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love-fireflysong · 4 years

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Day 19: Domestic

Fandom: Tales of Phantasia Character(s): Chester Burklight, Arche Klein Words: 1309 Rating: General (minor swearing) Author’s Notes: It’s more Tales! Yay! Tried something different here, cause it’s not often I try to write dialogue between two people who absolutely love to tear the shit out of each other verbally, but still obviously really like and respect each other. I’ve noticed when reading other stories about them talking, that they tend to come across as them hating each other, just using the worst insults ever, with a sudden shift to ‘oh shit, I think I’m in love with you actually’. So I tried to find a nice middle ground but I don’t really know if I hit it.

“I seriously cannot believe that you’ve over a hundred years old, and you still can’t cook for shit.”

From where she was standing next to Chester in their kitchen, Arche poked him none to gently in his side, laughing at the way he squirmed to get away. “And I can’t believe that you’re still a rude little ass who insults his elders like this.”

Chester rubbed his side with a glare. “What elders? I don’t see anyone like that here. All I see is a pink abomination who acts like a six year-old.”

“Hey! I am a mature older woman, with years of knowledge and life experience behind me.”

He couldn’t help the snort that came out as he looked at her incredulously. “Mature? You? I’m definitely more mature then you are, and you’re like six times my age!”

Arche narrowed her eyes. “I’ll show you mature.” She abruptly pounced on him, tugging at both of his cheeks as she dragged Chester down to her level. He didn’t take anytime in returning the gesture in retaliation, and soon the both of them were standing in the kitchen and tugging at each others faces as they continued to insult each other.

“How is this proving you’re more mature?”

“You’re fighting back aren’t ya? That means you’re nothing but a child!”

“Child?! You’re the one that managed to burn the potato stew to the pot!”

“Not my fault you have crappy cookware!”

“Not my fault you’re a crappy cook!”

“Bastard!”

“Shrew!”

Neither is quite sure who let’s go first, but before they know it, they’re both glaring at the other, cheeks bright red from the constant pinching as Arche is now grabbing onto the sleeves of Chester’s shirt and he’s holding firmly onto her upper arms. They hold the the glare for as long as they can, but soon enough the both of them break down laughing, foreheads pressed together, and their grip on the other the only thing keeping them from collapsing to the floor in their giggles.

Soon enough, that too tapers off and the two of them are left standing in the middle of the kitchen, wide smiles on their faces. She’s been missing this banter between them even more then she thought she would over the last hundred years, and if anyone has learned to make every moment count, it’s her. So, taking advantage of the moment in question, Arche steals a quick, but firm, kiss. One that Chester barely manages to return before she’s let go of his shirt and turns back to the pot of what was supposed to be potato stew. But instead of chunks of white potatoes, carrots, and onions in a rich, brown, pork sauce, all that was in there was misshapen lumps of charcoal in a black, viscous sludge that had managed to burn to the edges of the cast iron cooking pot. She could only groan in dismay and make an exaggerated pout at the sight.

"I really thought I had it this time too...”

With his own groan, this one in grim acceptance of his fate, Chester grabbed at the pot and extinguished the flame from the stove. “And this is why I’m the one who cooks in this relationship. I cook, you clean. And then I clean up after you.”

Arche stuck her tongue out over her shoulder, but grabbed her broom and made to follow Chester outside. “Maybe it’s still salvageable, or edible. I mean, it can’t be a complete loss can it?”

When he reaches the door that lead to the outside of the the house, he turned to face her with a look of disbelief and disgust. “I say this with full offense intended, but I would have a better chance of survival fighting Dhaos alone and naked, then eating this crud.” Arche made to smack him in his ass with the handle of her broom, but he was already outside dumping the black concoction into the hole that had been so-loving dubbed ‘Arche’s Cooking Pot’ when she had first tried making a quiche a few weeks back. She debated on smacking Chester with the broom anyway, but decided that it might send him into the hole too and she wasn’t nearly that mean. Or angry.

“You think a Fire Ball would help to burn some of the gunk off?”

The snort that Chester made was so sudden, that he almost dropped the pot into the hole with the stew. A good thing he didn’t, he had a strange feeling that the combination of Arche’s ‘cooking’ failures would manage to eat through the cast iron pot almost instantly. “I think a Fire Ball would help to destroy our only cooking pot we have left.”

She frowned, knowing that he was right but didn’t want to admit it. She watched in silence instead as he scraped out as much of the charred food as he was able to before sighing. Unfortunately for her, there wasn’t a whole lot that her magic was gonna be able to do for them here. So she turned to go back inside and see what they could manage for supper with any ingredients they still had leftover.

“Hey, Arche.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder a little hesitant and distrustful. It was never a good thing when Chester let his voice get that soft and thoughtful. Usually meant he was thinking about Ami, or that he was thought he was being too harsh with her. She didn’t like soft, caring Chester nearly as much as hot-headed, brash Chester. Soft Chester had his time and place to be sure, but Annoying Chester was much more fun to deal with. Annoying Chester she likes. She really likes him a lot, actually.

“Yeah...?”

“I think we still have some rice left over from when we did hashed beef a couple of nights ago. Go see if Cress and Mint have any tofu. I’ll make some Mabo Curry tonight.”

Arche winced. Ami it was. “Sure. No problem.”

She hears Chester sigh and braces herself for whatever is coming next. “And see if their willing to let you have some fruit too.” Apparently it was a two-fer tonight. Just her luck. Man, she really messed up on that potato stew.

“You gonna have enough time to make both the curry and a fruit dish?”

“Nope. That’s why your in charge of the dessert.”

Arche scoffs and tries to defuse the tense atmosphere building. She can’t salvage supper, but she can try to salvage this at least. They can have that talk later tonight. “Thought you said I was a shitty cook.”

He turns his head to look over his shoulder at her, still scrapping methodically away at the pot, though he’s almost done at this point. “You are. The worst cook I have ever met. Pretty sure you’re gonna poison me one day.” He see’s her open her mouth to rebuke or argue or something and cuts her off. “That being said, unless you’ve somehow gotten worse over the past hundred years, I do remember you being at least half-decent at those fruit desserts.”

She mentally pats her back in victory and can’t help the grin that comes to her face. “Oh, just you wait. I’ve gotten even better. I’m gonna knock your boots off with my fruit cake! You’re gonna regret ever calling me an awful cook.” Arche hooks her leg over her broom and fly’s towards the house where Cress and Mint are staying, but manages to overhear Chester’s next sentence as he practically yells it out to her.

“I’m already regretting asking you to help in the first place.”

With a wave of her hand, she sends a small Stone Blast towards Chester over the pit and laughs at his startled swear and the finger he sends up to her in retaliation.

#pride month prompt challenge #my writing #tales of phantasia #arche klein #chester burklight #archester #i am single handily bring life back to the top tag arent i?#god the poor people following that tag must be sick of me by now

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spencersmagic · 3 years

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a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :)

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @inlovewithbabygirl @galaxydefenderjulia @username2002

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patt-writes-stuff · 3 years

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Violetgrass (Xiao x f!reader)

Pairing: Yan!Xiao x f!reader

Word count: 6.7K+

Warnings: not the most canon complaint cuz the timeline for the archon War is a little blurry? Angst with no happy ending, major and repeated character death, semi-detailed descriptions of blood, injuries, and violence. Unhealthy and toxic relationships, yandere themes, mentions of stalking, controlling behavior, mentions of kid-napping, forced captivity. Unhealthy mindsets and generally xiao’s kinda slowly losing his sanity. Some delusions. Allusions of starvation/dehydration (it’s like one sentence). Pleas do not read this if any of the previously mentioned topics trigger you in any way.

Genre: Angst and Yandere

Tags/Aus: Mythology Au, Reincarnation Au

Summary: You and Xiao were lovers during the Archon War. You were his paradise, his bliss, and, unfortunately, a fragile mortal who was taken away far too soon. However Celestina was kind enough, or perhaps cruel enough, to bring you back to Xiao, only to rip you out of his loving embrace once more. This happens again and again, each time far more painfully than the last. Even an Adeptus such as Xiao can only take so much before he snaps though. This time, he’s gonna make sure that no one, not even you, can take his bliss away.

A/N: This is my piece for the Attack on Academia Mythology Au Collab!! Be sure to check the rest of them, they’re all super awesome and made by amazing writers!

You’ve heard the myth about the Vigilant Yaksha and the violetgrass maiden, haven’t you?

It’s said that the two are eternally intertwined, destined to love each other, only to be ripped apart by both her mortality and the cruelty of the gods. The tale itself goes like this…

The first time the Adeptus and his mortal lover met was back when the Archon War was still roaring. The smell of blood and misery filled the air and Rex Lapis had yet to claim his title as the Geo Archon. Despite this, some managed to find joy and serenity in these troubling periods.

The maiden was one of those people. She found joy in frolicking through the fields and climbing the highest mountains to collect qingxin flowers and, her personal favorite, violetgrass, whenever she had the time. Though climbing up the steep mountains and jagged peaks of Liyue was indeed dangerous, the damsel had become quite skilled at climbing, her hold rarely ever slipping, no falls or cuts of any sort.

Until one day, the maiden was climbing up a particular mountain. It was a troublesome one, for there were no proper footholds or protruding stones to grab on to. Still, the pretty violetgrass that was just a foot or two away from her, swaying gently with the wind, was far too tempting to not collect. It would look so lovely in a flower crown, or maybe a vase, perhaps she could flatten it out to make a bookmark or-

A piercing shriek escaped the mortal. Whilst her thoughts had been elsewhere, she’d stopped on a small ledge that was far too fragile to support her weight, the rock beneath the maiden gave away to nothing before she could react.

She shut their eyes tightly, bracing herself for an impact that would surely leave her battered and bruised, if not dead.

However, it never came.

Instead, she was caught mid-air by a pair of strong arms that secured their hold under the mortal woman’s knees and neck. She didn’t open her eyes right away, for fear that she would still fall, choosing instead to catch their breath. Once her savior landed safely on the ground, something she was able to detect due to the thud of shoes against the earth, she slowly opened her eyes.

Upon opening them, her eyes met with the piercing amber eyes of a young man with dark hair (the color of the ocean at night, she thought dreamily) with pretty teal bangs framing his even prettier face. His brows were furrowed slightly, thin lips twisted into what seemed to be a permanent frown. In her still dazed state, she couldn’t help but think that he was far too handsome to look so dreadfully serious.

After an intense moment of eye contact, perhaps too intense for two strangers that had met only seconds prior, he let her go in a rather unceremonious manner, causing her to squawk in surprise, knees buckling under the unexpected weight. She had not yet had a chance to gather her bearings after such a terrifying event.

Instead of asking if she was alright, the young man simply said, in a rather crude and callous manner, “You should be more careful, mortal. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you would’ve surely broken your neck.”

She gawked at him. Mortal? Why would he refer to her in such an… odd way?

The maiden looked at him up and down, as if trying to understand just what was wrong with this poor man. Suddenly, it struck her. She’d been an absolute idiot to not have noticed sooner. From the tattoo that adorned his right arm to the way he held himself, it had been so obvious.

Her savior was an Adeptus.

He wasn’t just an Adeptus, no. He was much more than that. He was one of the Adepti who served under Rex Lapis. He was one of the five Yakshas who kept her and the people of Liyue safe if the mask tied to his belt was any indication. And instead of killing demons or evil gods, he’d taken the time to save her.

Before she could muster an adequate thank you, he, who she’d now realized was Adeptus Xiao, was already leaving, uttering a quick “Please be careful,” on his way.

Quickly, and without really thinking, she grabbed onto his wrist, blabbering out the words, “Wait, don’t go! You must allow me to repay you for your generous actions!”

The amber-eyed Adeptus opened his mouth, ready to declare that it was unnecessary, but before he could, the damsel spoke up, “I could cook you something in return. How about almond tofu?” with a small giggle she added, “I assure you it’s sweeter than those dreams you eat.”

To both of their surprises, Xiao uttered a quiet, almost shy, “Yes.”

The Adeptus didn’t know what had come over him. All he knew is that there was something about the way her eyes sparkled and her lips moved, her soothing, melodious voice. It made his heart pound in a way it never had before.

And so, she cooked him some almond tofu, and they- well, she- talked as he ate the mouthwatering sweet.

He came back the day after that one and the one after that, followed on by the one after that, and so on. Xiao hadn’t meant to, really he hadn’t. But there was something about the maiden that just brought him a peace he had never experienced before. Her warm embrace and soft, gentle words were all he needed to keep fighting, to keep living, even. She was his paradise, his bliss. It wasn’t long until they were mutually infatuated with one another, deeply in love.

Every time he would visit her home, he would always bring her the flowers she so adored. Glaze lilies, silk flowers, and of course, violetgrass. Xiao had even gifted her a small broach, one made of the finest noctilucous jade, shaped like the downturned purple flower.

Unfortunately, everything is temporary for those punished with immortality.

The first time Xiao lost his maiden was, as he remembers, a rainy day. Despite the dreary weather, she had decided to go violetgrass picking since they’re always best picked after the rain.

But, dear Archons, what a dreadful idea that had been.

While the purple flower is indeed best picked after it rains, it is also the time when rocks are most… slippery.

So, as the maiden was climbing up the steep mountains of Juyen Karst, her right hand’s hold on the rock slipped, causing her palm to be cut open by a particularly jagged piece of stone. She hissed in, watching as blood began to ooze out. Panic started to seep in, there was no ledge for her to tend to her wound, and the cut was far too big for her to continue to climb up or down.

Dread began to fill her to her very core, she felt burning hot with unchecked anxiety, fear begging to settle into her gut in the most uncomfortable of manners. She should have waited for Xiao as he had asked of her. Ever since they had first met, a year ago to the day, he’d been so adamant on wanting to go with her to ensure her safety. She’d only wanted to surprise him with some when he returned home. The maiden was so sure it would’ve been a romantic anniversary gift, seeing as they were the cause of their meeting…

She’d been such a fool.

The violetgrass maiden attempted to climb down but Celestia seemed to laugh at her feeble attempts. She stretched her leg, trying to find the foothold she had used previously. However, her foot slipped and before she knew it, she was falling, just as she had been a year ago.

Horror filled her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe, her life flashed before her eyes, and then suddenly she remembered some words her lover had uttered to her one night under the glow of the moonlight when it was but the two of them in each other’s arms:

“If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door, call out my name, Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.”

And so she called, at the top of her lungs, as loud as she could muster. The seconds seemed to turn to hours as she shut her eyes and waited to feel the strong arms of her lover, to hear the safety of his heartbeat.

But it never came.

Or rather, it came too late.

By the time Xiao had finished up the demonic creatures that threatening Liyue, by the time he’d answered her call, he was already too late.

Upon manifesting in the air out of nothing, he was greeted by the side of his love’s pitiful, mortal body. Her garments were bloody, the basket she carried her flowers in laid a few feet away from her body,her neck bent in a painfully awkward way.

Xiao felt so helpless. He was so helpless.

He could do no more than hold back the tears stinging his eyes and attempting to shake her awake.

The second time Xiao met the maiden was no more than a century after the first time. The Archon War was not yet over and sickness plagued every nook and cranny, taking the lives of hundreds upon thousands.

The two star-crossed lovers were reunited one clear summer night when the maiden was wandering aimlessly through the fields of Lingju Pass. She knew it was dangerous during these times, especially with how ill she had been feeling as of late. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d already spent hours tossing and turning in her bed. Sleep, however, refused to come. Instead, she felt the overwhelming urge to leave the safety of her bed and go there. It was as if someone had tied a rope around her waist and was tugging at it persistently, insisting she follows.

And so she followed.

Upon reaching a clearing, she froze. In front of her very eyes was a sitting Stonehide Lawachurl, the type even the fiercest warriors in your village struggled with. The maiden quickly started backing away, praying to the Lord of Geo that it wouldn’t sense her presence. Her prayers were in vain, however, for as soon as the thought escaped her, she stepped on a twig, making it snap and effectively alerting the fearsome monster of her presence.

She shook in terror as parts of the Lawachurl’s rocky exterior began to glow with geo elemental energy. She hadn’t expected anything of the sort to happen so she hadn’t brought her sword, meaning she couldn’t exactly fight it, definitely not without a vision at least. Running wasn’t much of an option considering her body’s weak and ill state. She could try to outrun it, sure, but it wouldn’t be long before she was driven to a coughing fit because of it.

Before life had a chance to flash before her eyes, a masked young man appeared. Distantly, she recognized him as one of the adepti and watched him easily defeat the Stonehide Lawachurl with a series of short, consecutive plunges. She couldn’t help but watch him, mouth agape in an expression of pure, unadulterated awe. The Adeptus didn’t even need a claymore to break through the creature’s thick, hard exterior. As bad as she felt for not assisting him, she knew she weren’t exactly in any position to lend a hand. Not that she needed to, though, for soon enough the monster crumbled into nothing but red and black smoke.

After a second of panting over the remains of what was left of the creature, polearm in hand, Xiao turned to her and felt his blood run cold.

It was her.

How could it be her? She had died long ago. He knew she had, he’d cradled her cold body as tears streamed down his face. He’d taken her lifeless body back to her family. He’d left flowers at her grave.

This had to be some sort of sick joke, he thought, perhaps the karmic debt was finally getting to him, just like it had his fellow Yakshas.

Suddenly, his amber eyes zeroed in on a broach she had pinned to her dress. A Violetgrass broach, to be exact. Made of noctilucous jade, just like the one he had given her. The one he’d made for her with his own hands. There was no denying it was the very one. Only, how could that be? He had ensured it had been buried with you…

But it was an indisputable fact. That broach was the one he had made for his love and the woman before him was her. It was her from her wide eyes, fixated on him with the same wonder they had always had when they looked at him. Her hair was the same color and texture, and it framed her face in the same way. It was her.

The beginnings of tears stung at his eyes. Perhaps Celestia had brought you back? Perhaps they’d finally realized, just as he had always known, that her death was cruel and unfair. That it wasn’t meant to be. That she was meant to be in his arms, happy and safe.

“Uhm- excuse me, Adeptus Xiao, are you alright?” She inquired worriedly, eyes solely on him, filled to the brim with concern.

‘Oh Archons’, he couldn’t help but think distantly, ‘I’ve missed her voice.’

Instead of running up to her and crushing him in his loving embrace, he stayed where he was, took off his mask, nodded briskly, swallowing as if to avoid the tightness in his throat. She didn’t seem to remember him yet, so there was no use in frightening her.

Before he could muster up the courage to speak to her, his love began to cough furiously, though she attempted to cover it up. She didn’t want to be rude to her savior, after all.

“Ha, pardon me, sir, I’ve just been feeling a bit under the weather is all,” she told him feebly.

He nodded brusquely, before uttering, “I shall return you home safely.”

“Oh no, I assure you, you’ve done more than enough for me. I can’t ask that of you,” she fumbled hurriedly, though his words were more of a statement than a question.

Xiao had never been one for unnecessary- or at least what he thought were unnecessary- words, so instead of saying anything, the Adeptus simply grabbed her by the waist and teleported you home, after asking where home was, of course.

The next day, the Yaksha visited the maiden’s home, a bushel of violetgrass flowers in hand. She’d been understandably surprised, yet thrilled that the dark-haired man was visiting her. She hadn’t expected someone as busy as him to make time for a regular person such as herself, especially not during these times.

“These are my favorite flowers, y’know? They’re just so beautiful,” the maiden exclaimed gleefully.

He did know. That had been one of the reasons he had brought them to her. The second reason was because of what happened last time, in her previous life, he supposed. Celestia had been kind enough to gift him a second chance with his love, and he was going to ensure that it did not go to waste.

And so, every day he would visit her. Some days he would bring silk flowers, or glaze lilies, while other days he would bring her loach pearls and core lapis. Not a day went by where he would not appear in front of the damsel’s house, a gift in hand, ready to hear her ramble about whatever that beautiful brain of hers desired to prattle on about.

“You’re simply too generous Xiao,” she’d told him playfully while she laid in her bed, as she was still unwell, the Adeptus seated in a plush chair next to it. “There has to be something I can give you in return for everything. I won’t take no for an answer.”

He thought for a moment, before asking, tentatively, “Do you know how to make almond tofu?”

He’d never forget her dazzling smile that day, as she shakily got out of her bed, latching onto the support he offered while she gathered her bearings, and marched to her kitchen, enthusiastically preparing the sweet treat as she talked about a book she’d been reading, one that’d been gifted to her by a friend, titled Moonlit Bamboo Forest.

The lovers did this every day for months. Xiao brought her some medicinal tea that Rex Lapis himself said could cure her ailments. They did indeed begin to see improvement in her health and Xiao couldn’t help but feel immense relief. This time, he wouldn’t lose her for certain.

Until the plagues reached her village.

She’d been one of the first to catch it since the village doctor came to check on her so often, he’d spread it to her. The plague, coupled with her previous illness, weakened her body in a manner of days. One day, Xiao went to get some medicine his fellow adepti had guaranteed would help the maiden feel better.

When he returned later that day, however, he found her body in the bed, cold and without a pulse, the stench of death and sickness thick in the air.

That was the second time he had lost her.

The third time the star-crossed lovers met was long after the archon war. Liyue was now its own nation with its own name, the great center of wealth and commerce. The Yakshas were now a thing of the past, having succumbed to their karmic debt. Eventually, they all fell in one way or another.

All but Xiao, who remained a constant throughout it all.

Over the past decade or so, Xiao had taken to staying at the Wangshu Inn when he wasn’t slaying monsters. The people were nice enough, though he had long given up on attempting to form emotional connections with others. It would only lead to grief, just like it had when he’d lost his love or his fellow Yakshas, and there was only so much grief anyone, mortal or not, could take before their thread of sanity snapped in half. And with his Karmic Debt being as bad as it was…

As Xiao sat at the edge of the balcony of the Wangshu Inn, legs dangling below, he couldn’t help but think of her, his maiden. He wondered if, perhaps, Celestia would give him a third chance and bring her back to him. Honestly, the Adeptus wasn’t sure he wanted a third chance with her. While he did miss the sound of her heartbeat and the sweet words she’d utter to him and only him, he doubted he could bear the pain of having her ripped away from him once again.

It’s as if Celestia was taunting Xiao. As if the Archons above were bored and found some sick amusement in his pain as if his emotions were nothing but a game to them. What other explanations were there for what happened next?

“Um- excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?” An angelic voice he knew far too well, missed far too much, spoke.

Xiao looked up and lo and behold, it was her. Same hair, same eyes, same violetgrass broach.

She stood behind him clutching a plate of something, though the angle wouldn’t allow him to make up what it was. Her face adorned that same anxious smile of hers and he could feel himself falling in love with the maiden all over again. He knew he should say no. He shouldn’t allow her back in, not when he’s already lost her so many times before, not when they’d both suffered so much just by being together.

He nodded before looking away.

He shouldn’t but he would.

“I hope you don’t mind me intruding on your quiet time,” she said softly once she had settled beside him. When he made no indication of answering, she continued, “To be honest, you just seemed so… sad, melancholic even. Something about it, even if I don’t really know you, doesn’t sit right with me. It makes my heart feel heavy.”

The violetgrass maiden received no response, except for a soft grunt of acknowledgment, so small she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. Still, it was all she needed to perk up and stretch her arms out, offering him the plate she’d been holding.

“Here, I got this for you,” she told him, “word around the streets is you’ve got quite an appetite for it! Though this is my first time staying at the Inn, so I’m not sure if it’s any good here.”

Xiao looked at her, amber eyes filled with love. He was glad to know that, despite living through many lives now, she was still the girl he’d met back then, as sweet as he’d remembered her, just as caring.

He shouldn’t have but he took the plate from her hands and began to eat.

Instead of saying anything, she simply watched him as he ate, a silly little smile making its way to her face. The look on his lady’s face had him growing hot and turning beet red

“So,” he coughed out, embarrassed, “where’d you get a broach like that?”

“Oh, this one?” She inquired, pointing at the shiny violetgrass broach, “I found it lying on the ground one day when I was out picking lotus heads for dinner. I asked just about everyone in Liyue Harbor if it was theirs, but no luck. I eventually decided to just keep it for myself. It is a shame though, whoever lost it must truly be upset over losing such a beautiful piece of jewelry. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

He nodded along, thinking that, well, the broach actually was with its owner.

“It’s as if it were fate though,” she prattled on happily, watching the stars as she talked, “Violeygrass is my very favorite, always has been really. Though, I’ve always been too scared to climb up for them myself. You see, ever since I was little, I’ve had this recurring nightmare where I fell to my death while collecting some.”

The Adeptus stilled for a second, tense. She hadn’t ever brought up dreams about her past life. Maybe this time was different, maybe she’d remember what he did!

“Oh my Archons,” she exclaimed, face warm with embarrassment, scratching the back of her head sheepishly, “I’ve been going on and on! I’m so sorry, something about you feels so familiar. It makes me feel like I can tell you just about everything. Is that weird?”

His heart was racing like it hadn’t in years, decades even.

“You can tell me whatever you want,” he answered shortly, “I don’t mind listening. You have a nice voice.”

The maiden covered her hands with her face, flustered, and Xiao let out a rare smile, soft and gentle. This time would be different. He’d make sure of it.

After that day, the maiden began to visit the Wangshu Inn often, whenever she could spare time away from her job. Unbeknownst to her, however, Xiao followed at a distance when she wasn’t visiting him, to ensure her safety. He knew it wasn’t right, truly, but he had no other choice. He had to, or else he’d risk losing her to an accident such as last time, fall ill again, attacked by monsters or, Celestia forbid, be kidnapped by a group of treasure hoarders.

He’d have to get rid of any and all threats.

So, Xiao continued to follow his maiden from a distance, he made sure she was in tip-top shape, and ruthlessly slaughtering all enemies that he deemed a threat to her, until he was certain nothing would take her away from him again.

Except for one threat. Himself.

The third time he’d lost her was on a beautiful night, not that Xiao could remember it well. His love had insisted on the two of them taking a walk. She’d reasoned that the cool night air would help him regain control. His karmic debt had been weighing on him an awful lot recently and she simply couldn’t bear to see him in such excruciating pain.

The walk had started off rather pleasantly, as far as Xiao could remember. He could remember nudging his hand against hers, wanting to hold it but being far too shy to do so. With a laugh and a teasing remark, the maiden interlaced their fingers, bringing up their hands to place a gentle kiss on his, making the tips of his ears redden in bashfulness. They’d walked a little further until they encountered a group of hilichurls accompanied by a pyro abyss mage. Without skipping a beat, Xiao stepped in front of his lover, polearm appearing in his hand.

And then…

Everything went dark. Xiao’s mind was nothing but a void, pain exploded in every inch of his body as his karmic debt returned in full force to punish him for the slaughtering he’d committed.

When he came to, his mind was hazy, unsure of what had occurred. The Yaksha sat up, ignoring the way his muscles protested against it, and looked around, trying to make sense of what had happened and where he was.

Xiao froze when his eyes locked onto her pitiful body laying a few feet ahead of him in the grass surrounded by arrowheads and broken hilichurl masks, blood turning ice-cold. If he ignored the gashes across her body, the ones that were unmistakably made by the bloody spear he was clutching and not some hilichurl club or bow and arrow, and the blood that stained her pretty garments, he could almost fool himself into thinking she was asleep.

This had been his doing.

After a few beats of stunned silence, the dark-haired Adeptus lurched forward grabbing onto her cold body and shaking ruthlessly, calling out her name frantically, as if it would make his love wake up, make her cradle his face lovingly and ask why he’d been crying.

Xiao looked up onto the sky scornfully, looking up at Celestia with nothing short of pure, unadulterated loathing. He was willing to bet they were all mocking him right now, laughing at how weak and pathetic he was, at how time after time, he’d failed to love her enough, to keep her alive. They did this on purpose he was sure of it, those bastards. Well, if they could play dirty like this, so could he. He’d get her back, he’d keep her alive by his side.

And just like that, Xiao’s thread of sanity snapped.

“You can’t take her away from me anymore,” he spoke to the sky nonsensically, “I won’t let you. I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to kill, you won’t take my bliss away from me again.”

“That story was quite depressing,” Chongyun stated, ceasing his footsteps to look to his friend, Xingqiu.

“Ah yes, it is indeed, my liege,” the navy blue-haired gentleman agreed, “However, I’m glad this book included the whole myth, instead of making me wait for the next volume like the last one.”

The light blue-haired boy rolled his eyes before saying, “As much as I appreciated you reading the book aloud, I don’t see how this aids us in our search for (Y/N).”

The reason the boys had been searching across all of Liyue, was because their aforementioned friend had mysteriously gone missing. Everything had been as it normally was until one day, (Y/N) didn’t show up at her job in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, something that was incredibly unusual of her, especially without a warning to her boss or coworkers. This led Hu Tao, with the insistence of Zhongli, to ask Chongyun and Xingqiu, two of (Y/N)’s friends, for help in the search for her. They had also contacted the milelith, but they had told them that she’d not been missing for long enough to warrant a search party. The two had, of course, been quick to help, though Xingqiu had been rather enraptured in a book of Liyue Myths, simply insisting he’d have to take it with him so he could read while he searched for her.

“But my liege,” Xingqiu exclaimed playfully, golden eyes shining with mirth, “this story is of utmost importance in our search for our beloved friend. Why, for all we know, (Y/N) might’ve been kidnapped by the Vigilant Yaksha himself! She has always had a habit of climbing mountains to pick violetgrass like the maiden in the book”

“Do not be so ridiculous,” Chongyun said, rolling his eyes, “I doubt an Adeptus such as himself would ever commit such an atrocity of that degree against a citizen of Liyue. Besides, that myth is incredibly old and there’s very little evidence that proves its validity. It’s more likely that (Y/N) was taken by a demon. That is why I asked you to accompany me to Wuwang Hill.”

“I was simply joking Chongyun,” he said with a laugh before turning solemn, “However, regretfully I feel as though it is time for the two of us to return to Liyue Harbor for the day. You’ve just about run out of popsicles and with this heat, I have no doubt you’ll overheat if we keep going.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” The blue-eyed boy admitted. “I hope (Y/N) is alright wherever she is.”

“I do as well,” Xingqiu agreed, “Perhaps Hu Tao and Zhongli have had more luck.”

Chongyun nodded, “Xiangling also said she’d ask her customers if they’d seen her.”

With that, the two boys made their way back to Lihue Harbor, oblivious to just how true Xingqiu’s joke had been.

Xiao sighed as he climbed up the stairs of Wangshu Inn up to his room. Of course, he did not need sleep, it was a mortal need in and of itself, or a room for that matter but Verr Goldet had insisted that he should have his own space, somewhere he could rest after long days of slaughtering demons such as this one.

The Adeptus turned the door handle, opening the door of an empty, pristine room. While the room had all of the furniture the other Inn rooms had, it still felt unnervingly empty, without any clothes or trinkets laying around. The only personal object of Xiao’s in the room was an orange teapot that rested on the nightstand.

Quickly, Xiao opened the tea pot’s lid, and within seconds he was standing in front of a Liyue style mansion, surrounded by mountains that he crafted to look like the ones from when the two of you had met all those centuries ago. Eager to see you, Xiao ignored Tubby’s greetings and opened the front door, making quick work of taking off his shoes before climbing the stairs to the second floor, where your room was.

He opened the door to find you sat atop your bed, alert and glaring at him fiercely. The Adeptus rolled his amber eyes, it seemed you were still trying to act out and be defiant. Looking around your room, mostly to make sure you hadn’t tried to smash the windows with the desk chair like last time (you seemed to not comprehend the fact that there was no escaping the serenetea pot, since it was a world Xiao himself had created), his eyes settled on the plate of bamboo shoot soup he’d left for you this morning, along with a still filled to the brim cup of water. He narrowed his eyes at that. It simply wouldn’t do. You’d been here for about a week now and you still refused to eat or drink anything he brought you, except for a few nibbles and sips he’d managed to threaten coax out of you. Xiao, admittedly, didn’t know very much about humans, but he did know they needed to eat and drink to stay alive. He’d learned that the hard way on his last few tries.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Xiao inquired before adding, “If you don’t like this food you should come out and say it. I can ask Smiley Yanxiao for something that suits your taste more.”

You let out a poorly suppressed scoff. This nut-job didn’t seem to get that out of all the things wrong in this situation, the last thing you were concerned about was the food. Dear Archons, just what is wrong with this man? First, he had the gall of taking you captive one evening when you were going home from work and now he had the audacity to expect you to act like a complacent little toy and go along with this insanity?

And to think that when you’d first met him whilst accompanying the Traveler and Paimon, who had been commissioned by Director Hu Tao to gather some cor lapis for a client’s ceremony, you’d been absolutely smitten with the awkward and stoic Adeptus. Everything from his pretty black hair to his captivating bright eyes had your knees weak. So much so that you’d ignored all of the red flags, like how he’d stare at you in such an intense manner, with eyes fixated on you and only you, how he seemed to distrust Aether, a trusted friend of his, when it came to him accompanying you, or how as soon as you’d met you had the horrible sensation of being watched at all times of the day. Just thinking back to all the warning signs you’d missed made your skin crawl. Perhaps if you hadn’t been such a lovesick idiot you’d be at home right now or eating dinner with Chongyun and Xingqiu, trying out one of Xianglings crazy concoctions containing slime condensate or whopper flower nectar.

Instead, you were trapped in an artificial world, in a room that looked horrifyingly similar to your own back home.

You were snapped out of your reverie by Xiao moving closer to your bed.

“Let me go home,” you said, hating how your voice cracked at the end. You felt so pathetic, you always prided yourself on being a headstrong independent person, and here you were, cowering at his closeness and avoiding all eye contact, as if looking at his pain filled eyes would ruin you.

“You are home,” he retorted, his voice bordering on delusion, “This is your home. This is where you're safe. Where you stay alive and I get to keep you forever.”

Xiao stretched out his arm, as if to cradle your cheek in his hand but before he got to you flinched away, backing away from him as far as you could, back hitting the headboard. You looked away, trying to ignore how guilty the pain that flashed through his eyes made you feel. You shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty. He should be. He’s the one that stole you away from your home. He’s the one that ruined your life.

You look down at the violetgrass broach clasped onto your blouse in nothing short of complete and utter loathing. You’d been so captivated by it when you’d first found it at the antique shop while window shopping with Mr. Zhongli.

It had been exactly six months since you’d moved away from your home in the sleepy Qingce Village in exchange for a job at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and a quaint apparently in the bustling city of Liyue Harbor. To celebrate, your coworker (and the person you had been shadowing in order to learn the ropes of the funeral business) Mr. Zhongli had insisted on going to Third-Round Knockout for some dinner. You’d been a bit hesitant at first, mostly because you knew well of the elegant gentleman’s habit of forgetting his wallet, but you enjoyed hearing his stories far too much to say no. Something about his retellings of stories about the Adepti just enraptured you.

Afterward, the two of you had decided to walk around the city and look at the displays in shops, since you had decided that your hard work warranted splurging a little as a reward of sorts. You had of course asked Mr. Zhongli to join you since he had such exquisite taste and an eye for the authentic, you valued his opinion greatly.

That’s how the two of you ended up at Xigu Antiques, browsing the display case. All of a sudden, your eyes zeroed in on a broach that resembles a little violetgrass plant, its downturned leaves made up of what you could only guess was noctilucous jade. It was, for lack of a better word, stunning.

“Mr. Zhongli,” you exclaimed, tugging at his sleeve to call his attention away from a porcelain teapot with gold little geo symbols as decoration, “what do you think of this one? It’s quite beautiful isn’t it?”

The dark-haired man looked at the broach you were pointing at before going tense, a small gasp escaping him as his beautiful amber eyes widened slightly. You looked at him in concern, you’d never seen the man come this close to losing his composure.

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat, “is this the one you’re thinking of purchasing? I’d advise against it. Even by just a mere glance, I can tell it is not made of real noctilucous jade.”

Strangely, you felt as though he wasn’t being truthful with you.

“Well, that’s alright. I don’t really care about the authenticity and it’s pretty cheap. If it is a fake, I don’t really have much to lose. Plus, I’ve always loved violetgrass. This broach could be like a little homage to that!” You answered, letting out a little giggle.

“You’ve heard of the Vigilant Yaksha and the violetgrass maiden, am I correct?” He asked.

“Oh, yes I have! My Gran used to tell it to me and the rest of the village children back when I was young. It always made me so sad, how they can never be together. It was pretty silly now that I think about it, but I would bawl my eyes out every time. The rest of the kids would tease me a bit but I just couldn’t control it,” you reminisced.

“I- well, yes in any case, they say that anyone who possesses that broach will be cursed to meet the same fate,” Zhongli added, trying his best to dissuade you from buying the old broach, dread creeping into his stomach as he thought of what might happen to you- to the both of you.

“Of course you’d believe old supersticiones, Mr. Zhongli,” you said, letting out a lighthearted laugh that could make any heart, even one of stone, melt, “it’s very on brand! However, I’m sure there’s no need to be worried, after all, it’s nothing but an old myth! And even if it is real, you yourself said that it’s not made of the real stuff.”

Before Zhongli could figure a way to change the unchangeable, you had already purchased the broach. As you kept on leading the funeral consultant around the streets of Liyue Harbor, bag in hand, prattling on about anything and everything, he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink. A single thought, the same one you would later have, crossed his mind.

If only you hadn’t bought that goddamned broach.

In a fit of anger and desperation, you ripped the detested broach off of your shirt, throwing it at Xiao. You hoped it would somehow break into millions of tiny pieces.

After a beat of silence, Xiao spoke, “Eat.”

“No,” you yelled, before breaking down into a fit of angry sob, “I hate you!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Xiao lurched forward so close your noses were almost touching, and for a second you think he’s gonna hit you but instead, he simply rests his forehead on yours and closes his eyes. When he pulls away, your sobs have waned into hiccups. Without saying so much as a word Xiao clasps the violetgrass broach onto your shirt, where it belongs.

“Eat,” is all he says, placing the now lukewarm soup into your hands.

Scared, tired, and sad, you do as he said, taking small sips of the admittedly tasty dish. He does nothing more than stare at her with those intense amber eyes of his for a few minutes before turning around and heading towards the door.

Before he leaves he turns his head back to look at her and says, “I don’t care if you don’t like me. Hate me for all I care. As long as you stay alive I don’t care.”

#Xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin impact Xiao x reader #yan! Xiao x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #Xiao #genshin impact #tw: yandere #flavor: xiao #patt’s creations

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secretobsessionstuff · 3 years

Text

Blair's Night Out

Sober, they took an uber to the bar. The plan was to not be so sober on the ride home. Mateo and Shawn successfully went through with this plan. It was a different story for Blair and Dakota.

Sober and sick, Blair rode back with her head in Dakota’s lap, completely aware of every sensation unfortunately. She would have much preferred the blissful buzz from a few drinks, but she never got around to taking the first sip. Her churning stomach dragged her to the bathroom the moment the four of them arrived at the bar.

Dakota and Blair thought it would be fun to tag along with Mateo and Shawn whiled they checked out the newest bar in downtown Toronto. Dakota certainly thought it would help him feel more alive after one exhausting week of work. Blair too thought it would be a good idea to have a night out. She was wrong; it was not a good idea.

As soon as they sat down at their table, Blair excused herself with a hand on her middle. She felt bloated and sweaty in her dress, and so not in the mood for a fun night out. She had hoped that her stomach-ache from that day would go away in time. It didn’t. The nausea was still lurking around when the sun went down. Nonetheless, she joined her boyfriend and their friends because she told herself she could ignore it.

The plan to ignore the nausea went out the window when the loud music and the smell of booze hit her senses. She gave Dakota’s leg a squeeze under the table before going to the bathroom.

“Hey, wait.” Dakota grabbed her wrist before she could leave. For a moment Blair thought that he was about to make them leave. She thought for sure that he saw the way she wrapped her arms around her torso or the fact that she hadn’t said anything in a while. But then a foolishly large smile spread across his face. “You look really pretty, tonight.”

Not for long, Blair thought as the contents of her stomach sloshed around inside. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” Oh, Dakota was the sweetest, but sometimes he could be really oblivious. She thought about telling him, but she wanted to give her stomach one more chance to calm down.

She didn’t feel pretty as she stumbled her way to the bathroom. People must have thought she was already drunk. Ugh, the idea of drinking anything stronger than water made her want to retch.

As expected, the girls in the bathroom were unbelievably nice. They complimented Blair’s hair and dress, obviously not seeing the grey tincture to her skin or the sweat on her brow.

Blair stood in the stall instead of dropping to her knees like she wanted to. Maybe if she calmed down and didn’t give in to the feeling, then she could rejoin her friends in the bar. She took several deep breaths, amazed at how fast she felt worse. Minutes ago, she was only a little shaky, and now she was struggling to hold down her dinner.

Eventually she gave up this futile fight. She took off her shoes, knelt on the ground and allowed the saliva accumulating in her mouth to drip into the toilet bowl. An awful tasting burp escaped past her lips before she could swallow it. It made her gag. She moaned miserably, knowing what was about to happen.

Why did she have to get sick tonight? This was their opportunity to be fun again. She and Dakota had gotten so comfortable with each other that they never bothered with clubs and bars anymore. They were becoming an old married couple at the speed of light, and they weren’t even married yet. Compared to Mateo and Shawn, they were boring.

There was no more time to mope about this fact because the food in Blair’s stomach rushed up her throat. She held the disgusting toilet while the force of her heaves pushed her forward. In a stream of pale brown, the sick splattered in the bowl for all to hear. She kept going because she had no other choice.

A knock at the stall door startled Blair enough to give her a break. “Sweetie, are you alright in there?” It sounded like the girl who complimented her hair when she first came into the bathroom. Blair could only see her shoes under the door. They were nice shoes. “You must be a lightweight because it’s only 9’oclock.”

Blair groaned and spat into the toilet. “I’m a little sick.”

“I can hear that,” the girl said from the other side of the door. “The whole bathroom can hear that. Do you need me to get someone for you?”

Blair thought for a moment, trying not to look at the vomit in the toilet. Screw this, she wanted to go home to be boring and sick. “Yes, please.”

…

Dakota was almost excited at the prospect of being hit on. The woman walked right up to him. He thought he was going to have to turn her away. The ‘I have a girlfriend’ line was ready on his lips. This was why they came out in the first place: to feel like they were back in college. Dakota was probably a little too eager to break some hearts.

He did not expect the woman to start by saying: “Are you Dakota?”

Usually, the pretty girls at the bar didn’t know his name before talking to him. Usually, the pretty girls looked less worried than this one did. She wasn’t smiling or touching his arm. The unexpected turn of events made Dakota short-circuit. Somehow, he managed to stutter out, “Uh yeah?”

“Your girlfriend is puking her brains out. She should probably slow down.”

“Wait…What?” Did he hear that correctly? This woman must have been mistaken. Some other girl in this bar must have a boyfriend named Dakota. Still, he had to make sure because his girlfriend had been gone for a long time. “Are you talking about Blair?”

“I don’t know. Platinum blonde, blue dress…”

“Yes, yes, that’s her. She’s sick? But we just got here.”

“Then that was some pre-game because she’s asking for you. Are you coming or not?”

Of course, he was coming. He followed the woman as if it were a police escort. There was minimal protest from the other girls in the bathroom. Dakota would have gone in even if there were because he could hear how horrible Blair was feeling before stepping into the stall.

Before kneeling next to Blair, Dakota thanked the woman who helped them. When she and most of the other girls left, Dakota directed his attention to his poor girlfriend who was retching on the floor.

“Oh, Bee.” He put his hand on her back. “What happened?” She obviously wasn’t drunk.

“I don’t know,” she said after spitting a string of saliva into the toilet. “I thought it was just a stomach-ache, but I think I’m sick…Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay. Don’t be sorry.” Dakota rubbed big circles on her back. “You must have caught a stomach bug.”

There was nothing else to be said after that which was good because Blair felt her stomach rising in her throat once again. This next wave of vomiting was slightly better than the last now that she wasn’t alone. Dakota’s hand was cold on her bare back where the dress didn’t cover, but that didn’t matter. It was better than suffering alone and embarrassed. She burped up a mouthful of sick, watching it splatter into the water below. With each spasm, she moaned in pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” Dakota said softly as he kept up the gentle rubbing. His go-to move of holding her hair back was not an option because someone had already given her a hair-tie to make a ponytail. The only thing left to do was hold her until she felt well enough leave. “I’ll get us an uber home,” he said, remembering how they got here in the first place. It certainly didn’t sound fun to be sick in a stranger’s car, but he had to get her home soon.

…

So, Blair rode back home with her head in Dakota’s lap. They sat in the backseat, hoping that the driver wouldn’t notice that Blair took off her seatbelt to lie down. Sitting up and watching the city lights go by in a blur wouldn’t help her situation at all. Besides, she liked the way Dakota played with her hair. It almost lulled her to sleep. 'Almost' was the key word because she never did fall asleep. Her sour stomach kept her awake.

Dakota could hear her belly gurgling. With his hand that wasn’t playing with her hair, he gently rubbed her middle. Oh, her stomach sounded so upset. He wished he could make it go away. She curled up tighter, bringing her legs closer to her chest. Her constant moans of pain were breaking Dakota’s heart.

“How are you doing, baby?” Dakota asked, knowing that the answer would be worse. He could feel the turmoil going on inside her belly.

In reality, Dakota didn’t get the exact answer that he was expecting. Instead of mumbling something about the pain, Blair simply groaned into his lap. He felt her body tremble. “Oh, Bee. What can I do? Do you want the window open?” The cold breeze would make Dakota freeze in the car, but it felt like Blair would benefit from being cooler. Her skin was already hot and clammy.

Blair squirmed out of discomfort. She didn’t want the window open. She needed to not be trapped in a car. “Make it stop,” she mumbled, too afraid to open her mouth very wide or lift her head out of Dakota lap.

“You know I would if I could.” Dakota traced his fingers along her bare legs. Only soft touches. “It’ll be better at home. You can change into pajamas, and I can get a pillow to put—”

A spasm went through Blair’s body just before she pushed herself up from Dakota’s lap. Another tremor rolled through her shoulders as she gagged into her hand. In between gags she managed to say, “No, make him stop.” And pointed to the driver.

That was when Blair lost the fight with her stomach. The vomit came pouring out between her fingers and dripped onto her boyfriend’s legs. She couldn’t move away fast enough. Even when she did lean over the seat, she was still vomiting all over someone else’s car.

“Oh God,” Dakota said, feeling trapped with no way to help. Trapped…and now damp. He awkwardly held her body while she heaved over the seats. “Pull over!” he called to the driver.

The car swerved as the driver was startled by the noise. “What the hell? You said you weren’t drunk.”

Dakota wanted to growl at this man. “She’s sick, asshole. Stop the car.”

When the car came to a stop by the curb, Dakota helped his girlfriend out. With a hand still over her mouth, she stumbled to the pavement and heaved up what was left in her stomach.

“I’ve got you,” Dakota said, literally holding her at the waist. He ignored the car as it drove away. They would get a better ride because Blair was in no shape to walk the rest of the way.

“Oh fuck,” Blair said while wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. There was a pathetic splatter of puke on the sidewalk but a more impressive splatter on Dakota’s pants. “I tried to hold it. I really did. God, look at you, I’m sorry.”

Dakota did look down at the mess on his pants. It was only very gross, but he wouldn’t tell Blair that. She no doubt already knew. She was feeling gross herself. “Yeah, you got me pretty good, didn’t you?” He held her against his body as she started shivering in the night air. “We might have a hard time finding a ride now.” He forced a laugh to lighten the mood. “We look like two alcoholics wandering the streets.”

“Ugh, this is all my fault. I just want to go home.” Blair said as Dakota hugged her tighter against his side.

“We’ll have to become hobos or hitch-hikers.”

“I’m serious. I feel really bad.”

“I’m serious too,” Dakota said with a grin. “We’ll have to sleep under a bridge, and I’ll nurse you back to health with nothing but rainwater.”

Blair weakly hit his arm. “Okay you made your point. Call us a ride before the nausea comes back.”

“Fine.” Dakota kissed her on the head. “I’m sorry you feel so crummy.”

She waved her hand. “At least we’ll be the best dressed hobos in the neighbourhood.”

#emeto #emetophilia #emeto fic #caretaking #sickfic #stomach flu #fever #emetophile #vomit kink #belly kink #my ocs #Dakota #Blair #vomiting #puking #stomach bug #emeto fiction

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incarnateirony · 4 years

Text

15.15: The Absent Mother

I’ve had to take a great deal of time to pull my thoughts together on this episode because it was so MUCH. I’ve said in the past that I wasn’t a fan of Davy; he often layered his things very thinly. But today was a masterfully interwoven piece to the point I literally watched another show for an hour while thinking about it, went and took a shower for half an hour to scrub my head clean, and came back to this and STILL sat to write about it.

So if you’re new to my meta, I’m going to break the ice. You need to read my The Generational Family post to dip your toes in. It speaks in plain english things that will be less-plain english in this post.

If you’re less-new to my meta, but often floating in the occult references, I’m going to try to drop links to posts or tag folders of references.

But what a fantastic salute to the Empress this entire episode is.

Now let’s dive in.

It’s no secret my blog bangs on about arcana on the regular. I have spoken of the four colors (represented in the above gif but also frequenting the #hues of involution tag).

Frankly, I consider it invariable that the brother focused episode will summon forth The Emperor as a key focus. Somewhere in that chaos binder of tags I even predicted that much when I saw the color themes of the episode, but that’s a whole other aside--just something to put a pin in the idea of while I speak of the Empress, and the Generational Family.

(15.16 update: hahahahah)

I’ve gone feral

BACK TO ORIGINAL 15.15 POST

Some time back I had made a post about Castiel’s tie to this path; be that his frequent association with Mary over time (be it storyline parallels in general arc, John and Mary’s meeting, mixtapes or whatever else); that he and Rowena served as mirror and foil from her earliest conception, back when his parental storylines hovered more in regret over Claire; that Amara and her forced bond were associations of the profound bond and many lines directly mirrored while other motions challenged each other (Eg, heart tie, profound bond>mark bond);

I even made a joke at one point that Castiel should wear a pink trenchcoat to match Rowena’s dress.

This, of course, I joked equally was absurd, and that we would probably have to settle for the violet-pink light of Death on both him and Dean in 15.13′s alchemical Marriage of the Minds.

This Marriage of the Minds you’ll find plenty of topic on for my blog, and all in association with the Art arcana, from which the Occultum is drawn to begin with in its concept. This may seem like a long drift aside from the episode itself, but is more a preface of discussion based reminders.

Either way, @meta-mania-spn outright trolled in to my trenchcoat joke with this when it was released, saying “here’s your pink trenchcoat.”

And how on point you were!

But I’m going to have to ask fandom to do me a favor before we continue any further in this discussion.

I’m going to need you to stop trying to shove everything in singular boxes applicable to one and only-one storyline. Go back to the Generational Family post. Make sure that’s anchored like, in your subconscious at this point. Know it, feel it.

Okay, now we can continue.

Hah hah “You’re standing in The Trap zone.” Okay.

So obviously, we have two major story ends going on right now: On the one hand, Sam and Dean go have a discussion to Amara where they plan to lie to her to pull off a stunt against Chuck; on the other hand, we have Castiel and Jack working a case. This seems simple enough in our structure.

Amara’s face of this ends up being entirely reflection. Of her cosmogenic origins (”We are the same.”), We Are Twins (I point to Thoth’s use of the twins in generational storytelling), etc. Of her history with Dean. Of her reasons of bringing Mary back.

Fandom may not like her reasons for bringing Mary back. They may even hate them. And we’ll get back to this later, but this is the sum of this.

On the other hand, Cas and Jack think a demon is involved. They even summon one. Turns out Rowena, in taking over hell, has adopted a new system. No more tricking and damning souls. People end up where they belong. The demon is bored (which has a funny shout out at the end on him trying to find a new purpose--as a cop, which is about six levels of commentary but I digress), but the continued path of Rowena renovating hell from welcome meetings for damned souls to lack of intentionally dragging others down is made clear, while evoked.

I point back to Rowena’s own history: at one point she aspired for power, but after Funeralia, she was stricken with guilt and grief over feeling like she abandoned her son. This is a thread that I have tried to put in videos over time as a still-binding tie; Castiel staring into Belphegor’s husked out eyes at one point, even if it wasn’t really his fault, just as we lost Rowena who went to essentially reclaim her son’s legacy and throne since she couldn’t atone for his loss.

But then we get to the case. It’s a whole long adventure, much of which has some bog-standard casework; we do have Castiel coming to speak that he found new meaning in becoming a parent (rolling back to the parental thread), and there’s a bunch of great imagery we’ll cover below. But before we get to that, let’s focus on the resolution.

It reveals a broken family structure: Mother was sick and felt shoved away, Father Changed Things, and the child ended up on a destructive path about following god.

Now when I talk about not boxing things in on one level, I’m going to break down this family a bit. We’ll also just totes ignore the Joseph-the-Carpenter tattoo on the pastor that clearly has NOTHING to do with Joseph behind Dean only an episode ago and the entire Emperor theme with the sun behind his head. After the whole Mary behind Cas thing. Nope, nothing to see here. Has NOTHING to do with the generational stuff I’m about to talk below. That’d be silly right?

You also have to think of it this way. If Pastor Joe (yes that’s his FKING name) a parallel, so is his dead wife. There are levels where it was felt she was mocked, and pushed away, which tied into Amara this episode. You have your Chuck and Amara level parallel. However, on the emotional level, the mother figure that Castiel actually ends up representing is also coming due to be absent. And this is about the father's atonement with that just as much as it is with Dean having his dialogue with Amara.

On many levels. Dean and Amara’s dialogue trades of old grudges, old motivations, but also current events and learning to live in the now.

The child, however, was still stuck in the past--a past the mother who told her to believe in God seemed to want, but the same kind of duty Castiel became aware of needing to change in the past. But she got stuck in it.

While she judged people by their sins, Jack and Castiel end up finding the poor unfortunate man judged by Lust, after an entire aside Castiel had with the pastor about one of the victims struggling as a gay man and what-not; For Reasons(TM). But this is an arcana post, not a “point out the obvious fucking screaming queer text and subtext being put in blinker lights this episode” post, so I’m going to generally show that the misguided and wrathful child thought she was carrying out God’s will.

And then I direct you to my Lust tag.

I have far longer stuff on it, but if you skim, you’ll find the loudest message is about not letting a wrathful god judge or punish you for sins. It involves the Whore of Babylon as a symbol of power riding a beast that represented (Aleister) Crowley; or in this case, Rowena riding Crowley to power, but also birthing and rearranging a new world. I point back to the demon in question, and then I gesture to the stuff about Castiel’s impending storyline overlap.

Did other sins get punished, sure; the one girl got greed, for example. If you check my posts on the Lust topic, there are other forms of debauch actually associated with lust beyond just carnal lovers, but the message about ignoring god’s wrath and making the new world remains in-tact.

This is the kind of wrath enacted by the girl. Who is furious about how the aeon changed. Because you changed everything, dad. They don’t worship God, they worship You.

So here’s the fun question: Is this a child of man furious that man is no longer the true god because Chuck in the corrupted Emperor path has changed the world to his whims, just flipped? That is to say, that they no longer see the Shadow as The One True God? Or is this someone throwing a tantrum on Chuck’s behest that the world of man is being reclaimed? Or is it a generalized moral of all of these things contingent on the choices The Ones -- Sam and Dean -- make moving forward? And what of Jack inevitably feeling like he has to do Dean’s commands, with the task laid out to destroy God as mapped by Death, in the inevitable absence of Castiel?

Now this has drifted a wide-berth from speaking of the Empress herself, which I’ll roll back to. I had mentioned, for example, the pink. So let’s talk about why that is.

The Empress is the Matron. While she goes through many forms, this is sort of the central or individualized one. She represents a fertility in preparing to birth the new world. She holds a blossom, she takes a pose I’m not gonna bother breaking down in this post, and she is crowned in a sphere that is passed to her from the Emperor which she will wear until the next aeon from their union is born.

She is represented by the moon, and though her child will eventually become the new sun it must first be the earth, her emperor is her current sun; the son is the reflection of the father in the eyes of the mother; the Empress Moon lets the Emperor Sun shine on her face and brings life to the earth in their union, and again, I point back to the Marriage of the Minds post.

Now, see that bird in the corner? That’s a pelican. It’s frequently associated in old alchemy as the mother giving her life, as part of the birthing process is also death, for her next generation. I have spoken in the past that Byzantium itself is an ideal example of that. The pelican has intensive alchemical implications, but it was believed she “fed her child from her own heart.”

Okay cool so there’s just a bleeding heart right there while Jack struggles with feeling like he has to deal with this alone, while Castiel tries to insist he doesn’t, with the renegade child taking it upon herself to carry out god’s work and essentially going mad/bad. Castiel not wanting to let that all fall on Jack.

There’s also giant posters about THE WORLD and a mirror shadow Safe Place poster which I’m not even going to talk on much beyond gesturing vaguely at my Shadow tag and Universe tag and move on, but I will take particular note of the hands reaching out to Cas and the world as a vague gesture to once again stick a pin in.

I mean there’s a few other themes I’m going to point out for general notes: hearts everywhere,

Some stuff on Day and Night and hands all over/handholding, which I’ll point to my talk on Absence for false dichotomies

And an admittedly offtopical “lmao fuck this news screen”

But with that, I move forward:

The child here was dressed almost EERILY like Mrs Butters, for the record. And uh-- /wore her cross upside down/

They both kind of represent the same thing of misguided ideals, though Mrs Butters proved able to be reasoned with at the end and went to go return to nature where she belonged, just as man should return to his place some day free of god’s machinations; but she didn’t break her cycle and her fate is to be decided after this by court and what-not, which.. you know, fine.

But that’s a note worth passing re: Mrs Butters, but again, it needs to fall to generational; child vs parent, with Mrs Butters being the lightly lamia-associated elder who lost her sons and went mad trying to protect them according to how she had been commanded, just like this story, too, comes to misguided commands in absence.

Add in of course that Butters pointed out Jack was “too much like his father”. This, of course, was a shot at Lucifer in a way, but the serpent she evoked isn’t truly symbolic of Lucifer in our show, it’s about humanity. And uh, who is synonymous synced to in SPN? Even ignoring the relevance of the serpent to the Emperor?

Throughout this episode, Jack waltzes around imprinted on habits from Dean, taking on the weight of the world, sacrifice, doing it alone, and inevitably, small bursts of anger.

While... Amara tracks and polka dances sideways across the Mary issue of idealizations vs realities, of the Now being more important than the Then. Fandom gets stuck on how unfair it was to Dean and considers it torture which, human perspective, fair. But Amara isn’t thinking on your human level. In fact she very loudly flags around how Dean (and frankly, the audience) doesn’t properly perceive the scope of what she even is.

Castiel, driving home, continues to try to be an improved parent. He talks with Jack, and tries to tell him he doesn’t have to do this alone. But Jack is stuck in that rut, and it’s a rut Castiel knows too well. He’s walked these paths and the audience has walked these paths and he can’t let the child handle this alone, though Jack declares it isn’t his choice. Jack has surrendered to what he believes Death commands of him, what the job is.

It’s going to be about choice.

But right now, Jack is too much like his father. And I point back to the Moon, who lets the Sun shine on her face, perceiving the world as a reflection of the Father, of Soul in the eyes of the Mind. This is the path to teach their son to avoid just as much.

Meanwhile, Castiel is punched in the FACE basically by Jack saying not to tell Sam and Dean he’s turning into Soul Bomb Take 2. He doesn’t want to worry them over something he can’t do anything about. Congratulations, Castiel is now living the mirror of Jack knowing the Empty deal and Sam and Dean not being told, and you can SEE the reality of it ALL slam him in the face. Not just because Jack blowing up would negate the point of his sacrifice; I don’t know if that even really plinks his mental armor; but the actual magnitude of that kind of secret.

Burying my clown brain’s fierce desire to talk at length of small details like Cas opting not to wake Dean up in the room, we see a recursion-yet-subversion at the end.

We cut off, here, abruptly. In context of the episode, we know Castiel has at least learned one lesson and is going to try to tell Dean about his deal. But on some level, this all enmeshes thoroughly to Castiel’s Empty deal. Do I think Cas is going to tell the Empty deal in 16? No, I’m gonna guess on some level Sam gets his hands on it around 17 maybe, or nobody at all finds out--or at least Dean himself doesn’t find out--until 18.

In that time they *still* will not have stopped Chuck, that won’t be until 19. So I really wish this arm flailing about “oh god they’re making it all about Cas saving Jack and then dropping it!” would stop because man guys, I’m tired, I’ve been writing you the roadmap on this for two years and haven’t failed yet, pls listen.

Even after episode 18, Castiel’s role is inevitably going to be to take the burden from Jack. ...And Dean will too, but you won’t really even start to wrap your heads around the how and the why until at *least* 16 covers the Emperor path better in scale of the generational family. That’s going to be a joint thing.

Yes, I’m saying that’s going to be a joint thing after the Empty.

The show has taken a highlighter repeatedly to the fact that Jack was neither ready to rule or remove Chuck and that it was all a bad idea. Like “Then who?!” yes HMMM WHO.

Who is sitting here following the path of all of these individuals in this very episode? Do I need to gesture people to literal years of Castiel being associated with every one of these women’s central stories in my meta, make everyone read literal compendiums of it to get the where and why, or is it at least enough in the collective subconscious to be recognized?

What is Rowena doing? What is Rowena doing, right now? She unbirthed an entire realm and is restructuring it; where people go only where they deserve to go, where they aren’t as boxed in but certainly aren’t out there being shitheads for the sake of being shitheads. But man, if only there was SOME ONE ELSE lined up on this whole lunar path, somewhere, with these women.

(For more on the blossom, see my Albedo tag)

For the full context and, frankly, mental breakdowns about 15.13 and what all that amounted to, I point you to the tags I linked above in discussion and lead-in to this post, because I’m not going to re-tread that ground right now.

But Castiel’s deal has always been about saving Jack. Castiel has been the Empress all year and before it. He will continue to be the empress, symbolized as feeding her young from her own heart, and--well, like that above gif (and also like 15.09, but with Sam in that generational rotation), receiving the sphere from the Emperor (Dean) and passing it to the new aeon to be reborn. Jack is the new Aeon. the mother will protect this at any cost.

But I don’t know why fandom pole vaults into assuming then that the Emperor suddenly has no place in this fascinatingly interwoven play. They are part of this cooperative birthing process together. Even in and beyond Death. As it is, there’s parts of Jack’s resignation that will inevitably tie to Castiel with Dean in 18.

As always, the case is a warning tale, but just what side of it you take really depends on where the characters choose to step. Is it a warning of man stepping away from god or god changing the rules on man?

Even Amara’s message is multifaceted: Knowing when to walk away on your own path is not the same as betraying someone. And it’s only going to be by Dean’s manipulation that she would consider it, while he is in fact lying to her; but that’s NOT going to come without a long term price. And frankly, is itself a message for the endgame of this show, with some people thinking taking ones’ own path is tantamount to betrayal. It is not. But what matters it the truth. And the choice. And remembering that we all have a choice.

And what of Cas, after the Empty then?

My soul went to heaven, big surprise.

In order to be in the Occultum, the Occultum must be in you.

To know what he, himself, is also worth, Castiel will have to make that place within himself. And that will also be the place for his child, and his family, and humankind as he has come to adopt as his people.

...But there was a two step phase to that spell and I remind you Rowena wasn’t alone in that image.

The pink of fertile rebirth.

For more on the Empress, click here.

Anyway

#CASTIELSUTERUS2020

#supernatural #spn #empress #lust #amara #castiel #rowena #mary winchester #15.15 #15x15

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everafterkeiji · 4 years

Note

I’m tired of seeing oikawa being an ass, what if oikawa fell for a playgirl? When they got together oikawa really did love you, and he caught you cheateing with Iwaizumi even though he knew you guts were together?

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

Pairings: Tooru Oikawa x fem! Reader, Hajime Iwaizumi x fem! reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: cheating, angst

A/N: I really like this idea so thank you so much for requesting I hope this is okay! I’m also sorry this is late! <3

The odds were placed in his hands but he held it with pride even if it marked his skin.

He felt how betrayal was following him but he neglected it thinking that it was just love.

But love has never looked so cruel.

The moment he saw you, he was struck- something he’s yet to feel. With a swarm of admirers, you’d expect that his eyes would’ve landed on someone already but instead his heart was held captive along with a breath he held when you faced him. The infatuation strengthens as he spends time with you but if his eyes loved to stay on you, others felt the same.

Like two stars who shined brightly without the assistance of the other, your presence was equal to him.

He couldn’t push back the number of stares you’d get when he sees you walking through the hallways or even the people who directly go up to you and tell you how beautiful you were. He’s had his moments but seeing someone go through the same feeling as he was, it was unfamiliar to him. He understood though, with a person being incredibly stunning- he'd also be lost at words with how you gazed his eyes. You were in the same class as him so you were the cause of his distraction during lectures, he obviously didn’t mind.

He’d hear how lucky he was to be in the same room as you-it's been repeated countless of times, even he believed it. What keeps a subtle frown on his lips was how you’d approach your suitors. The playful tone and constant flirting always made him feel small with how confident you were, love in different versions were in your line and Tooru felt that he was at the very back of it.

But he ended up being winning, regardless of the list of people who waited.

His heart was overwhelmed-at shock at how he heard you say “yes” to his offer of being his. It was unbelievable- to think that the met you in his first year yet he was yours by second year still has his minds running in circles. What words did he carry for you to like him the way he did? His charm, his ability to make you feel so safe and assured- the question is, who wouldn’t fall? Tooru Oikawa is everything a girl could ever dream of and for you to have him is indeed worth envying for years.

Being in love with him was close to being inside a fairytale. You loved every bit of him, ever creak of his doubts were covered with your comfort and Tooru did the same. A crown was heavily placed on him but he carried it with such grace even if it was too difficult to carry sometimes. Like the king he is, the love he gives you felt like an honor to receive. The flowers he’d leave in your locker, the notes on your desk when he’d see you frustrated, even the moments where he’d try to hold your hand when he was at practice- everything he does had your heart fluttering with every second. You couldn’t believe how the well-known setter chose you instead of the girls who mindlessly followed him with genuine admiration. You were stuck in his shoes for a second but what he despised was that even if you were the queen and king- all these other suitors still attempted to take you away from each other.

A kingdom filled with citizens who serves you two dirt as they bombarded you with rumors when you walked to the point where the third years in Oikawa’s circle of friends had to talk to him in how everything was getting out of hand. They heard how you were thoughtlessly flirting with a student who admired you or even those girls who Oikawa allows to place a kiss on his cheek. It was truly a mess. It often leads to you crumbling at how some people believed it, not even bothering to consider how you could never replace your lover- it was absurd to even think about it.

But some lies were hidden from Oikawa’s eyes yet they were visible to you.

Though it seems as if he’s known all along.

He desperately tried to keep his distance because why would you ever replace him? You've told him how much you loved him- he believed every word, even replaying it for hours because of how happy you made him. The sound resonates through him everyday but the voices in his head became too loud at some points that he begins to wonder just how possible it could happen.

He's noticed how in practice you cared about how Iwaizumi's spirits would deflate when he's unsuccessful with the spikes he does and you were always a step ahead to comfort him with your words. He figured that you were just there seeing that he was your boyfriend's best friend but seeing how Iwaizumi often stares a little too long at you, all the attempts to push away the thought has been erased.

On a particular day, he's heard the sea of people whispering whenever he passes by and he felt how different it was apart from the usual setting. He decided to stop to a locker, hiding his face with a locker beside him as the girls converse beside him, blind to the boy.

"Y/N is with Iwaizumi- I saw them at a café the other day. God, she doesn't deserve him. "

"Oikawa deserves better but I didn't think Iwaizumi-san would like her too."

This has to be a joke isn't it?

"They disgust me. Oikawa has no idea about it. Poor thing. She was always a flirt anyway."

He deeply wishes how he'd never see the day where two of the most important people in his life would turn their backs on him- together. He could beg the stars for everything to be fake. All these annoying murmurs must remain a rumor and instead of the claims that you were with his best friend, maybe you were in his room telling him pretty lies to maintain him from not leaving.

But when the truth lands on his eye, there was no escape.

Especially when he watches you trail beside Iwaizumi with a hand interlaced with the spikers fingers while he walks beside you.

“It’s okay, Tooru. You’re sick- Iwaizumi can walk me home.” Oikawa pouts as he you lean a kiss on his hand, smiling at him while his heart skips at your doing.

“We’ll be fine, love.” You said cupping his cheek while he sighs before taking your hand and intertwining it with his own fingers. He felt stiff, he used to adore the way you touch him but thinking about Iwaizumi has touched you the same way he did- his urge to let go increases.

“Iwa-chan better not steal you from me.” Oikawa whispers while there was second you felt your heart drop but hid it with a chuckle but the setter knew better when the color was drained from your features. It was a swift second but it was enough to feed his suspicions of why you’ve suddenly grown attached to his best friend, like times where you’d make him laugh which makes Oikawa stumble with his doubts but this seemed to take a hit on him much more than it already has.

“He won’t.”

“Tooru I-” Iwaizumi dodges Oikawa’s stare, letting go of your hand as his eyes were glued to the road. The captain’s heart was broken down with every moment he sees how you approached him, shaking him and grabbing his arms while your voice came out as a blur to his ears and his vision clouded with tears of rage and betrayal. You had your own pool of tears as you felt the massive impact of what you just did. How could you? Was it all just not enough that you had to find love in a person that he trusted? Why did it have to be Iwaizumi? All because he gave you the same amount of love Oikawa did? You were toying with both hearts yet you held their heartstrings with ease.

“Get off me.” He whispers as he tries to pry you off of him but all he wanted was to hold you and act like everything was a dream. He hated the fact that he knew it’d happen- habits never die but what hurt him a thousand times more was that you’ve chosen to love somebody who he trusted and the fact that Iwaizumi fell added more thorns to the situation.

“Some friend you are, Iwa.” Oikawa comments with spite covering his tone as he spoke. Iwaizumi shuts his eyes close as he held back the words to defend himself because in reality- there were no excuses to cheating on a lover.

“Are you sorry?” Tooru asks, holding you as he stares at your eyes looking for a way to find that sweet girl he once loved but his questions displayed how torn he was. You looked at him with piles of regret but that wasn’t the sight he wanted to see. He wanted to see how you were willing to play with him again and he’d fall for it.

He’d go through trials to love you again even if it brought him to his knees.

“I am, Tooru.” You answered but instead, he laughed.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as he held his breath as Oikawa steps back, a smile on his lips as he stares at the two.

It doesn't seem like it.

“I can’t believe that out of all the people you chose- it's Iwaizumi. What do I lack that he has? I gave you everything, Y/N. Does he love you better than I ever do? Tell me!” He shouted, taking a step forward you as he held your cheek in his hands while you stared at him wide-eyed as he wiped your tears.

“I love you, didn’t I? Where did I go wrong?” He whispers and it takes everything in him to not hate you because all he ever did was the opposite.

“I love you- I do but-”

“But Hajime could love you more? I’m right, aren’t I?” Oikawa says as he lets go of you while you were left stunned but you already knew the boy was out of your grasp.

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi calls out for him but Oikawa looked at him with a sad tug on his lips. He's never been more disgraced to be called a friend. How could he remain loyal when it wasn't where he stood now? Temptation has never tasted this good but it always leaves a sour sensation.

"I do like you, Y/N. I just- I can't do it to him. He loves you."

"But you do too."

He should've never gave in. He should've never gotten attached to your smile and how caring you were. You were in between yet the final decision was choosing both but ended up catching you in the tangles of your own heart.

“I guess it’s okay to lose to you once in a while.” Tooru whispers as he walks away but his heart and body feel tied to you while every slip of a tear falls from his eyes.

But I never thought I’d end up losing both.

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#oikawa x you #oikawa hcs #oikawa tooru #oikawa torū #hq oikawa #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x you #hajime iwaizumi #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #xine requests

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imveryunstable · 4 years

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Sick (KiriBaku x Reader) [BNHA smut]

Warning: Smut and disgusting! Still, tell me if you do get turned on by it :P Also, kidnapping and non consensual sex are never okay! (also help me with tags idk how-)

Reminder: Please remember that our lovely boys, Kacchan and Kiri will never do such thing, obviously! They are heroes and what I wrote is just a pure filth of what I sometimes imagine these boys should do to me! rofl i love them a lot, sorry to ruin yall like this lol killme

Pairings: Kirishima Eijirou x Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

You meant to be kind. You promise, you were just trying to be nice! But how did the act of your kindness turns against you? Isn't it supposed to be what people always say? be kind to others so others will be kind to you?

How the hell that quote can become the opposite? You're tied up, blindfolded, gagged and of fucking course, naked. It's good to feel nothing on your skin once in a while, but not when it's forced. and obviously, not when you know you're naked in front of a hero!

"A-are you okay?! I'm sorry that I had to be so weak and troubled you..." You say softly, as you gently hold out your head to the Sturdy Hero, Red Riot, or as far as you know, Kirishima Eijirou. It's like he got stunned for a second, before smiling widely at you. He takes your hand and you try to pull him up along with him pushing himself up but something's strange, he's holding your hand way too tight. Is he in so much pain? You feel so bad and let him hold you longer.

"Thanks for your concern, but it's my job to get into trouble for the sake of your safety! Are you okay? It must've been scary for you." Eijirou replies to your words as soft as he can, looking straight into your eyes. Somehow, you feel touched, to be cared for like this...

"A little... but thanks to you, I never felt so safe!"

Oh, how selfish you were when you said those words. You've never felt unsafe like this before. You're choking on your tears, as you know you're in bed, legs spread open just for the hero. This is the best way a citizen can repay the heroes, yeah?

He's quiet for some reasons, you can only hear his breathing, which is really wild. It's weird how he's not touching you and it's sickening for the fact you have been in the same position for an hour.

You want to say something but the gag is stopping you, only muffled screams can be heard. What does he want honestly? If he wants to fuck you, might as just do it as fast as he can! This is too disgusting for you to hold on any longer.

Suddenly, you hear a door being slammed open and harsh steps louder by each second. Another person came in? Is it a hero too? Is he going to save you?

"Bakugou! What took you so long? I tried to hold myself from pounding her and I swear if I waited a minute longer-"

"Are you kidding me shitty hair?! You think I have so much time to spend just to deal with you?!"

Bakugou? Isn't he one of the pro heroes too? The one who explodes-

"Oh God please Bakugou! Just take a look at her! She's so nice and so pretty... You want to wreck her too, I bet!"

Sick. He's sick. Everything about him is sick! Wreck you? IN what way? You swear, whatever he does, he'll never wreck you. You'll never get wrecked by such a person!

"You promised me you'll let me choose our toy this time. You fucking did." You listen to Bakugou's deep low voice, which makes you quiver even more after you understand what he just said.

Toy? What does he mean by toy? You? Are they talking about you? You're going to be their toy? Choose our toy? They've done this before, to other people?

Sick, sick, sick! This is too sickening for you, plus the fear you've been feeling ever since you woke up like this makes you want to throw up.

"Bakugou, trust me on this one. Give me one last chance bro! Be manly and try this one out first!" Eijirou tries to convince his partner in crime again and oh how you've been praying for Bakugou to say no. Please, please, please-

"Fine, fine, fine! You're so fucking annoying sometimes..." You tear up even more when you heard those words, knowing there's no way you can get out of this.

"Thanks bro... If she becomes too boring for you, I promise this time, you'll choose." Eijirou says in such a comforting voice and as soothing as it is to others, you feel like his voice going to kill you.

"Whatever. Anyway, how long she's been like this? Bet her pussy is getting dry by now with the way you spread her." You suddenly feel a touch on your feminine place making you shiver as you try to shake your head, pulling away from his touch. But the ropes on your legs are way too tight, there's no way you can pull your legs out of it without ripping off your legs.

"I don't know, an hour? I was too mesmerized by her beauty, lose track of time." The fucking red-haired man replies making your stomach feels twisted. The amount of tears you are producing right now can honestly fill up a bucket to the point you feel like you're about to let out blood come out from your eyes.

You then feel the rough fingers on your clit, as they gently rub it. As much as you hate this, there's no way you can deny the hormones rising up and how good it feels to be touched this way. "Damn, she gets wet so quick though. Oi Kirishima, pull out the gag. I want to hear her fucking screams." Is that what he likes? Isn't he supposed to save people who are screaming, stopping them from screaming? He's a hero, for fuck sake!

You can hear steps getting closer to you, and it's none other than Eijirou, right? Your instinct tells you to run away, but it's impossible to follow it.

His breaths then tickle your ear and he gives a soft kiss on your ear.

"Poor angel, she looks so worn out and scared. It's so unmanly for me to gag you like this... but it's all because I don't want your throat to get hurt. I only want you to be safe, someone as nice and pure as you... someone who cares for a hero like you... someone who feels they are weak must always be protected, right?"

You finally find the proof of your answer. The reason he kidnapped you is definitely only because you're being nice. Is he too fucking sick to the point no one ever cared about him before?

Also, isn't it normal for people that get saved to thank their heroes? Why is he taking this too far?

Eijirou gently pulls the gag out of your mouth and you try to take a deep breath using your mouth. He then pulls away the blindfold, giving your eyes the sight of the place along with his blushed face. It's disgusting and you're ready to scream at him, but apparently, he sees through you since he decides to give you the most loving sickening kiss. The gag is better, way better.

Bakugou huffs, before continuing rubbing your clit and you feel a finger going inside you. "Fuck, she's so tight. Is she a virgin?" You don't know if that question is directed to Eijirou, or just him asking himself, but yes, you're a damn virgin!

"R-really? Lucky us, then?" Eijirou replies right after he pulls away from the kiss and you spit at him immediately even though it doesn’t even reach his face.

"She's feisty, Bakugou. Totally your type, no?" Eijirou pays attention back to you and you see him smirking, as he gently unzips his pants, revealing a painful looking cock. "You can spit all you want on here, angel." He says with a smile, that damn hero smile he always shows on tv which never fails to make people feel safe...

"Y-you sick! Let me go-" Before you even finish your words, he pushes every inch into your mouth, his cock hitting your throat. It hurts so bad, but somehow the fingers going in and out of you down there covering up the pain.

"Fuck this, I'm fucking you now." Bakugou says, and you try to look at him but Eijirou harsh grasps on your hair, pulling your face to the left to suck his whole banana failing your attempt. "Look at me when I'm fucking your throat, angel. I need to see your mouth filled up with me." You want to bite down his cock, but he's moving way too fast for you to even do anything.

As you're focused on Eijirou's rough deep throating, you suddenly feel a sharp pain inside you, signaling Bakugou has officially entered you. You can feel his cock a bit bigger than the one in your mouth, but none of that is pleasuring you! Or so you keep trying to think...

"Shit dude, she's so fucking tight... C'mon toy, be a good girl and open up a bit!" Bakugou saying all that but he's still moving fast, doesn't he get the sign that you're a virgin? It hurts so much and your body feels like giving out soon. To take two big weewee at the same time is ruining your body along with your insanity.

This is wrong, what they're doing is wrong and you're wrong.

Definitely, you're going to get wrecked, not only by one man but two.

#kiribaku #x reader #smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #poly #katsukibakugou #kirishima ejirou #katsuki bakugo imagine #kirishima ejiro x reader #my hero academia #boku no academia #imagine #kidnap fantasy #tw noncon

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

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La Vie Bohème

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story of Élodie and Léa continues: what’s next?

Next chapter out on Monday, I think!

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions to homophobia, reference to sexual activity (if you are a minor or it bothers you in any way, you have been warned)

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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The following day I wake up late, around lunchtime. My roommates are all out: Marie left me a note saying she's out for a walk with Alain. Poor Marie, what a concerned look she gave me last night when she saw me sneaking inside our room without my coat! I had to craft a wild story to justify my attire and being so late. I can only hope she believed me...at least, she didn't ask too many questions. I head to the kitchen and warm up the stew leftover my friend saved for me. The events of the night are blurred, they waltz together in a haze: the Moulin Rouge, the Cage of Fools and the jigs I danced with Élodie, her perfume, her laughter, the violet a gallant admirer sent me, then the gendarmes, the clash of their batons, our mad run. The sad look on Élodie's face, the little kiss she pressed on my knuckles parting.

I wash myself and head out for a walk too, wrapping myself in the only other coat I have, much lighter than the lost one. My neighbourhood is certainly not renewed for attractions but it's Sunday and everyone is out to enjoy their day off. Some kids almost collide with me while chasing each other while an old lady nearby invites every passerby to try her apple tart, cheap and decadent, she repeats. Last night was the wildest night I've ever had in my whole life. After the initial embarrassment, I felt incredidibly...happy. I felt like floating on air when Élodie spun me in her arms or when we had a toast at our new friendship. Why did it end so soon? Who called the gendarmes and why they wanted to arrest those people who were just having fun? I don't get it...people crossdress every day now on the stages of cabaret theatres and no one ever complains. Their acts receive thunderous applauses and some artists have adoring fans every night. Why is it so different to call for a mass arrest? The men and women at the Cage of Fools were just doing what popular crossdress artists do: singing, dancing, making sure everybody was merry and bright. Was it because of the two men kissing a few tables away from where we sat? Nobody cared there, I didn't care, honestly. But now that I think of it, that might be the cause. Crossdressing performers never kiss each other on stage. I walk up to a hill into a second hand marketplace, hoping to find a replacement for my old coat I can afford. Could it be that my friend Élodie is a...how do they call them? A sapphic? I heard the word for the first time when I worked as a maid at the uncle Yves' client house. Madame pronounced it with ill grace, speaking of one of their acquaintances while I served breakfast. When I went back to the kitchen, I asked the cook the meaning of the unknown word, that I assumed a fancy insult: my masters wanted to play the role of the rich and the rich don't share the same language with us commoners. They invent new words, more fitted to their uptown world, not tainted with the smell of the street. The lady got all red and threw me a cloth, scolding me for eavesdropping a conversation and warning me to mind my own business. Needless to say my curiosity ran wild and I finally got an answer a few days later when I asked to the maid of a visiting guest. Could it be? The following week is pretty eventful: an important commission and Marie receiving a letter from home, urging her to go back to Aergenteuil to help assisting a sick relative. They would have never asked, knowing all the trouble that would cause her, if they could have done otherwise, her parents wrote. Marie is very close to that aunt and she sobbed in my arms at the thought of losing her and the job all at once. It took time to me and our roommates to comfort her. I told her that she didn't have to worry about the job: we will talk to the girls tomorrow and we will cover for her during her absence. If most agree to help, it will only mean a few extra hours each. Luckily, Marie is well loved at work so things run relatively smoothly, despite the boss' evident contempt. She profuses in an endless series of thank you and praises when I walk her to the carriage station at dawn before heading straight to work. We hug and I give her a tiny slice of that cheap and decadent apple tart the old lady sells at the crossroad. A little treat for the journey home, the only one I can afford. "You're a true friend, Léa. I will never forget this" she says, eyes veiled with tears before taking her seat on board. As the carriage disappears from view, I realise it's the first time we are separated from each other since we first met. Predictably, I end up missing her: we've been around each other for so long that now not walking back home with her, working side by side and sharing lunch on the staircase makes me feel a bit empty, as if a part was missing. Marcel and Alain are busy with work too as festivities approach fast and I have my fair share of Marie's work to worry about. However, from time to time, when I'm not so tired I only want to touch the bed, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge. The first time Élodie spots me, she runs straight into my arms, hugging me tightly: she must have thought she would never see me again after our misadventure with the gendarmes. She lets me assist to the acts backstage and I get to befriend other dancers, now used to see me around. I even fix their costumes if they get damaged during the performance. I do it gladly, even if it adds up to my daily amount of work. I usually gets cheek kisses or champagne as payment but sometimes, despite my deflections, they drop some coins into my hand, arguing that the Moulin Rouge tailor is half as good as me. When it happens, instead of saving them, I go buy a dinner at a bistro nearby with Élodie. I'm always starving but she never makes jokes of me for that. I tell her about Marie and the extra hours and, in return, she pretends not to be so hungry and offers me her slices of bread or some mashed potatoes "she won't eat anyway". We talk for hours, until I can keep my eyelids open. We start seeing each other more often. I must admit it's relatively easier now that I don't have to worry about bothering Marie and my friends are busy. Only my roommates look at me differently: I'm positive they suspect I have a secret lover. Now my day off is split between a little work at home in the morning and Élodie. We stroll down the Tuileries Gardens, arm in arm to protect each other against the cold. Élodie loves this place: she doesn't care it's overly popular, to her it's a testament to the the beautiful things people can create, an urban Eden. Who am I to contradict her? The Palace in the distance, the trees, the quiet murmur of the Seine nearby...it's rather gorgeous. One day we bump into a couple of her friends of the Cage of Fools. I could barely recognise gracious Pierrette in her male clothes. She goes by Pierre during the day. "Amélie" the other woman says, offering a hand to shake and I recognise one of Élodie's friends who were playing cards. "We've already met but I don't think I properly introduced myself". I assure her that I remember her. Then, lowering my voice as if I don't know if I can speak freely about it, I ask them about the fate of the Cage. Pierre/Pierrette frowns, she's one of the owners and had a hard time being released by the gendarmes after the arrest. The bar and ballroom is still closed, the authorities denies a reopening. They're planning a night incursion to retrieve all the lost goods, if there's any left. But so far it's hard to tell what will be of the Cage. Then, noticing my sullen expression, she adds: "It will open up again, darling. It's Paris, Pigalle: places like this always rise from their own ashes. We just don't know when and how" We all share a weak smile. The silence is broken by Élodie. "I was thinking of throwing a little party at my place to cheer up the mood" "At your place? But how?" Amélie inquiries, skeptic but intrigued. "A roof party, so there will be space for anyone. We can lit some fires to keep warm. You're all invited and I will ask some girls at the Moulin. A little feast to forget about our sorrows" True to her word, the next week, when I receive a letter from Marie informing me of her upcoming return, she proudly announces me that the party is happening: it's on Saturday night after the act at the Moulin. "Will you be there?" she asks, taking my hand into hers. The sudden gesture draws a smile on my face. We now seat together in bars and bistros very different from the Cage of Fools and I've come to miss casual touches like this. We've been very careful since that raid, especially Élodie. "Of course, I will" I nod over a steamy bowl of soup. She claps her hands excitedly, flashing me a bright smile before scribbling down an address on a scrap of paper she retrieved God knows where. Then she hands it to me. "Don't be late, I'll be waiting for you" Her words colour my cheeks rosy, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. Unsurprisingly, she lives in Monmarte, the artist neighbourhood. I arrive early, afraid to be late. I ate my dinner with great haste once back from work and spent a whole hour getting ready, a detail that -I do not doubt it- cemented my roommates' theory of the secret affair. I washed myself, did my hair up just like Marie taught me, and put on my best dress, which is nothing fancy but I am quite fond of the colour and its lacy sleeves. Once I put kohl on my eyes and some rouge on my lips, I head off into the night. When I finally arrive, I spot some familiar faces in front of the building: Léa's friends. I wave at them and they greet me with affability as if we've known each other for a while. "Good evening, Léa. You're radiant tonight" Pierrette says, kissing both my cheeks. I'm glad to see her back in her female clothes, she even placed a flower in her hair for the occasion. "Élodie hasn't arrived yet, she and the girls must be on their way" Amélie informs me, rubbing her hands. I say that it's fine especially if you're in good company. We chat, hugging ourselves and I discover that they all works as secretaries, bar Pierrette who is "an unsuspecting accountant by day, the best bartender in town by night". Just then, a cheerful choir of voices resounds in the street, approaching. We turn and it's the dancers of the Moulin Rouge. They cheer and wave at us, swaying bottles of wine and champagne raided from the theatre. After a quick round of kisses and loud greetings, we all run up the stairs before catching a cold. Élodie's apartment is messy and rather small for the number of guests attending the party so we quickly take the stairs and head to the roof. The sight is gorgeous: as the others light a couple of fires and one of the dancers harmonises an accordion, I take a moment to admire it. From the top of the hill, Paris lays beneath us like an ocean of light and chimney smoke. An intoxicating combination of misery and beauty I have never seen before. Someone taps my shoulder and I turn to see Carmine, one of Élodie's colleagues, handing me a glass of wine. It's stronger than I expect but I keep sipping it as we chat, grateful to have something to kindle my bones in the cold. A lively tune starts playing and we all share a toast to our host, who performs an exaggerated reverie in full response. The atmosphere is bubbly: some dance, others chat and crack jokes with each other...everyone is in good spirits. I wonder if this is the life my new friend is used to, so careless and free. So different from the one I know. What does she see in me? My ordinary seamstress routine, my life....is a stale dry biscuit in comparison to what she does. I'm saved by the male dance, Laurent, who asks me to dance. I accept: after all, I am here to enjoy myself and he will lead, I only have to follow his moves. As we sway I catch Élodie looking in my direction while chatting with the girls and drinking wine. I have no recollection of how much time we spent there, I remember walking down the stairs arm in arm with Amélie. As some guests take their leave, we gather in the living room and the the tiny kitchen downstairs to keep warm. Laurent produces himself in an impression of Monsieur Ziegler that elicits a general round of laughters. Pierrette and one of the girls sing one last song, a popular duet for the "last ones standing" then say goodbye. When the last guest walks out of the door, Élodie turns towards me. "Stay and help me sinking that?" she asks, nodding at a half empty bottle of champagne. Before I can answer, she's already looking for two glasses. She returns with just one. "You have the glass, I take the bottle" she announces. I laugh at the tipsy note in her voice as she pours liquid ambrosia in my glass. "What?" she chuckles. "Just saying that maybe you should take a seat, mademoiselle" I tease her, guiding her to the sofa. She rolls her eyes and obliges...then at last minute, she pulls me down too. Some champagne sloshes over the rim of my glass but I find a seat beside her. We both giggle. "To the best party host in Paris" I raise my glass. She smiles and mirrors my gesture. "To the most gracious guest, the pearl of Roscoff" We cling our glasses and I blush a little, diverting my eyes. When I look back at here, her eyes rests dreamy on a painting laid nearby on the floor. One of her roommates is a painter, she explains absentmindedly, he finished it yesterday. I tell her she's a real bohemienne, living in the artist quarter with a painter.... "An actress and a music-hall trumpet player. And I'm a dancer myself!" she adds. Then she falls quiet. She smiles to herself, a rather melancholic smile, as if she's contemplating her whole life. "La vie bohème...that's the life I chose" she says after a while. "I've never thought I would achieve that though. I've never thought I would get this far" "How come?" I sit more comfortably and she takes a gulp of champagne before speaking again. She was born in Bordeaux, a place now filled with memories of a lonely grim childhood. Her mother was, is -since she's still alive as far as she knows- a prostitute, who spent more time walking the streets than cuddling her little girl. Sometimes she received clients at home and Élodie ran hiding in the filthy toilet in the garden until they were gone. She never knew who her father was but she likes to think it was a tormented poet or a travelling artist...more likely and ironically, he could have been a gendarme off duty or the spoilt heir of a local noble with a taste for the sordid cheap pleasures the streets of the suburbs offer after dark. Her mother wasn't kind to her -one day when she had a bit too much, she admitted she never wanted a child- but provided for her. She was the one teaching her the can-can. "Decades ago only prostitutes danced like this, now it's different...but I guess it's part of the profession lore, so to speak" she laughs sombrely. "I mean, some girls at the Moulin still do that, dancing and selling their graces to paying admirers. I suppose it's easy to cross the line if you always want more and more and adulation is a weird poison. I don't judge them, if no one is forcing them to do so, they can do what they want...." She turns towards me, placing her hand over mine. I give it a squeeze. "I don't do that, Léa. I don't do that...I saw what that life did to my mother, what it turned her into and when one morning I packed my things and left, I swore to myself to ever do that, even if money was running low, if I could avoid it. I was barely sixteen when I arrived here, alone, in Paris. I was lucky enough to find kind people who didn't take advantage of me...and I...and I started to dance. Dancing gave me freedom" I don't know what made her so suddenly nostalgic, maybe it's the alcohol we had tonight. But her story makes me appreciate her even more: the world has been unkind to her at first, filling her childhood with hardships, but she fought back. She danced away from her misery with ineffable grace and dignity like a brave butterfly. "And now look at you: you're Lila, star of la quadrille" I flash her a bright smile. "I'm proud of you" She laughs softly. "Are you?" "Yes, of course!" I sit a bit straighter, as if it could give my word more authority. "You've faced adversities and you went so far. Only the most talented dancers are allowed to perform in la quadrille!" "You read it somewhere?" "Everybody knows that!" I exclaim, amused and surprised by her skepticism. Then, to prove my point, I hand her my glass and stand. I find a spot clear enough and declare astonished: "Like, I could never dance like you do every night!" And I start mimic the can-can routine at my best, that I'm pretty sure turns out to be a grotesque parody of the real dance. I do it to amuse her and I smile when I finally hear her laughing. She places the bottle and the glass back on the floor and claps her hands, whistling like some spectators do at the Moulin. "What? No, don't clap, that was just silly!" I dismiss her, chuckling. "Well, whatever that was it was...something" she shrugs before bursting into another laughter, softer this time. "Whatever it was? Hear hear, a can-can dancer who doesn't even recognise it!" I make a scene to be offended and throw her a cushion from the nearest armchair. She ducks just in time to avoid it. We both giggle then she stroke her chin and regards me more carefully, pensive. "You have enthusiasm but you lack technique" "Told you I'm a bad dancer" I shrug. The memory of the two of us dancing at the Cage of Fools crosses my mind like a meteor and my heart starts racing again in my chest. "May I?" she says, standing. I nod even if I don't know what she means exactly. I get it when she saunters closer and positions herself behind me. When she gently places her hands on my hips, I inhale sharply. "First of all, you need to loosen up a bit. You're too wooden...sway your hips, like this" She hums the melody of Offenbach and guides my movements so that they match the rhythm. Again, it doesn't take long before I surrender and follow her lead. I don't know how long we sway like this, I must have closed my eyes. I only hear her voice behind me. "See, definite improvement! Now rise your skirt up a little" I freeze and turn towards her. My cheeks warm up and I try to blame the wine I had. "You don't want to trip over your skirt while dancing this, you can hurt yourself" she smiles encouragely. "That's why you do that then...I would have thought..." I shake my head but do as she says. I bend down and reach for the hem of my long skirt then I grab it as I saw the dancers do and lift it up till my the height of my knees. "Well, that's one reason" "I knew there were ulterior motives" I laugh. "The Moulin is not exactly a convent, right? You have to show your legs to the paying audience" she explains, mocking Monsieur Ziedler's voice. "They pay good money for them" "I see no paying audience though" I chuckle, turning my head slightly. "Because you have little imagination, mademoiselle Pearl" she whispers into my ear. Her breath hot on my skin sends a shiver down my spine and my heart pounding against my ribs. "Ready for the gallop? Three, two, one-" "Wait, wait-" Before I can process what's happening, under the lead of Élodie, we gallop from one side of the room to the other, moving laterally like crabs. I understand now: I saw this move over and over during the acts. Élodie gives directions and tells me to sway the skirt as we move. We soon end up laughing again when we almost trip over a tin box on the floor. When we stop, I feel dizzy and lean back against her for sustain. "Enough of that" she announces between laughters. "Now, knee up, girl!" I oblige and start jumping on my other feet. My balance becomes way more precarious. To think that dancers like Élodie make this look so easy...I let out a shriek as I fear of tripping. She encourages me to rise my knee even higher up to my chest. "But I will fall!" "I'll catch you" she reassures me, holding my hips a bit tighter. "C'mon, Léa, a bit higher...higher...yes, like this! You're a natural...and now kick!" I follow her instructions and my kick sends the books on top of a pile nearby flying across the room. It's a miracle they don't land over the painting. "Well, that's one hell of a kick, darling!" Élodie cheers as I lower my leg. Her laughter is contagious, I soon join and we don't stop until we're out of breath. Then I throw my head back and it finds her shoulder. We're still in the same position. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my back and her hands on me. I slowly turn my face towards her and find her looking back at me. We go quiet, trying to catch our breaths. Has she always been so beautiful? This whole time? I remember her cheerfulness, the way she let me spin into her arms and listened to me, resting her chin on her hand at the Cage. How she immediately grabbed my hand at first sign of danger, the tender light in her eyes when our faces were inches apart in that back alley. I decide to do what probably she failed to do that night: I follow my instinct, without thinking twice. I lean forward and brush my lips over hers. A tentative kiss, the lazy stroke of a shy lover. She mirrors my move and our hands move almost at unison: hers around my waist, resting on my stomach; mine over hers, stroking her wrists and intertwining our fingers. The kiss that follows makes me tingle in her arms as a fire erupts underneath my skin. She kisses me again on her own accord this time: it's surprisingly tender and it tastes of rouge, champagne and a refrained passion that finally finds its way. My knees go suddenly weak and I feel dizzy again, lost in our embrace, lost in her. She whispers my name like a prayer and I spin to wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her again. Her hands run up my back, holding me close as if I could run away any minute but there is nowhere else I would like to be now. I cannot refrain a moan when her lips find my jaw and brush over my neck: they burn on my skin and I wish she would never stop. Our kisses become more fervent and fierce as we backpedal down the corridor, bumping into the walls yet uncaring of anything else than the sudden fire consuming us. Élodie pulls me into what must be her room because she kicks the door shut and we soon tumble over a mattress. I fall on top of her, letting out a giggle. I go quiet when I meet her eyes. Illuminated only be the moon light she's the most enchanting vision I've ever seen. Her hair messy and sprawled beneath her, the ruby red of her lips so close I barely refrain myself from running a finger over them. She looks up at me, her eyes gleaming like stars. She reaches out and touches my cheek. She strokes it gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She looks...in awe, vulnerable, adoring. For a moment I wonder if that's what lovers feel when they look at each other, when they lay in each other arms: a sweet ache of the heart, the purest amazement. "Kiss me again" I whisper, begging as a mendicant even if I don't need to. She finds my mouth again and again and runs her fingers through my hair. I place one hand on her chest and I feel her tremble imperceptibly at my touch. She suffocates a gasp against my lips while her heart hammers underneath my fingertips. I whisper her name this time and I kiss her jaw just like she did earlier, mirroring her moves. My hand runs down her side: I'm too lost in her to know what I'm doing. When I feel her knee beneath the fabric, I caress backwards up her tight, rising her skirt. That's when it happens. Élodie squirms and grabs my hand. She breaks the kiss and asks me to stop. Suddenly ashamed of my hunger, I retrieve my hand and prop myself up. My cheeks must turn crimson when I mutter my apologies. "I'm- I'm sorry, I thought you wanted it too" I let her space to move freely. Hiding her face from me, she sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing hard. Then she stands. I sit and try to compose myself. "What I want....that's not the point" she sighs. "What do you mean?" I ask, confused. "Did I do something wrong?" She still gives me her shoulder. When she speaks again, she hangs her head, defeated. "This has nothing to do with you, Léa. God, no, if you only knew..." She sounds on the verge of tears but she must swallow them back because when she turns to face me her voice is less cracked even if she looks in pain. "Léa, I like you. Way more than I should and since the moment I bumped into you and you talked of fireworks. I gave you my handkerchief only as a mere expedient to see you again and you what you did? You turned it into a little work of art for me and you barely knew me back then. You have a kind word for everyone, you're helping your roommate in a moment of need without asking for anything in return. You're a good girl, one of the most honest girl I know and I..." She takes a deep breath before shaking her head forlornly. "You didn't even fully realise what happened at the Cage" I keep quiet for a moment then I speak, keeping my voice low and fiddling with the hem of a sleeve as a kid being scolded: "The gendarmes wanted to arrest everyone because there were...sapphics and men kissing other men. And people like Pierrette there" I say because I don't know if there are words for them that aren't insults. "...Yes" she confirms, meeting my gaze again. Seeing her now, one could doubt the very same girl was laughing and having a blast one hour ago or so. She looks so troubled, her eyes a mix of tenderness and sorrow. Guilt, maybe. "Léa, I...I would spend the night with you. You wouldn't even have to ask me. But-" she grimaces and my heart skips a beat, bracing for the worst. "What will happen when you hear that this is illegal, that people get sent to jail or the asylum -you remember? We joked about the asylum- for things like this? Because the authorities say it's like an...an illness, a taint-" "Why are you telling me all this?" I protest, standing too. "Because that's what happens out there! It took days to get Pierrette out of jail" she exclaims. "I should have never taken you there, I've been such a fool-" "You're a good girl too, Élodie" I interrupts her, reaching for her hand. "Don't tell me you doubt that" She looks down at our hands then meets my eyes, forlorn. "Am I though?" her sad smile pierces through my heart. "I almost got you arrested that night, little pearl. What would have your boss or your friends said if we hadn't been fast enough and those gendarmes had locked us in together with the others? You barely knew me back then, you would have hated me and I couldn't have blamed you" "But I don't hate you!" Now I am the one on the verge of crying. "We...we would have found a way out, I'm sure of that!" Élodie smiles at me, a weak pained smile. She retrieves her hand and caresses my cheek. "Maybe we would have, just like in one of those ballads chanteuses sing" she sighs. "But the truth is I care too much for you and so far I've only been a reckless fool, a selfish reckless fool. I could never forgive myself if you-" Words got stuck in her throat and she lowers her eyes for a moment. Then she presses a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's too late to walk the street alone at night. You can stay here tonight and...you can take the bed, I'll take the sofa" Having said that, she walks away. "Élodie, you don't have to...please, stay" I beg, hoping to stop her but when I turn she's already closing the door behind her. I consider the idea of running after her but I soon realise it would be absolutely pointless and I don’t want to make things worse. I stand for a moment, shaken. Then I lay down on the bed still warm of our embrace and look out into the night. The moon that made Élodie look even more beautiful and ethereal is still up there in the sky but now I'm alone. Silent tears rim my cheeks. I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep. For some reason I know that Élodie is doing the same.

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #wlw love #original work #paris #belle epoque

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behindtherobinsmask · 4 years

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tagged by @runnfromtheak

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. I write the most random things so if you can actually find a pattern then... let me know. Help a fool out.

P.S. - I know it says opening line and not paragraph but come on, that doesn’t do any story justice.

Gonna do my tags before because this turned out to be longer than expected - @elwon @stevieraebarnes @epistemologys

1. All The Times Damian Wayne Felt Loved

This was a birthday fic I wrote for a darling friend of mine. The whole time I was writing this my biggest fear was that the characters were going to... just not be right. Still have that fear.

“Gripping onto a pillow, Damian walked down the dark halls of his grandfather’s house, uncertainty clouding every step that he made. At this hour of the night, no one seemed to be around yet he could feel eyes watching his every move. The eyes of the stars in the sky, the moon and the many trained soldiers that had years of practice when it came to blending into the shadows. It was their presence that forced him to walk with his head held high, to bat away the tears in his eyes and pretend that everything was alright. Pretend that he wasn’t afraid.”

2. To all the stars that are listening

Another birthday fic (maybe that was the pattern all along jk). I actually really enjoyed writing this fic because I felt like I was back in my zone (my zone being angst). Can’t wait to get started on the second part.

“Dick’s life had been anything but ordinary since he was a child. As someone who grew up in the circus, his morning was spent studying with the other kids that travelled with his troupe while in the afternoon, he practiced with his heart and soul to fly as beautifully as his parents. In the nights, he’d stand on the sidelines and watch them perform, absolutely awed by the way their bodies moved, each twist, each turn so seamless, every difficult stunt seemed easy in their skin. Clinging onto the edge of the tent, he wished with all his heart that someday, he could be just like them. A bird freed. With every wish, his voice grew louder and louder until somewhere, up above, a star heard his cry. It heard his desire to be free. The chains that grounded him slowly slipped away and he flew with practiced grace. And just as Dick spread his wings, his parents fell. Birds flightless.

Freedom he had asked for and freedom he had received.”

3. Come here, won’t you hold my hand?

Listen, I spend hours of my life playing genshin impact. Did you really think I wouldn’t write a fic for it?

“After chasing the traveler away, Xiao sighed, wondering if now was the time to head back to Wangshu Inn. There he could stay away from the harbour and its people, away from the wishes made on stars that could never hear them, away from their fragile happiness that he could shatter with a single touch. Someone like Xiao, so burdened with sins, could never mingle among the mortals without bringing harm. Wherever he went, only misery ever followed. But even though he knew that it would be best for him to leave, a part of him, as silly as it was, worried that the journey back would make him miss out on the opportunity to see an old friend. While he never attended the Lantern Rite in Liyue, he always made sure to catch a glimpse of the Mingxiao lantern that always honored the adepti. It was only at that moment that he could lose himself to the past momentarily and remember a time when he wasn’t so alone, when his battle wasn’t only his to fight.”

4. Jon Kent Must Die

A jaydick flashfic challenge gave birth to this crack series and I will happily go down with this ship. I’ve written too many of these and maybe, in the future I’ll write more. Who will stop me? God? I don’t think so.

“Damian was sick and tired of his siblings.

Never had he met two people who were so dependent on their partners that they needed them around 24/7. It didn’t matter whether it was day or not, whether they were at the manor or in their respective homes, wherever his brothers went, their fool boyfriends seemed to follow. The obligatory family dinner had been turned into a circus with Todd’s usual clownery that had Damian rolling his eyes so hard that sometimes he was afraid they’d just pop out of his skull. Kent was no better. In fact, on more than one occasion, he had encouraged Todd’s rambling as though he was God’s chosen prophet, sharing his truth with the world. Damian really wished, just for a day, the two of them would simply go away. It wasn’t that he missed his siblings or anything. He just wished to have a conversation with Richard that didn’t end with him wanting to stab someone. Hopefully a 5’11 man with black hair with a streak of white and deep green eyes that could find a conspiracy in Titus’s preferred pose for napping.”

5. I wanna be in your arms by the sea (studying your freckles so curiously)

Yes. It’s another genshin impact fic. Sue me. (Please don’t I’m broke).

“Every night, Zhongli saw the same dream.

Caressed by the gentle winds of the Guili plains, he watched over his people, Guizhong’s people as they lived in prosperity, enjoying the calm and gentle wind that wrapped around them. Serenity was a blessing and they had an abundance of it. In the beginning, when Guizhong had described such a scene, something knit carefully in her imagination, he had not believed her. But now that he was seeing with his own two eyes, he was glad that he had agreed to her terms. Glad that he had formed a contract that had been beneficial for all.”

6. I stay up late and talk to the moon (And I can’t stop telling her all about you)

A christmas exchange fic that I loved writing because it really got me back into the writing for jaydick. It had been a while since I touched anything fandom related. Then this story happened.

“According to Jason, there weren’t many things that Bruce really got right. Not with his rules that could never be bent for anyone or his sickeningly righteous sense of justice. But if there was one thing Bruce excelled in, it was throwing the world’s most boring party ever. Every event that ever took place in the Wayne manor was the same. Classical music. Champagne flutes. Appetizers that could never replicate Alfred’s cooking and finally, the same old rich folks of Gotham who needed to be filled in on the latest gossip lest they melt into a puddle.”

7. Now I’m going down on you (proving what I want is true) Who told me I could write smut? Please take away my license. “Click. Click. Click. With a heavy sigh, Dick switched off the TV and tossed the remote aside after an hour of clicking through the channels, unable to find anything that would keep his mind occupied. Two weeks ago, during a drug bust with the rest of the bats, Dick had suffered an injury to his shoulder which he considered rather minor. But Alfred and Barbara said otherwise as he was benched until he healed, his own city taken over by other vigilantes while he was forced to sit at home and entertain himself with murder mysteries with plot twists he saw coming from a mile away. Unfortunately, even when he hit the gym to let go of some restless energy, he could only do the most basic of workouts, the kind that simply weren’t enough for someone who was so used to being active all day long.”

8. Wayne Boys Unsolved

Another crack fic that I really enjoyed writing. Poor Yvonne though. She was really suffering.

“Yvonne’s body was thrumming with excitement as she peeked out the window of her room, her eyes falling on the black car that just pulled up in front of her house. Four boys stepped out, ones that she was so very familiar with. After all, she had spent many nights watching every single video they uploaded on their blog. They were paranormal investigators of sorts, the kind that didn’t believe in the supernatural and lived to debunk the stories that revolved around each haunted location. Because people loved to watch them so, both alive and dead, the boys had become famous in every circle possible.”

9. You make me wanna die (I’m burning up in the light)

Another birthday fic and the first dark story I ever wrote. Writing this was fun but also nerve-wracking.

“I think we need a break.

Two years, three months, four days and seven hours. That was how long it had been since Jason had said those words to Dick, sitting in the middle of the bed they shared, silk sheets pooled around his scarred waist, the white of his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, droplets of it swimming down his throat and across his bare chest that was bruised red with bite marks, across the autopsy scar that he had been reborn with. He looked like a picture, each feature painted so delicately with colours that pulled, that hypnotised and drowned. The fingers of his right hand flexed, parted and then brushed across the back of his neck, tracing the bond mark that tied him down to Dick, shuddering slightly under the imprint, his heady scent spreading across the room like a drug. Strong, so fucking strong that Dick could still taste it on his tongue. Looking like that, after everything they had done, when he opened his mouth, when he said the words that had been sitting on the tipping of his tongue, it was only to end everything that they were.”

10. Come fire up the night (make me feel alive)

Who told me I could write smut (2)

“Staring at the ceiling of his apartment, Dick lay in his bed, tired but unable to fall asleep, the ticking of the clock haunting him. Tick. He took in a deep breath. Tock. He closed his eyes. Tick. He tried to sleep. Tock. Every memory of Jason came rushing back to him. The dark hair with a streak of white that framed his chiselled face. The plump lower lip that he often dreamt about kissing, pulled between his teeth until Jason was groaning. The freckles that were scattered across his nose and cheeks. Those deep green orbs that gleamed with mischief, teasing and taunting, burning with unbridled fury, one look enough to make Dick’s knees tremble. And as goosebumps spread across his arms, he found himself waking up, lest he did something that he knew he would regret. Like calling up Jason and confessing feelings that were better left unspoken, buried in a special graveyard from which there would be no sudden resurrections.”

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spider-bih · 5 years

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Prank Letters [Peter Parker]

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Lost Love Letters P.1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Mentions of potentially triggering topics (i.e death, self-destructive habits),

Masterlist,

Eerily familiar handwriting on random envelopes had been haunting you the past few weeks. At first it seemed like harmless fun- like one of your old friends messing with you before you had to move away. Maybe it was their weird way of saying goodbye and wishing you well. You didn’t want to leave, but you had to, your parents had no other choice. The world revolved around money and they had to follow it to live comfortably. You were just glad that you weren’t overly attached to much in this town. Or perhaps a certain falling out with some people made you yearn for escape, who could tell.

The notes were nice at first, despite how you swore the handwriting was familiar. They were sweet, some reminders, some nice thoughts. “Treat yourself to something today.” “It’s going to be sunny and warm!” “A rainy day ahead, remember your umbrella!” “Yellow is your color today.”

You didn’t expect them to follow you to your new home, an apartment in New York. They became aggressive and were scattered in places no one should be able to leave notes. “CAN YOU READ THESE?”, was found in your brand new notebook for your upcoming school year. “ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”, in your fresh laundry. “PLEASE. I NEED A RESPONSE.”, in your locker. Today, inside your new box of Pop-Tarts, “PLEASE, YOU HAVE TO SAV_ ___”, the writing was so aggressive, the rest was illegible. It also looked smeared by something, you couldn’t pinpoint what. It was terrifying you, but anytime you tried to show someone, like your parents, it would disappear. You would lose it and even when you tried to explain, they didn’t believe you. How could they? How would someone get a note into an unopened box of Pop-Tarts? In your fresh laundry without getting wet? In a brand new notebook? It made no sense whatsoever. Yet it was chilling you to the bone.

Who was this person? What did they want from you? Was this funny to them? Terrifying some poor girl- making her look over her shoulder at every corner and question everyone she saw? You just wanted a smooth move, a new start at a new school. It was Junior Year, just one more year of hell after that and you were free! You could get started on learning what pertained to your future career and nothing else! That’s all you wanted, but here you were, scared out of your mind on the very first day of school. Lovely.

Your appetite was lost, no pop-tarts this morning- your body didn’t agree with you though. Especially when you decided lunch wasn’t an option either. You were scared to find another note in your mashed potatoes or some other odd place. You couldn’t even tell if the pain in your stomach was nerves, or hunger- or even both. You just let it be, hoping that ignoring it would make your first day smoother.

It didn’t.

You were stuck feeling nervous and just aching to be home. You were relieved once you were on that train- relieved and a little sad. You hoped you’d maybe make some friends or be interested in your new subjects, but you could barely make it through basics. You were too nervous and too tired to care about anything. It sucked- but maybe a good nap would help. A nap and maybe a snack. Your stomach really hurt- had you really gone all day without a bite to eat? Damn- these notes were really taking a toll, so much so you even felt queasy. It was not a good feeling, especially on the moving train. It was packed and you were stuck standing, holding onto one of the poles to stay balanced. Suddenly your bookbag weighed a ton and your legs felt like jelly, before you could register anything else, you were falling, and then you were out.

“Hey... can- -ou -ear -e? -ey! You- -otta -up! Oh- -ease, -ey! Up!”

Someones voice was going in and out of your head, calling out to you and begging you to come to. Your stomach still really hurt (and for some reason your head throbbed too?) and you felt faint. It felt like you were propped up against something- something hard and uncomfortable. Someone was grasping your shoulders and when you opened your eyes, dark brown ones were staring back at you. They belonged to some boy. He had a mess of short curls, they looked like he ran his hands through them like crazy. His face was panicked and a little flushed. You noticed little freckles littered across his nose and cheeks, very faint, but still a little noticeable. He was kinda- wait, why was he so close? What-

“You’re awake! Oh thank god, I thought I’d have to call an ambulance! Are you okay?”, he asked you, words coming out in a jumbled rush.

“What happened? Where am I?”, you asked, seeing that you were no longer in the train, but at a stop.

“You fainted- your head kinda hit mine but that’s not important. I had to take you off the train- this is my stop, but I don’t know if it’s yours, I’ll pay for you to get back on if this isn’t-”

“What? I fainted? Oh god- I hit you? I’m so so so-”

He cut you off with a firm shake of his head, “No, don’t stress it! It’s fine, I’m fine, are you though? You look a little sick.”

“Uh- I think I’m good now. I should be- what stop are we at?”

“We’re on the one at 9th Street. Are you sure? You look flushed- kinda like you haven’t eaten a bite all day?”

That made you raise an eyebrow, “How could you get that just from my face?”

The boy shrugs, “I’ve forgotten to eat once or twice, I know the look. I have half a bag of gummy worms in my bag- unless that sounds super weird since I’m a stranger. I swear I just bought them this morning. I can show you the receipt unless that’s still weird- I just really don’t want you passing out-”

You cut him off with a casual wave of your hand, “Nah, I think I have a granola bar in my bag somewhere, probably crushed but still edible. I’ll take you up on that offer another day. So you said 9th Street right? Lucky me, that’s my stop.”

He looked surprised, “Really? It’s mine too! You sure you don’t want some gummy worms? A granola bar isn’t too filling..”

“Yeah but gummy worms won’t give me energy will they?”

He shrugs, “Maybe, maybe not. Still filling. Uh.. I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.”

You smile a little, “I’m [Y/n]. [Y/n] [L/n].”

So began a nice conversation as he guided you to the nearest café for actual food. The two of you talked over some warm coffee and a doughnut or two. Perfect for the slow-dropping temperature. You got to know he went to Midtown, that one school you heard was for the academically gifted (in science mostly). He lived with his Aunt and seemed to love Star Wars. You told him of how you just moved here and started your first day, how you were getting used to taking the subways and finding your way around.

When today began, you had no idea you’d meet a friend so fast- that you’d click so easy. It was nice and it was comforting to know the entire day wasn’t wasted. Your mind was free from worry, the anxiety over finding another letter was long gone as you walked home-

Only to return once you saw a white envelope lying on your bed. It was blank, no return address like always, but oddly no writing at all. With a hard swallow, you crept towards it and opened it up. The writing was still uncomfortably familiar, but it was neater. Calmer.

“I’m sure by now you’ve met him already. I remember that day like it just happened hours ago. It was wonderful. He’s so nice isn’t he? Easy going too? I miss it.

Listen, you’re not going to believe me at first. I know it, but you need to try.

My name is [Y/n] [L/n]. I’m you at twenty-seven and counting. I know those other letters must have rattled you and I know it seems crazy, but I need you to listen. I need you to save him. I need you to save Peter Parker, or at the least, I need you to be able to let him go without a single regret.

You’re going to love him. You’re going to be scared of it, nervous to ruin what’s been established. You shouldn’t be. I regret never telling him. I regret losing him how I did. I never stopped loving him, I want him back. I want to change this future of mine please.

You have until the summer before Freshman year of college starts. Please, tell him. Don’t let him go.

He dies before you get the words out.

You’ll regret it. Every waking moment of your life, you will regret it.

I’m begging you.”

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, if I still can’t next time, I’ll have to remove it :c

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Part 2

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker reader insert #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter x you #peter x reader #peter reader insert #peter fic #peter fanfic

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bittysvalentines · 5 years

Text

WTF

From: @insertatitlehere AO3: emimix3

To: @dyinginjapanese

Tags: Social Media, Friendship, Pets, Cats

Message: Hi! I hope you'll enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed working on it :) It was a pleasure to write this for you!

Tango

> Guys I made a mistake

Whiskey > What now

Ford >> I mean, if you noticed you made a mistake, you must have made a BIG mistake

Tango > mmh just come to my dorm room

Ford >> Is that a ghost. Did you find a ghost in your room

Whiskey > just stop with ghost hunting, it doesn’t work tango, you need to accept that

Tango > bring meat if you’ve got some in your fridge

Whiskey > What > Tony Tango Tangredi what

Ford shot a message to Whiskey when she was about to reach Tango’s dorm, and he replied to her that he would be there in two minutes – so, she waited for him at the building. Whiskey arrived, with a Tupperware in hand.

“It’s chicken tenders,” he explained. “I hope Tango won’t eat them all, because I wanted to have some for dinner.”

“If Tango don’t eat them all, I will. I had a class over lunch so I didn’t eat.”

“I’m not your personal chef, Denise,” Whiskey said, as he opened the dorm’s front door.

“I’m the one picking everyone’s room on roadies, Connor. If I were you, I’d play nice.”

“Okay, you can take two, and I don’t want to be with Tango and Hops again. My ears still haven’t recovered from last time.”

When they reached Tango’s room on the third floor, they didn’t even have the time to knock that he had slightly opened the door to usher them in.

“Tony, what the hell?” Whiskey asked.

Tango didn’t reply immediately. He just looked at his desk, and mumbled something that neither of his friends managed to understand – and that’s when Ford noticed, on the desk chair:

There was a tiny, scrappy, brownie kitty.

“Oh my God,” Ford said, a hand on her heart because she honestly needed as much to not die of cuteness overload.

“Oh my God,” Whiskey said, a hand in front of his mouth because there was no way that Tango did something that stupid, and that he was about to involve them into this.

Tango scratched his cheek, a bit uneasy.

“Okay so, I found a kitty, his name is Doubt Legs Alarm and I’d die for him.”

“Oh my God you’re so cute,” Ford gushed, going to the little squeaking kitten. “Look at him Whiskey! He’s so cute!”

The kitten didn’t seem to want to be pet, but he instead began to try to bite Ford’s fingers and scratch them. Yeah, he was kinda cute, even if he had matted, uneven fur, that he was almost certainly too thin, plus the small issue that he had, you know, no eyes.

“I’m sorry Tango,” Whiskey managed to utter, “but what the fuck did you say his name is?”

Doubt Legs Alarm was nicknamed “Doug” while the three friends were sitting in the nearest vet’s waiting room – the kitty in a big cardboard box, because that was the only thing they found to transport him.

“You know you can’t keep him, right?” Ford told Tango.

“Shhh,” he replied, putting his index in her lips. “Shh.”

“Tango. Ignoring the issue won’t solve the issue,” Whiskey sighed.

“Shh,” Tango said, now putting his index on Whiskey’s mouth.

It was soon enough their turn. They entered the vet’s consulting room and Ford carried Doug out of the box to put him on the table – the poor kitty seemed to be terrorised by the whole ordeal, and he was meowing uncontrollably. In the meantime, Tango was telling the vet what he knew about the cat.

“I saw him while taking a shortcut from a class to another,” he explained. “Behind the Murder Stop&Shop, you know?”

“The Murder Stop&Shop?”

“Yeah, not the racist one, the one where there was a murder a few years back. Anyway. He was meowing between two trashcans and he was alone and eyeless, so…”

“Well it’s good you took him. He wouldn’t have lasted long out there – his eyes injuries are fresh, they could get infected quickly…”

“Also he’s not eating. We tried to give him a chicken tender but he didn’t want to try.”

“A chicken tender.”

The vet was really helpful – gave an age to Doug, probably between two and three months (but it was hard to know because of how thin he was), something to try to soothe his eyes, a thousand of recommendations that Ford dutifully noted on her journal, and prescriptions for worm killers and vaccines.

“You plan to keep him, right?” the vet had asked. “Or do you have someone lined up to take him, a shelter?”

“No, no, I’m keeping him,” Tango replied straight away.

“Okay, then we’d need to schedule his neutering…”

He also gave them a lot of advice on what to buy to take care of him, and books to read – he walked them to the front of the clinic, and while Whiskey and Ford were thanking him, the secretary gave Tango the bill for the consultation.

Ford didn’t manage to see it, but Tango blanched and asked in a quiet tone if payment plans were an option.

She took it on herself to not yell at her friend the second they were out. She waited that they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for their ride back to the campus.

“Tango. You can’t keep this cat.”

“I can. He needs me.”

“Tango. You live in a dorm room. You can’t have pets. Plus, it’s way too expensive. He’s sick and blind – he’s going to have medical bills way higher than this one. You need to pay for his food, his toys, his litter, for someone to take care of him when we’re on roadies.”

“But he’s so cute! He’s gonna die out there!”

“There’s shelters-”

“He’s blind! Who will want him?” Tango pleaded, holding the cardboard box close to his chest.

“I know. It’s breaking my heart, too, Tango. But we need to find a solution, quick.”

They needed to, and quick, indeed. The bus to campus stopped right in front of them. Neither moved, and the bus left. Another one would come in twenty minutes anyway. Tango was sombre and Ford looked really upset too.

“He can be our cat, the three of us. We can share the expenses; that would help a lot already. And we can leave him at the Haus,” Whiskey proposed.

Tango and Ford turned towards him, hoping he’d elaborate.

“It’s… Okay I don’t like cats much, but he’s hella cute. And Tango, you obviously care a lot about him, and Ford, I know you want the best for him. So it’s the easiest solution. I know that Bitty had refused a Haus cat when Chowder asked, but if we go in there with a sob story and a cute kitty already on our laps he won’t be able to say no. We’re spending half of our time in the Haus anyway, so we’ll be able to take care of him there. Plus, if he’s at the Haus and even if he’s our cat, we maybe can get the others to chip in with food and all – I know the team would be happy to shower him with toys and stuff. Plus, it’s in the middle of the frat row, so there must be someone in the Haus that knows someone who’d be around when we’re away for roadies.”

“And for the summer and other breaks, at least one of us three can take him,” Ford reasoned. “That, or as a few guys in the team stay on campus year-long, they’d be happy to Haus-sit him.”

“And,” Tango concluded, “if we’re the rightful owners of the Haus cat, that he can potentially come and go at our will – surely, that would give us a lot of leverage regarding getting dibs to live there next year.”

The three Tadpoles looked at each other, and nodded – before they shook hands to seal their perfect plan.

“What about after college?” Tango asked. “If he’s our cat. Who will get him when we graduate?”

“Well Tango, either one of us gets custody, or I guess that means we’ll have to be roommates in whatever city Whiskey will get an NHL contract in,” Ford joked.

“Sounds good, haha. Whiskey, please sign with the Jersey Devils.”

“Wait, what now? I just signed for a third of a blind cat, not for two eternal roommates!”

They rehearsed the sob story on the way to the Haus. Ford let her inner theatre kid take over and she was intransigent on their acting, reminding Tango that they’d have to surrender Doug to a shelter if they couldn’t convince Bitty to keep him. It worked, because Tango was nearly in tears when he was sitting in the living-room of the Haus, the kitty on his lap and telling all the Hausmates the story of this poor eyeless kitty who just needed a roof and a lot of love, and isn’t it the best place for him to have all that (and yes, of course, we’d be the ones cleaning the litter)?

Chowder was bawling his eyes out at the story, Nursey was enamoured with Doug, and Ollie and Wicks were already budging Bitty to please say yes, Cap, you’re not that heartless are you?

After a while, Bitty sighed and reluctantly accepted. Dex was already talking about plans for a cat tree to build.

Doug grew quickly accustomed at the life in the Haus. He was still running into some walls and misplaced furniture on the regular, but he was quiky to map out the entire place, and always knew at which room’s door to meow to get pets and food (he was especially good at tricking different people into giving him two or three dinners a day). During kegsters, he was staying in Chowder’s room, but the rest of the time he liked to hang out in the living-room where there were always people – or in the kitchen, where there was always food.

Bitty loudly hated the fact and kept complaining about it, but more than once Ford caught him petting or feeding scraps the cat when he was sitting on the counter while Bitty baked. Of course, Tango and Ford did all they can to stay number one in Doug’s heart – but the cat seemed to especially enjoy the company of Whiskey. Probably because Whiskey favourite way to hang out with people and animals was to sit in the same room, without saying a word?

Doug had become the lucky charm of the team, (everyone needed to pet him before a game or a roadie, or else…) so after Ford just off-handily mentioned that maybe her, Whiskey and Tango would look for an off-campus apartment that would accept cats for the following year, an emergency Haus Meeting was summoned. Neither of them was certain of what was said in it, but the following day, the three of them got dibs, so all went according to the plan.

[Instagram video: the cat has been brought to Faber and is wearing little cat shoes to walk on the ice. He’s meowing in despair because of how slippery it is.

@samwellmenshockey Our mascot is actually playing too – hopefully, he’ll be on the starting line by next semester!

Instagram picture: Doug is wearing a tiny knitted “ZIMME 1” jersey. It’s obvious there wasn’t enough room for the rest of the name. He’s lying on Tango’s stomach who is napping on the couch.

@samwellmenshockey Doug is supporting the @FalconersPVD tonight! Obviously that means that the @FalconersPVD will send him some 12 lbs dry food bags, right @FalconersPVD?]

“I’m happy we kept this cat,” Tango said one evening, while he was watching a movie, curled under the blankets on the couch next to Ford and Whiskey – petting Doug, who was on Ford’s lap.

“He’s not half-bad, in the end,” Whiskey agreed, scratching the kitty behind his ears.

“I saw him do his business on the Lax bro’s porch this afternoon,” Tango said.

“A cat of good taste and perfect manners. We taught him well,” Ford acquiesced.

“Are you kidding?” Whiskey asked. “He’s the worst cat! I saw him watching a mouse run in the basement, and he wouldn’t even get up to run after it!”

“Yeah? And did you get up to run after the mouse Whisk?”

“Wow, you’re so lazy, Connor.”

“Will you both stop making fun of me?”

Yep, Ford thought, as Whiskey was throwing at her and Tango popcorn in the face, and Doug jumped to try to catch them. She was happy they kept this cat.

#fordtangowhiskey #wtf #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

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ksj-com · 5 years

Text

The Purge Night-

Gunpoint

- Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

- Genre: ThePurge!AU, Hitman!AU, violence, smut, gore

- Warnings/Tags: pre-meditated murder, dark web hitman mention, (kind of?) slow burn, killing, fantasizing about ripping out someones diaphragm, soft Hoseok, crying reader, eventual smut, fucking over a kitchen counter, light spanking, marking hickeys

- Word Count: 3649 words

- Summary: There are a lot of black market jobs that really come to life during the purge— including hiring a hitman. When Hoseok sees his target for tonight, will he pull the trigger or make an exception for you?

|| Masterlist ||

A/N: Thank you to my bestfriend Jasmin (aka @pjm-com) for writing out my idea for this story for me because my mentality to do ANYTHING today was not having it. If you like this story, check out her writings because they are amazing

Hoseok was excited for tonight, something he could feel in his veins weeks before the actual day came. He spent the prior hours preparing his weapons for that night to keep him alive, and that thought alone made him laugh. He was untouchable. He wasn’t marked by anyone else, but he was known to be dangerous in every way possible which meant work would be heavy in the towns over. The towns who had never seen his face, who hadn’t experienced him standing over someone about to blow out their brains.

On purge night, there were two types of services that people could order. A protection service, in which someone would be posted outside your house to keep the crazy killers outside. There was another service as well, but it was highly illegal and fortunately for Hoseok, it was his full time job. Even sitting at his computer now, he’s searching through his e-mails on targets he has to kill before the week is up and oddly enough there is only one scheduled for tonight. A sick twisted smile forms on his face as he realizes that, he can take his time with you tonight. He could make it as quick as he wanted, or watch them die painfully tonight.

“This poor mother fucker,” he says as he leans back in his chair as he sipped on some alcohol. He’s already thought of five ways he can obliterate the body, man or women, he didn’t care. He could cut the sternum right under the chest plate and flip the diaphragm back, watching them struggle to breath without the main supporting muscle. But he’d save his sick fantasies for later before he gets too excited, and opens the e-mail. No specific information, no specific way to kill, just an address and a photo was all he needed to get the job done. Turning off his computer, he gets up and goes down into a secret room and is flicking the lights on to reveal an armory that he keeps just for his job. It paid in heaps of cash, which was why he had the best weapons known to man, some he’s been saving for special occasions.

He moves towards the room with familiarity, knowing where everything is as he pulls out a bag that he’s had ready for weeks now. Unrolling the small bundle, Hoseok spreads it out on the table to show two of his favorite weapons. The Ruger SR40c which had its own silencer. It was one of the most dangerous handguns out there and he was honored to have it in his possession, right next to a needle that he can inject into her jugular vein to paralyze her. With confidence, he brings the gun into his view before putting it in his stomach holster that keeps the gun strapped to his back, before pocketing the needle. He’s leaving the room quickly to walk into the main portion of his house and shut it down for the night. He lived in a penthouse on the seventh floor of a large building in the city so he was not worried at all about someone waiting for him to get home.

In no time he’s pulling the work address up on maps and making his way down to his car in the parking garage, a black Cadillac that has aided him through many drive-by shootings. He gets into the car and immediately locks the doors out of habit before setting his phone on a mount and pulling out of there. Lucky for him, the house was one in the suburbs not even five minutes from here and given the timestamp in the information file, as he pulls up to the office building and spots his target getting into her car.

You hadn’t even seen him following you, and he’s already suspected you’re an idiot— case in point. He’s following you a few cars back to the house that looks nicer than he expected. He wasn’t usually supposed to ask questions on the job, but why would someone want you dead? Pushing the thoughts out of his head, he decides to turn off the main road and find a spot to park in the woods near your house. He could climb in the window when it was safe and slit your throat, or do something else if his mind thought it up. He watches you walk into your house, eyes over your shoulder every few minutes and the clock on his wrist tells him that it’s five minutes till the alarm is supposed to sound. He gets out of his car and starts treading through the thistle and branches to arrive at the edge of the forest right in front of your house.

His instincts kick in as he drops to his knees, another figure dressed in a suit and tie just like him, walking up to your house. Hoseok felt anger bubble in his chest. This was his kill, his money, and before he can plan on torturing the other hitman, a thought racks his mind. You fucking idiot, he thinks. That’s not a hitman, but a protection agent and it was like the devil had put this glorious opportunity right into his hands. He takes his gun out of the holster, glad that the agent had chosen to park far away, so it would make it easier for Hoseok to drag his body away. He’s lifting up the Ruger, aiming straight at his head, and he’s thanking the heavens for his silencer because within a split second the man is collapsing to the ground with a hole in his head.

Scanning the area, he doesn’t see a soul so Hoseok decides to move quickly since you’re already inside your house. He drags the agent back to his car after searching his body for any documents of concrete evidence that he was assigned to her house. After finding nothing, he shuts the car door and turns to her house before walking the same path the agent had moments ago. His knuckles knock on your door formally, a smile on his features as you open the door with wide eyes. “Miss Y/N?” He calls, extending his hand. You take it cautiously before nodding.

“Yes, that’s me. Are you my agent?” Hoseok nods and she’s ready to open the door to let him in before her eyes are fixed on something behind his shoulder. He turns around ready to whip out his pistol before he sees a toddler running from a girl’s car, whom he could only assume to be his nanny, up the stairs and to his mother. She coos at him happily, swinging him up in her arms and planting kisses all over his face. Hoseok can’t help but crack a smile at how happy you both looked together. A happiness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Hey sport, how was day camp?” He decides to do an outside perimeter check right as the alarm sounds, the boring speech filling his ears. Before rounding himself back inside to meet you guys eating at the dinner table. It must’ve been leftovers since he’d only been outside for all of six minutes, but your kid was chowing down either way. She turns to Hoseok, a soft smile on her face and he can tell she’s tired and worn out, and a little hint of fear lies in her eyes. He’s upset for a second, that he’d be leaving this kid without a mother since the contract only instructed you. He mentally slaps himself in the face. He’s here to kill you, not feel sorry for you. “Would you like any?”

He shakes his head, putting his hands up. “No thank you, Miss. I already ate. Sit there and enjoy it, I’ll protect you.” She nods and continues to eat, making small talk with her kid about his day. Hoseok tunes it out, because he knows if he pays too much attention to it, he’ll start freaking out. It took him years to get over the death of his wife and kid. Five long years and he’s still scrambling to put his heart back into his chest.

He decides to watch the front door while they eat, and she’s getting him ready for bed. He’s doing a check of the halls and the bedrooms trying to find a place that he could hide in plain sight for later. While he’s in her bedroom, looking out her window to make sure no one was haunting the streets before he hears a soft hiccup behind him. You shut your door after tucking in your son, sobbing into your hands before your eyes are wide open at his figure in your room.

“Hey, I was just looking out your window to make sure no one’s waiting to ambush you… everything okay?” He asks in the softest voice possible. You look like you’re about to break apart right in his view and before he can ask again, you’re pressed into his chest crying. He short circuits with you in his arms, and he does the first thing he can think of which is holding you closer and sit on the bed. “Hey, it’s okay to let it out.. what’s wrong?” You’re gasping for air in his chest, hiccuping every so often as he rubs your back in rhythmic circles.

“It’s just.. my son.. He’s my everything and I’m barely s-scraping by to take care of him,” you sob and he sits there listening. “My fiancé was killed in the purge three years ago and it’s just been so hard without him.” Hoseok feels a jab of pain in his heart at your words. It’s something he knows very well, a pain he felt every night for the past five years.

“That must be hard.. My wife and kid died in the purge as well, five years ago and that’s why I do what I do today.” He lies a little. The real reason he kills is because he has revenge for the world, cause he’s mad at the world. He screams at the stars every chance he gets, tears in his eyes asking God why he took the only thing keeping him going. They never respond back. Maybe they never will. “I want to protect people to make sure no more loved ones get killed in these sadistic games.” She offers a small hum as an answer, pulling away to wipe her tears before quietly apologizing.

“It’s just. I can’t protect him, not like you could. Please, keep him safe.” She’s begging him, tears in her eyes and streaming down her face. Maybe Hoseok breaks in that moment, a small piece of the wall he’s built is crumbling right now. He nods, thumb reaching up to push the tears away. “Even if you have to sacrifice my life over his, please make sure he’s safe.” Hoseok makes a promise to not touch a hair on that child’s head, no matter what happens tonight. He lets you lay in his chest as your breathing slows, and to his surprise you’re asleep within minutes.

Setting you straight on your bed, he makes sure you’re warm and cozy before shutting the door and sighing. It kills him on the inside but he walks into your boy’s room, and watches him for a while. He babbles in his sleep, a few words that Hoseok can’t understand. One does tear him a new one, your son mumbling ‘dad’ in his sleep. Hoseok can’t stay any longer but he vows to protect this kid his life if it’s the last thing he does. Pushing the thoughts out of his head, he goes downstairs to check all the doors and windows but the street stays surprisingly empty. That didn’t matter, because the killer was on the inside.

Now, as he sits and watches TV comfortably in your home, he wonders if he’ll be able to do it. Kill you in your sleep after you just cried in his arms. After he realizes you guys share the same pain, he won’t know if he has the heart. If he declines the job, he’ll be fired but maybe it’s worth it. A couple hours pass and it’s nighttime now, and Hoseok decides to go up to your room, to watch you for a while. You twist and turn in your sleep and as he inches closer, he’s afraid to wake you up. He kneels at your bedside, needle in his hand but he hasn’t removed it from his pocket. Your face is soft and free of stress lines as it rests against your pillow, hair fanned out against the sheets. The stains of your tears are evident on your face and it takes everything in his power to not wipe the remaining residue away.

Before he gets too far, your eyes open lazily before fixating on his figure. You don’t flinch cause you have great faith in how well he would be able to protect you, and you end up offering him a small smile. “Is everything alright?” As if on cue, her kid starts crying and you’re suddenly on high alert.

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Hoseok calms you down instantly since he’s sure no ones in the house. He watches the look in your eyes return to normal and he fights internally with himself. “I’m sure a bad dream or something. Go check on him, I’m going to use the bathroom, okay?” You nod and he steps aside to let you tend to your kid while he slinks into the nearest restroom. He’s honestly nervous right now as he splashes water onto his face. He’s killed people without any mercy, and he’s wondering why the hell he can’t do it. Why he wants to stay outside your door and protect you every night. He opens the window once he decides that he can’t do it, and chucks the needle as far as he can away from the house. After slamming it shut, he pulls out his phone and deletes any trace of himself on the profile as much as he can in that time amount. He texts one of his close friends, asking him to wipe all his accounts clean before he steps into the hall.

After seeing your son asleep and your bed empty, he decides to trail downstairs and he spots you in the kitchen with your arms crossed as you wait for the coffee to be done brewing. He joins you in the kitchen and you guys sit in silence for a little bit. “Would you like a cup?” Hoseok nods and you pour him one, pushing the creamer and sugar towards him before making one of your own.

“You’re not going back to bed?” He exhales, and you shake your head.

“I wanna stay up with you. I can never sleep on nights like these, and I want to be awake should anything happen.. if that’s okay.” Hoseok nods and mixes the cream and sugar together before taking a drink. You sit at the island with your coffee in hand, as you sip from it momentarily. “Sorry for dumping all of that on you.. That’s not professional.” Hoseok shakes his head, leaning against the counter that you were sitting at.

“Don’t be. It’s good to know at least someone shares my grief.”

You laugh softly at that before you exhale, shrugging. “I don’t know.. It’s just been so long since I’ve had a man in my house, or even someone to talk to. To hold me. It’s different, it’s not something I’ve had in a while.” Hoseok nods, looking at you, hyper aware of everything you do from flickering your eyes back and forth from his own and his lips, to your fingertips idly playing with each other on the table. Something in Hoseok snaps and he pushes his face forward to kiss you, something that almost makes him laugh. He was planning on killing you tonight, and here he is kissing you over your counter.

He’s surprised as you kiss him back with fire, the same amount he had given you. He pulls away, your foreheads together as he laughs into your mouth, kissing you again before pulling away entirely. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I shouldn’t have done that.” You shrug as you get up, rounding the corner of the island before running your hands up his chest. He’s watching you with lust and fire as you shake your head.

“It’s okay..” You were feeling some sort of way with him, and maybe it was desperation or lust but you wanted him. “This is the first attention I’ve had in three years.” His hands are on your hips as he pulls you closer into his chest, no restraint as he kisses you again. Your hands are around his neck in an instant, pulling your faces closer as you kissed him hungrily, wanting to diminish all space between your chests. “Just touch me,” you mumble and his last rope of control snaps as he grabs your thighs and sets you on the counter, pushing his dick into your core. You moan against his lips at how fast this was happening but you couldn’t care less as his hands are pushing your shirt up and over your head. He’s feeling your hips and your back while you’re undoing his tie, throwing it to the floor before working on his buttons.

Hoseok’s mind is spinning as he’s unhooking your bra and discarding that to the floor as well with his shirt too. Your tongue is licking up into his mouth which he takes the opportunity to lightly suck on it, making your legs tremble as you feel yourself getting more wet. “God, you’re just perfect,” he groans as he picks you up again and sets you down on the ground, one last hungry kiss to your lips before turning you around. “Gonna fuck you real good over the counter.” You whine in approval and push your pajama pants and underwear down in one go, kicking them around your feet while Hoseok’s working on his buttons.

“Hurry,” you breathe, and within seconds you feel the head pushing into you making your head drop into your arms. He doesn’t start out slow, and you thank god for the stamina he has gifted this man because he’s pounding into your pussy hard. “Holy shit,” you moan, your voice bouncing with each thrust into you while his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass. You’ve been so touched starved that you could cum right now if you think about it, but you wanted this to last as long as you could keep it. Hoseok’s bent over your figure, hips shoving you against the counter tops as he’s kissing your spine and marking your shoulders by biting and sucking wherever he could.

“You’re really fucking tight,” he growls giving your ass a playful smack and you moan into your own hand, careful not to wake your son. He’s not giving up, if anything he’s moaning louder into your ear as he picks up the pace, thrusting harder into you reaching spots that are making your toes curl into the floor.

“O-oh fuck.” You whine, eyes screwing shut as you slam back into his cock so he’d reach farther in you. That earns louder groans from the both of you, and his thrusts are getting sloppier by the second while your stomach is convulsing in pleasure. “I think I’m gonna come soon..”

Hoseok hums in agreement, growling loudly as he starts to speed up, getting louder. “F-fuck me too.. I wanted to last longer but holy hell,” he whines. With one more slap to your ass, you’re cumming on his cock, clenching around him with a loud cry. Soon enough he fucks you through your high, and he’s cumming inside you, filling you up as he’s moaning into your ear. “Fuuuuck.” He drags it out, chest heaving as he pulls out of you and watches his cum drip from your pussy. He doesn’t hesitate to turn you around, pulling you into a kiss that was filled with passion. One you could feel when his lips first touched yours.

You both laugh embarrassed as you pull away, Hoseok cleaning you guys both up as you pull your clothes back on a little awkwardly. Hoseok wanted to stay here. Fuck his penthouse, fuck his job. He had enough money to support you and your boy if he’d give you a chance. He kisses your lips again, holding you close as you’re smiling into his lips. You guys make your way to the living room so he can keep an eye on you, a movie on the TV. No one really says anything for awhile until you speak up, voice wavering.

“Maybe you’d want to protect me next year too? And the year after that?” Your voice is uncertain, and Hoseok’s eyes are wide as he looks down at you. He presses his lips against yours again, softly before he’s nodding against your forehead.

“Of course I will.. for however many years you’ll have me, I’ll stay.”

Hoseok found the last pieces of his heart he was scrambling for, something to fill the void. His heart was overflowing in competition now that he had you, and had a little boy that he could protect too. As you lay there in his arms asleep while he watches the windows, he plays with your hair gently as he thinks. Now he can stop screaming at the stars, because the motivation to keep going lies in his lap.

#bangtan seonyeondan #bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #Jung HoSeok #hoseok #jhope #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader

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polygamyff · 4 years

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56. Part 7

I have missed Maurice so much, it was just one night and that is enough for me “you know like before we go, I just wanted to say, sit down. You and these heels” Maurice laughed at me as he sat down, he know damn well I am struggling. I don’t know why either, I like these heels. Sitting back down “shit is not what it is or seems, I love you like crazy and I assumed the worst, I for one was angry. I am so happy for you, I am happy you have found them, they are good people. I said that in New York, but I don’t want you to think I am stopping you from seeing them, I don’t care. They can come to the wedding; they can come to the event. I just felt like you were shutting me down, if you didn’t say that I would have stayed my ass in the home, I just needed some time to breathe but this. This life, this partying is not me. I don’t care for other women, I wanted to be with you, my pregnant fiancé, I am happy. I am not a bad guy, I am just used to what I am used to now, I just don’t get the time to be delving into that part of my business. Then I will end up busy, I leave that for other people but I just” he seems like he is fighting himself “I just don’t want to seem I hate the poor, I felt that. A lot happened and I just hated it, you were angry with me too. You seemed to have chosen them over me, I felt it, so I went in hard and so did you. But I don’t want shit like that to break us, I don’t want to let people come between us” he is explaining himself again, bless him “I get it, I do. I don’t think you are a bad person Maurice; I just was angry at that moment and then ended up causing more shit then I should have. It upset me that you said well you will be here longer then me anways and found it a sick joke. I don’t like that either, that also pissed me off a lot. But I try to make you less stressed, but I make it worse, I feel like you have it worse then your dad and it hurts me. I don’t say it but it’s there, I do think about it and it will probably be me pushing you into the early grave because I do stress you. Like ok” here I go with the water works “ok I found real family but that will never compare to my love for you, that got me angry too. I seen my dad’ grave and then you said that I wish you never had drugs, I wish I met you before because I get scared Maurice, ugh! I didn’t want to cry” Maurice shuffled over to me “I laugh because then it’s better than I cry Robyn, I am sorry. I just say it without a care” Maurice hugged me “this shit will always be with me, I know that. I won’t joke about it again, it’s not really a joke when it’s kicking my ass most of the time” I don’t even want to think about it.

Thank god I can save my make up “you want to stay around here for a little while before we go back?” Maurice asked, moving my mirror away from my face “really?” I said, “I mean you want me to be around you?” Maurice frowned at me “why wouldn’t I want you around this? I am not ashamed of you, you’re actually the most beautiful woman here. Don’t say that again, we can just stay around here if you would like” I smiled “if you want, I don’t mind” I mean it would be interesting to see what the rich get up too behind closed doors “it’s not that fun though, if you ain’t taking drugs then it’s boring but we can relax. Relax with the boys” look at my baby, he wants to hang around with me “sure, I am done now. Do I look ok?” Maurice nodded his head at me “you look beautiful, as always” he got up from the couch “I am tired though but we can hang here for a while and then go, I miss the small bed and your foot up my ass” he is so annoying “so now my bed is small?” smirking at him “oh don’t start” wrapping my arm around his “I am joking, I had Reign in bed with me and she woke me up by placing open mouth kisses on my face and then staring at me. My face was full of drool, I am like I am not your father. Stop that” Maurice laughed “she does that a lot to me, she sees it a way of waking me up, but she did get that from somewhere, she must see you do it. I miss her a lot, I miss her bossy self-walking around getting in everyone’s business, she will be asleep by the time we get back” I hate myself for saying what I said to him.

Watching Maurice and Quincy play pool, I didn’t think Maurice would be so good at it, but he is “wooo! See that, y’all see that?” Maurice put the white ball in, how stupid of him “that was a mistake, I don’t even know what you are laughing at Cyn, you just as bad. He got lucky” Maurice stood in front of me “I never said I was good, let’s start off there” Maurice pressed a kiss to the top of my head “well you try to act like it, ain’t you got some hoes to try and get to sleep with you” I don’t understand male friendship, all they do is disrespect each other “not when they all want to sleep with a billionaire, no! Nigga once you leave we on” side eyeing this dude “have some respect, my fiancé is here” Maurice said kissing his teeth “I am sorry, just these girls want to get with him but he in love with you, they lost out. You good, he is so boring anyways. Going to sleep, then he didn’t. He saw some ass shaking and then he left again” looking at Maurice he looks so annoyed “is that right?” I asked him “he is just being dumb, I was just tired” look at him shrugging it off “well I got my best suit ready, we going to turn up at the wedding. He ain’t invited, I am though. It’s nice to meet you, you’re amazing. I follow you actually, the selfies are amazing” I blushed “really, when I went on-” Maurice cut me off “when she stalked your page, she meant” hitting his arm “I went on your page Quincy I didn’t notice” I really didn’t “I been following you, it’s like hard to find a girl like yourself. I am happy for him, y’all cute and shit” smiling lightly “thank you, he’s ok” playing it off “he’s ok, he’s a little slow, I think he is” Maurice scoffed “mama always said I was special” my baby is so cute, just smiling and enjoying himself.

I think I have decided, I shouldn’t give these hoes so much power because I mean, I have class and they are there, and I am here with the boys. I am the only female sat with them, wrapping my arms around Maurice’ as I rested my head on his shoulder, I must admit though they are boring. They talk nothing but bullshit about random shit, it’s rather boring “actually, before shit comes out. I am going to be a dad again, Robyn is pregnant again” Quincy gasped “oh shit nigga, I am so happy for you my nigga. Congratulations, you finna have a young king. I am saying it now, you going to have a boy” I chuckled, Quincy is so passionate about that “you have to name him Quincy, you hear that Robyn” shaking my head “I don’t like the name” I said smiling “wow, rude but that is dope. Maurice going to be a father again, I am happy for you Maurice and Robyn” moving my head away from Maurice’ shoulder and looking at Maurice’ face, he can’t stop smiling “I think I want it to be a boy, it would be perfect. One boy and one girl, don’t you think?” Maurice nodded his head “but it’s whatever, shit is fine with me” pecking Maurice’ lips.

Looking down at Robyn’ phone “I took like three pictures, you got to like one of them” they look good too “you should hire, I take good pictures” passing Robyn’ phone to her “I will be the judge of that, you better get the scenery in that, this home is too cute” standing at the side of Robyn seeing Quincy walk over to us “you using my pops home as a backdrop you better tag me in that” he pointed out “you hear that?” I said to Robyn “mhmm, I will think about that, but I will hire you Maurice, you can be hired as my photographer” I grinned “so you going now? Is that it, you use my bed and you go?” Quincy is funny “you should like a hurt ex, calm down! I have a lot going on now, so I will try and meet up with you, but if you coming New York ways, I am always there” hitting his shoulder “I got you, I will but I guess I will see you be the boss nigga huh, you go there and get them angry aight? You be out there and hold your head up high my brother, you deserve it. You have put a lot into that Davenport company and name, I know this. You have changed a lot, I seen it” smiling at Quincy “come here, thank you” hugging Quincy.

Looking over at Robyn in the passenger seat, she is so quiet “I bet that Uber bill was high?” it’s a little far out “somewhat, long way too. I had to make small talk to the Uber driver and then I think he assumed I was a whore they wanted to come; I mean do I look like it?” I smirked “you my whore, it’s ok. My whore is back with me now” patting Robyn’ thigh “be quiet, anyways. These homes are so nice, like it is so different out here. There is a massive divide though” turning the sharp corner “you know this home, it’s coming up now” I slowed down “you see Diddy’ crib was not far from this, this was the home I rented, it still can be rented but I paid cash. I hid here, party every day, night. People came in and out, if you see here” I stopped the car “this building work is new, someone was hallucinating and drove their car into it, that is when my dad found out where I was because they knew who I was, the company that rented this to me. They charged my dad, I found out my dad is coming. I ran off again, but like I don’t remember how I got there. I made friends, but friends I don’t remember. I was in that room” I pointed “I just didn’t know what I was doing but I knew the end was near, I had all theses niggas around here coming to the home, they loved it. Parties were rolling, it never stopped. So it’s like now I am over it, they ain’t. They went home, I lived here. I was abusing myself but all these people that live here, they all crackheads” I drove off slowly “god wanted you here, clearly. I hate hearing these stories, I should have whored myself here. You would have met me then” Robyn saying that made me laugh “don’t ever say that, ever. It’s not a good life. But I just feel for these rich kids out there, they all high on something, I wouldn’t want my kids growing up here. I mean it could happen in New York but I will, if I am here I will try to shield them” Robyn scoffed “me and you are going to fall out again, stop saying that shit” Robyn hates it but it’s true, I like to add that in “I hate you” I laughed at Robyn saying such a lie “and this is where Ben Affleck lives, he ain’t all that good either” looking over at Robyn, she ain’t speaking to me now I guess “hey, stop it. We good, I am ok right? I mean you didn’t bring my medication which takes another hour off of my life” Robyn scoffed “do you want me to cry? Is that what you want from me?” shaking my head smiling “I am just joking, come on now” if I don’t laugh then I will just cry about it, shit sucks for me more then anything.

I have totally upset Robyn again “you know I like to be open with you Robyn, like everything and anything that goes on. I don’t want to shy away from my illness, I get you don’t think of me anything different but it’s there and it always reminds me of it. If I talk about it or make jokes about it, I am not upset about it. I mean it’s weird to not be upset about something that gives me pain. I just can’t predict things; I could be like my dad and live until then, but I just don’t know. But this reaction with you, I don’t want to shy away from it from you. You know, tell me?” maybe my little jokes is not the best for Robyn because she doesn’t not like it, I don’t want to be arguing with Robyn while on the highway now “it’s hard Maurice, I just want to marry you. I want to grow old with you and I forget, I just see you as a healthy man. And then there is me just wasting times with you over that, I didn’t need to just be so angry, we could have resolved it. I don’t forget but I want to forget, things can be ok but with the life you lived took its toll on your body and this is what hurts me. You told me your dad lived a clean life, but now. He is in pain, he lives in pain and I can only imagine how he is, it’s a hard topic of conversation and I feel so passionate about the subject, when anyone picks at it or calls me your carer. It is a senstivie thing to me, the way to fight this is a clean life. And you took that when you wanted to not care. Don’t you think when I hear you are in pain, I am scared. I rather do major brain surgery for hours because this, with you stresses me out more then that. I am dealing with it but I don’t want you to shy away from it either, just be kind to me about it” nodding my head “now you know why my dad always did extravagant parties for me, another year I am still here. I will stop making such jokes, I love you so much Robyn” reaching over and holding her hand “I love you too, I can’t wait to leave Cali. What hell this is” she got that right.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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goddessdoeswitchery · 4 years

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Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day practices. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion.

First up, Xenia. Xenia means “Guest Friendship” and is a set of rules for when a guest comes calling on your home. This set of rules applies to both the host and guest. It is one of the most sacred rules in Hellenic Polytheism, and features heavily in several myths, as well as the Illiad and the Odyssey. Often times, the myths show what happens when someone fails to follow the rules, and it is never a good thing. Zeus himself, under one of his epithets Zeus Xenios, is the embodiment of the religious obligation of being hospitable as both host and guest. In general, the host was meant to be hospitable. This included providing the guests with food, drink, gifts, protection, and even safe travel to their next destination. The guests were required to not be a burden or a threat, provide news and tales of where they had been, and to reciprocate if the host ever showed up their place. In the Illiad, violation of Xenia led to the Trojan war when Paris, the guest, kidnapped his host’s, Menelaus, daughter. The Achaens were required to avenge this insult, because violating Xenia was a massive insult to Zeus and his authority as Zeus Xenios. In the Odyssey, when the suitors of Penelope begin to eat her out of house and home, they violated Xenia by being a burden to her. They also violate Xenia by being rude their host and the other guests in the home.

But how does someone practice this in the modern world where travel is almost always safe and news is delivered to our home not by bards and guests but by social media and the internet?

Xenia should be a belief that guides us everyday, because everyday we play host or guest in our community. When a friend needs help moving, when a neighbor has lost their animal, when we visit a friend or relative, when we run into an old acquaintance at the store, when we see someone in need, when we run into strangers on the street; anytime you interact with another person, when you visit someone, when you stay at a hotel or AirBNB, even at the voting booth, anytime you deal with someone or have an influence on your community, you have a chance to practice Xenia. Xenia goes beyond the simple rules of guest and host and informs how we interact with everyone everyday, because it is tied to our community, especially with philanthropy.

Let’s break this down bit by bit so you can see good examples of how exactly Xenia can inform each of these interactions. Some of these examples will be simply examples, and some of them will be reflective of real life situations I or others have faced in the last few months.

A few years back, the home I shared with my mom, my sister, and my children caught fire. We were left with very few personal items, and no place to live. My uncle, who lived several hundred miles away, practiced Xenia by offering to pay for the deposit and move in fees for an apartment complex. The community we lived in practiced good Xenia by donating items we badly needed, such as beds, clothing, toys for the kids, and much needed housewares like microwaves, pots and pans, and silverware. Several members of the community organized a drive to help us replace many of the items we lost and guided us to food banks that helped us with electricity deposits and the first few months’ worth of bills. Every person we interacted with practiced Xenia, even if they had no idea that they were doing so at the time.

About 2 years ago, we found a small dog in front of our local grocery store. There was no collar, no chip, and the poor thing was half-starved and filthy. We took it home, cleaned it, cared for it, and then took actions to return the puppy to her rightful owner. We put up signs, made posts on Facebook, called every animal shelter in 80 miles, and searched lost and found pages, groups, and posts on every social media site we could think of. 3 days later, we found the owners, a newlywed couple who had come home to find the front door of their home open and the puppy they had gotten 2 weeks ago gone. When we took care of the animal and made every effort to find her owner, we put into practice the basic principles of Xenia by playing good hosts to the animal in our care. Xenia does not just inform our actions for people, but is also informs how we should treat every living thing.

Now for an example that includes both good and bad xenia, in it’s purest form of being a guest and a host. Say you are visiting family out of town, and you bring a bottle of wine. The wine is a good gift on your part as a guest, and is an example of good xenia. You don’t overstay your welcome, you go home early because you know your hosts have an early morning the next day, you take care to not cause any mess, and you use your manners flawlessly. Then, 2 weeks later, your host pays a visit to you. They bring their spouse and kids along. They fail to bring any gift, allow their kids to eat all the snacks in your cupboard, drink all of your soda that was supposed to last all week, overstay their welcome by sticking around for dinner even when it is obvious that you didn’t plan on having an extra 5 people over for dinner, don’t clean up after their kids or even watch them, and don’t leave until after 10 pm even though you mention time and again that you have to leave at 6 tomorrow morning for an early start to work. Outside of paying a return visit to you, your guests have been a perfect example of how to violate the rules of Xenia at every turn. And we all have one of those friends or family. The ones who never can take a hint and eventually wind up being unwelcome at your house, or any other simply because they’ve violated the rules of Xenia so often.

When we run into strangers or acquaintances, we can practice good Xenia by simply inquiring after them, if they have the time. Simply saying “Hey, how’s it going?” or “How are you?” can go a long way in being an extension of Xenia outside the home. My job has made Xenia a rule of thumb without knowing even know it, by insisting that we Stand, Smile, and Greet every customer, move around the counter to sit with them at a table when taking an application, and take the time to get to know them. We offer small snacks and candies, bottle of water alongside soda and coffee, and as a result, we practice good xenia as a whole throughout the company.

Xenia also intersects with philanthropy when we see someone in need. Donating to food banks, charities that enforce the rules of xenia like homeless shelters, and even engaging in personal donations to those in need are all good way to practice Xenia on a regular basis and literally put your money where your mouth is as a practitioner of Hellenic Polytheism. Even at the voting booth, we can practice Xenia by ensuring that those we vote for uphold those values by supporting immigrants, providing for the homeless, feeding the hungry, caring for the sick, and assisting those who need it. By ensuring that we vote for those who practice Xenia every day and put it into policy, we can support our community.

Last, but definitely not least, Xenia guides our relationship with our own gods. The gods give to us every day, and we can reciprocate in kind. We can let our altars serve as their home, ensuring it is clean and kept in good repair. We can make sure we have appropriate offerings (this can even include something as simple as clean water, bread, incense smoke, or a dash of olive oil). We can welcome them to our home with prayers and praises. We can remember that when they come to our altars, they are guests in our home and we must, above all, treat them as such.

In short, Xenia is a practice, a Pillar that informs our every day life. Some extensions of Xenia are called “good manners”, some of them are called “being a good neighbor”, and some are called “being a good citizen”. We all have practiced and expected Xenia as a part of our lives at some point or another. As I mentioned in the beginning of this podcast, Xenia, as a part of the pillars, is not a simple commandment. It is a way of life, expected of us at every turn. It is a pillar, not just of Hellenic Polytheism, but of our lives.

For references, I relied heavily on the Illiad and the Odyssey, both of which I own. I also pulled from Wikipedia, the Xenia comic by Greek Myth Comix, Hellenic Polytheism by Chris Aldridge, Hellenic Polytheism: Household Worship, and Mythology of the Greeks: Legends Anterior to and Contemporary with the Trojan War to 1183 BC to the First Olympiad, 776 BC by George Grote.

Thanks for listening to this episode of “Hellenic Polytheism 101”, a short lecture on Xenia as a Pillar of Hellenic Polytheism. For a transcript of this podcast, you can visit goddesssdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, and look for the tag “Hellenic Polytheism 101 transcripts”. There you will find a link to the references, including an amazon link to the books I referenced, outside of the one by George Grote, as it is 164 years old. You can also ask me any questions there. Don’t forget to tune in for the next episode, coming August 23rd, about Kharis.

#hellenic polytheism 101 #hellenic polytheism #podcast #transcript #xenia #pillars of hellenic polythiesm

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