#he still wares his wedding band!

[dyslexic-mess]

I buy that Alistor is on Liliths leash. How he got there, no idea, but I'd believe the real reosen he's hanging around Charlie is under orders considering how vaugh he's been about his motivation.

BUT. What I don't buy is Lilith being the big villen. I've seen a lot of people theorise that she's been missing because she's screwing around with heaven or she left because she saw Lucifer as weak or something, but I'm sorry. I just don't see it. Like.

This Lilith???

Your gonna argue THIS woman just up and left her family??? No. Just- no. I don't believe it for a second.

So where IS Lilith, then? If she's not the big bad, pulling strings from behind the sceans, then where is hells queen? Well, this is where I get into speculation territory:

I think she's been kidnapped by Roo.

[allfearstofallto]

Always Under Skin, Even When it Gets Removed

Yandere! Childe x Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

Childe was a nuisance. Persistent. A vermin. Childe was a pest. Like an infestation of roaches, you could do everything in your power to get rid of him, but he'd still be somewhere nearby. Determination was one of his strongest traits, and he was determined to ruin you.

Being married to him was never in your cards and if you could've never met him at all, you would've been happy. Yet for almost a year, you were forced to be his doting wife. Only managing to steal yourself away after months of planning and a few close calls. The taste of free air, even if it was the air of Snezhnaya, was the best thing on your tongue, better than even your favorite food cooked to perfection.

You didn't think you'd live the life of a nomad, but it seemed easier. Paranoia was second nature to you now, and staying in one place seemed dangerous. He could be anywhere, around any corner, close by, but not showing himself until he knew it would fuck you over. Was living life on the road considered freedom? You didn't know, but anything would be better than another day with Childe.

“How far will this take me?” You held up a good ring to a carriage driver, making sure to keep your face covered beneath your hood. You took a lot when you left, mostly jewelry, things that were small and expensive.

He eyes the ring over before dropping it back into the palm of your hand, “It'll get you pretty far, but where are you even trying to go?”

“Anywhere is fine,” you said quickly.

The man helped you up into the back of his wagon, where he kept his wares. Mostly agricultural things, fresh produce and hay. It wasn't the best place you'd ridden before, but it was far from being the worst.

You understood why people were weary of you. You weren't making much of an effort to not come off as strange, but you weren't out to make friends. The wagon swayed as the sun began to set over the horizon, he didn't tell you how long he'd be driving and quite honestly, you didn't care. At the next port, you'd stow yourself away onto some other vehicle, never stopping, not even for a breath.

You let your head rest back against the hard wooden wall, you let your arms fall to your side, you let the movement of the wagon sway you to sleep. Morning would come and you'd be awoken by the well-known feeling of the carriage lurching to a stop and sunlight beaming through the cracks in the wall. Outside sounded like a bustling city, although you didn't know where, quite honestly it didn't matter.

“It's back here, sir,” you heard the voice of the carriage driver say as you watched shadows fall over the doorway. You can recognize Childe. Recognize his smell, his voice, a strand of his hair if you were to find one, and most importantly, you could recognize his footsteps. Slow, drawn out, and precise. Your blood went cold, noticing that the driver wasn't walking alone.

The door was slammed open and before you could even make a break for it, cold metal was pressed to your neck. Sharp enough to slice your head right off your body if you made any sudden moves, you could already feel the steel biting into your skin.

“Already running away again?” You didn't even want to look at him, but he used the tip of his blade to tilt your head up. Still wearing a smile as he looked down upon you, “I will admit, I'm proud of you. You managed to stay away longer than I expected,” the blade pushed a lot harder into your neck, “I missed you, my angel.”

You could say nothing as he took you by the hand, pulling you from the cart and onto the ground. You weren't treated gently, not when he was angry. His anger was a menace to deal with. The bigger the smile, the words his rage, and he looked practically elated to see you.

“You took everything, but this,” he tossed your wedding band down, it fell onto your body and landed on your thighs. The ring was warm, like he'd been clutching it in his hand. Knowing him, he probably hadn't let it go since he discovered you were gone.

Without much of an argument, you slipped the ring back on your finger. The small band felt more like a shackle, than something meant to adorn your body. With it, your taste of delicious, true freedom was ripped from your mouth almost as quickly as you'd gotten it. But you'd never get to taste it again.

Childe was all smiles and laughter as he helped you into his own carriage. That smile not reaching his dead, hollow eyes. The ride to Snezhnaya would be a long one, you wonder how long he could contain his anger till then?

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 11: I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Preparations for the wedding begin.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art commissioned from the amazing @dafna-winchester

Astarion peered down at his hand, eyeing the ring now wrapped around his ring finger. A simple gold band, not too thick - lovely, if a little too plain, he mused. Beside him Ban admired her own ring, just as simple, much to his displeasure.

He’d allowed her to select the rings, allowed her pretty much free rein over organizing the wedding, content with watching her fulfill her dreams of being wed to him.

Married. Such an odd notion, especially for him. Over two centuries old and he’d never considered it would happen for him, especially after he’d turned. He’d dismissed it as a youthful dream, stolen away by his undeath. He’d never thought he’d find the person he was meant for, and even when he’d been confident it was her, there had been so many things that had threatened it.

He remembered the first hundred or so bodies he’d lain with. He’d dreaded feeling that certainty and devotion when he’d bedded them, terrified of finding his thiramin in a victim he would have no hope of saving. What would he have done if his heart had stirred for someone who was doomed by simply having met him? The loss would have likely driven him to madness; elves often went insane, many ended their lives, when they lost their thiramin. He had no illusions that Cazador would have allowed him a second death had that happened to him. He couldn’t imagine what he would have become.

But then the years had stretched on, endless and dreary, and none of them ever stirred him. He’d thought no one ever would. His heart had lain still, silent save for the slow, undead beats, and he’d resigned himself to an eternity of loneliness. Of being less than whole.

She had brought that dream back, though. She’d awakened his heart, made it long for more. And then she’d restored it. His heart, now beating, living. Hers.

He looked back down at the ring, feeling the cool metal with his fingers. Whatever style it would be, he knew he’d find it perfect. However…

“You could at least add a rock or two, Ban.” He looked over at her. “Rubies, to match my eyes. Diamonds, to match my skin…”

He gave her a gentle nudge and Ban playfully bumped her shoulder against his. He smirked, stepping behind her as if to admire the display from over her shoulder. His hands slowly slid down her back to grip her ass, squeezing through the thin fabric of her dress. He noted the lack of underwear, pleasantly surprised.

“It seems like there’s less… material here than usual,” he purred into her ear. She shivered as his hands traced the curve of her ass.

“I figured you’d want easier access if you chose to end our little game early.”

“Tempting, but that won’t work.” He pressed against her back, hands reaching over her, as if he were merely admiring the ring on her finger. He lifted her hand up so that it shone in the light; as he did, he surreptitiously ground his hips against her ass, cock nestling in the cleft.

She jerked hard, gasping in surprise, then pressed back against him. He allowed it for several deliciously torturous seconds, allowed himself this small moment of intense desire as he closed his eyes and imagined bending her over the stall, vendors be damned, the wares clattering to the ground as he spread her legs, sliding his cock deep inside her…

He forced his eyes open, drawing away, chuckling at the bereft whine that came out of her.

“Later? When we’re alone?” Ban pleaded, making no effort to hide the desperation in her voice. He gave her a small shake of the head.

“I’ve never wanted anything more, my love, but sadly I must decline. You won’t get out of it that easily; you ought to know that by now.” He nipped her neck playfully, enjoying her quiet groan, then nodded at the ring on her hand. “Better get back to ring shopping, love. Were I you I’d reconsider the choice of design. Vanity aside… stones would add a little more luxury to it.”

“If I got rocks, it would be woefully inconvenient. It would snag on things, and were we to get into a scrap, it would easily get damaged. Another thing to worry about.”

He thought about this for a moment.

“Engravings would not catch on clothing nor weapons,” he suggested. She’d chosen the rings from a selection the jeweler had presented them with, and she had picked these. He hadn’t complained, especially when she said she’d want them to match, but a tad more opulence never hurt.

She turned to the jeweler to discuss alterations. Astarion watched her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The past few tendays had been a bustle of activity, the wedding planning having taken precedence over everything else. Tailors, florists, caterers, jewelers - the list had been almost endless, the palace almost never empty. Nights were the only quiet moments, even more so now that they were playing their game. Abstaining from sex wasn’t easy for either of them, but they’d been having fun with it, and the lack meant their nights were spent wrapped in each other’s arms, discussing anything and everything. He found he loved it, even when the conversation went to heavier topics, as it had the other night.

“Astarion,” she murmured, nuzzling against his neck. He gave a small hmm? in response, opening his eyes. He’d been drifting off, thoughts of tomorrow’s meeting with the florist and the frankly overwhelming choices of floral arrangements looming annoyingly large in his mind.

She traced a path downwards with her lips, ending at the hollow of his throat. “I still don’t know what to do with Adrien. I don’t think we’ll be able to convince my parents to reveal anything, much less help me see him.”

Ah. He’d been turning the idea over in his mind, considering possible methods to prise the information from Roderich.

“Would Adrien be amenable to meeting you in secret?”

She scoffed, her breath tickling his skin. “He would never dare defy them to such a degree. He’d… he’d tell me to ask them, or have the meeting with them present. I’m not even certain where he is, or how I can establish contact with him. He… he might even hate me for leaving, which I guess I deserve.”

“Hate you for leaving?” he asked, incredulous. “And since when has it become your problem that your sibling cannot stand up for himself?”

Ban pressed her head against the swell of his chest. He’d wrapped a comforting hand over her head, pressing her closer to his heart. “I was the older sister. I could… should have done more.”

“Did he ever stand up for you?”

She fell silent, merely shaking her head.

He sighed. “You’re not required to save everyone. You never were,” he added, irritation creeping into his voice. An old grievance - not that he minded her saving him and their companions, of course - but the fact that she always somehow thought it her responsibility to help out, even when it risked herself, irked him.

“Oh, I know,” she shrugged. “But it should be what I want to do. Or at least what a better person would want to do.”

He blinked, surprised. “I never mentioned it being something you should be doing, Ban. I merely assumed you, with your bleeding heart back then-”

She laughed, and he found himself even more confused, brow furrowing. He looked down at her as she peered from where she’d snuggled against his chest; to his shock she seemed mildly amused.

“Bleeding heart?” She shook her head. “Far from it, Astarion. Too far, even.”

“Then what of the tieflings? The gnomes? You had us save each and every one of them - a tiresome task, which I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you.” The confusion gave way to incredulity. “Are you saying you never really… cared?”

She splayed a hand over the dip in his chest, silent. He noticed she looked away, as if considering something; he felt her mind touch his and let her in.

He was holding a greatsword, effortlessly hefting its weight in both hands. Before him a tiefling spoke, begging for help. He could feel his lungs exhale in a sigh, a surge of irritation in his mind. He opened his mouth.

“Astarion! We need to help them. Can you come with me?”

He saw himself, clad in that drow’s armor, striding closer. “Must we?” His other self stood lackadaisically, hands on hips.

He felt fond amusement, bordering on giddy joy, and intense affection. His eyes couldn’t even seem to lock onto his other self, heart racing and cheeks flushing as he attempted to do so. His back straightened up and he spoke, eyes pointedly fixed at a spot above the other Astarion’s hair.

“They need help. So,” his hand rose, letting go of the massive sword long enough to beckon. The hand came into his view.

Her hand. Her memories. He’d known, of course, but it was still rather novel watching his past self glower as he approached her. It was far more amusing to feel her silly crush, a warmness seeping through her at his mere presence.

But beyond that, the feeling she wanted him to notice was there: an irritation with the tieflings, tamped down by a begrudging reminder that helping them would be the right thing to do.

The vision shifted, and he was her yet again, a man covered in soot before her. She felt the man’s ring in her pocket, tempted, for a split second, to walk away with it. They did need the gold, and for a fleeting moment she considered giving it to Astarion, then stopped herself. He’d consider it a stupid gesture.

She saw Astarion burst in through the broken doors beside her, scowling at the smoke; the color of the feelings immediately changed, turning into pleasant excitement and glee at having him near.

“Darling,” his past self drawled, “let’s just go. This place won’t do our clothes any favors.”

She sighed and made a decision, hand slipping into her pocket, fishing out the ring for the man. He saw his old self sigh.

Another memory, this one of Oskar Fevras. She’d convinced the Zhent to let him go, but…

He could feel her debating whether to give the man some coin. Her thoughts flitted from an outright no to a perhaps; she then turned to him.

“The pouch, please,” she said, all confident and unfazed when his past self inevitably grumbled, but inwardly hanging onto every word and move he made.

Again, the feeling was there, the annoyance at Oskar for bothering them, the urge to just let him leave penniless - it wasn’t my concern, she thought - and then a reluctant voice in her head told her to do better.

He finally pulled away from her mind, opening his eyes to see her still peering up at him. She averted her eyes the moment they met.

“Not… good,” she stated. “Never was, like I said.”

She had indeed said so before, but he hadn’t really believed her then. He huffed out a laugh, masking the sheer relief settling into him. Not good, indeed. How long had he tormented himself with the idea that he’d ruined her, that she’d corrupted herself by allowing his ascension? Not that he hadn’t, he mused - seven thousand dead was quite a few degrees worse than anything they’d ever done before or since - but the confirmation that she was no saint, not an angel whose wings he’d torn off and dragged to hell with him was a relief. He ruffled her hair again, a little rougher this time, amused by her snort of annoyance for messing it up.

“You’ve mentioned that, yes.” He clenched his jaw. “At the time I thought you meant the events of the rite.”

She bit her lip. He could almost taste the way she began to turn away, her expression closing off. But it lasted for mere seconds. Instead she exhaled heavily.

“No. I meant… always. Being good, or moral, I suppose, is work, work I constantly have to remind myself to do. I don’t want to be what they raised me to be, as natural as it feels.” Her eyes finally met his. “I want to be more, and…” she shrugged, “I’ve failed. Especially when it mattered most.”

“If you mean helping me at the rite…” he began, fingers stilling on the path they had been taking on her head.

“No. I mean with you. After.” She sat up, biting her lip. “You made mistakes. I made more. It just didn’t fix anything.” He watched her fingers twist and tangle as she continued. “When I first saw you, I saw that you were like me, that… being better isn’t in your nature, either.” She was interrupted by his rather humorless laugh.

“You could say that, yes.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation she felt a small smile ghost her lips. “I saw that… that you were like me. But you were also in so much pain. So much suffering in so beautiful a man, in so precious a soul.” She watched his eyes widen and squeezed his hand. “I saw you at night, saw how you sought solace in my arms when nightmares haunted you. Saw how you kept everyone else at arm’s length, even if at first I thought you actually were attracted to me.”

Astarion pressed his lips to the top of her head then, placing a short, intense kiss as an apology. She squeezed his bicep, sending a thought through. It’s alright.

“I forgave you that a long time ago. Probably would have forgiven you the second you did it. I can’t blame you, after all. I’m no great beauty.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I just saw all that sorrow, saw that you needed kindness. Needed care.” With every word she traced his cheekbone, then moved to his jawline.

“I wanted to be your rock, then. To protect you, to be where you could hide. Even if…” she swallowed, “even if I could not let you in. Not enough.”

He huffed, a sharp exhale of breath, and she looked up in surprise. Part of him wanted to assuage her concerns about her physical beauty, but he decided to tackle the more pertinent issues first. “I did not need a cave to shelter in, Ban. I needed a home.” She opened her mouth to apologize, but he continued. “Be that as it may, I was… not aware of it, at the time. What I needed and what I wanted were two entirely distinct things.”

“I’m sorry.”

His arms tightened around her. “Forgiven, as you know all too well. As for… what you really are, Ban. Why refuse me a glimpse of that? You knew we were alike; you had to have known I’d have wholeheartedly accepted you as you have done for me.”

“Thought I could be better. Thought… you needn’t carry that burden. That you deserved someone whole and good, someone you could give your suffering to, without worrying about theirs. Someone strong.” He watched her avert her eyes, hiding by skating kisses across the plane of his chest. He appreciated the honesty, particularly because it wasn’t the easiest thing for her.

“Ban,” Astarion admonished. It was a soft, gentle murmur, but one that told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her full attention. He waited until she looked at him to continue. “I’d have loved to know all of you. Perhaps I would have pretended to be slightly miffed,” he joked, “to have to share your burdens, but I would have been secretly honored. Inside.”

“Deep inside,” Ban teased, poking his chest. He nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Astarion’s hand resumed stroking her hair. “So. Is this drive to do the right thing the reason why you’re so keen on saving your brother from your parents?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure; it’s an urge - to at the very least know how he’s doing. And the way my parents were acting… there’s definitely something hidden there. Something rotten.”

Astarion mulled this over, silent for several moments. “We could yet pry the information from Roderich, I think. A simple yet precise application of coin, some strings tugged on and favors called…”

“I’m listening,” Ban said, her curiosity obviously piqued.

“Focus your attentions on our wedding, love,” he assured her. “Let me handle this. All you need to worry about that day is being the beautiful,” he tugged her up so that they were eye to eye, “wonderful bride that you are.”

He noticed that she shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Would you indulge me, love? Never say you’re not attractive. I won’t stand for it. Is that understood?” There was a firmness in that last question, one reminiscent of the Ascendant.

“We should admit I’m not-”

“Conventionally attractive? As if convention or the opinion of the masses ever mattered to anyone, least of all me.” He tilted her chin to face him and kissed her deeply, roughly, sucking on her bottom lip. He let his hips buck, let her feel his cock press against her belly as he gripped the back of her head to deepen the kiss. She whimpered, and he groaned in response, throaty and deep, holding nothing back.

“See?” he breathed, pulling away from the kiss. “I do think you were made to ruin me, and as much as that was a silly line at the time… I mean it.” She laughed, and he savored the sound, pecking her cheek. “Besides, the Vampire Ascendant could not have had bad taste when he chose his consort, couldn’t he?” he teased.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “I’ll agree that at least you find me cute.”

“Far more than that, darling, but I think we can settle on cute for now. I can show you how enthralling I find you after our…” he drifted a hand down, skating over her hips, “little game…” he pressed the heel of his palm over her mound, allowing her to grind him briefly, “...is over.”

“Scrolls, flowers, or some other design?” Ban asked, holding out the sample rings to him.

“Scrolls,” he answered, returning his focus to her.

She relayed his preference to the jeweler, turning to him once it was settled.

“You do seem to like scrollwork, considering the new mirror.” Yet another mirror, this one purchased from the master of the mirror-makers’ guild.

“It has a measure of sophistication, I suppose, one Roderich’s monstrosity rather… lacks.” He tilted his head to watch her, delighted to see her snort at his remark. It wasn’t that Roderich’s creation was horrible, he figured - but he did find it perhaps a touch ostentatious. He recalled Roderich calling the design dated and realized belatedly that the man had been right.

“It’s a lot prettier,” Ban agreed. “You’ll look wonderful reflected in it, once your suit arrives.”

His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Darling, I don’t need a mirror to know that.”

“I know,” she chuckled. “It’s still nice though, for you to be able to see yourself.”

Astarion froze for a moment, unsure what to say. Of course. “You’ll look lovely too, I’m quite certain. You already manage to enchant me every single day - no doubt you’ll be positively captivating in your dress.”

“Sure. I’ll have you show me, come the day.” She paused. “Perhaps I’ll ask Gale for a simulacrum. You could stand next to it and I could see how we both look in our finery.” She waved a hand at him, seemingly wanting to leave the conversation at that; the expression on her face, however, wasn’t hidden at all. Melancholy.

“You miss it, don’t you,” he murmured.

“I… do.” She shrugged. “But it’s not too big an issue. You can always show me what I look like, whether it be by linking minds or through your flattery.”

“Is that what I am now? Your poor husband, relegated to being a seeing glass?” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, mimicking woefulness.

Ban laughed. “You act like looking at me is such a hard task.”

“Oh, but it is. Grueling, in fact,” he leaned in, a hand pulling her flush to his side, “it’s extremely difficult, to look at you and not touch you,” he whispered, lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from hers, “to speak words of praise and not put my mouth on you, on every inch of you, taste you.”

He chuckled, pulling away the moment she tried to go for a kiss. “I wouldn’t consider the truth to be mere flattery, my love.”

She playfully swatted at him, then squeezed his hand, a small gesture of gratefulness and understanding.

The thought, however, dwelled on his mind. It wasn’t as if he’d ever forgotten - all the commissioned art was for her to be able to see herself in some manner. He knew it wasn’t the same, but that had been the only way he’d thought of.

But the desire to give her some more permanent way to see herself, and Gale’s name, had tangled in his mind, eventually becoming the nebulous beginnings of an idea.

He followed her as she walked towards another stall, wrapping an arm around her waist. He searched for a topic to discuss, something to cheer her up.

“We’ve been invited to a party, a tenday after our wedding. The guildmaster Meiros’ daughter is to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.”

She considered this. “Meiros. You purchased the new mirror from him, yes?”

“Indeed I did. He used some newfangled method for it - apparently Barcus Wroot’s mining operation has proven more fruitful than we expected.”

“That was a good idea, suggesting Barcus go back and claim the Grymforge. Unfortunate that we didn’t introduce him to Meiros ourselves, but then again, we weren’t aiming to rub shoulders with mirror-makers then.” She inspected a silk scarf, looking thoughtful. “I was doing everything in my power to avoid approaching anything related to mirrors.”

“It makes little difference - I mentioned being well-acquainted with the gnome to Meiros. If he had his wits about him he picked up what I was alluding to.”

He groaned. “As for the party… I do so loathe that we have to go - it’s pointless mingling amongst whoever else his daughter’s invited, and I highly doubt hobnobbing with a gaggle of vapid young women is going to do us any good.”

“It’s the father you want, anyway,” Ban commented, her hands running over a selection of tanned hides, considering them for shoes for Astarion. She held one up, handing it to him to inspect. Astarion took it from her with deliberate slowness, allowing his fingers to drag across the back of her hand, pairing the caress with a dark, hungry look that made her shiver.

“Will you ever tell me what the plan is, regarding that?”

A smirk crossed his features. “As I previously mentioned, love, I will handle it while you concern yourself with the wedding planning. Don’t you trust me?” He selected the sample hide from the center of the set, a smooth calfskin.

“I do,” she answered without hesitation, “I’m merely curious.” She shot the hide he’d selected a suspicious glance. “That will scratch easily, you know. Especially in white.”

He grumbled and looked through the other samples, reconsidering. Purchasing the mirror was only the first step; a little more would be required for his plan.

“You’ll need a gift,” Ban said from beside him.

She tapped another sample. “Rothe-hide. Much tougher.”

“For the lucky debutante, you mean,” Astarion nodded.

He fingered the hide Ban pointed at, finding the texture thick but a little rough. “I can hardly imagine talking to one, let alone figuring out something one would want.”

She frowned. “A book, a satchel… a portrait. There are options.”

“Gifts,” he sighed. “Even now I can see the endless parade of them arriving at our doorstep, and I haven’t the foggiest what to do with them.”

“You say thank you, and you put them in storage.” She watched him finally settle for the rothe-hide.

“Some of them are rather useful. Halsin’s previous gift, for instance, was enlightening.”

“And in storage,” Ban reminded. She took a moment to admire the swell of his ass as he was turned away, engaged in conversation with the tanner. She moved in close, grabbing a handful before he could even notice.

Astarion yelped, then rounded on her. “Bad girl. Very, very naughty.” He set the hide sample down, slowly crowding her against the side of the stall in his sensual, predatory way. But she knew exactly what move he’d attempt and as he closed in she slipped away, laughing.

“Getting slow, old man.” She dodged yet another attempt to grab her wrist.

He stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. “Old. Old?” He clutched his chest. “You wound me so, my love.” He ambled up to her, watching her smirk widen as she held her ground. He leaned down, breath tickling her face. She could smell traces of the blood he’d had for breakfast on it. “You’ll have to take that back the moment our little game ends.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “I highly doubt that.” Astarion knew it was a lie - the way she shifted her hips, pressing her legs together, was more than enough indication. The smile grew wider.

“Then allow me to continue teasing you,” he whispered. “Let me keep tantalizing you. If these attempts are futile, then you will have won, and I shall stop. If you lose…” he kissed her lips for a fraction of a second, “then I shall redouble my efforts and make sure you can’t think of anything else other than your dear, old, husband.”

She stifled a giggle. “You can try, Astarion. We’ll see by tonight.” She changed the topic in an attempt to hide how flustered she was, though it was futile - he could still see the faint flush on her cheeks. “I’m sure we’ll find some use for every present, whether it be collecting dust or something actually useful.”

She was lying in bed when Astarion walked into the bedroom, a triumphant grin on his face. He was carrying a small, wooden box, rather dusty and vaguely familiar.

“Don’t bring that to bed, Astarion,” she warned. He paused, raised an eyebrow at her, and headed towards her anyways. She stood, quickly heading to the chaise.

“Really? We could have the sheets replaced. This,” he tapped the chaise as he sat, “is not so easily cleaned.”

She snorted. “Smartass.” She sat down, legs crossed, and he took the spot opposite her, box still in hand. She eyed it, trying to remember what it was.

“A gift? Or something else?”

He beamed at her, fingers unlatching the lock and lifting the lid.

Letters. From when I was in Waterdeep. She swallowed. “Where did you find this?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I stumbled into one of our storage rooms the other day and had a quick rummage.”

She eyed him carefully. “Part of… whatever plans you have for my father?”

“Perhaps.” He pushed the box towards her, eyes glinting with excitement.

“Astarion…” she hesitated, looking at the papers within. Did they really want to bring this up, that painful time apart? “Does this not…” she trailed off. Hurt you?

He sensed her question and the smile fell, replaced by a somber, if earnest, expression. He picked up some of the letters. “It should. I recall writing them, knowing it was a meager gesture, but they were the only way I could reach you then.” He bit his lip, considering his words as he unfolded one.

“You kept them. All of them.” He looked at her, eyes wide. “You arranged them according to when they arrived, saved them all in this box, and…” he smiled again, eyes crinkling, “you drafted answers on the backs.”

“I… did,” she nodded, picking one from the pile and turning it over. There it was, in her own neat, if rather childlike, handwriting. Big, circular letters that spelled out her feelings. That she did miss him, missed him so much it hurt, so much she could barely sleep. That she wanted him back, if only he’d try harder, meet her halfway. She sighed.

Astarion watched her every move. His hand gripped her knee. “You never told me any of this. Never… let me know you were miserable too, that you longed for me just as much as I did you.”

“I know. I’m sorry… you know why. I couldn’t, back then. Refused to show you anything resembling weakness.”

He nodded, taking the letter from her and reverently placed it back in the box. He closed it and put it down on the floor. The moment he straightened up she spread her arms, beckoning him to her. He tilted his head, a grin settling over his features when he realized what she was asking for. He obliged, settling into her embrace as she reclined, his head pillowed against her breasts, one of his legs slung over one of hers.

He took a small breath. “There is a silver lining to seeing those letters, I suppose.” She guessed that was why he seemed happy about finding them. She waited for him to continue.

“They tell me you cared. Even in the depths of our despair you yearned for me as well. Your heart reached for me, as mine reached for you,” he murmured into her skin. “You simply could not allow yourself to tell me. You were… hiding, just as I was.”

Her fingers tightened where they had settled in his curls, kneading the back of his head in a massage. He exhaled, breath hot against her skin. “Again, Astarion, I really am sor-”

A hand reached up, palm covering her mouth. He shook his head at her. “Enough. I choose to take what I unearthed as something… positive. Don’t ruin it.” He leaned up and his thigh pushed up against her mound, delightfully arousing in its simplicity. She swallowed heavily.

“You were hiding… and that is fine,” he whispered, leaning forwards to aim his words into her ear. “So was I. But that was then,” he ground his hips, rubbing his cock against her leg, pushing his thigh more firmly against her rapidly-dampening core. “And this is now.”

He didn’t remove his hand from her mouth, and when she tried to speak again he shushed her. “No more words from those pretty lips, my love. I don't want to hear you beg to touch me, because I have no intention of allowing it. There is no need to waste your breath.”

Astarion was merely tormenting them both, she assumed. He moaned as he rubbed himself on her thigh, smirking when her eyes widened at the sound.

He had been teasing her constantly all month. Light, deft touches, his fingertips ghosting over sensitive spots, speaking a little too close to her ear, sometimes breathy, sometimes growling. She’d loved it, even as her body had begged to be touched and taken each time.

He'd also gotten into the annoying habit of grinding into her ass when they spooned before bed. He’d do it once, twice, sometimes several times, then pull away, smirking all the while. He especially liked it when he managed to elicit a needy moan from her, and try as she might to keep them in - not wanting to give him the satisfaction - she almost always failed.

Oh, she knew he was suffering as well. She could feel the insistent, likely painful, throb of his cock every time he pressed against her, the heat of him even more than usual - almost fiery. She imagined that were she to wrap her hand around him, she'd merely have to stroke once and he’d come undone. One quick pass, one swipe of her thumb on his slit, or perhaps one lick against the underside of his cockhead, and-

“Ban.” He gasped her name against the shell of her ear. She blinked.

“Are you with me?” Astarion’s face changed from seductive to concerned. He lifted his hand from her mouth, easing his body off of hers. She paused, realizing this could be an opportunity to give him a little taste of his own medicine. Bracing herself, she grabbed his waist and twisted, aiming to pin him under her. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, and knew she had won.

…but not quite. She had him under her, but his hand was firmly around her neck.

Astarion laughed, tickled by her attempt. “Good try.”

“Had I twisted the other way,” Ban nodded towards the fireplace in front of them, “I could have rolled us off the chaise and onto the carpet, grabbed the poker, and staked you.” She simpered. “I win.”

“And I could have broken your neck whilst you were debating on which way to roll,” he countered, hand squeezing for a fraction of a second. “Strong as you are, my dear,” the fingers on her neck danced, tapping against her skin in a pattern only he knew, “dexterous hands are far likelier to succeed.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he swallowed her words with a fierce kiss. She fought the urge to grind against the thigh between her legs, failing miserably. The hand on her neck somehow managed to convey aggression and tenderness at the same time - something in the way his fingertips stroked her neck with such exquisite gentleness while his palm remained firm and controlled her movement - and she loved it. His breath was hot against her skin, his body deliciously warm beneath her. It was all she could do not to beg for more.

He parted from the kiss to let out a shuddery breath. “Gods,” he moaned in a whisper, “wouldn’t it be exquisite to have me inside you?” His hand roamed down her back to her ass, pressing down so she sat on his cock. “If I was sheathed inside you, my love… losing myself in you…” he purred, his hips rolling to accentuate his words. “Fingers dancing where you need them most... Lips… crying out for you.” He finished his little spiel with the smuggest of grins, knowing he had her - she was hopelessly wet and needy.

Ban exhaled, squeezing her eyes shut, then shifted off him. “You win,” she said meekly. “I cannot contest any of that.”

Astarion smirked, sitting up. She caught a quick glimpse of his cock straining against his pants before he crossed his legs; that made her smile. “At least I’m not the only one.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “As frustrating as it is, I promise you. It will be worth it.”

“I know.” Her eyes softened. “I know it’s important to you, and that’s all I need to make it worth suffering for.”

He snorted. “It’s hardly suffering-” he cut off as she rolled her eyes, holding his hands up. “Alright. It is torture. Still, a little exercise in patience never hurt anyone. Besides, it was your idea to make it the whole month, rather than merely a tenday.” She sat on the floor in front of the chaise; he leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

“I do thank you for indulging me, however. It means more than you know. Little remains of who I was before my life was taken from me. I am glad to have some small part of it returned to me, even if it is for something as admittedly silly as this.”

"I wouldn't say silly." She mused, her voice thoughtful. "It's part of your heritage, and my heart does not mind it in the slightest, even if other parts of me do." She smiled, leaning her head back against the plush cushion. Her eyes shut, and she felt his fingers ruffle her hair.

There were more plans to make, and their lives would inevitably be even busier as the wedding approached, so for now she savored the silence, indulging in the quiet companionship.

She felt him touch her mind as he laid on the chaise, his hand still on her head.

It was in these little moments, these little snippets of eternity - where she felt most at home.

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

summary: zhongli and his lover take a walk around liyue harbour

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

warnings: angst, no comfort?, mention of death

genshin impact masterlist

can be read as a continuation of a million miles away

The ocean air carried the scent of salt into the streets of Liyue Harbour as cries of seagulls mixed with the chatter of the people perusing the assortment of wares to be bought. Street vendors were enticing potential customers to try their delicious dishes and children were weaving through the crowds while their parents frantically called for them to slow down.

Your bright laughter, clear as a bell, filled his ears and warmed his heart, the turn of his head as welcome as it was reflexive. Even against the bright displays of the shops, you shone much more radiantly with the sun illuminating your skin, highlighting the curl of your lips and the crinkles forming around your eyes with your amusement. It was a sight Zhongli would never tire of.

And then you turned your head towards him, eyes finding his and speaking of a love a thousand poems could not put into words. The former archon was certain he would never grow accustomed to the way your gaze mirrored the affection he felt for you, not if the irregular beating of his heart was any indicator.

As you intertwined your hand with his, Zhongli could feel the pressure of your wedding ring through the material of his glove and it made him starkly aware of the metal resting against his left ring finger. The thought brought him a sense of comfort, reminding him of the day you swore your oaths to one another and the home you shared, how his existence on this mortal plane finally had a true purpose anchoring him there.

Passing by Bubu Pharmacy on your way to Yujin Terrace, the quiet whisper of the ponds enveloped you both in tranquillity as you left the bustle of Feiyun Slope behind you. Instead of street food, the scent of silk flowers and glaze lilies accompanied the slow descent of the sun, whereas Zhongli and you ascended the flight of stairs as if to meet it on its endless journey.

With his arms resting on the parapet overlooking the Harbour, he had a magnificent view of Chihu Rock being dipped into the amber colour of dusk as the vivid foliage of the sandbearer trees lining the streets seemed to glow from within. Even the vastness of the ocean didn’t go untouched as it stretched on endlessly and waves of liquid ruby crashed against the docks of the city.

Over his long life, Zhongli had seen great a many sunsets and sunrises, yet, ever since coming up here with you, he found himself far more fond of them than before. Instead of regarding nature’s artistry with Liyue as its canvas, he watched as the last rays of the day painted your face in golden light, speckling your eyes with bursts of colour one would only notice on closer inspection. A privilege only he had the honour of enjoying.

“Still coming here, I see?” A familiar voice broke the silence settling over Yujing Terrace. He needn’t even tear his eyes from the scenery to know who had stepped next to him.

“Habits are hard to break once they have formed. Especially for beings like us,” he mused. “Is it not so, Streetward Rambler?”

“I’m well aware, Rex Lapis,” the woman chuckled. The light-heartedness, however, was short-lived as his old friend sighed, clearly wanting to say something. “It has been quite a while though. As someone who has known you for much longer than most, I cannot help but worry.”

“I appreciate your genuine concern.” Finger slipping under the collar of his coat, Zhongli pulled out a delicate necklace which he cannot remember ever taking off. On it dangled the wedding band matching his, twinkling in the light of the evening. Gently taking hold of it, he pressed the metal against his lips; when he closed his eyes, he could trick himself into believing the warmth it radiated still came from you, not himself. “Yet there is nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Zhongli…”

“It is said that the God of Contracts had an impressive memory, able to recall the face of every person he met,” he began. “Though, I am not sure whether this is a blessing or a curse. From their laughter to the feel of their hand in mine… I can so vividly picture these scenes, the memories seem to take on a life of their own. This way, even from wherever they are now, they still manage to stir these emotions within me. On days such as this, it is easy to foolishly extend my hand into the golden sunlight as I see them return to me.”

Watching the former archon grasp the aureate ring within his palm, the adeptus next to him reached out to put her hand on his arm in a hopefully soothing gesture. “I am very sorry. Although farewells are never easy, losing the person you cherished most leaves us feeling more forlorn than anything.”

“Even if I tried, I do not think it possible for them to leave me. Not when birds sing the melody of their laughter and afternoon tea is the temperature of their embrace.” Slowly, the glow of the sun dimmed and dwindled from sight. “No, it is the nights devoid of this golden warmth which are the loneliest of them all.”

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

[lxvenderhxzehv]

A summary of What my Characters have been up too since the Earthquake.

Chris ~ He has fully moved in with Em, been helping her recover and taking care of her for the first few days. Upon receiving a box on the front of the porch. Seeing it addressed to her he assumed it was an early birthday gift from someone. Upon giving it to her seeing her reaction to receiving it only to find out it was a gift from Jim. Explaining it was the sweater she was wearing the day Jim and her met. it had gotten ruined and they had tried everything. Yet here it was in perfect condition, restored to its former glory. She told Chris her concerns. Chris has promise to try for her sake. He didn't say anything but he can't help but feel like there is more too it than that. He has since thrown himself into his work and helping the town rebuild now that Em is feeling a little better. He has not told his concerns to anyone and he doesn't plan too. He's not in the mood for the ' I told you so's" anyway... He has yet to tell Em about Jim and Charlie or the fight they got into after the earthquake.

Teddy ~ Has also Thrown himself into his work. At his own restaurant as well as the Diner. Helping to lighten the load on Celia as her and the rest of the Crew mourn Sammie's death. Teddy's is also Mourning the loss of Sammie. She had become a very close friend of his since the renascence festival. He's been quite and distant to most except those he's closest with (Kirby, Ceila, and Morgan to name a few). Having Kirby and Ziti around has been his saving grace. However on the nights Kirby isn't around it's rough. He's having trouble sleeping and when he dose it's because he's cried himself into exhaustion (being separated from Kirby once again during an event like this has taken a toll on him).

Amber ~ Is just happy that all her siblings are accounted for with the new addition of Nattie. She admitted her feelings to Noah after things had settled after the earthquake. Now its just a matter of her not being painfully awkward about it at the bar.

Hope ~ Spent the majority of the after math helping where she could. Hair in a messy bun all torn up almost unrecognizable. She is coming to realize this is way bigger than the shit she has going on. Spent a good bit of the day keeping an eye out for Halley and asking if she had been seen or taken care of. While she only Knew Minnie for a short about of time. The Dance Hall is not the same without her. She is trying to keep the place running and is still allowing pre-planned classes to continue. She has set up a small memorial for Minnie in the lobby for her friends, family, classmates, and students to visit.

Toni ~ been caring for Myles since her ankles been healing. On top of that she's been feeling a bit under the weather, Myles has chalked it up to stress but Toni is thinking its something a bit more serious. They plan to have her get checked out if it worsens. Toni has been helping around town as best as he could when he's not at the Library or the Diner. Him and Teddy have had a moment to sit down and talk things out. Their friendship is slowly but surely on the mend. Teddy's told him he's more than welcome to get a free meal or two from the restaurant for him and Myles if they need it.

Freya Chamberlain ~ Has been helping the town rebuild where she can, this poor girl is not equipped for this. She is struggling.

Jim~ Spending most of his time with charlie. Helping her train but keeping her at arms length since the fight with Chris. Seeing Em like that has really messed with his head (Says a lot for a hit man). He left Em alone for the 12 days since (Leaving the Sweater was his way of closing the door on things). figuring Chris has told Em about him and Charlie. Even though they haven't hooked up since before the earthquake. He still wares his wedding band, his guilt heavier than ever.

Josie ~ Wants to throw hands with Sky Gumby for tossing the town like a salad right when things were get a little spicy with G in the woods. After crying at the state the library was in after the quake she has been helping where she can. On the flip side she has been distracting her want to jump G by cleaning up his grave sight to suprise him. As of the 13th of November she is 16 weeks pregnant (I hope I counted that right lol I have lost track besties, time is an illusion)

Damian ~ Bud is not okay (What's new). Loosing someone in the fire like Sammie has cause this boy so much guilt. He's felt he failed his town He's been numbing the main with his usual. Sex, booze, and drugs. To the untrained eye hes typical Damian but to those who really know him can tell how much worse he is.

Oliver ~ Came in to town on the 11th, still does not know about his daughter yet is still trying to get his barrings.

[gothamslostboy]

Jervis Tetch w/ Alternative S/O

I know he’s a bad person but I’ve kinda built this blog on bad ppl/villians

I don’t support his creepy ass relationship with his sister

He was a bit shocked at first

He expected his Alice (male or female) to look like

well

Alice!

Light colors, long blonde hair, subtle makeup

You certainly were not that

But he knew when he first saw you

mostly black clothes

face covered in bold make up, particularly the designs made from eyeliner

Your wild hair: one part the brightest red he’d ever seen and the other a pastel pink

Every step you took making countless chains, pins, rings, necklaces, earrings, and whatever other accessories you had clink together

But you were his personal Alice

And he needed to talk to you

To have you

He was surprised at how easily you spoke to him- most people found him rather odd

He knew many ppl in Gotham dressed like you, but they didn’t live in this part of the city

Maybe that’s why you were so friendly

Jervis and you can be odd together

Before he even had the chance to consider well he did think about it a bit hypnotizing you, he had already been asked to go to the local movie theater with you tonight

You told him it was a movie you’re sure he loved by his “vibe”

He didn’t fully get what you meant, but he was fairly certain it was a positive thing

Jervis was delighted you had already been thinking about him, much more so that you could pick up on his tastes so soon

He said yes, hopefully not too quickly for his dear

He had already decided you were more than his Alice, you were his soulmate, future spouse, his Y/N

He was so nervous getting ready that night

He knew you didn’t care he was the Mad Hatter, being as perfect as you are you had figured it out early in the conversation that morning

not exactly hard to figure it out since he had just fled the scene in his full outfit

But he was nervous about someone else telling that murderous Officer Gordon where you two were

He couldn’t have his last shot at love be stripped from him again

So he hypnotized hired some guards

Arriving at the theater, his breathe left his body when he saw you

You had on a white skirt, reminding him so much of the dress Alice wore in the original story

But you’d also made the outfit so very Y/N

A black T-Shirt torn into a crop top, safety pins attached across a rip on the shoulder, your make up featuring the same blue from the Disney version of the tale, black combat shoes, little designs painted on in white that he couldn’t discern yet, and black ribbon earring dangling from your earrings

And his favorite part, embroidered on the skirts hem, was many different things from the story: a pocket watch, a bottle with “drink me” written on it, mushrooms, the Cheshire Cat, and several other little details

Somehow he fell even more infatuated with you

If that was possible

Even though he could tell from your outfit, he was still giddy when you confirmed you’d be watching Alice in Wonderland that night

The night was wonderful and the two of you began your relationship very soon after

You did all the stuff he imagined for the relationship, with a slight twist

Tea parties were had with black dish ware instead of white

Instead of calling you darling you seemed to prefer “love from darkness”

Movie night tended to be horror movies

Or

of course

Alice in Wonderland

you were so perfect, you even helped get revenge on Jim Gordon, though you did talk Jervis out of the murder

No

his Y/N was to merciful & sweet to kill

You just had the beautifully cruel plan to turn those close to him into his enemies

With a little hypnosis here, a little of you playing an innocent shoulder to talk to, and a little help from others Gordon wronged, you two had managed to leave Jim with no one to love him

Jervis couldn’t be prouder of his vengeful Angel

And you did it all just for him? Someone call the church bc I hear wedding bells

The 2 of you introduced each other to new bands and artist to listen to

Jervis even hypnotized convinced one of your favorite artist to give you a private concert on your birthday

Oh, and there is one more thing he LOVED about having an alternative partner

The hair

No matter what you did to it

Shave it? How wonderfully easier it is to see your face and the artistic make up you apply

Dye it? How many colors? What a surprisingly brilliant color combination! He’d of never thought those shades could look so perfect together

Any hairstyle you try has him giddy

And he LOVES when you ask him for help with your appearance; clothes, hair, accessories, makeup, all of it

Eventually he works up the courage to ask you to style him one day

It’s the best idea he’s ever had

It make his Dark Love so happy, practically skipping as you dragged him to your bedroom

Combining some of his clothes, some of yours, and making a small list of things you’d want to buy him to complete the outfit

You were absolutely radiant

He particularly enjoyed how close you got to him while doing his make up

Jervis only got nervous at the hair part of it all

He trusts his Y/N, of course, you always had his best interest in mind

But he didn’t know if he could rock outgoing hair like you could

So he created a compromise

No cutting, and only spray on or pastels could be used to color his hair

You happily agreed, and once you were done, Jervis was surprised at how much he fit the style

So much so he actually let you buy real hair dye

You began to give him trims, and later full hair cuts

The two of you working together became Gotham’s number one power couple

Any one who got in the way or gave you a funny look was hypnotized and had their dirty laundry aired to all

Occasionally the ppl who said especially rude things to you mysteriously vanished

But Jervis Tetch denied any involvement

I mean, all he did was swing a pocket watch at someone

If they happen to get the urge to kill the idiot who had the audacity to insult his Angel

that’s on them

[illithilit]

          EVEN IN THE DARKEST of times, people always needed food. That, in and of itself, felt somehow like an anchoring constant in an otherwise terribly turbulent world. Now that they were in Baldur's Gate, they at least didn't have to scrounge for the remnants of food; here, Amis had access to some of his savings he kept stashed away in the bedroom, and could pull more from the bank if gathering groceries ate up what he had. Part of him still grumbled about that aspect of this journey -- but as he often reminded himself, it wasn't as if he kept much money on his person to go to work. This had all started mid-shift for the City Watch; there was no being prepared for any of this.

          Truth be told, though, he wasn't the best person to have gone out to get food for everyone. Thanks to his time in Avernus, his palette was entirely undeveloped; as long as it wasn't ash and charcoal, he was liable to eat it without complaint. Still, he'd had a few years between himself and then, and he liked to think he could at least pick out decent food. Whether anyone beyond Ashen might agree to his standards of 'decent' or not, though... At least he tried.

          Already, the basket he'd brought with him had a fair bit of fruits, vegetables, and meats, but the scent on the air kept him meandering, pausing every now and again to cast discerning eye over the wares of various stalls and window displays, 'til he stopped in front of what he deemed to be the source. Good, fresh bread was, admittedly, a weakness of his...

          "No need to apologize, miss. Quiet, sunny days like this are perfect for handiwork." Turning his attention back to her wares, his gaze lingers on the dove buns an extra few moments before he continued his sweep. "May I inquire the cost of your buns, a bundle of balsam, and..." One of her rings also caught his eye; admittedly, it wouldn't be something Ashen was liable to wear all the time, in particular with two other rings he'd already been given, but... It looked so much like something he would love. Idly, he thumbs over his wedding band in thought for a moment. "And the silver and ruby ring."

BG3 Verse Starter for @illithilit

Marketplace traffic was awfully slow that afternoon, with a few stragglers here and there browsing amongst the storefronts and stalls. One such stall was tucked away in a quiet, cozy little corner, propped against a rickety wooden cart.

A myriad of pleasant sights and scents could be seen and smelled from this stall — bundles of balsam and autumn crocus, fresh bread buns shaped like doves, carved wooden animals for children, and a variety of rings and necklaces, all made with gentle loving care.

The woman at the stall sat with her head down, focusing on threading a needle through an embroidery piece. The scales on her forehead shimmered in the warm afternoon sunlight as her brow furrowed, concentrating on her work.

She was completely unaware of someone approaching until she glanced up, giving a startled jump in the process.

"A-A thousand apologies," Annalise stammered, quickly placing her needlework to the side.

"It's been so slow, and here I am getting distracted. How many I help you today?"

[ghostofscarley]

Till The End

Adrian Pucey x Reader

Inspired by 'Till The End' - Jessie Ware

don't tell me i've been dreaming

when you're standing there in front of me

hogwarts, 1998

the light of the moon brightens and illuminates the once beautiful courtyard of the infamous hogwarts. it radiates light in the darkness that the war has brought to the place that was once home to many; how could such chaos bring such a magical construction to ruins?

the eerie silence that the night carries heavily contrasts to the shouts of offence and defence spells. to the screams of horror as yet another loved one is loss. to the deterioration of good as it falls to evil

why did bad things happen to good people

as death eaters chased and students fell, all y/n could think about was adrian

was he alright? was he safe? was he..

she didn't want to think about that

she ran alone, having lost the trio she was once running with in hopes of finding the one whom held her heart, in hopes he'd be unscathed and unharmed

sweat fell as she continued to run and her heart dropped as more time passed and more spells flew over her head

she wants to scream and shout but alas no sound comes out

"Y/N!"

where did that come from

she spun, looking for the source of the voice

and then all of a sudden, she felt arms grasp her from behind, shaking her slightly

she wanted to scream but again no sound was made

was this the end? why wasn't she dead yet

present

"Y/N!" adrian tried again, succeeding and bringing the girl's attention to him, "ugh love, you startled me, are you alright?"

his eyes held worry as his arms slightly tightened, bringing the girl closer but not too quickly as to avoid giving her a fright

the spells. the screams. the utter chaos. the death. it was all reminders that this was the real life and that magic wouldn't be able to save everything - that magic was as dangerous as it was wonderful; you could lose everything you ever cared about most at the hands of another, easily and without remorse

every year, after doomsday, may 2nd, 1998, it was never quite the same

"what would've happened if one of us didn't make it?" its been quite some time now, with the couple having wedded the previous year, still quite enjoying the honeymoon phase, "what if it was you under that wall and not fred? what if bellatrix got to ginny and i before molly did? what if harry didn't wake up and we all fell under voldermort's reign? how do i know i'm not dreaming and you're not actually here right now?"

"love, take a deep breath for me first of all," he inhaled, motioning for her to do the same, wanting her to calm down before she could panic or hyperventilate, "i need you to calm down, okay? we don't need to worry about the 'what if's, alright? what happened that day, already happened and look. we're still here aren't we? i'm here, y/n. and i'm not leaving. never again."

adrian held up his left hand before intertwining it with hers, fiddling with her band that rested on her fourth finger

"i made a promise to you last year," he gazed into her eyes, his voice soft, and hands warming hers, "i made a few actually. i promised to protect you. i promised to be there for you. i promised to love you. i promised to never leave. and i intend on keeping them all. as your best friend and other half."

with each promise, he placed a lingering kiss on her forehead, the tip of her hose and the apple of her cheek, before finally meeting her in the middle, resting their foreheads against each other

it's just the simple things you see

it's all the things you do to me

on the way to the bathroom, y/n came to an abrupt stop as she saw adrian glancing out the small kitchen window in awe as a small family of ducks swim around in the small garden pond

"you know, if we ever start a family, i hope they get your genes," breaking his slight trance, adrian turned to his wife, lovingly grinning towards her, "just a family of very pretty people."

"if they're anything like their mother, i'll be fending off boys left, right and centre," he walked over, pulling her gently into his embrace, "and i'll be teaching them quidditch. perhaps we could have 6 kids and i'll start my own team?"

y/n could only scoff, swatting at his arm

"you wish," she rolled her eyes gently, tucking herself further into his side, "you don't have to give birth. that already sounds painful."

"just give it a thought."

"maybe."

when everything is crazy

you find a way to make it right

"MUM! MUM!" terror reigned over the pucey household as the 'terrible two's caused havoc throughout the home, "noah, stop it."

"please you two," rubbing at her temple, she tried to calm her two 5 year olds, "it's not even 8 in the morning and your father and brother are still sleeping. noah, please leave your sister alone and novah, please stop shouting."

"but muumm," noah, who resembled his mother with her darker toned eyes and slightly darker skin, whined whilst pulling at her shirt, "she called me a git, mum."

"novah may, we do not use that language in this house," she tried to be stern but when it came to her children, whom seemed to adorn puppy dog eyes and small little pouts at all times, it was more heartbreaking and her walls broke, adopting a softer tone, "please just apologise to your brother."

"dad says it to uncle miles all the time though," novah, who as opposed to her brother, resembled her father with his lighter eyes and pale complexion, retorted, as if it were to make what she said okay, "you should tell him off."

y/n sighed, waiting for the awaiting wails of the 7 month old that rested down the hall

"you're right, your father should know better," she kissed her twins on their forehead and nose before moving to the kitchen to start on breakfast, "however, you should also know better, miss may. please just apologise to your brother."

novah looked up at her mother, pouting before realising that she wouldn’t get out of this. so she turned to her brother, with a small, shy smile

"i'm sorry that i called you a bad name, noah," she said, her voice small, slightly twisting jer body as she spoke, "why don't we go tell of dad together? if it wasn't for him, i wouldn't know that word."

"no, please don't do that," y/n tried to get out as she saw noah begin to smile and nod, "your father got home late and deserves to sleep in. besides, you'll wake up your brother."

but it was too late

and thus began the wails that echoed down the hallway, as well as the very noticeable groans of their father, with reprimanding words and the totally non-giggling pair

y/n could only sigh as she made her way to the nursery

"it's alright, nehe," she cooed, swaying with the little one as he began to quieten down in his mothers embrace, "go back to sleep my love."

she hummed and sang ever so quietly as light snores were heard and the little boy found rest once again

"you know, you're the only one who can settle him down," that oh so familiar voice sounded from the nursery door, "i think he has a favourite. i've got to say, i don't mind it if this it what i get to see."

y/n looked up at him lovingly, finding peace after the hectic morning

"and only you could calm the raging migraine that comes with this family," as adrian walked over to his wife and youngest, y/n curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they both looked down at the sleeping boy, "and you wanted 6 kids."

"still do."

"give me a few more years buddy."

yes, i love and i love and i love and i want you

it's gonna be till the end time

and so, as years passed on (and adrian continued to beg for his own little quidditch team) the kids got older, the parents continued to fall more in love

september, 2002

wedding bells rang, crowds cheered, tears dropped, and vows were exchanged

this began the next chapter of the rest of their lives and they knew they'd search for their forever together till the end of time

a sweet lil fic (that seems a lil rushed to me but i just had to get it out for my love, before valentines day. i tried to have 2 done but i just finished this and havent even started another one due to stress.) i hope you enjoy

@lilyswh0re @limerenze @loverssfevers @accio-samulet

also.. i was looking for a third name starting with 'n' and knew i had to use my little loves name and it was just perfect

[aliwritesfic]

The Cold Side of the Bed (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

I've been in my sad girl feels, and um, this is VERY sad (imho). Proceed at your own risk. I'm so sorry.

Warings: Death, semi-graphic depiction of cancer, suicide, suicidal thoughts, depression, grief, mourning, if I've missed anything please let me know

W/C: 898

Grief isn’t linear.

It was one of the first things your therapist, Jeanette, told you when you had first met with her. It’s a journey with no set itinerary, she told you, handing you a steaming mug of earl grey. You had found the analogy meaningless at the time, but god if it hadn’t started to make sense in the eleven months since Javi’s death. To be honest, almost everything Jean had told you about grief had turned out to be true.

Plus a few extras you hadn’t expected.

Like for example, the time you had wanted to drive your car into oncoming traffic when Let’s Stay Together by Al Green came on. Or when you had almost had a total breakdown you had forgotten to buy peanut butter.

Still, you preferred those feelings to the absolute numbness you had started to feel a month after Javi was gone. You could see how it scared your friends and family to see you physically wither away into a shell of who you once were.

Slowly though, you started to get better. You could stomach three meals a day without vomiting, you could open the curtains without feeling like the sunshine was mocking you. You could call Steve once a week without wanting to sob for hours afterward.

You still couldn’t sleep in your bed though, preferring to sleep on the couch while infomercials played on a low volume. You had tried once, sliding into the cold sheets, but the bed smelt like him, and you couldn’t handle that.

Everywhere there were reminders of Javier, of the disease that had started in his pancreas and travelled to his lungs, his bones. There was the plastic chair in the bathroom, originally in the shower for when he couldn’t stand on his own. Empty painkiller bottles in the medicine cabinet, all labelled with Javi’s name. His golden wedding band which now sat on his nightstand, collecting dust.

You were already engaged by the time he had found out about the cancer, but the wedding was still ten months away, and Javi had less than three, so he convinced you to move it up. You married him in the local courthouse, you in a gauzy yellow sundress with flowers weaved into your hair, him in his nicest suit, hair and mustache combed neatly. You had danced to Al Green, your eyes never leaving Javi’s steady brown ones.

“You look beautiful, Mrs Peña,” he murmured in your ear, his lips tickling your throat. “Like a dream.”

Dozens of photos had been taken on that day, and you were glad you had married him before the cancer had begun to really kill him. It wasn’t long before his hair had started to fall out in clumps, his face became gaunt and jaundiced. Often you stayed awake with him through the vomiting spells, wiping bile gently from his chin, whispering softly to him. Holding his bony hand through the pain that only ever seemed to get worse.

Numerous times, he had begged you to kill him. To give him too much morphine, to shoot him, to suffocate him. Anything to stop the pain.

“You don’t even need to be in the room, just leave the pills on the table,” he pleaded one night while you carefully scrubbed his back. He no longer could find the strength to do so.

It was a mercy, a final act of pure love. You carefully counted out the pills and set them on his nightstand. It would be enough, you knew. As you helped Javi into bed that night, you saw the relief in his steady dark eyes as he saw your final gift.

“I love you,” he said, taking your hand as you climbed into bed next to him.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, keeping the tears at bay as you closed your eyes. When you woke up, he was cold.

Now your life seemed to pass in a haze, the days without Javi bleak. Sometimes you regretted giving Javi the pills, but mostly you didn’t.

It was your birthday, three weeks later, when the loss finally hit you in the chest, leaving gasping for air as you hurled up the meagre lunch you had. It had started with a knock on the door, a bouquet of flowers delivered by a young woman.

“They’re prepaid for the next ten years, so if you have a change of address let us know,” she said. There was a note attached;

My love, my heart,

I’m sorry I am not with you, I’m sorry about a lot of things. Thank you for being mine, even if it was only for a short time.

Your Javi.

The flowers were the only bright thing you could stand to look at.

As the one year anniversary arrived, you took his ashes and scattered them in the lake, his wedding band on a chain around your neck. Steve stood with you, holding you close as you crumbled on the dock.

That night, you crawled into your bed for the first time in a year. Stretching your fingers across, you touched the cold side of the bed where Javi once slept. His pillow still smelt like him, but it didn’t send you into a spiral. It would one day, but that night you slept soundly.

Grief wasn’t linear, and you knew that better than most.

[orleans-jester]

Wedding bells

Esmeralda had left early in the day to get ready, doing her last minute running around. Leaving the instructions for Agnes and Pierre and what they would have to do, would have to contribute. The twins dressed differently, but still in celebratory clothes, a little knitted purse with a sapphire necklace around Agnes’s side. She would pick up Seven and Zero around sunset, just those two because she was bringing no date. Unless Dallas was her date for the night, something she didn’t mind. The puppy was family enough that it had a little bowtie around his neck. She thought briefly about asking someone but couldn’t think of anyone who would understand the weirdness of this wedding ceremony. It wasn’t in a church. It wasn’t in a park or a beach or anywhere that people would typically think of a wedding.

The abandoned plantation. It was lit up with candles of all sorts, guiding people to where they were supposed to go. Two large men, both of them with missing teeth, colorful bandanas covering their heads, one with just a beard and the other with a head full of facial hair, were standing around, directing the few vehicles that came. Mostly, people got there by foot. It was a wedding among the homeless of New Orleans after all. One of them would come in close to Agnes’s window, peer his face against it. Knock on it. She’d roll it down.

“Evening Agnes,” The hairier one with the purple bandana grinned. “Go ‘n park over there.”

Agnes had no idea who this man was. She didn’t think that she had ever seen him before. But then again, apparently she had been working with her mother on the shelters for the last two months. This looked like someone who needed them. “Thanks,” She’d smile, feigning familiarity and then would go and park the car off to the side, among the bushes. There were a few others, but they could be counted on one hand.

Pierre would take both Zero and Seven’s hands and would rush on past the house to get to the less creepy and more well lit back area. Much less creepy back here, leaving Agnes to carry the dog behind.

Indeed, it was well set up. Carpets spread on the ground, with a few being daring enough to advertise their wares there in case the rich showed up - i.e. these four. Plenty of places to sit. Bright bonfires. There was one here who knew fire magic, could help to turn the flames different colors, making it not only bright but beautiful as well. Food was already laid out. A band had been formed of panhandlers, guitars and fiddles and a saxophone and a clarinet, all coming up with rhythms together. Pierre would stick with his two while Agnes would find the woman who read her palm and the little girl to give the necklace. As the night grew darker, she’d be looking for Bastien among the faces though. She missed him. So much.

The bearded man would be shocked at who came up next in the obnoxious dune buggy. The former king. The one that most people assumed had been dead. Some of them had been interviewed and targeted by Peru’s people after the big disappearance of Clopin and Kuzco, accusing them of hiding them, though they had been doing no such thing. But seeing that face, was a great relief. Even if it was hidden under a large purple hat with a golden feather sticking out. “Le roi!”

“Hush, hush, hush,” Clopin would wave off. “No need for that. I’m here in secret, can’t you tell by the hat?”

The man would stumble over his words, showing Piper exactly what power that he had on the streets back in the day, to where people still revered him like this. It brought his mood up a little. A smirk. He’d pull in behind what had become the familiar SUV of the Renault family. Dressed in dark purples with golden trim to match his little lady, he’d take her arm proudly, and Kuzco’s if he came, and would escort them to where his own wedding with Kuzco had been. And he’d explain it to her as well. “Ours had better music. The musicians must have died off, how sad,” He’d note.

[fascination-street-writing]

Once You Loved Her - Now You’ve Lost Her | Yan!Pannacotta Fugo x F!Reader

Pangs of familiarity fill Fugo’s heart, in the way that Mista looks at you, because it is how you used to gawk at the strawberry blonde man himself, when you were both still young. As if he were a spring and you a parched disciple.

For skully-greg: Who suggested an angsty piece featuring Pannacotta Fugo

Content Warnings: Not S/F/W Content, Yandere Behaviors, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Non-Con, Past Underage Relationship, & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics

It is raining again.

Pannacotta Fugo sighs, releasing the breath that he has held in for far too long. He does not bother to avoid the puddles on the sidewalk. The soles of his shoes are already ruined. In the distance, the clock tower chimes as morning turns to noon. Church bells ring – the sounding of a wedding, no doubt. Though, it is a particularly dreary day for one.

He can see it all. An ivory lace gown and a black silk tuxedo. Baby’s-breath and roses. Candles on the altars. Matrimony – everything he might have had if life was more forgiving. Alas, his stomach curls at the thought, and so he forces his mind elsewhere. First, to the file tucked beneath his arm, which he must deliver to Don Giovanna before the day ends. Then, to the faint rumbling in his belly that reminds him of his promise to get tea with Sheila; never mind the matter wherein there is another woman whom he would much rather divulge in menial conversations with, over two saucers of earl grey.

It is you he has lost.

He passes the boutiques that you had so many times begged him to accompany you to. He never said yes, because he always felt that there were far more important things to do than to waste money on clothing (it simply reminds him too much of his parents, always so preoccupied with appearances) – and so you went alone. A street vendor selling elaborate bouquets hoists a tarp over his stall to protect his wares from the unrelenting storm. Fugo had once thought to buy you flowers – he refrained, as he knew they would die within the week.

A head of hair the color of yours catches his attention. He stops.

Through the display window of L’Abito di Fiori, he watches, helpless, as you lift a dress shirt made of pressed cotton to the torso of Guido Mista. The hanger dangles from your grasp as you gauge the shirt’s sizing to his body – and his eyes fall to your face, taking in the expression of determination that sweeps your brow. Pangs of familiarity fill Fugo’s heart, in the way that Mista looks at you, because it is how you used to gawk at the strawberry blonde man himself, when you were both still young.

As if he were a spring and you a parched disciple.

You bat away the dress shirt and offer Mista another; one that is slimmer and formfitting. Fugo has almost forgotten the occasion. It is an occasion indeed, as in no other circumstance might Mista give quite so much care about his uniform: Don Giovanna’s compleanno gala is nearly upon you all.

You say something to Mista that is unintelligible to Fugo, though by the way the chocolate-brown eyed man smiles, he knows it is nothing good. The long-forgotten, youthful rage within him has become an acquaintance as of late – a rekindling of something that ought to have gone away. The file snaps in his grasp. Pages upon pages of the report that took him a month to compose and organize scatter amongst the puddles.

Fugo stares at the ruin and sighs. Fishing his cellphone out from his pocket, he dials Don Giovanna’s number. Tea with Sheila will have to wait - not that he minds.

“Buon pomeriggio, Fugo,” the young Don speaks. Years of strain weigh heavily on his tone. “I was just about to call you – Monsieur Polnareff is getting impatient waiting for your report. How soon can you be here?”

“Ah, about that, Giorno. Mie scuse, but there’s been an incident . . .”

Il Libeccio is quiet, though perhaps since it is far too early in the day to be patronized. You and Fugo peer over the menu, as if something new might strike your fancy. In all honesty, you have committed it to memory; still, it makes for a good way to pass the time. Unreciprocated teasing glances are thrown his way. Unreciprocated, that is, until he grins only slightly – enough to be noticed by you before the corners of his lips fall.

You are glad that none of the others are here yet. Your moments with Fugo have always been cut far too short. First as children, when he would be ushered off to his studies and you to assist your mother in her duties around his parents’ estate. Now as two teenagers pulled apart by tasks assigned from Bucciarati.

If not for Fugo, you never would have joined Passione. Though from opposite ends of the social hierarchy, it was you who kept him grounded amidst the berating and the abuse – and the same can be said of him regarding you. Trauma is indiscriminatory, and it has an interesting way of bringing two thwarted souls together. Even after everything he had endured, his thoughts were of you. Following his expulsion from the university, he came back for you. With nothing to lose, and an optimistic inkling of something to gain, you joined him.

He took you from one life and gave you another. And for that, you will always be indebted to him.

“Have you two decided?” the waitress asks. “Or perhaps a bit longer?”

She clicks the pen in her hand. Fugo does not recognize her, and he realizes she must be new. Otherwise, she would know better than to inquire before the others have even arrived. “A few more minutes, please,” he says. “Grazie."

She obliges and leaves. You place a hand over your stomach, contemplating your options. “Fugo?” He raises an eyebrow and glances in your direction. “Will you share some cake with me?”

“Maybe. What flavor?”

He is not one to spoil his appetite with sweets; however, he might indulge for you. In truth, there is not much would not do at your behest; even as a boy, he has always loved you. You hum to yourself, dragging your finger down the dessert menu. He swallows the lump in his throat. A knowing smirk graces your face as you give him your answer.

“Strawberry.”

The banquet hall has been done up rather nicely. Round tables draped with white-satin tablecloths dot the perimeter of the room, each set with six chairs and a bouquet of lilies. The hired musicians – comprised of the most desirable instrumentalists in Napoli – play a lively little jazz tune. The caterer bores over the display of desserts, ensuring that not a single plate has been moved out of line.

Seated together, Mista lifts a forkful of strawberry dolce to your mouth. It hits your tongue and melts like sugar. Don Giovanna has spared no expense in preparing his gala, and the cake is no exception. You look far too elegant, wearing that beaded sheath dress while clasping a champagne flute betwixt manicured fingers. Your mulberry lipstick stains the rim like a kiss. Without a doubt, you are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. Mista knows this, as do the men who pass you by and let their gazes’ wander.

And so does Fugo.

“If you squeeze your glass any tighter, it’ll snap in half. God forbid you’ll hurt yourself. I’d rather not end my night with taking you to the hospital.”

He eases the grip on his goblet. The color rushes back to his knuckles. Trish sips her champagne beside him, oblivious to the fury boiling within him, but not his envy. “You can be bitter every other night of the year. Don’t be tonight. It’s Giorno’s birthday, and we spent too much money on this damned party. Please, don’t cause a scene or do anything stupid. I’m begging you, Fugo.”

He bites back a scoff, never taking his eyes off you. “I’m not ‘causing a scene,’” he insists.

Trish frowns. “No, but you’re about to. Judging by the way you were practically strangling that poor cup, I know you’re only seconds away from throttling Mista.”

“I have every right to be upset,” Fugo tells the pink-haired woman.

“No, you really don’t,” she retorts. “You should be glad she moved on. Be happy that she’s happy.”

A bit of icing sticks to your lip. Mista swipes it away with his thumb before pressing his mouth to yours for a quick kiss. To Fugo, it is a nauseating sight. “You don’t think I haven’t tried?” he demands. “It’s been absolute agony this entire time. I still love her – so much that I hate her. She’s a reminder of everything I’ve done wrong.”

“You need try harder. It’s been four years. You’re going to ruin yourself at this point.” As if he has not already. “Listen, Fugo. I probably shouldn’t tell you this. Mista’s planning on proposing to her soon. He already bought a ring. You should make things right between you and [Y/N]; don’t spend the rest of your life resenting your best friend for marrying your ex. After all, maybe this can be an incentive to get over yourself and grow up.”

With that, Trish collects her belongings and departs, leaving an emptied champagne flute as a marker of where she once sat. He hardly notices her absense; he has grown numb. Marriage. An ivory gown for you and a silk tuxedo for Mista. Baby’s breath in a bouquet and a single rose in a boutonniere for Mista. Candles on the altars lit for Mista.

Fugo recoils. The thought of you marrying anyone other than himself is a death sentence. Mista stands, having been beckoned by Don Giovanna, depriving you of a companion. There is stock in Trish’s advice – but it takes courage to follow through.

You practically ignore him when he claims Mista’s vacated seat. You refuse to meet his violet stare; the band is far more interesting, anyways. Softly, he speaks your name. “How are you?” he asks.

“Good,” you answer, short. “Perfect.”

He awaits the refrain, yet you utter nothing else. And so, he tries again. “It doesn’t seem like you’re having much fun.”

“I was, before you sat down.”

Your words sting, as if you have pierced him through the heart with a wicked blade.

“You look beautiful.” You roll your brilliant eyes. If not for Don Giovanna’s sake, you might have thrown the remainder of your drink in Fugo’s handsome face. You will settle for audaciousness instead. That is, until his fingers coil around your wrist so tight the bones may snap. He hoists you from the chair, and with little regard to your protesting – deaf to the guests who can hear nothing over the sound of jazz –, he leads you from the banquet hall. Your refusal to reciprocate the conversation would have swayed any man from pursuing you. Any man, except Fugo.

Your bed has been made, and now you must lie in it.

Your back meets the wall of the closet. Fugo braces you with his own hand, warding off the wood’s bite. The unoccupied fingers of his opposite hand reach for the hardened nub between your folds, toying you open. He feels your core tighten around his shaft and an airy moan escapes you.

It is too hot, but neither of you seem to mind it very much.

With each aching thrust, he throbs in you. You bounce against him, held up by his body that pins you in place. The hand on your back trails up to the base of your spine, threading in your hair and jerking your head away. You tingle at his bluntness. Encouraged by it, you reach for his neck and pull his face down to yours, claiming his mouth with your own.

It is sweeter than he ever imagined. Your teeth graze his plump lip. He groans as you slide your tongue in his mouth, battling for dominance. Though, as accosted by the uncomfortable angle that your head has been bent to, you have no other choice than to surrender. Incited by his little victory, Fugo relinquishes his hold and pulls out, leaving you feeling utterly empty. You whine, practically keening for his touch.

He turns you around until your chest hits the wall. His manhood, stiff and slick with your wetness, teases the crest of your behind – and he enters you again, swiftly, full of unspent energy that propels your forward. Your palms smack the surface before you, desperate for something to cling onto. You settle for the mounted coatrack. Fugo’s fingers latch onto your hips with such ferocity that bruises will be sure to form in the coming days.

Purple will look good on you, he decides, and so he grips even harder. You cry out, struggling to meet his pace. Excited, nonetheless.

“Strawberry cake, huh?” he asks between soft grunts, his voice husky.

You laugh, breathless. “I thought it might rile you up,” you tell him, confessing your intention. “I took a gamble, and it paid off.”

“It did, cara.”

He is content that you had been the one to make the first move – because he could never find the gull to do it himself. To have you writhing in ecstasy at his touch is a reverie personified and more; a newfound warmth and comfort, only for him.

The doorknob shakes. Despite Fugo’s strawberry-patterned tie fastened to the overhead rack from the handle, which acts as a makeshift barricade, you panic and push off the wall, bucking into his torso.

“P-Panni –” you whisper. He thrusts deeper, eliciting a pleasant noise from you. “We have to stop. Someone’ll hear us.”

He urges you back into place. You cry out again when he hits your sensitive depths, but he is quick to stifle your pandemonium by placing his hand over your mouth; it is dampened, clammy with sweat, just like the rest of your body and his. “You have to be quiet,” he croons in your ear. You shiver and grind against the fullness between your legs. “Can you do that for me, bella? Starai tranquilla per me?”

You nod. Fugo feeds on your eagerness, picking up his pace. Unable to contain his own moans, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your intimacy-induced musk. It is intoxicating. Not long after, you surrender to the coil in your belly – you reach your limit and come undone. Exhausted, you slump onto his torso. His hand falls from your mouth, moving to grasp the mounds of your chest.

With one last cry, he finishes, coating your walls with his release. He traces the crook of your cheek and kisses you twice more. Relationships between members of Passione are dangerous – affection is vulnerability. And yet, Fugo would give everything away to be vulnerable for you; a promise amongst many that he will not keep. In the moment, however, it makes for a pretty sentiment.

Shades of greens and violets dance throughout your vision. Content, you flash him a tired smile.

“Before we go back out, there’s something I should tell you,” you begin. “I love you, Panni. I always have.”

His heart blooms. Of course, deep down, he already knew. 

You collapse to the ground in a heap of fabric that once resembled a gown, yours knees skinning against the floors. Sore, used, and broken. The beads of the intricate embroidery scatter from being torn away in Fugo’s mood. An uncomfortable stickiness coats your inner thighs. Sobbing, you clutch the remnants of your dress, shielding yourself from the man who violated you so.

From the man whom you once adored like the moon amongst stars.

He readjusts the zipper to his trousers. Painfully, your legs vibrate. Otherwise, you might stand on your own. Noticing this, he extends his hand to you, expecting you to accept it so as to pull you to your feet. Incredulous, you smack him away, pushing yourself further adrift despite the dissent of your limbs. You have been set ablaze from the inside out.

“Get away from me,” you demand. There is not enough space on earth to satisfy your longing to distance your being and his. For a moment, you think you have hurt him – and irks you to do it again. “Ti odio, Fugo. I hate you more than anything else. Do you understand me? I hate you!”

He winces, struck by your venom; still, he holds his hand out. You would rather cast yourself from the nearest balcony than to welcome his help. His fleeting patience diminishes – before you may throw another jab his way, he has pulled you to stand, his hands nestled too tightly around your biceps. You manage to wrench yourself free and lash out. Your palm meets his face in a hurried slap. He staggers backwards, relinquishing his grip. At first, he feels nothing.

And then, pinpricks.

“[Y/N], I –”

“Save your apology for someone who cares.”

The door slams behind you. He listens until he can no longer hear the hurried sounds of your heels clacking off the marble floors. You are gone, again – to Mista or whoever else is to blame for Fugo’s loneliness. Sighing heavily, he turns to the mirror above the vanity.

He remembers a time, at the age of sixteen, when he was far too afraid of mirrors, because he never cared for the man who stared back at him. A day in Pompeii; you were so fearful for his wellbeing that you nearly fainted when he came back, bloodied and worn down.

The red handprint upon his face is nothing more than a mockery among many others to his character. He finds the object nearest to his reach: a silver drinking carafe that has been used as a vase for roses beside a candle with a smoldered wick atop a cherry-wood nightstand. Thrown from his fingers, the carafe shatters the mirror. A web of faces in mimicry of his own screams in anguish.

In his rage, he sees not red, but purple. Violent purple and harlequin motifs. Tears form in his eyes – though, to be honest, for all his time spent in utter bitterness, he has forgotten what pure unadulterated regret feels like.

It feels like it is raining again.

| 3008 Words |

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Full Circle

Part 12 of The Moonlit Masquerade Series

The first free day they both have together after Luz proposes, Amity all but drags Luz to the market so she can buy her fiancée her own ring. Luz groans as Amity pulls her out of bed at the crack of dawn.

Though it's less pulling and more slipping out of her grip in bed to get dressed and refusing to come back to bed when Luz moans for her to come back and snuggle with her.

"Vuelve a la cama, quiero acurrucarme," she moaned from face down on her pillow.

Amity rolled her eyes even as she kneeled over the bed to press a kiss to the back of Luz's head and rub a hand over her back, trying to rouse her quickly without having to toss her out of the bed as sometimes was the case.

"We can snuggle later, querida."

"Or, and consider this…. we could snuggle now…" Her head popped up from the pillow to look at her sleepily.

"We need to do this now," Amity said firmly even as she grinned at her. Luz groaned, head dropping back to the pillow.

"When you said we were gonna spend all day together, getting up at the crack of dawn to go to the market was not what I had in mind…," she mumbled.

Amity sighed, rolling her eyes fondly as she crawled fully back into the bed and wrapped her arms around Luz, lips pressed against her ear.

"We have all day, Luz. I'll take you to breakfast after and I promise, I'll make it worth your while later." The statement was punctuated by a kiss to her neck as Amity threaded her fingers through her hair. "...but we have to do this now."

Luz sighed into her pillow

"...fine," she mumbled. Amity smiled and pressed another brief kiss to her neck before rolling out of bed so Luz could push herself up only for Amity to toss a shirt and pants at her.

Luz grumbles as she flips back the blankets and starts getting dressed.

"Do we have to?" she asks with a sigh as she changes.

"You don't want a ring?" Amity asks, brows furrowed, and she's in the middle of pulling a shirt over her head, so Luz can't see her fiancée's face, but she knows the slight hurt tone when she hears it, she's intimately familiar with all Amity's tones of voice.

"Of course I want everyone to know I'm engaged to the most beautiful witch on the Boiling Isles, mi amor, but do we have to go to the market before dawn?" She finally pulls the tunic over her head and turns to Amity.

"Yes, the stand I want to go to gets there before the sun comes up and he sells out of his wares by breakfast. We need to go now," she says, turning and walking out of their room, Luz following, grabbing her staff off the hook on the wall as she does.

"Why don't you just buy one for me…?" she asks between a yawn.

"I want you to have the one you want." is the answer.

"Are you saying you don't like your ring?" Luz asks, and she's teasing, she knows Amity loves her ring, she'd taken every opportunity to show it to her siblings and their friends over the past week, but that doesn't stop her from spinning around on the stairs, eyes wide.

"What?! No! It's beautiful, Luz," she hurriedly assures.

"Hey, hey, I was teasing, I know you like it…"

"I love it," Amity corrects. "I just…," she sighs. "I just want to get you something you love just as much, and I haven't a clue where to even start… you don't wear jewelry except earrings…," she says and Luz shrugs.

"Never had much interest in it," she agrees with a shrug, stepping down to the step just above the one Amity is standing on so she can lean down over her. "I'd like anything you gave me, Amity." Luz reminds, cupping a cheek in her hand and leaned in to press a soft kiss against her mouth.

"I know you would…," Amity hums against her lips as she pulls back. "But, please Luz, let me do this?"

Luz couldn't say no to that pleading look even if she wanted to.

"I'm already out of bed and dressed so we might as well." She grins and Amity smiles at her.

The morning is warm and it promises to be a hot day, but they've set aside the whole day just to be together, and no matter the weather, that makes it perfect. Those days were much fewer in between since the rebellion. They were both busy often. They had played such pivotal roles in starting and ending the rebellion that people often looked to the two of them and their friends in the past year. There are always problems to solve and people to help adjust, but not today.

They have plenty of time to spare, so they walk, hand in hand to town. Glad to enjoy this unhurried moment together.

"Have you thought any about what you want to do for the wedding?" Luz asked her.

"I've… had some ideas…" Amity hedges, not willing to admit how much she's actually thought out in the one week since they got engaged whenever she had a few minutes between duties.

But Luz knows Amity. She's a planner, and if there was ever anything she'd be eager to plan, it's their wedding.

"You already have a whole notebook full of stuff don't you?" She grins knowingly and watches Amity's cheeks pink.

"It's not full… just like… half," she mumbled and Luz laughed. "They're just ideas! I wouldn't do any actual planning without you… though…," she trailed off. Luz squeezed her hand.

"We haven't really talked about a date yet, but… I have one in mind if it's alright with you."

"Shoot." Luz smiled at her.

"The 31st of October," Amity says.

"Halloween?" Luz can't help but grin at that. To her great surprise, her first October in the Isles, they did in fact have Halloween, though it looked a little different than in the human realm. No one dressed up as witches or werewolves, except her, since all those things existed here. They dressed up as humans. Doctors and lawyers and just everyday human objects. She'd never forget the two years Gus went as a toaster.

Amity smiled, she had a good feeling Luz would like that.

"Yes, but that's not the reason I picked it, querida. It's the next blue moon," she said.

" The bl- the blue moon!" Luz lit up. "That's perfect, amor!"

"Yeah?" Amity smiled.

"Yeah! There's something… hmm, not ironic, but you know what I mean, like, coming full circle." Luz tapped her chin, trying to think of the right word.

"That was my thought exactly." Amity nodded. "I also know how much you love Halloween." she grinned.

"It's true, I do." Luz smiled. "Though I get a distinct feeling that you're not going to let our wedding be costume themed…," she trailed off suggestively.

"No," is the deadpan answer.

"Fine…," Luz pouts. Amity rolled her eyes for the third time since waking up; forty-five minutes ago.

"So, October?"

"October" Luz agrees. "Could I wear an orange suit?" She tries and Amity laughs.

"If you want… but please don't. Orange is not your color, Luz."

"I know, I just wanted to see if you'd let me."

"It is your wedding too."

"Yeah, but you get kinda controlling when you're in charge of planning things, amor," Luz smirks at her as they walk through the market.

"I…!" Amity's mouth closes with a quiet click. She knows it's true, the first blue moon masquerade she'd had to throw after she'd turned sixteen had been a little tense, not the party, but the planning, she'd been a little hard on their friends and Luz, with her anal-retentive tendencies. Luz described her as "type A" and after she actually explained what that meant Amity had to admit it was true.

"I… am going to try very hard, not to do that. I want us to do this together," she said after a moment. Luz smiled at her and lifted their interlaced hands to lay a kiss on the back of Amity's hand in answer.

Amity pulls them to a certain stall in the market and she recognizes him.

He's large and scaly with four eyes and a tail. The same merchant Luz had bought Amity's broach from years ago. The one she still wears pinned to her shirt, under her cloak.

"Miss Blight, Miss Noceda!" He greets happily as they approach.

That's something Luz is still getting used to, people recognizing and knowing her. They and their friends had been pretty front and center during the rebellion after all.

"Good morning, Mr. Azbar." Amity greets him.

"How can I be of service to you today?" He asks looking between them, all four eyes blinking.

"We're looking for a ring," Amity tells him. He hums and gestures to a section of his wares, where some are sitting in their cloth slots on display.

Luz looks them over carefully. They're all pretty, but nothing she would really describe as her style. They're either too big or too much, more in the style that the upper class of Isles society would wear. Very showy, which once, Luz would have jumped at, but her flair for being bright and loud had settled some with age. She doesn't need to be loud or over the top for people to look and pay attention to her. She's not an insecure teenager anymore. She has the attention of all the people she needs.

She's still over the top at heart, but only with those closest to her.

"They're nice," she finally says. "But nothing really jumps out at me." She shrugs and Amity looks disappointed, while Azbar hums, looking at her thoughtfully.

"I do have something else, it was a special order, but the gentlemen who ordered it was a loyalist and met a rather… unfortunate end last year…" he says, tail swaying behind him.

"Sure, let's see it." Luz nods.

He digs under his stall before pulling out a little black box and pops it open.

"Oh, wow," Luz breathes.

It's a silver band with little scrolling patterns engraved into the sides, but the gem inlaid atop it is obviously the centerpiece. It's a bright plum color, with a vaguely star-shaped white pattern on its surface.

"It's beautiful." Amity agrees.

"It's a plum star jewel." He says and Amity's eyes widen at that. "Ahh, I see you're familiar with the stone, Miss. Blight," Azbar says.

"Plum star?" Luz questions.

"They're quite rare, something about their composition and how they're formed, only on the head, allows them to act as conduits for the natural magic of the Isles," Amity explains to her. "That would be perfect for you actually, Luz, it would probably increase your glyphs powers by letting you more easily draw on the magic of the Isles." Amity smiles.

"It's really pretty too." Luz looks at it with starry eyes and Amity sees how enamored Luz is with the ring.

"How much?" she asks him.

"Three-thousand-five hundred"

"Ay dios mio!" Luz shouts, standing up straight, eyes blown wide.

"For the two of you, however, I would take two. I'm certainly not going to make any money from the dead man who ordered it."

"We'll take it," Amity says, and Luz's head whips to her.

"What, No!" she half shouts at her.

"You like this one, I know you do, Luz," Amity says.

"That's a ridiculous amount to spend on my ring, Amity," she argues.

"How much did you spend on my ring?" she asks, planting a hand on her hip, and Luz pursed her lips.

Amity may not know for certain, but she grew up in the upper classes, she knows what a fine piece of jewelry looks like, and what it costs, and she knows her ring is just that. So she has a pretty good idea, and highly suspects Luz paid more than what she's proposing to spend right now.

"I don't have to answer that question." She crosses her arms and turns her nose up.

"Mhmm…," Amity hums knowingly. Luz huffs. "Luz, you said you'd let me buy you the ring you wanted," she reminds and Luz grumbles.

When they were young, Luz had always been weird about money, she never had any qualms about spending her own, hard-earned money on Amity, but never liked it when she spent money on her.

It wasn't until they were older that she admitted that she just never wanted it to seem like she was taking advantage of the money Amity came from. Which she personally thought was ridiculous, she was quite happy to spend her family's money on Luz. It made her mother angry and she liked to make Luz happy; both wins in her book. Especially so long as her father still funded her and the twins, when they asked, and even if he didn't, Amity would still be glad to work just so she could make her future wife happy.

This however was not funded by her father, this was money Amity had been saving for some time, just for this. Luz had simply beat her to the punch. After the first time they had talked about marriage, several years ago, she had started a separate savings fund just for this, and had been quite diligent in putting into it over that time.

They had worked it out, but sometimes, Luz still got a little skittish about it.

"This is the one you want, I know it is, so please?"

Luz sighed, looking at her before glancing back at the ring.

"Alright, yes. That's the one I want," she finally admitted, and Amity smiled, turning to Azbar, who grinned, showing off a mouth full of sharp teeth.

"Excellent!" He closed the box and Amity spun a finger, a sac of snails falling out into her open palm, which she gladly traded off for the box.

"A pleasure to do business with you both, and congratulations." He nodded.

"Thank you," they both said before they walked down the street.

Amity popped it open and pulled the ring from its box and held her hand out.

Luz set her hand in Amity's and let her slip the ring on her finger. She flexed it experimentally, testing the new weight into her hand.

"Well?" Amity asked.

"It's beautiful, amor," she agreed. "Thank you." She smiled, looking up at her. Amity smiled back before leaning down to kiss her.

"Come on, I promised you breakfast," she mumbled against her lips.

~ ~

Two days after their trip to the market Luz is standing in the kitchen brewing potions when Amity and Lilith come home from the Council headquarters, formerly Emperor Belos' castle, at mid-morning.

"Hey, you two are back really early." She grins at them, and they both smile back, but there's something off about it. "Something wrong, was the council such a pain in the ass you left early?" She cocks a brow as she stirs a large orange batch of something.

"No, we've been digging through some of the Belos' more secret places in the depths of the castle, and we found something yesterday, we've been doing some tests on it and have found it to be in perfect working condition…," Lilith trails off. Amity is biting her lip, which makes Luz frown. She only does that when she was worried or nervous.

"What did you find?" Luz asks curiously.

Lilith and Amity share a glance.

"We brought it home, I think it would be better if we showed you," Lilith said before turning to Amity. "Get Eda."

Amity nods before hurrying up the stairs to the younger Clawthorne sister's room.

"Now you're scaring me…" Luz frowned. "Why is Amity upset?"

Lilith frowned.

"She's not upset, just… anxious, I suppose," she hedges.

Amity then returns with Eda.

"So what did you find in that Bozos' castle?" She crosses her arms.

"Come see for yourself." Lilith looks at her seriously.

She leads them outside and around the back of the house and the second it comes into view both Luz and Eda stop cold.

Sitting there in the grass, it's one golden eye staring back at them, is the portal.

Luz is breathless as the door from her dreams and nightmares looks back at her.

Eda's shock doesn't last as long, but then her worried eyes are on Luz, along with Amity's and Lilith's.

"The portal…," she breathes, finally taking a step toward it.

Amity is twisting her fingers anxiously in her cloak as she watches. Her ring feels heavy on her finger.

The door looks like it has seen better days, it's pieces patchworked together with bits of metal and who knows what. He somehow fixed it after she destroyed it.

"You said it works?" Luz finally looks at Lilith, who nods.

"We've been testing it's magic extensively since yesterday morning, and it works every time," she said. "We brought it back, so you may use it, if you wish." She glanced at a fidgeting Amity.

Luz blinks at that.

Her mother… she could finally see her again, tell her where she's been for the past six years.

Slowly she nods.

"Yes,...I...I need my staff!" She turns around and ran back into the house.

Amity feels like she's on the verge of hyperventilating as she stands there, motionless in the yard. Luz needed this, needed to see her mother after all these years.

But what if she decided she didn't want to come back to the Isles?

What if she decided not to come back to her?

The thought is ridiculous, but the fear remains, bubbling in her chest anxiously.

Luz comes running back with her staff in its holster on her back and she still looks shocked and bewildered, but determined.

"Are you sure you're ready, Luz? You don't need to go right this second..." Eda tells her cautiously, she feels much like Amity but is better at hiding it than the younger witch.

"No… " Luz shakes her head. "but it's been six years, I can't make her wait any longer." Eda is frowning but nods.

She takes a step toward the door but stops to glance at Amity and can immediately tell by the hunch of her shoulders and the way her brows furrow between her eyes as she clutches at her cloak that she's scared. Of what, Luz isn't sure, but her fiancée's apparent discomfort beats out her other roiling emotions for the moment and she moves to her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asks quietly, reaching out to take hold of her left hand in hers. Their rings make a quiet clinking noise.

Amity shakes her head.

Truthfully, as soon as she had seen the portal in the dank nether regions of the castle, she had wanted to destroy it and never tell Luz about it.

It makes her ashamed to admit that she probably would have if Lilith hadn't been standing there with her. She and Lilith had discussed this at great length since they had found the portal, and as much as she didn't want to, she had to give Luz the choice, because she loved her; it wasn't fair or right to take that choice away from her.

She had to have faith that the woman she loved would come back to her.

"Nothing, Luz… just…" she can't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound selfish or admit how she feels because guilting Luz into not going would be selfish too, and even if she wasn't trying to guilt her, she knew Luz, and Luz would stay if she thought she didn't want her to go.

Luz seems to understand, at least a little bit.

"Hey, it's okay. I'll be fine and back soon, mi amor," she gently assures her with a kiss.

Amity just nods, and then Luz pulls away and turns to the door. She takes a deep breath and with a final glance around at the gathered witches, she opens the door and a blinding light fills the door frame and lights her silhouette as she steps through and it closes behind her.

Amity takes a shuddering breath and spins a finger and her staff appears.

"I'm going back to the castle…," is all she says, and then is flying off before Eda or Lilith can say anything.

"She's worried…" Lilith frowns, watching her go.

"Me too…" Eda frowns at the closed door.

~

The moment Luz steps through the other side she's hit by an assortment of sounds and smells that tug at her memory but also assault her senses.

Even standing in the doorway to the rickety shack in the woods, she can hear the sounds of traffic, something almost foreign to her now, and smell the slight unnaturalness in the air from the everyday pollution. She wrinkles her nose at it.

She also feels strange… like she's been cut off from something, it's hard to put it into words.

She pulls a glyph from her pocket and when she tries to cast the simple light spell the paper disintegrates into dust.

Frowning, she reaches for her staff.

She pulls it from her back and gives it a test, her palisman's eyes glow and a few light spells pop into existence and she sighs in relief, not only because at least the magic of her staff works, but because when she feels it's power course through her, she realizes what the strange feeling is.

Being cut off from the magic of the Isles.

Having learned and trained the last six years to use the wild magic that came from the island itself, she had a deep connection to it, going into another realm and cutting herself off from it feels like losing an appendage; like a phantom limb. she can almost feel it and she knows it's supposed to be there but it isn't and she can keenly feel its loss.

She slips her staff back into its holster and walks down the rickety wooden steps of the abandoned house and follows the path till she's standing next to the street and looks around as cars drive past, their engines loud and cacophonous.

She guessed that the human world really was always this loud, she'd just grown used to not having all the noise of industrialization around her all the time in the demon realm.

She turns and freezes.

There it is, the small house on the corner that was her childhood home.

She swallows thickly.

What if her mother didn't live there anymore? What if she moved away after Luz had disappeared?

As she stands there worrying, a car pulls into the driveway and a woman steps out and Luz's heart stops.

The woman is a little older now. With far more gray in her hair, but it's her mother.

She stands there motionless, watching Camila Noceda walk into the house.

Luz squared her shoulders. It was time.

She walks quickly up to the house and stands on the porch.

She thought about this moment countless times over the last six years, and she had always thought she knew what she was going to say or do when this moment came, but now that she's standing here about to make it a reality, she has no idea.

She takes a deep calming breath and reaches a shaky hand up, hesitating only a moment before finally knocking on the door.

It feels like an eternity, but it's probably only a minute at best before the door clicks open and her mother is standing there, looking at her from the other side.

"Yes, how-" she starts but stops as she stares at the young woman standing on her porch, looking so strange in her cloak, with leather pouches hanging off her hips and a long stick with a carved owl on top hanging off her back, but she looks so achingly familiar it makes Camila's heart twist and she tries to stomp down the hope rising in her chest. How many girls had she seen from behind over the years and hoped had been her little girl? Y-yes?"

"Hi, Mamí." Is all Luz can think to say.

Camila sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes glaze over as she shakes her head.

"You… you can't be…," she says shakily, gripping the doorway tightly.

"It is. It's me." Luz smiles, her own eyes starting to burn with tears.

"Luz… I… tell me, tell me something only Luz would know!" she demands but it's more begging, pleading with this familiar-looking stranger to please be who she says she is.

"Something only I would know…," Luz repeats, thinking. "Um, when I was ten you had to pick me up from school because I blew up a glitter bomb in science class and claimed I didn't need science because I had ma…"

"Magic…," Camila chokes and the tears are suddenly pouring down her face. "Luz!" she wails, throwing herself on her, and her grip is so tight Luz can barely breathe, but she holds her back just as tightly, her own tears finally dripping from her face as they sink to a pile on the porch.

They sit there for a very long time, till her mother can't cry anymore and neither can she.

Camila finally pulls back to look at her, eyes red and puffy and she cups Luz's face in her hands.

"You're a grown woman…," her mother sniffles, looking at her so sadly, even as she smiles at her. "You never came home… I looked for so long…" tears are still sliding down her cheeks. "Where have you been, Mija?" she finally asks desperately.

"We better go inside so you can sit down… you're not going to believe me…," she says and Camila frowns at that.

She doesn't believe her; at first.

Luz tells her where she's been and Camila thinks she's gone crazy, until she proves it by doing some spells with her staff and pulls her old phone out of her pocket she grabbed when she went to get her staff, and begins showing her the photos and videos she's taken over the years of the Isles, of Eda, Lilith, King, and Hooty. She carefully avoids the ones of Amity for now. She doesn't want to overload her mother by telling her she's engaged, as though that would be the hardest thing to believe in her story…

Camila sits amazed and silent for a long while as she explains Belos' and having to destroy the portal to save Eda, even though it effectively cut her off from the human realm. She talks about going to Hexside, graduating, and her friends, which makes Camila smile.

Eventually, she starts asking questions and Luz is happy to answer them all. They sit there for hours, talking. Luz gestures wildly as she tells her stories and Camila can see it clearly.

Her excitable little girl, in this older, mature, young woman sitting next to her, and for the first time in years, doesn't feel the hollow ache in her heart that had been present since the day Luz had disappeared.

It's when Luz is gesturing wildly with her hands that Camila notes the glint on her left hand and gasps, making Luz stop.

"What?" She blinks and Camila grabs her left hand and is looking at the silver ring and it's glinting violet, and white, oval stone.

Oh

"You're married, Mija?!" Camila all but shouts. She missed her daughter's wedding?!

"Engaged, actually…" Luz grins. Guess she was going to tell her about Amity now. "Just a week ago in fact."

"Engaged! Tell me, tell me all about him!" Her mother is smiling.

"Her, actually," she says nervously. Her mother had known she was bi, but she had been fourteen at the time and this was a totally different thing.

"Tell me about her." Her mother still demands and Luz smiles.

"Her name is Amity… we've been together six years, since that first summer…"

Luz then launches into what she refers to as an epic tale of romance and adventure.

Even if it starts with Amity not liking her very much. She goes through it all.

Their first meeting at Hexside, the covention, Grom, grudgby, the masquerade and so many of the little moments in between up to Luz's proposal last week and then the finding of the portal door.

Camila asks many questions about Amity and everyone and makes faces throughout. Exasperated at so many of her daughter's antics and happy for all her triumphs.

By the end of it all, tears are welling up in her eyes again.

"I've missed so much of your life…," she says sadly.

Luz grabs her hands and holds them tightly between hers.

"You've missed some, but I promise you won't miss anymore." She smiles.

Camila nods but is frowning.

"You're not coming back to stay are you?" she asks and Luz frowns.

"No…" Luz shook her head. "The rest of my family… my friends… the love of my life... they're all back on the Bolling Isles...I've made a life there, besides, we both know I never fit in here… that's why you sent me to summer camp in the first place…"

Camila flinches at that. How often over the last six years had she wished with all her heart that she had never sent Luz away?

"You could have…" Camila starts but Luz shakes her head.

"Mamí, everyone at school hated me. I never told you about it because I didn't want you to worry, but no one wanted to be friends with me. They picked on me constantly. I was never going to be like them, but back home… I get to be everything and do everything I ever wanted. For my part in the rebellion, people respect me, I have friends that would do anything if I asked them and a fiancée who loves me," she says and squeezes her mom's hands. "The Isles are my home."

Camila sniffles but nods sadly.

"You really have grown up, Mija," she says.

"You can still be a part of my life. Now that the portal is working I can come to visit you anytime and you can come to visit me."

"I would like to meet your friends and Amity." She smiles and Luz grins brightly.

"You'll love her!" Luz promised.

Camila tells her about the very hard two years just after she disappeared and all the time she spent looking for her before finally giving up, and it makes guilt swell in Luz's gut, but she knows there's nothing to do about it now. She never stopped trying to find a way, it just never panned out anytime they thought they had a lead.

They talked for hours until Luz realizes the sun is coming up. She's been here since yesterday morning.

"Mierda!" She jumps up off the couch. "I've been here a whole twenty-four hours, Amity is probably worried about me!"

Camila stands, and though the last thing she wants is to see Luz go, she knows she must.

"Come back soon, please, Mija…" she says and Luz smiles and hugs her.

"I promise I'll be back in a day or two, I'll take you to meet everyone."

"I'd like that…" she smiles and squeezes her daughter tightly and walks her to the door.

Luz bounds down the steps and turns to smile and wave at her. Camila waves back, and then Luz is running down the street toward the woods. Camila stands on the porch, watching her go until she can't see her anymore.

She hops up the steps and opens the door and is relieved when she steps through into the demon realm. There was a small fear in the back of her mind that the door might not work.

As soon as she steps back out, into the backyard of the owl house, she can feel her connection to the Isles return, like stepping out of a stuffy house out into the cool fresh air. She breathes deeply and smiles as she runs around to the front of the house.

"Luz, your back!" Hooty stretched out to greet her, wriggling happily.

"I'm back," she grins at him and steps inside.

Lilith is sitting on the couch and looks up when she walks in.

"You're back!" She sounds relieved.

"Of course, is Amity here? I have a lot to tell her."

"No, she left early this morning, she… seemed upset." Lilith hesitates to tell her, but Luz deserves to know.

She frowns but nods. She would have to make up for that. She was gone longer than she meant to be and never meant to worry her.

"I'll talk to her when she gets home,"

"How was it?" Lilith asks curiously and Luz grins.

"Great. We had a lot to talk about but... I think my mom's gonna be okay. She just needs some time to soak it all up I think." She shrugs and Lilith nods.

"It is a lot to take in."

"Is Mom home?" she asks. And Lilith cocks a brow at that but nods.

"In the kitchen."

Luz walks into the kitchen where Eda is standing at their brewing station, working on something.

"I'm back!" she announces, making Eda look up, she looks relieved to see her.

"Hey, kid. How'd it go?" she asks cautiously.

Luz smiles and tells her all about it. Eda nods along, listening to her story.

"I think things are going to be kind of interesting, introducing mamí to everyone and the Isles," she chuckles.

Eda nods and Luz hums, walking over. Eda has been kind of quiet.

"Something up, momma?" she asks, hopping up on the counter next to where Eda is working. She shakes her head, the word stings her today.

"Come on, tell me." Luz nudges her with her foot and Eda sighs, knowing that Luz isn't going to go away until she speaks.

"Lilith had me looking at the seating chart she's helping Amity with for the wedding, had me in the front row, but now that you got your mom back, she should have that spot, kid," she says.

"Huh?" Luz blinks at her owlishly. She can read between the lines. Is that what has her all down, she thinks that Luz isn't going to look at her as her mother anymore?

She has her mamí back, it's true, but Luz isn't going anywhere, and no one, even her birth mother could ever take the place Eda has claimed In her heart, just as Eda could never really take Camila's.

"Your mom should be in the front row at the wedding, Luz," Eda says, not looking up from the potion she's working on.

"You will be." Luz says, "and Mamí will be right next to you."

"Luz, it's ok…," she says quietly, and Luz's frown deepens.

"She's my mom... but so are you." She asserts.

"Luz you don't need to-" Eda sighs.

"You are," Luz affirms, cutting her off and hopping off the counter to stand eye to eye with the older witch. "You didn't have to take me in, take care of me, or teach me magic, but you did, for six years you did all these things you didn't have to. You certainly didn't have to love me, but you did, and I love you. You'll always be my mom, and you'll sit right next to mamí in the front row at my wedding where you belong," she tells her, leaving no room for argument, and for the first time since Luz can ever remember, tears are starting to drip down Eda's cheeks. It's been some close calls over the years, but this is the first time she's ever openly shed tears in front of Luz.

Eda wraps her arms around her, chin on her shoulder and Luz squeezed her back just as tightly.

"I love you too, kid." Eda sniffles and Luz smiled, burying her face in Eda's shoulder as tears stung at her own eyes. She's been doing way too much crying lately.

She pulled back and Eda wiped at her eyes just as the front door opened, and they can hear Amity and Lilith talking.

"Hey babe, in here!" Luz called and a second later Amity is standing in the doorway, gold eyes wide.

"You're back!" A bright smile broke out across her face as she hurried to close the distance between them and wrap her arms around her.

Luz laughed, squeezing her fiancée tightly.

"Of course. I told you, I would be." She pulled back enough to kiss Amity's cheek.

"I know, I was just… worried about you, that maybe you missed your home more than you thought you would… that you might not come back..., " she admits sheepishly. Luz can hear the 'to me' in her words.

"I missed mamí, but my home is here, with you, Amity," Luz assured her with a squeeze.

Amity pressed her smile into Luz's neck and squeezed her back.

Once Amity was thoroughly reassured Luz pulled back and grinned at her.

"She can't wait to meet you!"

"Meet me?!" Amity squeaked.

[excellentexecution]

Cupboard?

Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it. || Headcanon

Like a lot of folks do, Bret has one of those large and heavy cupboards. It sits right in his dining room, a couple of feet away from the table and chairs. Frankly, he didn’t pay much mind when he first bought the thing. He just knew he’d need it for something. It’s one of those furniture pieces that everyone has. But it isn’t the cupboard itself that’s of great importance to him. Rather, it’s the history that’s stored inside of it. All of the plates and glassware he keeps stashed away, the memories that he only ever brings out for special occasions.

Those plates and cups belonged to his mother. Some were from his parents’ wedding, some where just pretty treasures she found when out shopping. It was a pain to even get them into his house. After her passing, whenever an item of hers was found, it was fought over by the Hart kids like wild dogs to a scrap of meat. Everybody wanted a piece. For how much he loved his brothers and sisters, Bret wasn’t comfortable with having Helen’s prized china used for anything less than considered sacred. Stu was already in a bad way, and Smith going on and on about how selling the gold banded chalices would help revive what they lost wasn’t a damn help. Never mind to what Bruce had to add - that was number 2001 as to why Bret was, again, acting like a selfish asshole. 

Thankfully, and with Keith and Wayne as fair moderators, Bret had gotten the wares. First thing he did, once he got home that night, was place them right into the cupboard. He doesn’t touch them. Least, not without reason to. On days when there isn’t some grand feast going about, a celebration taking place within his home, he’ll take out a plate from one of the shelves and hold it in his hands. It’s like he can feel his mom again. She was taken too soon from him, and he never feels like he got to grieve for her like how he should’ve. One second she was gone, and then suddenly, the family was already packing her life away in boxes. That was just how the Harts have always been, though. Strong and tough. Nothing hurts them, and no one gets to really sit down and sort out their pains. 

Sometimes, he’ll sit in one of his seats in that dining room and cradle the plate in his arms. It’s not just his mother who he’s lost over the years, and he knows she won’t be the last, but still. A boy just needs his mom’s love every once in awhile. 

[chpkns]

BEST ALBUMS 2020

Some albums I enjoyed during quarantine.

Hon Mentions: Campfire Chords - Arkells, A Written Testimony - Jay Electronica, All In One - Jaunt, Punisher - Phoebe Bridgers, Alfredo - Freddie Gibs and Madlib, Thats What They All Say - Jack Harlow, Western Swing & Waltzes and Other Punchy Songs - Colter Wall, This Place Sucks Ass - PUP, Only For Dolphins - Action Bronson, Black Habits - D Smoke, What’s Your Pleasure - Jessie Ware, 3.15.20 - Childish Gambino, Dedicated Side B - Carly Rae Jepsen, Dark Lane Demo Tapes - Drake, After Hours - The Weeknd, color theory - Soccer Mommy, Circles - Mac Miller, Womb - Purity Ring

10) Future Nostalgia - Dua Lipa

One of the lesser, although still significant, tragedies of the 2020 COVID era was that weddings and sweaty club basements the world over were robbed of Dua Lipa’s prolific output this year. Future Nostalgia is hit or miss in places, but the hits come hot and heavy delivering banger after 80′s-disco-inspired banger. Dominant summer jams “Don’t Start Now” and “Break My Heart” are the highlights here, along with “Levitating” (equally good with or without DaBaby). Sleeper tracks “Cool” and “Hallucinate” round out the year’s best pure pop album.

Highlights: Don’t Start Now, Break My Heart, Levitating, Physical, Cool, Hallucinate

9) Women In Music, Pt. III - HAIM

The third album from LA’s sister act rock trio HAIM delivers consistency and growth for the band. There’s plenty of retro heartbreak rock on Women In Music, Pt. III to satisfy fans of HAIM’s first two albums, but lots of new on offer as well including the jazzy Lou Reed inspired sax of “Summer Girl” and Danielle Haim sounding positively Joni Mitchell-esque on “Man From the Magazine”. The auditory production flourishes of erstwhile Vampire Weekend member Rostam are noticeable throughout and help stretch the bounds of the HAIM sisters’ signature Wilson Phillips meets Fleetwood Mac summer rock sound into something more of the moment.

Highlights: The Steps, Summer Girl, Don’t Wanna, Man From the Magazine, FUBT

8) My Turn (Deluxe) - Lil Baby

I’ve almost given up on trying to enjoy or understand most “new rap” but every now and then something breaks through that I connect with for some reason. Atlanta rapper Lil Baby’s My Turn was that album for me this year. There are many reasons I feel I should not like Lil Baby’s music, from his liberal use of autotune to his mumbling delivery, but something always drew me back to it and, listen after listen, it grew on me. Lil Baby’s flow is persistent when he locks in, with matching driving trap production from Quay Global, Tay Keith and others, mirroring in sound the story of Baby’s rise from the streets to prison to the studio. The standout track is late addition “The Bigger Picture”, Lil Baby’s protest anthem on race in America, policing and the turmoil following the killing of George Floyd by police, a political statement from an otherwise apolitical artist, showing that Lil Baby has much more to offer than bravado and autotune.

Highlights: Grace (ft. 42 Dugg), Forever (ft. Lil Wayne), No Sucker (ft. Moneybagg Yo), Social Distancing, The Bigger Picture

7) Miss Anthropocene - Grimes

The third major studio release from Montreal native Claire Boucher, better known as Grimes, doesn’t reach the same highs as its predecessors - 2015′s electro-pop masterpiece Art Angels (which rated number 1 on this list for that year) or 2012′s Visions, the synth-laden fever dream that introduced Grimes to mainstream notoriety (number 2 on this list for 2012) - but it’s still very much worth the time. The vibe of Miss A falls somewhere between Grimes’ previous two albums, and a little darker and messier to boot. Grimes sounds a bit like she’s playing a concert for the end of the world, which feels a bit prophetic for an album released just before a global pandemic took hold. As always, Grimes is out to flex her muscle as a technician and across the album’s ten tracks she mixes diverse sounds ranging from rave synths to banjos showing how far her craft has come since making Visions on Garageband in her Mile End apartment.

Highlights: So Heavy I Fell Through The Earth, Violence, Delete Forever, 4ÆM, You’ll miss me when I’m not around

6) evermore - Taylor Swift

Spoiler alert, this isn’t the highest ranked Taylor Swift album on this list. Surprise released in December, evermore was an early Christmas present to fans of Swift’s surprise summer album folklore (more on that later). evermore continues Swift’s reinvention from pop star to indie singer-songwriter, assisted by songwriting partner Aaron Dessner of The National and a variety of indie darling guest stars - this time around featuring HAIM, The National’s Matt Berninger and another stunning guest turn with Bon Iver. Speaking of Justin Vernon, the album capping title track might be the single best song on either folklore or evermore. And for fans of Taylor’s earlier catalogue like me, the return to country music on “no body, no crime” is like reconnecting with an old friend. evermore is a little messier and less consistent thematically than its sister album, feeling a bit like folklore’s b-sides. But when your b-sides are better than most artist’s a-sides, why not release another album’s worth?

Highlights: ‘tis the damn season, no body no crime (ft. HAIM), coney island (ft. The National), cowboy like me, evermore (ft. Bon Iver)

5) RTJ4 - Run The Jewels

Walking the streets of my neighbourhood with the first listen of RTJ4 in my earbuds, I found myself actually crying at the thought that I would not get to see Killer Mike and el-P perform these songs live in the summer of 2020. The memories of RTJ festival sets past came rushing over me in a wave. That was my first “damn, I miss live music moment” of the pandemic. The fourth instalment of Run The Jewels’ historic rap partnership is more of the same in the very best way. Like the dynamic duo’s previous three instalments, RTJ4 is in your face, moves at a frenetic clip, and takes no prisoners. There’s even another album highlighting collaboration with Rage Against The Machine’s Zack De La Rocha. The politics of RTJ4′s tirades against inequity and the police state feel even more imminent in 2020 against the backdrop of George Floyd, the ensuing protest movement that gripped America, and the 2020 presidential election. I really hope we get a chance to see Mike and el-P tour these songs in 2021, the world needs it.

Highlights: ooh la la (ft. Greg Nice and DJ Premier), goonies vs. E.T., walking in the snow, JU$T (ft. Pharrell Williams and Zack de la Rocha), a few words for the firing squad (radiation)

4) Saint Cloud - Waxahatchee

The majestically twangy folk-Americana of Saint Cloud, the fifth solo album from Katie Crutchfield (stage named Waxahatchee after Waxahatchee Creek, Alabama, where the singer grew up), is a nostalgic cure for the ails of 2020. The soft bluesy rhythms of Crutchfield’s songs feel like a lazy long summer day spent by the water. That was something we needed this year. The songwriting is just as beautiful. The standout track, “Fire”, speaks to Crutchfield’s journey finding sobriety and reconnecting with her southern roots. It also speaks to a longing feeling “give me something / it ain’t enough / it ain’t enough”.  On “Arkadelphia”, Crutchfield croons: “We try to give it all meaning / Glorify the grain of the wood / Tell ourselves what's beautiful and good”. In the chaos of 2020, the calm oasis of Saint Cloud is certainly something beautiful and good worth enjoying.

Highlights: Can’t Do Much, Fire, The Eye, Arkadelphia, St. Cloud

3) Suddenly - Caribou

Suddenly was my first genuine pandemic listen and, in the early days of lockdown, I found myself going back to it again and again. So much so, that the opening haunting notes of “Sister” became a kind of touchstone as I adjusted to a weird new work-from-home lifestyle. The chilled out weirdness of Caribou was an extremely welcome presence in 2020. It had been long enough since 2014′s Our Love (2014′s number 1 on this list) that I’d forgotten how enjoyably quirky Dan Snaith’s floaty pseudo-house tunes could be. Suddenly is a little more laid back than the club ready Our Love, which maybe suits it more to a world where dancefloors are closed. The tunes are also tighter, more economical in their length and soundscape. The lead single “Home” sounds downright commercial (in a good way) with it’s motown sampled chorus. Other parts of the album, like the closing “Cloud Song” venture into more experimental territories. All throughout, however, are Caribou’s signature warm chord progressions inviting you to lose yourself in them. Whether you’re looking for a guided meditation or an at-home dance party, Suddenly was the perfect 2020 album for it.

Highlights: Sister, Home, Lime, Never Come Back, Ravi

2) Cuttin’ Grass, Vol. 1 : The Butcher Shoppe Sessions - Sturgill Simpson

2020 was full of unexpected things, many bad but some surprisingly delightful. Firmly in the latter category is Cuttin’ Grass, Sturgill Simpson’s surprise double album made up entirely of bluegrass covers of his own catalogue. A true product of 2020, Simpson recorded the album with a murderer’s row of contemporary bluegrass artists after recovering from COVID-19 and challenging his fans to raise funds for charity in exchange for recording a new album. That album became Cuttin’ Grass, a traditional bluegrass re-imagination of the greatest hits and hidden gems of a country artist who has always strived to avoid being labelled as a country artist. The songs feel effortlessly at home and are given new life amid the frenetic guitar and mandolin picking, flying fiddles, and twangling banjos. If Simpson’s ode to the revelatory experience of psychedlic drug use “Turtles All The Way Down” felt revolutionary on 2014′s Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, it feels like an old standard here with its tempo pitched up and enveloped in the cacophony of the bluegrass ensemble. There is some good old fashioned heartbreak to slow things down too. Mandolin player and backup vocalist Sierra Hull shines on “I Wonder” (a cover of a song originally recorded by Sturgill’s former band Sunday Valley) as she joins Simpson on the chorus: “Tell me am I the only one / drinking and cursing your name?” The juxtaposition of Simpson’s unconventional country catalogue with the most traditional of country music styles just works and the entire hour can be listened and relistened for days. And if you’re still not satisfied, the companion “Volume 2: the Cowboy Arms Sessions” released in December brings back the same supporting cast to explore more of Simpson’s catalogue.

 Highlights: All The Pretty Colors, Breakers Roar, Time After All, Turtles All The Way Down, Voices

1) folklore - Taylor Swift

Well, I told you there’d be more Taylor Swift on this list, and here it is. Your number 1 album of 2020 is folklore, the surprise release pandemic project in which the world’s biggest country star turned pop star reinvented herself again as an indie artist. Unlike anything else Swift has put out since RED, nothing on folklore is designed to be played in a stadium. Rather, it’s all more at home in a cabin by the fire, or in your earbuds on a fall walk... basically, it’s music meant for 2020. Like its companion evermore, folklore is the product of Swift’s songwriting collaboration with The National’s guitarist Aaron Dessner. The melding of songwriting styles seems like an odd match at first but sounds like a match made in heaven. Lyrically, Swift’s songwriting makes an evolutionary leap, almost leaving her primary auto or semi-autobiographical comfort zone behind completely (other than, perhaps, in heavily veiled metaphor) in favour of invented stories and semi-historical world building. After a few listens, you discover that the same characters appear in different songs like the imagined history of Rebekah Harkness, the real life former inhabitant of Swift’s Rhode Island home, on “the last great american dynasty” or imagery of “battleships” that “sink beneath the waves” in the ghost story of “my tears ricochet”. In the so-called “teenage love triangle trilogy” of “betty”, “cardigan”, and “august”, Swift tells different parts of the same story from the perspective of different characters. Each song stands on its own, but the discovery that the pieces fit together is wonderful. “betty” is the standout track for me, as a long suffering fan of “country Taylor”. In style, it harkens back to her earlier work, but in substance it’s something new entirely as Swift sings from the perspective of James, the boy who has done wrong by his lover and is seeking forgiveness. The pinnacle of the album is “exile” Swift’s collaboration with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon. The call and response interaction of Swift with Vernon’s true to for emma form baritone is chill inducing. Like so many of the unexpected good things in 2020, folklore came from throwing plans out the window and doing what felt right for the moment. This is Taylor Swift making the music she wanted to make. In Dark Knight fashion, it’s the album we needed, if not the one we deserved. It’s the best album of the year.

Highlights: cardigan, the last great american dynasty, exile (ft. Bon Iver), my tears ricochet, epiphany, betty, peace

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Tere Bin - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Dooriyan (listen while reading)

Arnav

It was called Saatvik Misthan Bhandar.

It had taken him over an hour to find, despite Mohan’s instructions. He’d been forced to park his car and walk the last hundred meters. Situated at the end of an alleyway and backing onto a residential area, the store was tiny. A yellow and red sign heralded the name, and bi-fold doors announced prices to customers when open.

He’d have dismissed it without a second thought — Mohan’s cousin may enjoy the wares but Nani was sure to have a greater appreciation for the desserts of the larger stores on the main streets — if it hadn’t been for the string of fairy lights hanging above the entryway. A sudden breeze tousled his hair.

Khushi.

He couldn’t say how he knew. Perhaps it was the memory of her bedroom in Laxmi Nagar, stars hanging from the bed frame and fairy lights decorating the walls. But in that moment, he knew that she’d strung them there.

Arnav took a few hesitant steps towards the shop, heart thundering against his ribs. But a pair of women blocked his view of what was inside.

“This is where she works,” one of them was explaining. “The girl from the TV. Her father owns the shop. Such a respectable man, how did they raise such a daughter?”

His arms recalled her soft weight. The tremble of her body.

“I heard that she’s adopted,” supplied the younger woman.

“And the other daughter, her wedding was called off because the younger one ran away”.

Memories slashed at his insides. A string of broken pearls. A rush of tears behind locked doors.

“Well … I heard it was because the groom demanded a dowry at the last moment.”

Arnav felt his mouth twist in a grimace as he tried to get around the gossiping women. Oblivious, they moved into his path to avoid a nearby cart.

“Whatever it was,” the older woman waved a dismissive hand, “I say the groom’s side narrowly escaped. Can you imagine? The girl fell into some man’s arms!”

“Not just any man. Arnav Singh Raizada. My daughter insists that she’ll only marry if she can wear AR Designs.”

Deciding he’d heard enough, Arnav shouldered past them, ignoring their affronted squeals. He paused at the entrance to the shop.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

He hadn’t, until this moment, realised how much tension he’d carried in his body. Muscles relaxed as he watched her, his pulse seemed to slow as his breathing deepened. Her hair was tied in a loose knot, though tendrils had escaped to frame her face. She smiled as she greeted customers and bounced around to fill their orders, chattering non-stop. Her dupatta was knotted at her side, the green of material contrasting with the pink of her kameez.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Now that he was here, now that she stood in front of him, his resolve to leave without speaking to her crumbled.

Just a few words, to see if she’s okay.

He stepped inside. Khushi looked up distractedly and froze.

Though he’d expected anger, confusion, and maybe even tears, he’d never, not in a hundred — a thousand — imaginings, anticipated the fear that shadowed her eyes. Khushi trembled visibly, stumbling over her polite goodbyes to the one remaining customer. Her hands shook when they were the only people left in the confined space. Bands seemed to squeeze around his chest as he watched her shuffle away from him.

He tried to speak, found that he’d forgotten how.

“Khushi,” he managed eventually.

Whatever response she might have made — and perhaps it was wishful thinking that she would’ve made one at all — was interrupted by the arrival of a middle-aged man in a kurta.

“Bitiya?”

Khushi snapped to attention, “B- babu-ji.”

“Have you been served, young man?”

Arnav���s heart kicked.

“My Nani is feeling nostalgic,” he directed his words to Khushi. “She wants sweets from Lucknow.”

She snatched up an empty sweet box and poised expectantly with plastic tongs. Her father filled their charged silence.

“You can taste the sweets before you buy.”

“I’m diabetic,” he explained without taking his eyes off Khushi. “You can select them. I’ll need three boxes.”

Her eyes widened briefly before she busied herself with the task. Her father turned to him, perhaps finally realising something was amiss.

“Do you two know each other?”

A deep breath to gather his thoughts, but Khushi answered before he could.

“Babu-ji … he’s my … he was my boss in Delhi.”

“Ahh,” a nod from the older man. “Thank you for taking care of her while she was in Delhi. She was far from home.”

What do you think? That I don’t feel pain? Your personal life is your personal life, and I have no life at all?

The memory of her words seemed to echo between them. Arnav curled his fingers into a fist.

Khushi placed the sweets on the counter-top between them. She didn’t move when he offered cash, though some part of him had hoped she’d reach across to take it from his hand. He placed the notes on the glass as her father stretched to tuck something into the topmost box.

“Our card,” he smiled. “For the next time your grandmother needs sweets.”

Aware that Khushi was yet to speak to him directly, Arnav caught her eye again as he reached for the boxes.

“Thank you.”

She fiddled with her dupatta, mouth open in a soundless gasp as her father’s attention switched to the woman who’d arrived. He retreated, aware there was one more thing to be done.

                                                       #####

He returned to Delhi the next day. Di greeted him with delight, embracing him on the driveway before mischievously asking for her present. He proffered the sweet boxes after some teasing and escorted her inside, leaving Hari Prakash to follow with his luggage.

Being with his family was simple and easy. Mami reacted as though he’d been away for ten months, not ten days. Jija-ji welcomed him back with an embrace and regaled him with stories from his own trip to Chandigarh. It was after dinner, when Aakash had briefed him on the state of the office and his family had settled in to enjoy the sweets and reminisce about the party they’d thrown for Di’s anniversary two weeks ago, that Arnav retreated to his poolside to make a call.

Lavanya agreed to meet him at a late-night cafe. She kissed his cheek in greeting, settling at the small table while telling a story about one of her friends. He waited until she paused for water.

“It’s not working,” he told the woman he’d been dating for six months.

“Wh-what?”

“It’s not working. I think we should part ways.”

She stared. Blinked once, twice. He watched as her shock melted away, replaced by disbelief.

“What? Just like that?” her voice rose. “I fasted for you! I did … I did everything your sister asked and … and you …”

Her words ended in a splutter. He waited to feel something other than relief.

“They all warned me,” she hiccuped a sob, “… but I thought …. I thought …”

She was an excellent 2IC but it would be difficult for them to work alongside one another after this.

“Your parents are in London,” he spoke when it was clear that she wouldn’t. “Let me know if you wish to arrange a transfer. We’ll need someone capable of managing things there in the next few months.”

Aware that he’d handled things badly, that she’d deserved his candour before he’d left for Lucknow, Arnav scraped back his chair. When he left the cafe, she was still seated at their table, her head bowed and knuckles white where she gripped her water glass.

The business card stayed in his pocket.

Chapter 3

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 7

Stars Like Fleas

The summer rolls on in a very peculiar way, with masks and zoom calls and brief, furtive trips to the grocery and the growing realization that normal is months, if not years, away.  Even so, the music remains excellent. Thank god it’s downloadable and accessible even in these strange days we inhabit. Here writers including Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers, Justin Cober-Lake and Ray Garraty consider improvised drone, precocious alt.country, experimental banjo tunes, rap metal and jazz.  Enjoy.

75 Dollar Bill — Live at Café Oto (75 Dollar Bill’s Social Music series)

Live at Cafe OTO by 75 Dollar Bill

Before 75 Dollar Bill put out those widely revered LPs for Thin Wrist records, Che Chen and Rick Brown made a series of tapes. You could pick them up at shows, packaged in a clamshell case with a business card advertising their services. 2020 is a plague year, so it’s going to be a while before anyone hires them for another party or a parade, but this download-only release fulfills similar functions. It captures the band at a particular moment in time, and it gives you a chance to throw a few bucks their way. Do so and you probably won’t be sorry, because the late 2019 tour documented by Live at Café Oto was unique in 75 Dollar Bill’s history. Chen and Brown did the whole run of shows with double bassist Andrew Lafkas, but they also did nearly all of them without essential gear. It wasn’t until near the end, when they played in England, that Brown was reunited with the big wooden box that is his main percussive instrument. Spread across three sets, this three-hour long album shows how swell they sound when they’ve got a committed agent of swing adding his subtle shift to their Bo Diddley meets Mauritanian wedding music groove. If you know I Was Real, you’ll recognize many of these tunes, and you’ll likely appreciate the differences that 75 Dollar Bill works and reworks upon them.

Bill Meyer

  Bandgang Lonnie Bands \ Bandgang Javar – The Scamily (TF Entertainment \ Empire)

After Bandgang broke up, Lonnie Bands made a successful solo career. His only misfortune, apart from a murder rap prosecutors tried to stick him with, was that he picked up a no-talent partner Javar. Here, surrounded by aggressive but undistinguished artists Mascoe and Paid Will, Lonnie hasn’t learned lesson. Thankfully, Javar makes his presence on The Scamily scarce, and the second half is basically Lonnie’s solo effort with some guests. As usual, Lonnie makes himself busy in illegal activities: drugs, scams, pimping, firearms. He neatly sums up his bad deeds on “Me Too”: “You on that bullshit? Me too.” The Scamily is not that focused as last year’s KOD but Lonnie, with his slick rhyming and catchy hooks, always reinvents a bad man’s lexicon.

Ray Garraty

 Sammy Brue — Crash Test Kid (New West)

Sammy Brue is no longer quite the wunderkind he was when he released his first full-length at 15, but he is still quite impressive here on the follow-up, hitching the spit and fire and wordy angst of, say, Ezra Furman, to the downhome pyrotechnics of Bob Log III. “Teenage Mayhem” explodes with teenage aggression, building out a twitchy blues riff into a monumental rock chorus, while “Crash Test Kid,” is softer sonically, but just as unflinching in its narrative. “Skatepark Doomsday Blues” is epic and grandiose but carries it off, infusing an old man’s blues progressions with the eruptive feelings of young manhood. All the signs point towards Brue growing into his art. He’s already channeling raw emotion into sharp song structures and lyrics without sacrificing their force. It’s a drag getting old, but it doesn’t have to be a step back.

Jennifer Kelly

 John Butcher — On Being Observed (Weight of Wax)

On Being Observed by John Butcher

English saxophonist John Butcher has a deep and diverse discography, much of it on CD. Since the standard of his playing is so high, and the settings and accompanists he selects so diverse, they’ve never been merely about documentation; you’d have to look hard to find a dud on the shelves. But as format preferences, economic shifts, and that damned virus turn everything upside down, Butcher has, like everyone else, found himself suddenly with plenty of time to comb through the hard drives and reassess the music stored there. And since CD manufacturing and distribution has been snarled up worldwide, what better time to transfer some of it straight to yours? On Being Observed comprises six solo performances recorded between 2000 and 2006, and you could not ask for a better introduction to what he does on his own. It features him in the studio, at a jazz festival, and in some unusual acoustic environments which afford a number of ways to understand what it means to read the room. Whether he’s playing to an audience or a 20 second delay in a dis-used gas storage facility, acoustically or amplified, using a soprano or tenor sax, Butcher’s tone is unmistakable, and his sense of how long to develop ideas and how to develop them is peerless.

Bill Meyer.

 Carling & Will — Soon Comes Night (self-released)

Carling & Will (banjo player Carling Berkhout and multi-instrumentalist William Seeders Mosheim) have spent the last few years working out new twists on old-time music. Their debut album Soon Comes Night takes another a step forward from their previous, more traditional sound. Much of the album relies on the interplay of banjo and electric guitar. The pair don't go for outre sounds, but Mosheim provides textures for Berkhout's banjo playing. “Lillie's Lullaby” offers a highlight, not only in its prettiness, but in its revelation of Berkhout's idiosyncracies as she shifts in and out of more typical patterns. The album in itself makes for a lovely collection of songs, but it has both the ups and downs of an act starting to find itself. Carling & Will have a distinct voice, and the more they work to develop that (probably by letting Berkhout get odder and Mosheim explore his voicings a little), the more impressive they'll become. If the pair decides to just focus on smaller updates to mountain music, they've already shown a worthy artistry in that.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Cloud Rat — “Faster” (Self-released)

Faster by Cloud Rat

Like a lot of us, the folks in Cloud Rat have been cooped up behind walls, watching the world burn. But that hasn’t stopped them from making some terrific music. This new track, “Faster,” has been posted to Bandcamp as a benefit for Black Lives Matter-aligned organizations. The song is somewhat in the mode of their most recent EP, Do Not Let Me off the Cliff (2019). That record traded in the band’s characteristic grindpunk intensities for some weirdo experiments in dreampop, noise and gauzy gothic nightmare soundtracks. “Faster” isn’t quite as far out there, and longtime listeners of the band will recognize some of the textures of tracks like “Moksha,” “Raccoon” and “Luminescent Cellar.” The song starts and ends with some lovely acoustic finger-picking by guest musician Andy Gibbs of Thou. In between, there are clean vocals by Madison Marshall that border on the ethereal, and electric riffs that build and build toward majestic heights. Good cause, great tune.

Jonathan Shaw  

 Drakeo the Ruler – Thank You for Using GTL (Stinc Team)

Recorded through a phone line from prison, with beats later provided by JoogSZN, Thank You For Using GTL right after its release was named best prison album since Penitentiary Chances, by now classic joint effort by C-Murder (still incarcerated) and Boosie Badazz (now free). It was too strong a claim to be true. On that duo’s album you can hear a sense of doom hanging over them. When all hope is lost, there is only a prayer, and even that can get lost on its way to God. There was no tomorrow. Drakeo the Ruler, on the other hand, raps like there is tomorrow. Even rough sound of voice recording and “This call is being recorded” tags are more like a necessary sound effect and a gimmick rather than an effect of reality (he couldn’t do it any other way). Strip this tape of all these effects, and you end up with an ordinary rap album, exactly like others released by dozens every week. Maybe there is no reason to thank GTL. It did us a disservice.

Ray Garraty

 Holy Hive — Float Back to You (Big Crown)

These super laid back funk soul cuts stay well inside the pocket, except when they veer unexpectedly into indie-folk. The funk parts come from one-time Dap King Homer Steinweiss, whose loose but transcendent way with a groove can be best heard on “Hypnosis.” Paul Spring, the singer, brings in the psychedelic falsetto, more Justin Vernon than Curtis Mayfield, but still radiant and chilling. The title track plays like a lost 78 soul classic, Spring’s mournful melody wafting skyward as big loopy bass notes and splayed jazz guitar chords drop into a slink and strut of snare drum. That’s maybe what you’d expect from Steinweiss’ Brooklyn soul revivalist resume, but elsewhere, there are surprises. “Red Is the Rose” sounds like Tunng, all space-bopped folk magic and electro-pinging drums, and “Be Thou By My Side” is lattice-picked folk without the slightest hint of syncopation. Both sides of Holy Hive have their sweetness, but only the funk stuff buries a stinger.

Jennifer Kelly    

 Dustin Laurenzi’s Snaketime — Behold (Astral Spirits)

Behold by Dustin Laurenzi

Here’s an irony for you. Composer Louis Hardin, whose habit of dressing up like a Viking and hawking his wares on the streets of mid-20th century NYC turned him into a bona fide attraction, may have conversed with jazz musicians, and shared a record label or two with them. But he didn’t really like jazz. Nonetheless, jazz musicians liked his music back, and they still do. The melodies are graceful, but malleable, and the Bach-meets-powwow rhythms have plenty of productive implications for a percussionist willing to work between the lines. After years of study Chicago-based tenor saxophonist Dustin Laurenzi formed Snaketime, a project named after one of the composer’s rhythmic notions, that turned seven of his compatriots loose upon the Moondog book. Maybe loose isn’t quite the right word, since Laurenzi’s arrangements show deep respect for the original melodies and their exotic vibe. But there’s not a lot of music that can’t be made a bit better when you ask bass clarinetist Jason Stein to improvise from its foundations. This half-hour long tape adds four tunes to the seven on last year’s excellent LP Snaketime: The Music of Moondog, and any one of them could have made the cut if Laurenzi had been given enough rope to make a it a double album in the first place.

Bill Meyer  

 MachineGum — Conduit (Frenchkiss)

Like its Pepto-Bismol-pink cover, these songs seem a bit over-sweet and undernourishing at first, but damned if their synth and disco and art-rock grooves didn’t start to catch on after a few listens. The project, launched in New York City with the mysterious appearance of pink gum machines, is not what you’d expect from a Strokes offshoot, but give Fabrizio Moretti credit for branching out. Here tight, “O Please”’s sleek, wah-wah’d guitars and fat-fingered bass throws off a funk shimmy, but soft, dream-y choruses add an element of electro-pop introspection. “Act of Contrition,” by contrast, swells and swirls with gothy new wave drama, but also vibrates with indie earnestness; it’s like the National playing a New Order cover. If you’d told me a month ago, that I’d be enjoying a super clean, super precise synth-dance album by a member of the Strokes, I’d have laughed, but here we are.

Jennifer Kelly

 Phosphene — Lotus Eaters (Self-Release)

Lotus Eaters by Phosphene

Portland’s Phosphene drifts and drones in a satisfying vintage 4AD-ish way, the serene vocals of Rachel Frankel wafting out over intricate tangles of shoe-gazey guitars as Matthew Hemmerich pounds out motorik rhythms on the kit. This album, the band’s second, was written in the turbulent aftermath of the 2016 election, but it exudes a murky calm. In “Carousel,” for example, Frankel sings about how “everyone gets lost in their own power,” but the temperature remains cool, dream-like, lit by arcs of guitar sound and undergirded by a thudding mantra of bass (Kevin Kaw). The two singles run closest to pop. Bright, upbeat “Cocoon” is spiked with Spoon-ish piano chords, while “The Wave” damn near bubbles with girl pop exuberance. I can see why they’re leaning on those cuts, but I like the cloudy radiance of “Seven Ways,” the morose moods of “The Body” better.

Jennifer Kelly

 Sara Schoenbeck / Wayne Horvitz — Cell Walk (Songlines)

Cell Walk by Wayne Horvitz/Sara Schoenbeck

Bassoonist Sara Schoenbeck and pianist Wayne Horvitz built to their first duo release slowly. They've been playing together since the previous decade in Horvitz's Gravitas Quartet, working together in various styles. The bassoon doesn't necessarily lend itself to jazz, but Schoenbeck's experience with artists like Roscoe Mitchell and Anthony Braxton — as well as in various orchestras and symphonies — has revealed her fluency in different languages. Horvitz and Schoenbeck develop that approach on Cell Walk, mixing composed and improvised tracks, moving from jazz to classical and back again, happily residing in a new music space. The pair's chamber background comes to the fore more than anything else, but the artists' experimental ideas and Horvitz's occasional electronics keep the duo moving forward. The album mostly stays cool, although a few tempo shifts and Schoenbeck's varied tone create unexpected energy any time the disc starts to settle. Schoenbeck and Horvitz fill an unlikely niche, but they also make a good case for expanding it.

Justin Cober-Lake

  R.E. Seraphin — Tiny Shapes (Paisley Shirt)

Tiny Shapes by R.E. Seraphin

Ray Seraphin makes sweet, sharp songs out of guitar jangle and whispers that seem to nestle right in your ear. His first cassette under his own name after a stint in the slightly more abrasive Talkies kicks up a power pop dust and haze a la Luna or, more recently, Plates of Cake. Like these bands, however, he envelops smart, coiling melodies and wild spiralling guitar hijinks in daydreaming inchoate jangles. In “Streetlight,” Seraphin vamps and caroms in spike-y mid-temperature anthemry, crooning “And I won’t feel a thing,” and indeed there’s a misty, nostalgic remove around most of this album’s emotional content. Yet there’s also a classic pop shape that can’t quite be obscured by muttered, offhand delivery. “Fortuna” is the best bit, to my ears, a summer radio megahit heard from several rooms away, bittersweet and slipping away even as it plays.

Jennifer Kelly

 Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO (Amsterdam) (self released)

DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO (Amsterdam) by Stars Like Fleas

New York collective Stars Like Fleas are still gone, but the tracers and streamers left in the air by their passing continue to be entrancing. Whatever collapsed in the wake of their work on the follow up to their epochal LP The Ken Burns Effect can perhaps be glimpsed a little in the bulk of this first (and hopefully not last) release from what they describe as “a huge archive of live and session material.” As the title indicates, six of the 11 tracks here come from a radio session they did during their final tour (coming apart and leaving the final album unfinished upon their return to America). Along with a couple of Ken Burns highlights that session is all new material and it is as rich as anything they released during their lifetime. The collection is rounded out with some brief improvisations and another track intended for the final album, the 7” single “End Times”, and a wonderful performance of “Falstaff” from a Toronto show. Perversely and beautifully enough, the result is not only a must listen for fans of the group, it makes an excellent introduction for anyone who missed them the first time. Bring on the archives!  

Ian Mathers  

 Thecodontion — Supercontinent (I, Voidhanger)

Supercontinent by Thecodontion

 A death metal band entirely devoted to songs about ancient, paleolithic lifeforms and geological history? It’s not the most harebrained musical concept you may have heard — it even makes a sort of sense. What better musical genre to address such massive, atavistic and lumbering forms? Supercontinent is the Italian duo’s first LP, following 2019’s Jurassic EP. As its title suggests, this new Thecodontion record goes way, way back, to primal landforms, before continental drift assembled the earthball’s map into its current shape. Appropriately, the longest track on Supercontinent is “Pangaea,” named for the unimaginably huge late Paleozoic landmass. Thecodontion’s featured instrument is Giuseppe D’Adiutorio’s bass, which he variously thrums, hammers and shreds. He gets some pretty amazing sounds out of it, sometimes producing the soaring, moaning, keening sounds that Greg Lake coaxed out of his bass on the early King Crimson recordings. The proggy reference is pointed; Thecodontion’s high concept project smacks of prog’s grandiosity. But where prog shoots for the heavens, Thecodontion goes bone hunting. It’s interesting work.  

Jonathan Shaw

 Various Artists — Building A Better Reality: A Benefit Compilation (JMY)

Building A Better Reality : A Benefit Compilation by Various Artists

As Bandcamp’s choice to waive its portion of transaction proceeds in favor or certain needs and causes has evolved from an occasional to a monthly event, releases have started to appear which take advantage of both the event and the rapidity of production when no physical objects are being produced. George Floyd died under a policeman’s knee on May 25; this compilation was released just 24 days later, on Juneteenth. Brent Gutzeit of TV Pow secured 106 contributions from friends, friends of friends, and customers of friends — and that’s just the parties that this writer recognizes. They range in length from Kendraplex’s 58 seconds of metallic shredding to Joshua Abrams’ half hour of mournful clarinet and cathartic double bass. You’ll find acoustic protest music, swinging jazz, harsh noise, hip-hop, and a sound collage that includes sounds of protest and mourning. The participants include Simon Joyner, Jsun Borne, I Kong Kult, Jesse Goin, Chris Brokaw, AZITA, Keith Fullerton Whitman, and the Jeb Bishop Trio, along with many, many more. Have I listened to them all yet? Of course not! But the thing with a set like this is that you don’t need to. Put it into your shuffle play and it’ll yield surprises for years to come. Income goes to Black Lives Matter, NAACP Legal Defense Fund. and the Greater Chicago Food Depository.

Bill Meyer

 Michael Vincent Waller — A Song (Longform Editions)

A Song by Michael Vincent Waller

At first listen, you might not guess that composer Michael Vincent Waller’s new EP/song A Song is an improvised piece, and as the surrounding material on Bandcamp makes clear, that’s kind of part of the point. Composition vs. improvisation is the kind of duality where both sides are never really distinct, and Waller is both interested in the history of composers improvising and (possibly naturally) improvises in a way that’s not a million miles away from his compositions. Which also means that just on that first listen the 21 minutes of solo piano found here are frequently beautiful, whether patiently probing a set of arpeggios or momentarily going somewhere a bit darker and deeper near the end. Whether considered as work done around or between more composed ones or in its own right, A Song makes for both a fine follow up to Waller’s 2019 collection Moments and a brief thesis on the always permeable boundary between two methods of creation.  

Ian Mathers