sip, the sugary liquid flooding your mouth with an intensity that made you wince. It was cloying, too much, like the heavy-handed perfume of someone trying to mask their insecurities. With each visit, the sweetness seemed to grow, or perhaps it was just your weariness of this routine that soured the taste.

“Say 'ah',” said Cillian, tilting his drink to you. “I asked you to open your mouth. I'm giving you the first sip.” He tilted his head, curved lashes rising and falling with each blink. “Or do you want me to make you? Would you like that?”

“I want none of that. It's embarrassing.”

“Fine.” Cillian snatched his drink back, his lips curling into a contented smile as he savored a flavor that you could no longer stomach. His phone appeared in his hand—sleek, the latest model—as if by magic, and he began to fuss over their table setting, rearranging the silverware and napkins with meticulous care.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand to halt your movements as you reached for a muffin. “Let me get a picture first.”

Sighing, you withdrew your hand. You should’ve just shut up and drank from his cup. He was probably punishing you now.

You were forced to watch as he positioned his phone just so, angling it to capture the perfect composition of their prepackaged desserts. The shutter clicked repeatedly, a staccato rhythm that echoed the tapping of your foot beneath the table. With a sense of dettachment, you observed the scene through the screen’s glow, detached, as if viewing it all from a great distance.

The cafe buzzed around them, a hive of activity and chatter, but in their little corner, only the soft light of Cillian’s phone display and the artificial sound of captured moments filled the space.

“Perfect,” Cillian finally declared, his voice threaded with satisfaction as he admired the digital gallery of confections and cream. “I can make even cellophane wrap look appetizing.”

“So talented,” you replied, tone flat, the single word falling short of enthusiasm. You watched him now, as he edited and filtered reality into something palatable for public consumption, something that would garner admiration and envy in equal measure.

Finally allowed your beverage, you eagerly dug in, first savoring the whipped cream before it could’ve further melted into the beverage. Scooping some into your mouth, a dollop of whipped cream perched precariously on the edge of your straw.

It was then that the inevitable happened. The whipped cream betrayed you, a small glob landing with a soft plop on your nose. You froze, a flicker of annoyance crossing your face as you reached for a napkin. But Cillian’s hand was quicker, his fingers skimming your cheek, then swiping the cream off your nose. He lingered a second too long.

“Got it,” he murmured, tongue slithering out to lick his fingers. He wiped his saliva on the sleeve of your cardigan, which was still settled around his shoulders.

Your breath hitched. Although a more sensible part of yourself fought the urge to scream at him for the act, a quieter, darker corner of your mind began to race.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, drawing back slightly. You eyed your portion of the desserts, the artificial brightness of the strawberry topping almost mocking in its vibrancy. You scooped up a small bite, the saccharine taste doing little to satisfy the craving you couldn't quite name.

Cillian watched you, his dark eyes gleaming. He seemed oblivious to the fact that your routine outings had become a suffocating ritual, a showcase for the curated life he projected onto his Instagram feed.

“Isn’t it delicious?” he asked, his tone expectant, a hint of coercion nestled between the words.

“The same as always,” you echoed, though the flavor was as hollow as the affirmation. The consequences of defying Cillian’s vision for your friendship loomed large and his approval was a drug you had been conditioned to crave.

Your spoon clinked against the plastic container, a soft sound. You ate mechanically, your thoughts drifting away from the table, away from Cillian and his veiled demands. You imagined stepping out of this scene, leaving behind the cloying sweetness and the confines of expectations. In your mind's eye, you pictured yourself tasting something real and complex, something that didn't leave you longing for more.

Your eyes wandered from the busy baristas steaming milk to perfection, to the patrons hunched over their laptops or lost in murmured conversations. The clinking of cutlery on porcelain provided a rhythmic backdrop to the muffled chatter around them. You inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling your senses, yet you found no comfort in the familiar scent. Instead, it underscored a sense of monotony that had been creeping into your days, a desire for something more than these meticulously staged outings.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice threaded through your thoughts, smooth and commanding. His eyes were fixed on her, expectant, as he leaned forward slightly, his posture perfect, his smile practiced. “You seem distant today. You know you can share anything with me, right?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assured him, pressing your lips into a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking about a paper I have due.”

“Your dedication is admirable,” he replied, his tone laced with an affection that felt like a velvet glove masking a steel grip. “Admirable, but irritating. You need to learn to relax a bit. Don’t worry, I’m here to take care of you.”

You nodded. You watched him as he adjusted his phone on the table, the screen alight with notifications—likes, comments, a digital chorus singing his praises. It seemed that he had already uploaded the images, a new record. Cillian seemed to exist in two worlds simultaneously: the one before you and the one inside his phone, each moment curated for maximum effect.

“Let’s take a selfie,” he suggested suddenly, his voice light but insistent. “We haven’t updated our cafe chronicles in a while.”

Before you could respond, he had positioned his phone, the lens aimed at capturing the dessert and you smile. You obliged, tilting your head just so. You braced yourself for a barrage, but he merely snapped one image.

Your stomach curdled. Was it alright? How could he be satisfied by only one picture? Were you ugly and was offering to take a picture with you merely a way to maintain the farce of friendship? He was always buying you things, and you had never stopped to wonder what he was getting in return. Was it a sick sense of charity?

“You’re so pretty here,” Cillian declared, reviewing the photo with a nod of approval. "Our followers will love this."

“Our?”

“They’re mine, but they like seeing you, too. I guess I should share you, sometimes.”

“Right. Yeah, guess that makes enough sense.”

You couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone out there who saw past the facade, who understood the reality of the smiles and the sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste. You longed for the authenticity that no filter could provide, a life where moments were lived and not merely documented for the hollow validation of strangers. You wondered what kind of person Cillian was without that glassy shield.

“Your turn,” he said, pushing the phone toward you. “You should post something too. Keep up appearances, you know?”

“Right,” you murmured, your fingers hovering over the device. You glanced at Cillian and then back at the bustling cafe, the world spinning around you in a blur of motion and sound. You glanced up at Cillian, who was animatedly discussing his latest social media strategy, his features alight with enthusiasm.

“Imagine the likes we’d get if we posted every weekend.”

“What’s your goal with this?” you abruptly asked. “Why do you post so much?”

He paused, his gaze lifting from the screen to meet hers, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I have dreams, Y/N,” he said softly, almost tenderly. His dark eyes held a glimmer of something fierce, something hungry. “I want to be more than just a face in the crowd. Modeling—that’s what I see myself doing. My face on billboards, in magazines…”

Your heart skipped a beat, not from surprise but from the sudden realization that he had been serious about his ambitions all along.

“Then I support you,” you murmured. The words felt hollow, even to your own ears, as if they were being swallowed by the grandeur of his dream.

But as Cillian spoke, detailing his strategies for building a portfolio and networking within the industry, your attention waned. You nodded mechanically, your mind drifting. Your could hear the passion in his voice, see the fire in his eyes, but it was like watching a play through a thick pane of glass. You couldn't reach him; you couldn't touch the world he was so vividly painting with his words.

The conversation began to feel like a soliloquy, his voice the only sound in the room, resonating with aspirations that soared high above your understanding. Your gaze settled on the phone still clutched in his hand, the screen alive with notifications—each one a confirmation of his allure, each one pulling him further away from her. The light from his phone cast a glow on his sharp features, throwing shadows that danced across his high cheekbones. He was talking about headshots now, about finding the right angle to accentuate the stark lines of his jaw. You tried to listen, tried to be present, but a storm brewed within her, dark and relentless.

Cillian was sensitive, his heart an exposed nerve, and the world he so desperately wanted to conquer was unforgiving, ravenous. The beauty industry would devour his gentle spirit; you could almost hear the snap of its jaws in the distance. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, caught in the maelstrom of criticism and rejection, those princely features twisted in pain.

A shiver ran down your spine upon drawing a cruel conclusion. You wanted to see him crying, but you wanted to reserve the sight for yourself. He would look pretty even when crying—you had seen it before, the way tears clung to his lashes like morning dew, the way his blue eyes deepened into stormy seas.

Your lips parted, breath catching. It was a troubling realization, one that made your cheeks flush with heat. You didn't want the world to witness that vulnerability, to see him stripped bare of the confidence he wore like armor.

“You’re beautiful. The world will love you," you managed to say. “It will devour you whole.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto your, and for a moment, there was silence. “You really think so?” he asked, tentative hope threading through his words.

You nodded, your throat tight. “It’s impossible not to,” you said, and it was the truth. But buried beneath that truth was a coil of scales and green, that dreaded jealousy snaking around your heart. It was a silent plea that begged him not to share his beauty with anyone else. In a world where you often felt mismatched and uncertain, his adoration was the anchor that kept you from drifting too far into the sea of your own insecurities. The only thing you had was him, and the thought of losing even a sliver of that connection was more than you could bear.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice sliced through your reverie, laced with a hint of suspicion. “Really, what’s wrong? You seem spacey today.”

“Sorry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only tired, that’s still all.”

As you finished eating the desserts, youur restlessness clawed its way up your throat, desperate for release. With each bite of the overly sweet cake, you tasted the blandness of repetition. The same cafes, the same dynamic, the same Cillian — it was a pattern woven into the fabric of your daily life, one that now chafed and constricted.

You pushed the plate away, the remnants of frosting clinging stubbornly to the porcelain.

“Next time, let’s try somewhere new,” you ventured, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe something less curated? We could take a stroll around town and see where we wind up.”

“New?” Cillian laughed. “Why fix something that isn’t broken? This place is us. It’s our spot.”

Your gaze fell to the empty plate, the hollow echo of ‘our’ ringing in your ears. No, you thought, a slow-burning defiance taking root. This isn’t us; it’s you, and I’m just along for the ride because you pay for everything.

“Guess so,” you murmured, the word sticking in your throat like the last taste of artificial sweeteners. Cillian continued talking, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring within.

You bit your lip, gaze lingering on your phone before shifting to your bag, the dog-eared textbook inside. Reluctantly, you retrieved the device and opened your emails, sifting through the job listings yet again.

“Applying to jobs? You can do that anytime.” Cillian’s lips curled into a half-smile, though his eyes narrowed slightly—a fleeting shadow crossing his otherwise immaculate features. “Why are you worrying about that, though? If you need money, I can talk to my father. He’s always looking for competent people at the company.”

The offer hung in the air between you, a gilded temptation laced with implications. Your fingers paused on the page, the words 'cognitive dissonance' blurring before your eyes. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in your chest.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, more to yourself than to him. “I want to earn my way, not just land a job because I know someone who knows someone.”

Cillian leaned back, his expression unreadable as he regarded you through half-lidded eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, the phrase an echo of acquiescence that seemed to dance on the edge of something darker, something you couldn't quite place.

Turning back to the textbook, you tried to lose yourself in the psychological complexities it held, your mind tracing the intricate pathways of human behavior and motivation. Yet, a part of you remained acutely aware of his presence, the weight of his gaze, and the unspoken challenges that brewed like the coffee behind the counter—bitter and potent.

“Really, Y/N,” Cillian said, his voice smooth like velvet but edged with something colder. You could feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “You don’t have to do this. I can make things easier for you. You’re not just anyone to me. But you aren't family either.”

“You’re not getting it. You’re just a friend, and connections can be so easily severed. I’ve done it since secondary school, and now that we’re entering adulthood, I don’t want to keep relying on you. I want to feel like I’m doing something for myself for once.”

“Fine,” Cillian’s voice dropped, a shadow passing over his face that matched the darkening sky outside. “But remember, my offer to take care of you is always there. It would be much simpler than all this.”

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cafe’s air conditioning. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, hands trembling slightly. Your ambition battled with the gnawing doubt that his words left in their wake.

“Simple isn’t always better,” your murmured, your attention ostensibly back on your phone, but your senses were hyper-aware of the man sitting across from you.

Your fingers paused over the screen, the list of job postings blurred by a growing resolve. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you met Cillian’s gaze with an icy detachment.

“What do you even want?”

“I need to contribute to my brother's school fees. He deserves that chance.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the cafe's buzz dimmed under the weight of his scrutiny. “Which school is he at?”

“Some snooty international boarding school,” you replied, your protective instincts flaring. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t want him to know.

“A prestigious place. Must be expensive.”

“Very.”

“A good education is vital yet costly. Surely, for people of your financial status, there are scholarships, grants…”

“None that cover everything,” you interjected, your tone laced with the fatigue of countless hours spent searching for financial aid.

“Then work harder,” Cillian suggested, his words wrapped in a honeyed tone that did little to sweeten their bite. “Or not. You could always reconsider my proposal.”

“I already said no to the job.”

“Not that one.”

You recoiled, as if the words were a physical blow. “Stop joking about that,” you stated, your voice quiet but fierce. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

An unreadable expression crossed Cillian's face before he masked it with a charming smile. “As you wish. But the world isn’t kind to dreamers who walk alone.”

Your heartbeat quickened, not from flattery but from the veiled warning in his tone.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper as you clammbered out of your seat, sidestepped away from Cillian. Your fingers trailed the cool, marbled countertop of the cafe as you headed towards the sanctuary of the restroom. Inside, the air was perfumed with lavender and vanilla, an artificial calm that did little to soothe your troubled thoughts.

Standing at the sink, you turned the cold tap and splashed water onto your face, watching as droplets clung stubbornly to your glasses before tumbling down. You looked up, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. The girl reflected back at you had eyes wide with determination, yet shadowed by doubt. With a trembling hand, you pushed the glasses up the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath, trying to wash away the worry etched into your forehead.

“Can you believe we happened to come here at the same time as them?”

“As who?”

“That’s Y/N L/N,” a hushed voice pierced through the quiet, followed by the sound of stifled giggles.

You stilled, your heart skipping a beat. You recognized the voices of fellow students, their words weaving through the space between the stalls and sink, ensnaring your attention.

“The one who's always with Cillian?” another whispered, a note of envy threading through her tone.

“Exactly! I thought they were just friends, but seeing them here together, they must be dating. She’s so lucky; he looks like he walked out of a fashion magazine… Vogue, who?”

Your hands paused, water dripping from your fingertips. Their words wrapped around you like a velvet robe, heavy with implications you’d never dared to consider. To them, you were no longer invisible, no longer just a friend clinging to the edges of Cillian’s spotlight. You were the object of speculation, the center of a narrative spun from half-truths and assumptions.

Your reflection in the mirror now seemed different, caught in the crossfire of jealousy and admiration. It was unsettling, this new role you hadn’t auditioned for. And yet, part of you reveled in the novelty, the taste of a life where you weren’t just surviving but thriving in the eyes of others.

“Seriously, what does he see in her, though?” the first voice added with a scoff, the sound sharp enough to cut through your fleeting fantasy. “She’s not even that pretty, and she doesn’t even dress well.”

“Who knows? Maybe she's not as plain as she looks. Or maybe it's her brain. Isn't she a biomed major?”

“Whatever it is, I wish I had it.”

You exhaled slowly, the air leaving your lungs like the deflating of a balloon. With one last glance at your uncertain reflection, you adjusted your clothes and stepped out of the restroom. Your eyes scanned the café until they settled on Cillian. He sat at a corner table, his princely features bathed in the soft glow of your laptop screen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you said tentatively, approaching him.

“For you, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Cillian replied without looking up, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

You leaned over his shoulder, watching as paragraphs morphed under his command. You noted how he supplemented your notes with additional information, his edits weaving through the essay like intricate lacework. A warmth spread through your chest at his helpfulness.

“Your argument here is strong, but you’ve missed some spelling errors, and the grammar is wonky in some bits,” Cillian pointed out, highlighting the words with a click. “You need to pay more attention to detail.”

The feelings of admiration died.

“Thanks for catching those,” you murmured, trying to match his attentiveness with an appreciative smile. Yet, as Cillian continued to point out every tiny mistake, you felt the weight of his scrutiny. It was as if he were peeling away layers, exposing the flaws you had worked so hard to hide beneath vibrant colors and earnest smiles.

“Here, another one,” he said sharply, almost triumphantly, correcting a misspelled term with a swift stroke.

“Right. I’ll remember that.”

For a moment, you stood motionless, observing Cillian's meticulous grooming mirrored in his meticulous editing.

“Your words are comprehensive,” he commented, finally meeting your gaze. “But sometimes, it feels like you're not quite sure of yourself. You could be more assertive.”

“Maybe,” you conceded, tugging at the hem of your blouse. “I don’t know how to write well. I just want it to be perfect, you know?”

“Just rest up and let me worry about perfection,” Cillian said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the screen’s glow imprinting on your eyelids. The day replayed itself behind your closed eyes: all of it now seemed trivial compared to Cillian's insistent editing, his fingers deftly correcting your words as if they were errant children straying from the path.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the computer screen. His changes were precise, the document almost gleaming with perfection under the cursor's blinking supervision. But it was your essay, your thoughts—your voice, now polished by someone else's hand. You felt a pang of something akin to betrayal, though no promise had been broken.

"Is it better now?”

“Better,” you replied, your voice lacking conviction. You noticed then how the light caught on the angles of his face, a visage crafted to be admired, to be envied. It struck you—how many others had been captivated by that same light, only to find themselves lost in the dark?

“Thanks,” you added, a necessary courtesy.

“Anything for you.”

You turned back to the screen, retreating to your essay to calm yourself. But even there, doubt crept in, whispering that perhaps you were losing yourself in the pursuit of an image—a place beside Cillian, envied by strangers and shrouded in false admiration.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #cillian

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marinettesaltprompts · 2 months ago

Note

Inspired by one of maribat-menagerie's proposals

One of the big things that happen in almost every Maribat fic is Adrien getting stripped of his Miraculous so a batboy can be the Black Cat. But you could actually play with this idea of Adrien becoming Catwoman's apprentice/accomplice:

The story starts in stereotypical Maribat fashion with Marinette feeling unappreciated for her efforts and easily falling for whatever Batboy came into town to solve all her problems. Things progress as normal: Robin uncovers Gabriel, Lila gets sent packing and Adrien gets thrown to the wolves because he didn't do what the Batboy did- left to enjoy the association of being Hawkmoth's son while losing Plagg.

Because it turns out that Ladybug does actually believe in the idea that the holders of creation and destruction are soulmates, just not with him.

Anyhow normally this is where Adrien's story in a Maribat fic would end. He's condemned to a mundane life of public disgrace and suffering while Marinette goes to Gotham to live the superhero dream.

But not this time. Sure, Marinette leave with her Box and the Ring now fits on Robin's finger, but Adrien's not quite done. Sure it seems that way and as he retreats from public life under the heat of condemnation he falls into a deep depression. He's lost everything. His friends (can't be associated with Hawkmoth's son). His family (Nathalie is probably dead, Gabriel is in prison forever and The Gorilla needs employment after all). Even his home was seized by the The State- if not for a small trust fund Nathalie had had the foresight to set up for him he'd have nowhere to live at all.

The best he can do is live in an old house far in the countryside, hoping that people won't recognize him with his dyed black hair. At this point, all Adrien has to his name of his old life are his parents rings- one last gift snuck to him by Nathalie. Holding a secret within whose revelation robbed him of even his humanity.

It seems that after everything he did to try and make a life for himself outside of his gilded cage, he's doomed to spend his life in this new one. A cage made of crumbling old walls who were his only protection from a hostile world beyond them.

At least until one day, a certain Cat shows up. Not Plagg as Adrien dreamed of seeing again, or even the Robin who appeared in his nightmares to taunt him, but the infamous antihero Catwoman.

She' was surprised that he noticed her sneaking in, but Adrien's senses were still sharp from his time as Chat Noir. But it makes no real difference, one way or the other she's leaving with what she came for: The Graham de Vanily rings.

It turns out that his dear Auntie still wanted "her heirlooms" back, so she'd contracted Catwoman to go get them. Normally she wouldn't take such contracts, but with the Bats having ready access to magical jewellery her usual picking grounds were becoming harder to play in.

This breaks something in Adrien. After everything he's lost, after everyone had abandoned him in one way or the other, after neither Felix or Amelie could be bothered to help him in his time of need they still wouldn't let him have his soul?

Catwoman seems bemused by his spluttering, but she's intrigued enough to let him elaborate. Adrien knows from one look at her that he has no chance of beating her in a fight anyway, she'd get his rings one way or the other so he might as well tell her the truth. It's not like he owed anyone his silence and no one had actually cared about his side of the story since he'd lost Plagg.

So he spills. He takes the chance to rant about his situation, how he'd tried his best to be Ladybug's partner but he'd been pushed away, sidelined without cause. how his parents had had a magical slave collar on him since his creation. How his friends had abandoned him, how Ladybug who'd promised him "them against the world" had dropped him like garbage the second she'd gotten a "better model".

Selena listens, but she also happens to know Marinette herself- at least through others and knows the story on both sides now. So she bemusedly tries to correct him- only to find herself corrected:

Catwoman: You didn't exactly try to help her that much did you though?

Adrien: Ladybug pushed me away every time I tried. But I was always there for her. Every time she needed someone to fall on his sword for a plan. Every time she needed a shield I used myself. The one time I failed to show up, she stopped calling on me and started using an entire team instead.

...

Catwoman: Were you really that great a partner though? Robin picked up the ring and did a better job than you did even though you'd had it for months, plus all the training as a holder the old Guardian gave you that Robin didn't have while he was in France.

Adrien: What training? Fu never trained me. I didn't even know he trained Ladybug. As for Robin, maybe the fact that he's been trained by Batman for years before he even came to Paris might play a factor?

You know, I had martial arts and acrobatics before I put on the ring but I'll bet training under "the dark knight" might just be a bit above that. Oh, and Ladybug actually told Robin things. I didn't even know about the Grimoire until after the last battle.

...

Selena: But what about your friends? I've done my research you know? They said you were two-faced and cowardly, you knew about Lila and did nothing. You got your friend Marinette to take the high road and do the same.

Adrien: Did nothing? As far as I knew when I gave that advice Lila was just lying for attention and the first time I tried to get her to stop she got Akumatised on the spot. Marinette was freaking out and acting crazy, the only thing she was doing was making herself look worse in front of the class and risking Lila getting Akumatised again. It was the best advice I could give her until Hawkmoth was captured, or unless someone could prove she'd done something bad enough to get her sent out of Paris.

But I did what I could.

When Lila got Marinette expelled, I was the one who stepped up and helped her. No one else. I couldn't prove anything. I'm not a Robin trained by the Greatest Detective in the world. But I knew what Lila wanted and I used myself as collateral to get her to stop.

And two-faced? That's rich from my "friends". I've had time to think and realise what they were doing all those times they left me and Marinette together. Even before they left me out to dry they treated me more like some prize for Marinette to win instead of a friend, it was all some big game to them.

Now none of them speak to me now that I'm not a rich-boy celebrity anymore. It's like they all decided that I'm responsible for their mistakes with Lila.

---

And so the conversation continues. For the first time, Adrien finally gets to tell his side of the story, even if it's to someone who came to rob him of the one thing of value he had left. And Selena... is intrigued.

She looks carefully over the boy. He's a pretty thing, but he's also clearly strong. There's still lean muscle on him despite the year trapped in this miserable little house. It suddenly strikes her ironically just how much like one of Bruce's Robin's he is- especially with his hair dyed black.

An athletic, intelligent young man made from birth to be a perfect heir to an evil father? One whose socialization had come far, far too late to be healthy? An echo of Damian.

All around her were cheap, but well-read books on an eclectic range of subjects. Tim would find plenty of common interests with this one.

The spark wasn't there now, not in this broken shell of a boy. But when Chat Noir had been in his prime even Dick would have found a cat-themed mirror for his puns and the sheer joy he took in his freedom as a superhero.

Thankfully there's precious little of Jason in him and the similarities to the rest of the bat-family faded from there. But it was undeniable how well he fit the shape of a Robin, even down to the lack of a family with Gabriel Agreste apparently having no interest in his son even before his life sentence.

But he wasn't a Robin now was he? He was a cat.

And in this place, in this dead-end of a life: he had nothing to lose.

Selena asks him for his rings.

Adrien, exhausted from his rant, simply hands them over. What would be the point in fighting?

But to his surprise: Selene doesn't leave or mock him or anything else that he expected. But rather she raises the rings to her skilled eyes to make sure she had the real things and then asks him a question;

Answer me; was anything you just said a lie?

Adrien is compelled to confirm that it was the truth.

Selena considers him once more. Considers his performance as Chat Noir again. Considers what he'd achieved without the training he should have had.

There was potential here. Potential that had been discarded and left to rot. Potential with no loyalties left to his family, friends or anything else. With a new name, a new mask: this boy could become to her what Bruce's Robins were to him.

And really, the Vanily's money couldn't really compare to what she could do with a kitten of her own. One with a bit of resentment ready to be aimed at Bruce's new foundlings that were annoying her so badly.

Selena: So Adrien, you were a bit of a rulebreaker once upon a time. Do you still have that in you?

It turns out that Adrien very much did.

Wonderful prompt! A lot of salt fic stories don't tend to focus on what would come after the story ends, it just assumes that anyone that isn't Marinette just lives miserably ever after. Having Adrien make a comeback without a even having a miraculous sounds actually dope.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #miraculous ladybug salt prompts #marinette salt #marinette salt prompts #adrien sugar

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foundtherightwords · 1 month ago

Text

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 11

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: racism

Chapter word count: 3.6k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

Chapter 11

And try again they did. In the next several weeks, Derwin and Alba went on more outings, not just in Cypress Grove but further into the city as well, sometimes even venturing as far as downtown Miami. They went shopping for groceries and books and records, picked up packages from the post office, and ran other errands. Derwin managed to have whole conversations with clerks and cashiers without falling into a panic. He found it much easier to talk to people when they didn't know who he was, didn't turn cold or hostile when they heard his name.

The only time he felt awkward was when he and Alba were mistaken for a couple. It happened more than once, particularly when they went shopping for furnishings. Alba decided that the upholstery around the house was too faded and frayed, so she convinced Derwin to accompany her to several furniture stores and fabric shops to select the replacements. "After all, it is your house," she said.

The clerks at these stores, however, only saw a pair of newlyweds.

"How nice of you to come along with your missus," a saleswoman at a fabric store cooed at Derwin. "You must tell me your secret, dear," she went on, addressing Alba. "My husband can hardly tell a pillowcase from a throw rug, let alone shop for them with me!"

Both Derwin and Alba blushed to the roots of their hair and tried to explain themselves, stumbling over each other's words, "Oh no—we're not—she's not—he's just—" But the saleswoman had bustled off to find a book of fabric samples for them. They glanced at each other with helpless, embarrassed grins.

Occasionally these excursions would run late, and they would stop for a soda at a drugstore or a bite at a diner. Derwin was aware that anyone seeing them would think they were on a date, but Alba didn't seem to mind. She insisted on paying for herself and never acted any differently than when they had lunch at home, and Derwin tried to tear down his castle in the air. Of course she didn't think of him that way. He was her employer, nothing more.

On a particularly hot day in late October, the sun seemingly working overtime to make up for an unusually wet season, Alba took Derwin to the VA hospital downtown for his monthly check-up. As they were leaving, Derwin's eyes caught the billboard outside a movie theater across the street, advertising big screens, comfy seats, and air conditioning. The thought of driving for forty minutes in the old tin bucket under that scorching sun became a lot less appealing, and he eyed the billboard longingly.

"What do you say?" he asked Alba, pointing at the theater. "We can kill a couple of hours in comfort and drive home later in the afternoon, when it's cooler."

"Sure!" Alba said eagerly. "I haven't been to the movies in ages."

They picked some costume romance called Forever Amber, simply because of the long runtime. Derwin bought popcorn and candy for them both, feeling proud that he had done it without any prompting or encouragement from Alba.

The movie was quite long, and at some point, Derwin completely lost the plot. It was just a bunch of people with big hair, big hats, and bigger lace collars—both men and women—talking and swooning dramatically at each other, and he had no idea what they had to swoon about. But he didn't care. In the cool, darkened theater, with its flickering screen and the smell of popcorn in the air, he could forget himself and his troubles.

And then another scent, sweeter and more familiar, replaced the smell of popcorn, and Derwin felt a slight pressure on his side. He glanced to his left and saw that Alba had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. Poor thing. She must be so tired, waking up early to work in the bakery before coming to the house and working there all day. He sat still, not daring to move, listening to her quiet, steady breathing, wondering if she was dreaming and what she was dreaming of. On the screen, Linda Darnell was shrieking at Cornel Wilde, and Derwin almost shouted at her to be quiet, to let Alba sleep.

A curl had fallen over Alba's forehead. It tormented Derwin—he wanted to brush it away but was afraid of waking her. He looked and looked at it, and, unable to take it any longer, he reached out his right hand. Before his fingers touched her hair, Alba stirred and opened her eyes. Derwin quickly withdrew his hand like a pickpocket caught in the act, as Alba sat up straight and covered a yawn.

"You're right, this is a comfy theater," she said, blinking up at the screen. "Which husband is she on now?"

"Number three, I think."

"Won't be long before the end then. She can't have more husbands than Scarlett."

Derwin wondered if Scarlett was some infamous woman in Cypress Grove, but an old biddy was glaring at them across the aisle, so he kept quiet.

Later, as they emerged onto the pavement still warm with the day's heat, glowing orange under the setting sun, he said, apologetically, "I'm sorry the movie is so boring."

"Oh stop it, you're not the director." Alba grinned to show that she didn't mind. "But yeah, Amber is so annoying. What a Scarlett O'Hara rip-off!"

This time he had to ask. "Who?"

She stared at him. "You've never seen Gone with the Wind?"

He shook his head sheepishly. And then, just so she wouldn't think he had been living under a rock—though sometimes it did feel that way—he added, "I've heard of it though."

"OK, as soon as I find a place that still shows it, we have to see it," Alba said. "Now that's an epic romance. There's a drive-through theater near Cypress Grove that showed it all the time, back in '42. From the roof of the bakery, the screen is just about visible, and Beatriz and I climbed up there most nights, after Papi had gone to sleep..." Her eyes turned hazy with remembrance for a moment, before she snapped them back to the road. "Anyway, if we can't find Gone with the Wind, then we'll go see a Hitchcock movie next time. At least he's never boring."

They got into the car. Alba started the engine, and continued, "But even if the movie's a dud, I did have a nice nap and I can't remember the last time I ate so much Whoppers and popcorn, so thank you for that." She reached across the seat to pat Derwin's hand.

He longed to take that hand and bring it to his lips, but she had pulled back, and he squeezed his own hands in his lap. She'd said next time. There would be a next time. And his castle in the air, which he had tried so hard to tear down, started building itself back up again, stone by stone.

***

Alba glanced at Derwin across the aisle. They were at a used bookstore downtown, having driven all the way here to track down a specific copy of some German poetry collection. Derwin's translation of the Robert Frost poem had been enthusiastically received by his professor, and they were now collaborating on a bigger project to translate German poems into English and vice versa. Derwin wanted this collection for reference, but none of the local libraries carried it.

Alba had never seen him so excited. The translation project had rekindled something in him, and as he pored over his books, his whole face glowed with a passion that was entirely different from his usual scowling intensity. She imagined that before, Derwin read poetry to forget himself, but now he read to find himself again. Even his movements had changed. He still had to depend on the cane, but he walked around the house with brisker, more decisive steps, his back straight, instead of stooping and limping from shadow to shadow. And he was a lot more confident as well. After the incident at Olson's, she took care not to leave his side again whenever they went out, but he no longer needed her to hold his hand through a conversation. Well, not literally hold his hand, though she would've gladly done that.

It was amazing how a sense of purpose could transform a man. In fact, he had changed so much that Alba was sure he was ready for the next step. Claudia and her husband Marty were planning a trip to the beach, the last one before the winter season began and tourists descended on Miami, and they had invited Alba and Beatriz and Frank, along. With Claudia's permission, Alba had extended an invitation to Derwin as well, but to her disappointment, he'd turned her down. She wished she could persuade him to change his mind—it would do him a lot of good to form some real connections—but she didn't know how. After what happened with Mrs. McLeish, Alba didn't blame Derwin for wanting to steer clear of Cypress Grove and its people. She'd even asked Frank to fix the roof, afraid that a new person would cause a repeat of the scene at Olson's and jeopardize Derwin's precarious progress.

Still, she was proud of how much he'd changed and grown, strange as it was to feel proud of someone on whom she had no claim. As she watched Derwin between the dusty shelves full of books, Alba wondered, not for the first time, how best to describe who they were to each other. Technically, he was her employer, but he never treated her as such. If anything, she was the one that bossed him around. So what were they? Friends? She could be happy with that, except... except sometimes she would catch a glimpse of him like this, bent over a book, brow furrowed in concentration, while the sun shone through the shop's front window and brought out the gold in his hair, and a curl fell across his forehead, making her fingers itch to reach out and brush it away, and then she would realize that perhaps she wanted more.

But could there be more between them? And did Derwin feel the same? He was certainly very kind to her, but she couldn't tell if it was because he did have feelings for her but was too shy to let her know, or because he was simply being nice, or worse, because he needed her help.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Derwin looked up and gave her one of his lopsided grins that made her stomach do a backflip. "Find anything interesting?" he asked.

"Just this." She held up a slightly moth-eaten copy of On the Origins of Species. Ever since Derwin brought up college, Alba had been trying to polish up on her science and biology, and was reading any biology book she could get her hands on. "You're ready to go?"

"I think I'll be a little longer," he said, scanning the shelf in front of him. "They have a really impressive selection of poetry. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Take all the time you need."

Alba paid for her book and sat down on a bench by the door, intending to read while she waited for Derwin. However, her idle glance landed on something in the shop window opposite that chased all serious thoughts of biology and evolution from her mind. After a quick shout to let Derwin know where she was going, she nipped across the street for a closer look.

It was a dress. Not just any dress though. Made of yellow crepe so bright that it looked like it was woven from sunlight itself, it was a floor-length evening gown, with long sleeves slightly puffed at the shoulder, a gathered waist, and—her favorite part—a row of covered buttons that ran from the deep V of the neckline to the daring slit in the skirt just below the waist, showing an underskirt of gold organza underneath. Displayed next to it was a beaded handbag and a pair of gold dancing shoes to complete the look. It was the most glamorous thing she'd ever seen.

She was gazing at it like a kid outside a toy store on Christmas, when Derwin came up behind her. "Thinking of buying it?" he asked.

Alba turned around with a sheepish smile. "No, only admiring."

"Why not? It looks pretty."

"Exactly. It looks pretty. But where on Earth would I wear it? There's no point." She sighed and turned back to look at the gown wistfully.

Behind her, Derwin was looking too, though at her or the dress, she couldn't tell. "Haven't you ever bought something impractical?" he asked. "Just to own something pretty, just so you can look at it?"

Alba shook her head. As a kid back in Cuba, she'd had a closet full of pretty dresses, with lace trims and velvet bows and satin sashes. The prettiest of them all was the one Mami had made for her First Communion, a tiered and ruffled confection of the smoothest, shiniest white satin. Most of those dresses had been left behind when they moved to America. She'd soon outgrown the ones they had managed to take with them, so those had been handed down to Beatriz, and Alba had gotten used to wearing Raf's old shirts and shorts. She wore dresses now occasionally, but they were practical cotton ones with big pockets and knee-length skirts that allowed her to move around easily. There was no place in her wardrobe—or her life, for that matter—for this dress. Yet she couldn't stop looking at it.

"I think you should buy it," Derwin continued. "It really suits you."

Alba looked at the little price tag tastefully hidden by the sleeve. It wasn't as expensive as she thought, but even then, the whole ensemble would cost her two weeks' worth of paychecks. "I can't afford it," she said flatly and started to walk away. To her surprise, Derwin grabbed her arm and held her back.

"May I buy it for you then?" he said. "Consider it an early Christmas bonus."

She stared at him, wondering why he was so dead-set on her owning the dress. To be fair, it was gorgeous, and she would be happy to have it just hung in her closet so she could look at it from time to time. But for some reason, she felt uneasy with the idea of Derwin buying her a dress. It was a familiar, intimate gesture, and it would only confuse her already confused feelings about him.

"No, thanks," she said. "If I wanted to, I would get it myself. But it'd just mold in my closet anyway," she added, not without some regret. To her relief, Derwin didn't push it.

On the way home, they stopped at a diner for some late lunch. While they were perusing the menu, Alba tried bringing up the beach trip again. "It's just the five of us and the baby," she said. "And Marty has found this really secluded place, so there won't be anybody around. We can bring Otto too. Has he ever been to the beach?"

"Listen, I appreciate it," Derwin said reluctantly, "but I don't think I can just yet. Sorry."

Alba tried not to show her disappointment. "It's OK," she said, reaching across the table. "You don't have to apologize."

The waitress came bustling up to their table, causing Alba to quickly withdraw her hand. "Hi!" the waitress said brightly. "Y'all ready to order?"

"Um, yes," Alba said, cursing inwardly. "I'll have the chili and a side of cornbread, please. Derwin?"

Before Derwin could give his order, the door of the diner opened again. A black couple, probably in their thirties, elegantly dressed, walked through. The waitress looked up. Her face went pale underneath all the freckles. "Excuse me for a minute," she said and ran toward the back.

A moment later, the manager, a bully of a man, came out and went stomping to the black couple. He towered over them.

"You can't come in here," he said to the couple, his voice low, almost like a growl.

"We're not looking to sit down," explained the husband.

"We're just going to order and go," the wife chimed in. From their clothes and their manner, it was clear they were out-of-towners, probably from up north.

"It doesn't matter," the manager said. "You can't come in."

"But—there's no sign," the wife protested.

"There's no need for a sign this side of town, is there?" the manager snapped. Then he swallowed and apparently tried to compose himself. "I can see that you're not from around here, so I'm going to let this slide. You people will be happier in Overtown or Lemon City." The way he said you people made the phrase sound like a horrible slur. "Go, before you disturb our customers."

The wife cast a glance around the diner, seemingly on the verge of tears. Alba didn't know where to look. She kept her head bent over her menu, like a kid trying to avoid getting called up in class, while a flush crept over her face, burning her, stinging her insides with shame. After staring at the manager for a moment or two, the husband took the wife's hand and walked out again, their chins raised, their backs straight. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Sorry about that," the waitress said, clearing her throat. "May I take your order?"

Alba looked at Derwin and was astonished at the change on his face. He was still looking at the receding figures of the black couple, his face pale, his jaws clenched, his fingers clutching at the menu as if wanting to crush it.

"I'm sorry, I've lost my appetite," he said abruptly, getting to his feet. "We're going." He took his cane from under the table and limped to the door as fast as he could, so Alba had to scramble to follow him, leaving the waitress to stare after them in bewilderment.

She caught up with him at the car. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You OK?"

"I'm fine. Can we just go home?"

She started the car without another word. When they were about halfway home, Derwin spoke up, "I'm sorry for making you skip lunch."

"We can have sandwiches at home." She glanced at him. "Want to tell me what happened?"

It took a while for him to answer. "I just realized how lucky I am," he said slowly. "When people turn their back on me, I can leave. I can go somewhere else, where they don't know my name. Hell, if worse comes to worst, I could even move to a new city and change my name. But there are people out there being treated horribly because of the skin they were born with. Something they cannot change. They have to live with it every day. Where's the justice in that?" His eyes were bleak as he looked out the window. "I thought we went to war to change the world for the better, but then I came home and nothing's changed at all. So what did we kill ourselves for? What was the point?"

"So people will know that things need to change. So people will keep fighting and changing things for the better." Raf had told her something similar before he left for the Pacific. She'd asked why he would fight for a country that never quite accepted them, and he'd said "So others will have a better chance of being accepted." Now she continued, "Because they will change, you see. They are changing. Little by little, and slowly, but it is happening."

He turned and stared at her for a long time. She could only see him out of the corner of her eye, but she could feel the warmth of his gaze on her. Then he reached out and took her free hand in his. He'd never done it before; usually, it was her that reached out to him.

"See, this is why I said that dress would suit you," he said. "Not in a sartorial sense, but in a personal sense."

"What do you mean?"

"That dress is like the sun. And so are you."

Something in his voice made her breath hitch. She turned to him, but before she could think of anything to say, a car swerved in front of them, and she had to wrench her hand out of his to grip the steering wheel.

They were silent for the rest of the way. As Alba pulled into the drive, Derwin suddenly said, "I'd love to go to the beach with you and your friends."

Her heart leaped. "Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, then added, "If I'm pushing you too much—"

"No, you're not. I just decided I needed the change as well." With those enigmatic words, he went into the house with his purchase from the bookstore under his arm. "Besides, I think it would do Otto good to get out of the house once in a while," he added, stopping to pet an ecstatic Otto, who always greeted them after every trip as though they had been away not for a mere few hours, but for months and years. "He's getting a little stir-crazy."

Chapter 12

A/N: I have a lot of opinions about "Forever Amber", can't you tell? :))

Also, this is the dress I have in mind for Alba - it's from "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society", and when I saw it, I just thought it would make the perfect late 1940s version of Belle's yellow dress.

Taglist: @kitkat80

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #grunauer #grunauer overlord #overlord 2018 #grunauer x ofc

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justinspoliticalcorner · 6 months ago

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Trudy Ring at The Advocate:

When marriage equality was but a dream, right-wingers alleged that somehow it would cheapen marriage. Twenty years after the first same-sex couples married in Massachusetts, a new study proclaims that’s not the case. “For LGBT individuals and same-sex couples, their children, and the general U.S. population, the benefits of access to legal marriage for same-sex couples are unambiguously positive,” says the study by the RAND Corp., a nonprofit research organization. The study’s authors reviewed the existing research on the effects of marriage equality — 96 studies — and conducted their own new analyses. They found that “when states legalized marriage for same-sex couples, the physical health of LGBT individuals in those states improved; state-level rates of syphilis, HIV, and AIDS fell significantly; same-sex households in those states experienced more-stable relationships, higher earnings, and higher rates of homeownership; and sexual orientation–motivated hate crimes and employment discrimination against LGBT individuals declined,” the study says. “Children of same-sex couples benefited when their parents were granted access to legal marriage, and state-level adoption rates rose after marriage became legal for same-sex couples,” it continues.

There was “no evidence for a retreat from marriage,” the study notes. “New marriages increased by 1 percent to 2 percent among different-sex couples and about 10 percent overall,” it says, and there was “no consistent evidence” that cohabitation increased among unmarried different-sex couples or that divorces increased as a result of marriage equality. “Some of those who opposed the granting of marriage rights to same-sex couples predicted that doing so would undermine the institution of marriage, resulting in fewer couples marrying, more couples divorcing, and an overall retreat from family formation,” study coauthor Benjamin R. Karney said in a RAND press release. “Overall, the fears of opponents of same-sex marriage simply have not come to pass.” Karney is a psychology professor at the University of California, Los Angeles, and adjunct researcher at RAND.

A new study from the RAND Corporation reveals that the benefits of marriage equality for same-sex couples are “unambiguously positive” to the economic and moral well-being of the USA.

#RAND Corporation #RAND #LGBTQ+#Marriage Equality #Studies

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circeyoru · 8 months ago

Note

have you listened to the song "Partner in Crime" by Madilyn Mei? If not, I strongly recommend it because it makes me think of Unwanted Souls!Alastor. Specifically early days of when the reader tries to push him away

This is for {Unwanted Soul} , check MASTERLIST for the work

The one I listened to is Partners in Crime by Set it Off. But I gave this a listen and omg the lyrics are quite in sync with the story!!

Let me go on a song tangant. Stay if you wanna read.

**Heavy spoiler if you haven't caught up with this series!!!!!

You're right; this matches well in the beginning when Reader/you are trying to push Alastor away so you can go back to your little world of self-indulgence. But what happened afterwards is Alastor staying and showing you care and devotion you never had.

Now, if you keep up with everything I posted about {Unwanted Soul}, you'll know that I never planned for this oneshot to end up as a series with this much background and connections for you. So, in Part 1, it was entirely matched with the request and that long to avoid a continuation. But then you saw the results, hahahahaha~

Anyways. Part 1 never mentioned anything of a dilemma of you pushing Alastor away yet wanting him near you, the later parts did. If you piece back everything, you'll see what I mean with this song.

When you're gone I feel alone again The voices cannot hold my hand They keep me company at very best Distract me from my loneliness

Here, this is a reference to when you had that breakdown when Alastor was more than late for that grocery shopping. You hoped it work, but when it did, you just feel so lonely. Everywhere you see in the apartment, especially the living room since that's where Alastor always was. So you retreated into your room, where he barely had permission to enter. With low self-esteem and self-harming thoughts, you conjured a knife and just stabbed yourself to distract yourself from the mental pain.

Maybe I'm just an anomaly Even my demons have their families Truly something must be wrong with me To need you as much as I do

Naturally, this is a reference to your living years. You felt alienated in your life and among the people that surrounds you. Yes, you're stable and successful to the point that you don't have to worry about getting hungry or not having a house to return to. But you felt so empty with what you're doing. You wanted companionship that you can lean on. Then Alastor comes along and you tell yourself it's too good to be true and pushed him away to protect yourself from a heartache.

I was never meant to win I was never meant to win I was never meant to win Shut up!

Sidetracking, this is referring to you quitting your job as an informant for Lucifer. It's some time after you mastered the two powers you had but never used. You think it's too powerful and you're not worthy of it, so you hide it away. Then it went to thinking you're not fit to work for Lucifer, the King of Hell. Worse when you come to see him as a friend instead of your employer and superior being. It was easy to put a stop to it since Lucifer wasn't as persistent with keeping you by his side than Alastor. (haha this explained why I never put Lucifer as a love interest or show competition between him and Alastor)

Here's the reigns Take ahold of me Please don't let me go You do the talking Sew up my mouth if I can't keep it closed

This is where you basically accepted that Alastor was a yandere for you and let it progress. You know how it is with this type of character. You were just too damaged and desperate for something you longed for that you didn't care anymore. It was a good thing that Alastor saw how damaged you are by that self-harm you inflicted on yourself, better now than later when you were more firm with your feelings for him.

There's a dog barking right around the block And a big ol' whistle blow Run for it I'll keep em occupied for you Cause I love you, I love you so Left me hangin at the station But you'll be back for me soon

I'll switch the narrative here. This matches more for Alastor. This talks about the time when you sent him to the hotel to work (and leave you alone). A little interest that shouldn't be explored for or for you to personally be involved with. So Alastor does his best to keep the hotel matters at the hotel, never needing you to leave your home to investigate anything. Alastor knows you moved him out because you were caring too much and you're trying to stop it. He doesn't care, he wants you. But he'll be patient and give you time, he knows you'll be back for him. And boy was the wait worth it when he saw you fight for him.

Something tells me you aren't coming Guess that I'm truly doomed

When Alastor was nearly brought down by Adam and realized that his power wasn't enough (since it was limited by you). That moment, he was fully prepared to just teleport back to your apartment and stay there.

I'm 'bout to die Yet the only thing I find I'm worried about is you I'm 'bout to die Yet the thing on my mind seems to nearly be nothing but you

This is when, moments before your slumber, you told Alastor that you missed him and removed the rule that blocks his connection with you. You know you're not dying, maybe, but there was that slim chance. You also know that wouldn't be what Alastor thinks, and in a way, you reassure him.

I'm just a pawn in your game Not your partner in crime

You used to think that Alastor was using you for something. In fact, you looked for evidence to prove your theory. But the battles he started for you, the demons he killed for you, and the words that made up deovtion and promise to you, it all pointed against that. Isn't it all so weird?

You're slowly killing me And yet I don't mind (You were never meant to win) You're slowly killing me But please take your time

This is where you accepted that you're not gonna be able to push away Alastor anymore. So you take a back seat and let it happen. You were never meant to win against Alastor's love for you, you were never meant to push him out of your life. What Alastor's killing is the doubts and reason you have to push him away, it takes time to heal and for Alsator to find out about your past. So... You want him to take his time.

"Hey, Alastor." You smiled as you waved your hand at him to beckon him over.

"Yes, My Love?" Alastor skipped over, throwing away a demon's limb behind him comically which earned him a burst of carefree laughter from you.

In a swoft move, you pulled him to your level and gave him a butterfly kiss on the lips then stared into his eyes, "I love you, so dearly. Never leave me."

Alastor felt himself melting from your words and the plead he saw as his order to keep you forever. What ever were you thinking to suddenly say this? He won't question since you ended up demanding his attention and presence. So he smiled and nodded, "Of course. I'll never dream of leaving you. I love you too much for that to ever happen, My Beloved."

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