#other than that. i am so ready to unburdened.

[sugarpsalms]

the only thing I WILL miss about this position after my step-down date is letting a cranky customer get the whole way through their rant about how a section is organized/what author goes where/whatever and tell me that I should pass the comments up to the director, then getting to see all the wind just. suck out of them when I say "oh I am the director :)"

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.

DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”

pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content

summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's

Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  

You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 

When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 

You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 

Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 

Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 

Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 

Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 

The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 

You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 

You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 

You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 

“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 

Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 

“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 

His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 

“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 

A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 

You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 

“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 

“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 

You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 

“This might sound dumb—” 

“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 

“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 

A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 

“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 

“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 

“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 

“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”

There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 

With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 

You visit his office almost every night. 

You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 

It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 

You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 

But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 

When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 

“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 

Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 

“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 

You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 

You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 

“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 

A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 

Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 

“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 

You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You snort, “Excuse me?” 

“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 

Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 

“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 

You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 

“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 

Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 

“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 

His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 

You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 

Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 

Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 

He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 

You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 

Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 

“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”

His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 

“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 

Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 

“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 

You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   

“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 

Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 

“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 

The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 

He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 

“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 

“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 

He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 

“Will you repeat your sins?” 

“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 

His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 

Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 

He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 

Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 

When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 

“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 

“Thank you, Father.” 

[sundeathh]

Trimmed

ONE-SHOT | MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aizawa × GN!Reader • Words: 1,6 K

Summary: A haircut tale

Tags: slice-of-life, cute, fluffy, romantic stuff

CW: none worth mentioning. SFW

The apartment was cloaked in the cozy ambiance of evening, the soft glow of lamps casting warm pockets of light in the living room. As the door creaked open, announcing Aizawa's return, the air seemed to shift with expectancy.

It wasn't the kind of anticipation that made a person’s heart leap. Instead it felt more like the sort of expectation that came from people waiting for their loved ones to get home at regular basis for weeks on end, filled with both excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside.

Even after years of marriage, you still had butterflies for him whenever he entered the room you were in.

"I'm back," Aizawa's gravelly, deep voice resonated through the space, carrying the weight of a taxing day. He unburdened himself of his shoes and bag, the fatigue etched on his features. The journey down the building's hallway felt like a gradual shedding of the day's strain. 

"Hey, Sho, welcome back!" You called from the kitchen, your voice a gentle melody amid the quiet that once reigned in the place. "Long day?" You asked, your eyes landing on his tense figure.

He nodded, pausing at the kitchen's doorway before offering a small smile. "Yeah, you could say that."

The smell of cooking food wafted towards him as his gaze swept over the room. The counter was covered in various ingredients, some in the middle of the cooking process and others just sitting there in piles, ready to be added to the mix when needed. 

"Did everything go well today?" You asked, turning around from the stove to greet him properly with a kiss on the cheek. He returned it affectionately, leaning against your body for comfort and security, but only for the briefest moments before pulling back to take a look at you.

"Yep," he responded, the same way he always did every time. He was never one for long talks or unnecessary details about his day, preferring instead to focus his attention on how you were doing instead.

"How are you feeling today? Anything interesting happened while I was gone?" He questioned, reluctantly pulling away from your welcoming embrace to remove his binding cloth from around his neck. 

"I'm feeling alright." You answered truthfully before proceeding with a small shrug. "And not really. The highest point of my day was going grocery shopping. It was a tiring work though, so I didn't do much after that."

"Ah, right," the hero nodded knowingly, his cloth now hanging around one of his arms. "Next time you go grocery shopping, remember that I have to be there too." Aizawa reached out his free arm and gently pulled you into another tight hug.

Your arms wrapped around his torso in return, your face pressed against his chest. "And put even more tasks on your overly busy day? No way." Your tone was playful, but there was an undertone of concern that Aizawa picked up on instantly. 

"If anything, I should be the one getting all the chores done on this end, since you're not here as much as I am. I don't want you working yourself too hard," you protested.

His head rested on top of yours, his hair tickling your skin lightly. "Still, I'd rather it be me than you," he said firmly. "Besides, it makes me feel bad knowing I'm making it so hard on you due to my workload." 

You sighed fondly. "You know I wouldn't mind helping out if I could." You stated, hoping to make it clear to him that you didn't mind. But there was nothing else you could say to change his mind, so you simply agreed with him with a small pout.

You carefully untangled yourself from his tight but gentle grip, searching for his eyes. "C'mon, sexy, go wash off the sweat and dirt that's clinging to your face. Dinner is gonna be ready soon," you told him with a soft voice.

He let out a tiny chuckle before walking towards the bathroom, a fond, small smile adorning his lips. You smiled at the warm feeling in your chest, and then went back to your cooking, the sound of running water following shortly thereafter.

As he retreated to the bathroom, a cascade of garments left in his wake, and the warmth of the shower soothed his sore muscles as he rinsed away the dust that had accumulated during his arduous workday.

Shower felt even better than normal after a tiring and long day, and his shoulders loosened as he stepped under the steaming showerhead. 

He had his eyes closed and his mouth partially open as he used it to breathe while the water poured over his head, rinsing the shampoo away from his scalp. It was an intimate and vulnerable moment. It was also calming.

After cleaning himself up, he stepped out to dry his body and get dressed in his sleepwear – a pair of loose pants and a simple t-shirt.

Upon checking to make sure everything was alright with his appearance, Aizawa stared at his reflection in the slightly fogged-up mirror. His gaze lingered on the unruly curtain of long bangs that veiled his eyes, now being an unintended consequence of neglect amid the demands of his work.

The weariness etched in his features was momentarily eclipsed by a bemused frown. Aizawa ran his fingers through the disheveled and damp strands, a silent acknowledgment of the overdue task at hand.

He brushed his hair, aware of how his bangs were almost reaching his chin. Putting the hairbrush down, he tried his best to comb them again with his fingers, trying to make his hair less wild and disorderly.

After a few minutes of struggling, he sighed exasperatedly, giving up his attempts. What good would a couple of extra combing do him anyway? It was getting too long. It was bound to become an issue sooner or later.

In defeat, Aizawa emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulders, his usually unkempt hair dripping slightly. He stood in the doorway again, gazing at you with a hint of weariness.

"Is dinner almost ready?" He inquired, his eyes flicking towards the culinary ballet that persisted while he was in the shower.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Almost. Just finishing up. Why? Hungry?"

He scratched the back of his head, a familiar gesture of contemplation. "Not just that," he admitted, his gaze turning to the bathroom's door for a moment. "I think it's time I did something about this." His hand gestured towards the curtain of his disheveled bangs.

Your eyes followed the unspoken cue, understanding what he meant. Setting down the spatula, you approached him, your fingers lightly grazing the strands that shielded his eyes.

"Want me to do something about it?" You asked, your tone teasing yet sincere. Aizawa's eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, and he muttered. "If you don't mind."

You tiptoed, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek, and smiled. "Don't be shy," you murmured. With a gentle gesture, you guided him to a chair at the kitchen table, the aroma of the cooking dinner enveloping both of you.

As he sat down, you walked over to the bathroom, searching for a comb and for the box that held secure your sharp hair scissors.

"Ready for a change?" You teased, after coming back to the kitchen and getting closer to where he sat, standing in front of him. Your fingers ran softly through his damp hair.

Aizawa huffed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just don't cut it too short, please. I like it longer."

The corners of your mouth quirked slightly, and you nodded in response, combing his hair in a bun before tying a elastic around it, securing the bun as a temporary fix to prevent his locks from getting in the dangerous way of the scissors.

As you moved on to combing his fringe next, you noticed Aizawa closing his eyes, the tension in his frame gradually decreasing. The sight warmed your heart, and the peaceful atmosphere settled around you as you focused on combing his hair, gently moving the comb through his bangs, careful not to damage it.

You gently lifted his chin to get a better look, and after a minute or two of gentle combing, your hand finally stopped its motion to reach for the scissors you had placed on the table. "Don't move now, okay?" You whispered gently, the words accompanied by a gentle touch to his head.

"Mhm," Aizawa hummed softly in agreement. He kept his eyes closed and continued motionless, the tactile sensation of hair falling gently through your hand heightened the intimacy of the moment.

He finally allowed himself to relax under your touch. The occasional snip of the shears resonated like a quiet melody, punctuating the soothing ambiance.

"You're surprisingly good at this," Aizawa remarked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You chuckled. "I've had some practice. Plus, it's a small way to take care of you." 

He hummed once again, his hands resting loosely on top of his lap, now completely relaxed.

You carefully trimmed away the last remaining locks of hair, brushing his hair until only half the mess remained.

After taking a small step back from your handy work, you admired it. "Done. I didn't cut it too much. It'll still keep its fluffy quality, don't worry."

Aizawa opened his eyes and gazed up to meet yours, and his eyes softened, his expression becoming more serene by the second. 

Taking the scissors from your hand and placing them back on the table, he grabbed your other hand into his, pulling it towards his lips in a gentle hold. He placed a kiss on the back of your hand. "Thank you. That was very kind of you."

You shook your head, smiling in amusement. "No need to thank me, love. We both know I'd help you with whatever you needed even without you saying anything. You deserve to be taken care of every once in awhile." You squeezed his hand slightly as he leaned forward, pressing another chaste kiss onto your knuckles, his stubble tickling the soft skin of your fingers.

After pulling away from touching your hands, he stood up, a gentle smile on his face. "Let's finish up with dinner," he said, ready to assist you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Call In Reinforcements, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: When Y/N's book signing looks like it is going to take longer than he thought, Rafe needs to call in some help.

A/N: Inspired by my own experience at getting to meet these amazing authors!!! It was amazing.

Masterlist

Going to a book signing can be a long process, especially when three of the most popular romance authors are in attendance. However, Rafe is determined to make sure Y/N gets all of her books signed and pictures with all of them without having to spend hours in line. The giant tote rests on his left shoulder while his other arm is wrapped around Y/N’s waist. His eyes survey where they are in line and he is satisfied that they are first. Good thing he paid someone to stand in line since the morning for them. “We are first. That means we can get in and out as soon as they open the door,” he informs her. She looks up at him with a giggle, “I mean we are certainly going to have good spots for the Q&A, but we’ll probably be here for a few hours. We have to stand in line three times for each author, Rafe.” His eyebrows raise and then his eyes narrow. “Hmm,” he thinks before pulling out his phone. “Let me call in reinforcements, Angel.” Her head tilts as she watches him type on his phone. He slides his phone back into his pocket and smiles at her. She shrugs, resting her head on his unburdened shoulder.

——— Thirty minutes later, a rowdy group of boys can be heard coming from behind Rafe and Y/N. She soon recognizes who the voices belong to and spins around to see them. Kelce, Topper, Henry, and Ryan are walking toward the couple. She steps away from her boyfriend. “What are you guys doing here?” she poses, going in to hug each boy. They may be frat boys, but they are always so kind to her. Henry, one of Rafe’s frat brothers, grins, “We are here to make sure you get to meet all of your book writer people without having to wait that long.” “Aww, you guys are so sweet. You don’t have to be here though,” she says. They all shake their heads. “We are more than happy to be here, Y/N. We all love you,” Kelce promises. “Aww, I love you guys too.” Rafe pulls his angel to his side again and presses a kiss to her temple, “Okay, here is the game plan. Y/N and I are going to sit at the front for the Q&A. Topper sits at the back right. Kelce, at the front right. Henry is at the front left while Ryan covers the back left.” He takes a breath to make sure they are following. “I have to be with Y/N so all of her Ana Huang books are signed, so we are going to go there first. We’ll hit Lauren Asher and finally, Elsie Silver. You guys have to make sure to be around the front but not too close because we won’t be able to be there. I am going to call you all closer to line-up time so we can coordinate so keep your phone ready.” At this point, an employee comes to the door and opens it. The boys dash into the room at top speed and settle down where they were told. ——— “Thank you for listening to the Q&A. Now, for the signing,” the commentator begins to note. Out of the corner of her eyes, Y/N can see Rafe slowly get up from his chair in a crouch and make his way to the back. She shakes her head at the lengths her boyfriend will go to for her; she does love him for it though. The commentator points toward the back, “Ana is set up in the middle. Elsie to my right and Lauren to my left. Have fun!” Y/N stands and sees that Rafe is already at the front of Ana’s line, so she takes her time walking to the back. Once she gets to him, he takes out the books he knows need to be signed and hands her a set. There is a little bit of a wait while the authors make their way to the back, so Y/N looks around the room. She spots Kelce and Henry third and seventh in the Elsie line while Topper and Ryan are fourth and tenth in the Lauren line. Eventually, Ana sits at her table and the signing begins.

She gets her books signed and her picture with Ana and the rest goes just as quickly. Thanks to the other boys, it only takes Y/N thirty minutes to get everything signed. They all make sure to take a photo at the photo booth and everyone heads to their cars. “So now that we are done with that, it’s time for the teasing,” Ryan voices. This makes Topper grin, “Right… like how Rafe knows the name of at least three romance authors.” The boys chuckle and Rafe can only shove Topper. “I’m not ashamed. You wanna know why? Because the only reason why I know them is because of my angel and I don’t see you guys in the same situation.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Dark Signs

Astarion x F! Dark Urge, Set in Act 1

18+ violence, death, dark urge shenanigans, pining, complicated feelings, heavy petting, blood drinking, fingering (f!), thigh riding, restraint, oral (f!), menstruating, Astarion being a freak, tenderness

After killing Alfira in her sleep, she can't help but seek him out...

-

"You know, I dont really even care that you killed her," he laughs, eyes unburdened.

The blood still in her hair, she stared at him. A deep and festering war inside her mind at his words.

The poor girl hours dead, she couldn't bear to hide her, to run from what she had done. So she left her there, stared at her beautiful corpse until morning. Until the others woke and discovered her sin.

The rage and disgust in their words, in their hearts were shockingly short lived. Forgiving her too easily. Of all of the transgressions, that scared her the most. They still trusted her, still relied on her.

"Well," She shoved all of her thoughts further down her throat. "I feel terrible about it."

He was the only one she hadn't spoken to about her urges. Had broached the subject with everyone else in camp, if only to ready them. There's something inside me, something that demands blood. They hadn't understood naturally, the gravity of the situation lost on them. But at least they were warned.

Having precious little chance to talk, with him being rather closed off, she hadn't had a chance to alert him.

I am a weapon, dont get closer than you need to.

But his words now, the lack of judgment, the lack of care in his eyes. It... comforted her, despite herself.

She should be punished, in words and coldness, abandonedment. Hells even death, and yet...

Why aren't you afraid of me?

The merriment and spirits floated, the tiefling refugees chattering happily. Not allowing herself any inebriation, she smiled at Halsin. Encouraged him to mingle, to have fun. Leaning in, her hand on his arm to be heard over the revelry.

Feeling the prickle of eyes on her neck, she looked up.

Crimson eyes beckoning to her.

Feeling her stomach flip she turned back to Halsin, letting an easy smile on her face as he reassured her.

No, not this. Not him.

Traveling together since that awful night, she had found herself... fascinated by him.

She had managed to stifle her feelings, keeping her yearning close to her chest. But Gods was it there.

Keeping him in her party he was unavoidable. She had considered leaving him at camp if just to see him less, but he was too good at what he does.

The way his nimble hands would twist when she needed assistance with a locked chest. Drawling voice at her back as they walked. His arrows coming down on high to strike through the chest of an enemy prey right in front of her.

She had touched herself to that memory in her tent only nights ago.

Steeling herself, she approached. Hells, what did he want?

"You know, I never saw myself a hero." He started, wine bottle sloshing in his hand. She eyed it, realizing that he can drink. Assumed that he could only drink blood. Felt another shiver at the thought. She would like to drink his blood for a change.

"But now that I'm here, I hate it. This is awful."

She laughed, surprised. Responding before she could stop herself, "Well you got to kill lots of goblins, that was fun." Felt hot shame rise up her collar at her indiscretion.

He smiled, eyes softening. "That was fun, wasnt it."

The roaring in her chest got much louder.

Allowing herself some banter, they chatted. Flirted, even. Throwing lines back and forth, until she had somehow agreed to meet him later. Alone.

She kept her face light and neutral as they parted ways, but the moment her back was turned from him. Panic. Dear Gods, panic.

Oh this was a problem, a multifaceted problem.

She should not be alone with anyone, especially someone so beautiful. He would make such a pretty corpse.

Pacing in her tent she was a mess. She should stay here, dont go. Dont go to him. For the love of all that is good, do not go.

A vision of his eyes when he fed on her, his mouth when he pouts. The way his breeches hugged his hips, the veins in his forearms.

Her tent flapped shut behind her, feet moving swiftly.

"There you are," He purred, stepping from the treeline. Chest bare, hair catching the moonlight.

No words possible, she pulled her tunic off. Hot with need. Taking her chest bindings off in the same motion.

Saw his eyes widen in surprise. "My, eager are we?" He crooned, stepping closer.

"Shut up," She traveled the distance between them. Fingers in his hair, on his hip. Pulling his mouth down to hers. Lips crashing.

She had to get it out or she would erupt.

He groaned into her, lifting her up to push against a nearby tree. Oh he shouldn't be manhandling her like this.

Wrapping her hips around his waist she kissed him hungrily, greedily. The last meal of a woman on the gallows. The one piece of relief she would allow herself.

Hips already grinding into him, seeking. An animal call. Heat. Madness.

Flipping her onto the ground he began pulling her leathers off. Lifting her hips to help him, the bite of small stones against her shoulders bringing her small clarity. Her pelvis ached, her head swimming.

He looked into her eyes, heavy with lust but something else... a twinge, a hint. Fear, she realized.

Her heart sank, he could feel it. The madness inside her. Slowing, she trailed her hand tender to his cheek.

Looking at her again, his eyes widened. She bared her neck to him.

Leaning down on his forearms, he sank into her. The cold chill welcome against her feverish skin. Trailing a tentative hand into his hair. Her long nails scratching lightly.

A quiet moan into her wound. Felt him shiver against her. Encouragement.

Hand still in his hair she let her other hand slip onto his neck, touching lightly. Trailing up to his ear.

Immediate, he bit down hard on her. Hips grinding against her thigh.

The heat rising again she ran her thumb along the long point, in awe. He groaned into her, wrapping his arms around her waist he hitched her up to him. Chest to chest, straddling. Him still pulling from her neck.

"Oh Gods," She moaned quietly. The hazy miasma of lust overwhelming her again. Hips ablaze, grinding into his cold thigh. The leather of his breeches soaking.

His hand gripped her ass, pulling her harder into his leg. Heard a low growl from his chest.

Panting, she rode against him. His sharp mouth still pinning her in place against him. The slick pressure in her pelvis rising. Hands reaching for his chest, his back, something, anything to ground herself.

His pale ones, quick as lightning, found her wrists. Pulling them against her lower back, snaring them down in one hand. Her eyes hitched back. Yes, restrain me.

Still riding into him, she felt herself getting lightheaded. Though it wasn't unwelcome, Gods, anything to empty her head, knew she was losing too much blood.

"Astarion, stop," She breathed. He groaned into her flesh, still pulling.

Wrapping her thighs strong around his leg, she squeezed as hard as she could. Trying to pull him from his trance.

With the last of her strength she bit him, hard, on the shoulder. Muffled her own moan when she realized she had drawn blood. Her own blood spilling back into her mouth. Oh no, oh fuck.

He pulled off of her, gasping. The pain waking him. Looked, shocked and ashamed, into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Caron."

Hearing her name, her chosen name, her eyes watered. No, she didn't want to hurt him. She could stop.

"I'm okay," She reassured tiredly, the ever present headache receding slightly at the bloodshed. "Are you okay?" She added quietly.

He blinked at her, eyes layered in many emotions. None she could pick out with certainty.

"Darling, I'm splendid." He drawled, lying, she could tell. "Now, if you dont mind I'd like to finish ravaging you."

Confusion spiked through her. Certain that they were done, the spell thoroughly broken.

"Wait," She whispered, as his hands slid to her core. He paused, eyes searching hers.

"You dont have to, I'm okay to stop." She looked into his eyes, hoping her sincerity reached him.

Saw him swallow, eyes wavering for a moment, then coming back.

"Lay back, sweet thing." He hushed, urging her gently onto her back again. Pushing her thighs apart to accommodate him. Sliding down between them.

She sighed as she felt his breath against her thigh, letting her head fall back. Her body responding once again. Realized that the nausea backed away when he touched her. The pain, though still present, distant.

Felt a tear of relief slide down her face, glad he was too far down her body to see it.

Heard a small gasp and looked up, panicked. "Oh," He breathed, fingers swiping up her, holding them to the light. Blood.

She had started her cycle it seemed. Groaning, getting up onto elbows, about to start cleaning up. His eyes flashed.

"Dont you dare," Felt a thrill in her chest, his fingers entering his mouth. Tongue splaying, twisting along his hand. Lost in it.

She clenched, pulsing, against nothing. Her breath hot little gasps.

"This is a gift." He marveled, leaning back down. Moaned at the fresh blood her pulsing had pushed out.

Mouth crushing into her without warning. His tongue working in frenzy. Taking as much of her in as he could.

She moaned loud, arched against him. Hips already squirming.

He hooked his arms around her thighs to keep her from retreating. Slurping, suckling. Tongue crushed velvet, hot, seeking.

When he clamped down around her clit, tongue pulsing, she thought she was dying. Stars blooming behind her eyes. Body going rigid.

One hand coming down on the skin below her navel, flat, a gentle hold.

"Fingers," She whimpered out, his mouth driving her to the brink. But still she needed more.

"What was that, darling?" He mused, lifted to look at her. Gore-dripped mouth smiling.

Oh Gods, the heat. The bloodlust.

"Put your fingers in me. Now." Her voice unrecognizable to her. Low, demanding.

His eyes flashed again, pupils widening. Jaw tightening. Looking down at her like prey.

Oh only if he knew.

His two fingers slid inside her, eyes still trained on hers. Watching her head lean back, hips rising. Watched her shiver as he hooked his fingers. Smiling like a fox that caught a rabbit.

Satisfied, he leaned his mouth back down to his work. Fingers still pulling, slowly.

When the dual sensations hit her, his hungry mouth, his clever fingers, she writhed and whimpered. Hands in his hair, trying her hardest not to pull.

Her body was so tender, every touch tenfold, her cycle thoroughly started. Pinching her sensitive nipple. Clenched down hard on his fingers, pushing out more blood slick. Felt his growl reverberate against her. Tongue lapping around his fingers.

Oh she was close, her limbs feverish. The viper coiled, about to strike.

Her mind flooded. A dagger, plunging. An arterial wave of blood. Them, twisted into eachother, gore smeared. Straddled over their prey. His fingers pushing the viscera inside her.

She shrieked against him. Her end hitting her like an impaling spear. Hands gripping his hair. Arching her back so hard she heard a crack. Eyes screwed shut tight. Vicous waves of annihilating pleasure.

He eagerly lapped up all of the creamy blood slick that poured out of her, rubbing her clit, encouraging more.

She bucked against his hand, clenching again and again. His mouth catching it all.

She fell back, collapsing into the earth. All thoughts, all threatening, gone from her mind.

The night air heavy with their pheromones, the blood. Both smells intoxicating her. A spike of shame.

Well, almost all thoughts.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

It had slipped out, a near whisper, before she could stop herself.

He had laid down next to her, looked over at her now. Eyebrows threaded together, confused. Shit.

Stared at her for a moment then he laughed, face relaxing. "Oh please, you killed someone. Darling, I think you forget you're in the presence of a monster." Leaned down to draw little circles on her sternum. "You're not the only one who craves blood around here."

"You're not a monster."

He looked up at her, his eyes round. Soft. Her heart fluttered. Then they settled back into their guard.

"Common minds would disagree." Smiled at her, head tilting. "But you're not common, are you?"

Now she laughed, snorting. Everything about this so funny suddenly. Two killers seeking eachother in the grass.

He laughed with her, her light seeming to overcome him.

"Gods we should kill someone together."

She laughed even harder, falling into him.

~

Part 2

[darling]

To be blocked by an older friend, seemingly without reason, is a curious affair. It is a silent declaration, a severance of connection that leaves one pondering the motives behind such an act. Yet, in this instance, I find myself at peace.

The older friend, with their years of experience and supposed wisdom, has chosen to retreat into their own solitude, shutting the door on our acquaintance. It is a decision that speaks more of their own insecurities and fears than of any fault of mine. I am left with a sense of calm, an understanding that not all relationships are meant to endure.

In the grand tapestry of life, some threads are meant to be woven together only briefly, their purpose fulfilled in a fleeting moment. To be blocked is to be released, to be given the freedom to move forward unburdened by the weight of another’s expectations or judgments.

I do not harbor resentment or regret. Instead, I embrace the clarity that comes with such an abrupt end. It is a reminder that we are ultimately responsible for our own peace and contentment. The actions of others, no matter how perplexing, cannot disturb the equilibrium I have cultivated within myself.

So, let them block, let them retreat into their own world. I remain here, grounded and serene, with a heart untroubled by the whims of others. For in the end, it is not the connections we lose that define us, but the strength we find in ourselves to continue on our path, undeterred and at peace.

And perhaps, in this newfound solitude, I will discover a deeper understanding of myself, a resilience that can only be forged in the fires of rejection. For every ending is but a prelude to a new beginning, and I am ready to embrace whatever comes next with grace and fortitude.

[ellsieee]

We went from happy to angry to angsty to happy again this week.

The boys not understanding each other hurt my heart. 😭 Su Yu was running a fever and probably felt terrible after being abused by Wu Bi's uncle, but didn't eat, rest, or otherwise take care of himself first. Instead the first thing he thought of was to tell Wu Bi what he found out about his mother so that Wu Bi could unburden his heart. The dejection and disappointment he felt after misinterpreting Wu Bi's anger as being directed at him for sticking his nose into his family issues instead of concern over his well being for being missing for two days with his crazy uncle made me want to cry.

Ah damn it! I couldn't stay mad at Wu Bi for more than 5 minutes. That feeling of abandonment is so heartbreaking.

I don't condone violence and Wu Bi could use some anger management courses for that foul temper of his. I'm not going to lie though, him dragging that extra assholey guard by the hair and dunking his face in the pool felt very satisfying.

Wu Bi finally told Su Yu that he wasn't mad about the meddling, he was mad that Su Yu went through all that for him. Argh. If Wu Bi had said this earlier, all this angst could have been avoided. I laughed that Su Yu ended up having to comfort Wu Bi. That little brat.

I'm so happy the boys made up. 🥹🥹🥹 Wu Bi is always touching Su Yu, wanting to be close to him.

I am still cackling at Bokuang's dad being a Wu Bi fanboy. In reality it's inappropriate, but in this drama it doesn't weird me out too much because it's not serious and 100% comedy.

Omg what the heck was going on here? What kind of stretching have these boys been doing???

Why is Wu Bi looking lustily at Su Yu with that mischievous eyebrow raise? Why is Su Yu looking shy?? AAAAHHHHHH.

That is an interesting way for Wu Bi to kiss Su Yu. It looks all cute and innocent, but then you see the dueling tongues and... Doudou knows what's up. 😏

"I'm scared." "Don't be afraid. I'm here." 🥹 Wu Bi feels safe with Su Yu and Su Yu wants to share Wu Bi's burdens. These two have come so far from their initial meeting. Are these two going to start sharing the same bed from now on? Just asking for a friend.

Why do I get the feeling Doudou doesn't mean actual candy? This girl probably knows her CP slang! When a couple acts sweet together and makes the audience feel all sweet and gooey, we "eat sugar/candy".

I love these dorks so much. Wu Bi has his hair down! 🥳I'm really hoping the accident happens in the next episode so the boys will have some time to be happy afterwards.

There is going to be so much pain next week. I'm not ready. Credit for the nice gifs go to @wanderlust-in-my-soul.

[qarn]

I think I'm finally healing from my trauma

Ive made breakthrough after breakthrough lately in my healing journey & i truly feel & believe that i am healing. i feel it somatically in my body even. i feel calmer. my body feels lighter, less tense, less uptight. still working on that though, not 100% there.

i spent my entire life running from what happened to me when I was a child, and I have finally learned to face and it and deal with it in a really profound way. I felt it. I let myself feel the emotions, the fear, the panic, the pain, the heartbreak, the disappointment, the ANGER, God only know's I have had enough anger for a lifetime. I let myself feel it all, and I still am, I don't feel 100% healed or finished in my journey (its likely lifelong), but I truly broke down a wall that I had kept inside of myself, between myself, for the first time in 24 years. I see myself, my inner child, and we have grieved, God we have grieved, and I have nurtured her, and I am nurturing her, and giving her everything that my caregivers could not give me. Safety, consistency, unconditional love, patience, empathy, space, time, compassion, understanding, respect, and equality. She deserves that more than ever, and I am truly giving that to myself now, and she is so thankful.

Internal Family Systems - (IFS) - The therapy technique that has helped me heal & feel & move on

I have 2 primary family members (parts) of myself inside who include my 4-5 year old, and my 7-8-9-10 year old. There are other parts of me / my internal family system as well, but others are less burdened and less traumatized than these two tough ones. I've had to reparent them in ways that I wasn't & it's been profoundly difficult but cathartic & beautiful. My 4-5 year old self so badly needed to have a secret taken off of her chest and to be seen and heard and to be told that she is safe now SO badly. I cannot believe how long that little baby girl was sitting inside of me, terrified, alone, confused, sad, heartbroken & abandoned. She is so happy to be seen and heard now, and I feel the tension and fear in my body starting to dissipate. I can protect myself now, and I will, for the rest of my life I will, & my inner child truly knows and believes and trusts me to do that. She trusts me, which, was something very difficult for her to do after our big trauma (she couldn't trust anyone fully). But here we are, learning how to find safety & trust & respect in ourselves/myself. It is possible. Healing is possible.

My next big mountain within myself to heal & unburden my 7-10 year old self. She is PISSED yall, but, not as much as she used to be, because she is also starting to feel less burdened by having to be the only one who could protect herself/us, the only one who had boundaries that she profoundly and courageously defended against her mother & everyone around her, on a daily basis. We have a lot of talking to do her and I. But I see her, and she knows I do, and I'm ready to feel the pain/hurt/anger/disappointment/confusion/etc of that time in my life too, to move on and heal, and become the beautiful fully integrated whole woman that I am destined to become.

One day at a time

sept 28, 2024

[deusluxuria]

Nothing just some excerpts of Abdul yelling at everybody from an unfinished fanfiction I've had in Evernote for like 3-4 years

( Spoilers: JJBA Part 3 / Stardust Crusaders )

[Before they meet Iggy]

[Also I changed Abdul's first name to "Mashaal" instead of Mohammed because it's more unigender and he's Intersex.]

"I wouldn't shake him up if I were you. You wouldn't be able to beat him," I said.

I already saw the flicker in Jean's eyes that he had instantly taken my words extremely personally. "What did you say!?"

Not this again. At least that time, he didn't jab a finger at me close enough to make me flinch. "That's not what I meant. I can't say I would be able to beat him, either. Nor any of us, at least not solo."

"Don't decide for me what I can't do!"

Noriaki cut in, "Hey, can we please stop fighting??"

That gave me pause for a moment. Noriaki was a kid. It shouldn't have been his responsibility to keep the peace. It wasn't fair.

"Yes... I'm sorry," I apologized to Noriaki. Not for Jean, but for everything he'd had to go through. What all of us had been through.

"Would you back off!?" Jean snapped at Noriaki. "This has nothing to do with you!"

Okay. That was it. He had crossed a line.

I glared straight into Jean's eyes. I lowered my voice, but tightened it. "Don't. You ever. Speak to him, or to Jotaro, like that."

I was ready to walk away.

But Jean exploded.

"You have to have control over everyone, don't you! Acting like you know what's best, but you don't know shit!"

I froze.

There he was again, assuming I was so naïve and unburdened.

Jotaro, Noriaki, and Joseph were right there to hear everything. But I didn't care anymore.

"You don't know me, Jean! You don't know my family, you don't know what I am, what I've been through, what this world does to people like me; you don't know this place, you don't know my country! You've made it so painfully obvious since Hong Kong that all of this has been the first time you've ever taken a step outside your own turf! You don't know what's happened to me, and that I have plenty reason not to give second chances!! So quit being so fucking presumptuous already if you want us to succeed in what we actually came here to do."

___

[Abdul and Joseph are talking in Abdul's hotel room. Abdul POV.]

"You and Suzy haven't been talking a lot?"

"...Well, if I can be honest with you... I started seeing someone."

"...You..." I felt the ire in my face hiding behind a stony expression. "...started seeing someone."

"...Yes. As in, I've been--"

"Don't--" I held up my hand in protest and squeezed my eyes shut. "I know what the hell you meant, Joseph, don't be a patronizing asshole."

"Wow. Okay."

"...Not someone here in Egypt, is it...?"

"No. In Tokyo."

I could've screamed. "In Tokyo...!? While you were visiting your daughter and your grandson thirty days ago!? While you and I were going out for drinks nearly every night, and I was sleeping in the guest room right next to yours!? You had to betray Suzy and see this person so badly that you snuck around in the middle of all that!?"

"Oh, come on! All the way on the other side of the world, Suzy would never--"

"The point is not in the shame of being caught! It's that you did it in the first place!!"

"Haven't you ever cheated?"

"Oh! Like I would have the privilege to!? To take more than what I need!? Do you have any idea how hard I have to work to keep what I have? And yet, you, people like you, just take, and take, and it's never enough. You're ruining your family. That boy out there, seventeen years old, being forced to grow up too soon to save your daughter -- and you destroy it all, and then talk about yourself cheating like it's some trite adolescent rendezvous. So excuse me if I find it so unforgivable that you're betraying Suzy and seem not to even have the decency to feel any guilt about it."

"...Mashaal..."

"I know you've always looked down on me," I couldn't stop there. "Not because I'm younger, but because you think I'm weak. All after I trusted you enough to tell you what had happened to me. You know everything about me, Joseph. You should know very well that I am anything but weak!"

"But I do know--!"

"Don't lie to me! Oh, I'm sick of you, and everyone like you, making a sport out of playing with my head and pushing me to the edge to evade any accountability."

He made a motion to comfort me with his hands on my shoulders, and I shook with rage.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped at him.

He retracted his hands. "...I'm sorry."

I finally noticed my eyes were damp. I was done. "Get out."

(...) [ < i put this stupid elipse thing here when i can't decide how to join two passages lol ]

Joseph joined me outside in the darkness. I looked up at him but said nothing.

"...Hey..." he said, timidly.

"Hey," I said, then looked back down at the dirt.

"May I sit...?" he walked towards me.

"I don't know. Are you going to apologize to me?" I said firmly.

He cleared his throat. "Yes... actually... That's why I'm out here..."

I got to my feet and faced him stiffly. "Then do it properly."

Nervously, he knitted his eyebrows together for a moment. And then, he relaxed with a sigh, turning slightly to face me as he briefly glanced down at his feet.

I waited.

He looked me in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Mashaal... For looking down on you. For speaking to you with such disregard. For not listening to you."

I stared, and held out my hand.

He firmly shook mine. And then I pulled him into a tight hug.

Joseph warmly closed his arms around me. And then he said again, in a much quieter voice, "I'm sorry."

I reveled in the silence for a while.

And after we let go of each other, I demanded, "Now go get your shit together."

[bubblegumbabycow]

The Phoenix

Six of Crows x Reader

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: typical Crow stuff, other than that there’s nothing.

Chapter 1

Shadows cloak me. Silently slipping over the rooftops, I slither into the darkness, melting away like snow on wet ground. 

I watch her. Waiting. So does she. The Wraith. Silent. Watchful. Kaz Brekker’s number 1.

Heart racing, breath shaky, I feel my power flicker at my fingertips, flames running across my knuckles. Fear claws at my chest. A savage animal waiting to tear me to shreds at the slightest slip in composure. 

She prowls across the roof; the moon casting a silver shine across her silky, golden-caramel skin. A flash of silver. She is armed. My palms grow hot. The rumbling power within me waiting to be unleashed.

“I know you’re there.” She hisses, continuing to circle before my hiding place. 

I make no move to reveal myself. I know her games. Danced this dance many times. Had each step memorised. I am not falling into Kaz Brekker’s trap this time. 

My body is stiff and rigid. Ready to spring into action. Flames lick at my fingertips. 

“Tomorrow, sundown, Goedmedbridge, Kaz Brekker will be waiting.” And with that, she is gone, slipping soundlessly from the roof.

It isn’t an invitation. It’s a demand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel.

The man, the myth, the legend.

But what does he want from me?

I lie there, on my poor excuse for a bed, mind alight with the unknown.

Pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes, I fruitlessly try to calm my restless mind. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for sleep to sweep me up into its awaiting arms.

But sleep never comes.

The first rays of sun push through the dense fog that blankets Ketterdam. My mind is still buzzing as I proceed with my morning’s business. 

The cold Ketterdam wind nips at my cheeks when I step out of my dingy, mouldy flat. Swiftly, I slip through the thickening crowd at East Stave. Already, tourists were pouring onto the street. Jostling about. Moving with the slow flow of traffic. They laugh and point at people dressed up in costumes from the comedie brute or get drawn into the many gambling dens and pleasure houses spread along the winding streets of Ketterdam.

The roofs are my preferred route to work but at this time of day, with the sun already peeking over the lopsided, mismatched buildings, they aren’t an option. So instead, I stick to the shadowy corners, dingy alleys and cold, musty back ways. 

I know the art of blending in well, finding the shadows and running between them. I had perfected the skill in my time at the Little Palace, slinking through the corridors, unnoticed, with my best friend. 

Squirt. 

My stomach twists into knots at the thought of him. I haven’t seen him since he was drafted in the Second Army. He was my Squirt and I was his Spark. The Tidemaker and the Inferni. Tears threaten to fall but I brush them away quickly. It is best not to show weakness in the barrel. 

Sliding in through the back door of the shop, I quietly tiptoe to my work bench. Harold was busy working on an order. Head bent low, eyes screwed up in concentration as he bent the steel to his will. 

After evading capture from slavers when the war was over, I had escaped to Kerch, to the bustling streets of Ketterdam. I was an empty shell of the person I was before, but life on the streets of the barrel has toughened me. I am no longer the girl from the Little Palace. No longer the girl who would sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night or run through the fields giggling, carefree and unburdened. The girl I have become is tougher, more formidable. There is less giggling and more scowling, less frolicking in the sunshine and more slinking in the shadows, less likely to get killed and more likely to be the killer.

I have changed. There is no denying that. But whether it is for the better or worse, that is still undecided.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Work was another problem I had to solve quickly, or risk being left to rot on the cold, miserable streets of the barrel. Lucky for me, Harold, an old Fabricator, welcomed me with open arms. 

I am no Fabricator. No, my skills are as an Inferni. I help where I can and get a fair pay. Enough to scrape a living on the bustling streets of the big trade city in Kerch.

The day had flown by in a blur of monotony and dullness. Out the back, I am sliding orders off the shelves to prepare them for customers when the familiar tinkle of the bell chimes through the shop as someone enters the small, homely shop.

My insides turn to ice when I catch a glimpse of the man standing in the doorway. Dark Zemeni skin, tall lean frame, pearl revolvers at his hips. He smiles warmly, saying a few words I can’t catch. As Harold guffaws and makes his way towards me, I can feel my insides turning to ice.

‘Tomorrow, sundown, Goedmedbridge, Kaz Brekker will be waiting.’

Plastering a fake smile on my face, I continue my work. My stomach is flip flopping around in the ice filled void where all my intestines are supposed to be and my heart is leaping out of my chest. I feel my palms grow hot and sweaty, I clumsily fumble with the orders when they begin to shake.

“Didn’t realise you had plans to day,” Harold smiles a devious smile, coming around the corner and leaning against the shelving.

My heart races as I scrunch my eyebrows together in mock confusion. The intensity of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks, I am about to meet the Kaz Brekker, the most notorious gang lead of all time.

"I had no idea either," I respond, trying my best to conceal the tumultuous feelings raging inside of me.

“There’s a man at the door asking for you,” Harold's voice was gentle but insistent as he gave me a push towards the door, “go out and enjoy yourself for once Y/n, it’s time you moved on.”

 Guilt and grief consume me, threatening to drown me in their depths. I know what he is talking about. Squirt's absence is an unfillable void in my life that haunts me endlessly. I have no idea where he is, whether he's still alive or if he had died on the front line, fighting for his country, but one thing is for sure - he's not here with me.

Squirt, with his infectious laughter and charming personality, was a bright and shining light in my life. His crooked grin, endearing quirks, and soft, curly locks cascading over his piercing, ocean blue eyes…

No. 

I can't keep doing this to myself. The mere thought of him leaves me drowning in a sea of despair, struggling to stay afloat. How could he leave such a massive void that I can't seem to fill? I feel like I'm on a never-ending rollercoaster, where the highs are so high, and the lows so low, leaving me sick with emotion. I need to find a way out of this vicious cycle of pain and heartache. I need to muster the strength to overcome my own vulnerabilities. I can't keep letting my emotions control me. What happened was for the best. He is better off with out me.

Reluctantly, I step out, walking briskly towards the door.

“Good morning darling” Jesper drawls, the sweet nickname flowing effortlessly from his lips. I can't help but wonder how many others he's whispered those very same words to, how many hearts he's captured with his endless charm. The mere thought makes me shudder and my insides churn with disgust.

I brush past him, “Don’t make this any more unpleasant than it already is,” I mutter.

He throws up his hands in frustration, trailing behind me with an air of disbelief. It's as though he's never encountered someone who could resist his words. 

With great difficulty, I force my body to walk towards Goedmedbridge. Every bit of sense in me screams in vehement protest, but I make my legs put one foot in front of the other, despite the overwhelming urge to run and never come back.

There he is. Kaz Brekker. Black tailored suit, raven black hair, hands lazily resting atop his infamous crow headed cane in front of him, and a smug smirk that makes my blood boil

Fury, an intense and searing wrath, boils within me, burning through my veins and igniting a ferocious blaze that consumes my very being. Flames flicker and dance across my fingertips.

“Don’t get frisky Y/L/N” he rasps

“What do you want,” I snap.

“Patience, you will find out in good time,” and with that he turns on his heel, beckoning me to follow.

~~~~~~~~~ Let me know what you think!

[ariaste]

All of your books have been on my tbr list for ages, and I finally got a chance to read A Taste of Gold and Iron last week. I finished it in 28 hours, and it would have been faster if I hadn't had to work. I could not put it down and am still obsessing over the characters. I loved how the relationships were messy and complex and just felt so authentic. It was also the best depiction of anxiety disorders, and especially panic attacks, that I've ever seen in fiction.

The world building was fantastic. I probably wouldn't have paid as much attention to the religious aspects at a different time of year, but the sections about Usmin really hit differently reading it the day before Yom Kippur (Jewish day of Atonement). I resonated with the concept of atonement being about unburdening yourself as much as it is about making amends.

Sorry for rambling at you I just wanted to let you know that I really really loved it. The only thing that could have made it better is for it to have not ended, I was not ready to let those characters go. I would have appreciated a pronunciation guide though, at least for the words with non-English letters. It didn't hinder my enjoyment of the story, but I am sadly monolingual and had no idea what to do with those.

Thank you for the wonderful story!

Thank you so much! Please don't ever apologize for rambling like this, I always love getting to hear thoughtful reflections from readers about what my books meant to them and musings about things that spoke to them.

As for the book not ending -- good news! All my books are set in the same expansive universe, and events, places, and people are often cross-referenced between books, so you may spot some familiar names as you keep reading. :) My next book, Running Close to the Wind (coming out next June) does this even more than usual -- you can read about it here: https://www.tor.com/2023/02/21/book-announcement-running-close-to-the-wind-by-alexandra-rowland/#

Finally, if you'd like to hang out and chat with some other fans, you can find my official discord server here: https://discord.gg/ftYnk8T42K

[sims-half-crazy]

The rose gold rays of another sunrise crept over the distant mountains as work began on the 1889 vintages. Naturally an early riser, Elias found himself hopeful about the day that was dawning. Dawn, being his favorite time of day, added to his good humor as he entered his domain. The grapes had been harvested, and now the fun began: making the wine. He hoped that this year's vintage would be good enough to quiet his brother's rumblings about profit, supply versus demand, and whatever other business nonsense filled his head.

Outside, Rebecca is chatting with the birds. They like her—rather, they like the bread she brings—but she natters on about scripture and the secret burden she carries. The lines are blurring between reality and fantasy. How she misses Hector. What a mess he landed us in, God rest his soul. A gentle warmth squeezes her elbow, as she realizes that Elias has come out. She hasn’t heard what he's asked, and now she's feeling more flustered and embarrassed. He escorts her back to the main house in a gentle manner. He's very careful with his tone and his words. A spark of understanding begins to bloom. She knows why her daughter has fallen for this man, but it is not right and not the way a wife should act. "Thank you, Elias. I often find myself entranced by those birds. Their song is a comfort, and they are such curious little creatures. I envy their simple existence, unburdened by the troubles of our world."

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Wright. Should you ever wish to stroll about the estate in search of more birds, I am at your service. This valley is abundant with them, and I have seen some truly magnificent flocks. There is something humbling in watching them take flight, ascending to the heavens in a great burst of energy. It is indeed a wondrous place we inhabit." Elias' eyes were soft and warm as he escorted her inside. She bid him adieu and disappeared into the parlor, where the radiators hummed as the steam that coursed through them heated the room. Rebecca settled herself at the desk and took out some correspondence. Satisfied that she was back to rights, Elias wandered into the dining room. He found Imogen there, finishing her breakfast.

"Good morning, Imogen. How are you faring today?" Imogen, visibly startled, had a decidedly greenish tint to her face today. Her beseeching look told him everything. He poured her another cup of tea and generously added in sarsaparilla. He couldn't stand the smell of the root, but it soothed Imogen, so he kept an even expression.

"You are always so kind, Elias. I know you detest the scent of this tea. Cornelius could not bear it and left the house when Ms. Kent brought it in." Imogen's face spoke volumes more than the words she'd just spoken.

"I regret causing you further concern, but I found your mother outside again this morning, conversing with the birds. She seemed caught between reality and her imagination—not as severely as before, yet this is the second or perhaps third occurrence this month. I do believe it would be wise to seek the counsel of a physician."

Imogen stifled a groan as she moved to stand. Elias was quick to help her and then pulled her into a warm embrace. It ended far too quickly, but he squeezed her shoulders as they pulled away. "I know you're right, but that is a battle that I don't know that I'm strong enough to handle. She's always been stubborn, and now she's almost impossible when she's like that. I will try, though."

Later that morning, Imogen found her mother sitting at the table alone. "Are you awaiting something, Mother?"

"That girl doesn't know that breakfast is needed! What kind of help do you have here? They're nothing but inept toads. I am hungry, and there is no breakfast." Rebecca looked to be of sound mind and body, but then she spoke. Imogen groaned inwardly.

"It's almost time for luncheon, Mother. Are you hungry? I can see if Ms. Kent has something ready, or I can ask if she'd prepare us a tray of cheese and bread. I wanted to speak to you about something." Imogen braced herself for a conversation that was sure to end in battle.

** Please forgive the change in photos. I didn't realize gshade wasn't installed after moving things around on my computer. I promise the pictures will be back to how I like them to be after the next installment. Things we learn... 🤷‍♀️

[insertsomthinawesome]

*pokes head out of the great expanse of information that is the internet* DID I HEAR YOU SAY KAEYA ZHONGLI BESTIES AGENDA do elaborate because I am. I am. in need.

AHAHAAHAHAHAHAH YES YOU DID HEAR CORRECTLY. Look They have so much inherent angst based on Kaeya's origins and Zhongli's orgins. And I'm definitely going to get into some fanon/headcanon territory here. But like- I headcanon that whatever part Zhongli played in destroying Khaenri'ah he feels horrible about it. Meeting Kaeya would be a grenade of emotions for him. Like on one hand: Hey! This guy is a living Khaenri'ahn, maybe i can do small things to pay him for what I've done Not that I could ever total repay it ON the other: OH SHOOT I MESSED UP SO BAD BY HIM I SHOULD JUST NEVER SPEAK TO HIM EVER AND IF HE WANTS ME TO PAY FOR MY CRIMES I WILL. Initially Zhongli would probably just be a good ole formal acquaintance. Being pretty normal about everything (he's good at compartmentalizing and burying pain) except in weird instances where he'd get really intensely invested in Helping Kaeya. Kaeya is like "Okay this dude is strange. Nice! But strange." Eventually the truth would come to light and that would be a mess, not exactly sure how it would go down? I usually play with the idea of Kaeya being pretty angry with Zhongli and softening when he realizes how much Zhongli regrets and how human he is. The start of their actual friendship would be climbing over the hurdle of Zhongli.... well being overly gracious essentially?

Kaeya would have to slap him being like "Dude you need to not bend to my every request for star's sake." Like, kaeya can understand given how much he feels like he messed up, but at this point he genuinely wants to be friends with Zhongli, not have Zhongli be his dutiful archon butler. It'd take a bit for Zhongli to shake the behavior because the guilt complex runs DEEP. Also Kaeya would have to open a lot. Zhongli is old as dirt (ha) So he can probably see through Kaeya waaaay more than he's comfortable with. Zhongli is thankfully not horribly heavy handed? But I can see him being somewhat petty or poking at Kaeya before he's ready.

Kaeya would have the bonus of Zhongli already knowing his Origins! But he would still have to contest with worrying about him flipping out over the spy thing (not to mention Zhongli was the Contracts lord.) Zhongli would also not be super cool with kaeya's more reckless and under-explained stunts. Its probably already somewhat nervewracking for him that most of his friends are mortal. Them making ill-advised decisions would not sit well with him. but with time I think they'd have a beautiful friendship! They're both protectors and have Older Family member vibes (grandpa and older brother) Zhongli would be invested in seeing Kaeya grow past his trauma and the horrible things that happened to him and his people. And Kaeya would be invested in seeing Zhongli live a happy unburdened life (he understands too well holding what feels like the weight of the world.)

And just in general I think the way they can play off of each other is really fun? Just personality wise. They're both really smart but also feel like they'd have a great time discussing stuff over tea, Really random or inane stuff. I imagine they're both kinda fed up with the Anime Plot they're born into xD

I feel like they're both little things people. LIke zhongli going on and on about the flowers being beautiful this morning and Kaeya would just be sitting there like "yeah :]" They realize how much that stuff matters.

Somebody save Zhongli if Hu Tao and Kaeya are in the same room tho. SFDLSDIHGDFIGLDHFGLASIDGHDFG Also they'd both be doing "Woe, therapy be upon ye" at each other SADLFIHSDGLIDFHGDFGHFG

Also both of them adore kids. ;;v;; The capacity they have for understanding each other's pain. Just being the "stop being strong, I know, you can't hide it from me." and "i'm sorry you have this burden, you should've never had it." and "i'm so afraid of what I am harming the people I love." THere could be so much solidarity and comfort and understanding. And conflict and frustration too! I can see them easily being very hypocritical with each other without intending too xD

So yeah! Just their whole deal can be so fascinating and fun, both of them would have so much baggage to work through with each other. And I can see every step of that journey being delightfully fun to dig into and play out in different ways!

[feralkwe]

“we can get away from all this; start over. no one has to know what you did.” ;D

you're my favorite person on the planet. i could have gone a lot of ways with this one, but you had the best suggestion that i could not turn away from. i also could have gone two distinct ways with that, and had to choose--angst or happy? which road did i take?

enjoy!

~*~

The chilled air swirling around the remains of the Aitiascope might have caused Kit to shiver had the moment in which she stood not numbed her to all else but him. Themis. Elidibus, standing before her, eyes lightly lidded and the soft shag of his hair tossing about in the breeze. The whole of her world was focused down to him, his words, his recounting of the peaks and valleys of their entwined fates throughout his life, both as her Ascian foe, and her lost lover. Now that the threat of Athena had been quelled, now that the others involved had returned to their proper places in time and space, nothing else mattered. Her heart ached, swollen within her chest until her lungs scarce had space to draw breath. It had been eons for him, but for her, hours. Hours since she disentangled herself from his embrace and dressed, the flutter of her beating heart barely settled to a normal rhythm, and said goodbye to him.

So, when he looked at her, that incandescent smile he saved for her directed at her once more, and said, “Then this all has meaning. Our time together—every moment—was worth it. And I am unburdened by regret,” something inside of her snapped.

“I’m not.”

She heard herself say it, felt the words on her tongue before they passed her lips and became real. Yet, she could not quite believe she’d said them out loud.

His face shifted, the peaks of his smile slipping in so infinitesimal a way that had she not just spent hours studying and memorizing every feature of his face, she’d have missed it. “What—”

“I have regret,” she pushed ahead. “I regret leaving you behind to everything that happened after. That is my burden. That I walked away.”

“Kit…” He struggled visibly, lips taking the shape of the many words at his disposal and finding none appropriate. “Please.” Soft. Gentle. The delicate threads of his tone barely had strength to carry the deep chords of his voice, let alone the sadness which wound around it now. “Do not make this harder than it needs to be. My guiding star. No longer can we delay the inevitable.”

“Inevitable to whom?” She didn’t think. Just as she’d done after their fight earlier, when he clutched his chest while his aether began fraying before her, she held up her hand, pouring forth of her own. His brilliant blue eyes widened, his mouth dropping open as it infused him. “I can’t say goodbye again. I won’t.”

His hands came together at his chest as he bent forward, thrown by the sensation. “Your aether.”

“Is yours. However much you require.” She stuttered in step then gave in and rushed forward. She grasped his face in her hands, frantically allowing it to channel between them. Every other emotion gave way to the swelling of hope, and tears brimmed at her lashes. “Just… do not leave me.”

His hands came to rest over hers, his expression troubled in reaction to her desperation. “There is no place for me here any longer. My time walking the star is passed. My duty at its end.”

“There’s me.” She leaned down, pressing her brow to his. “We did it. We saved the star. It will go on, but I can’t.” Her shoulders shook and she realized she’d begun sobbing. “Not without you. Don’t go. Please. The world owes us for everything we gave up in its name.” It was selfish, both to him and those she was ready to leave behind, but she couldn’t stop it now that the idea was in her head. “We can get away from all this; start over. No one has to know what you did. What I did. We can find somewhere and just… be us.”

His eyes closed, his head tilting into her touch. “A star as bright as yours should never—”

“I don’t care.” She’d given so much. They’d given so much. This was the one thing she ever asked for herself, and until this moment, she’d accepted she could never have it. But she didn’t have to, did she? “You have earned your rest, yes, but take it with me. Please, Elidibus. Themis.” His name. His true name. They didn’t have to be the Warrior of Light and Elidibus anymore. They could be Kit and Themis. “Stay. All the journeys, the travels, the adventures ahead. They are meaningless without someone to share it.”

He pulled back enough that as his eyes blinked open he could meet hers. “Surely there are others who could—”

“They’re not you.” It hurt in its truth, but she could not endure the lie. “Who knows me and understands me better? Everything we’ve been to one another? Let it matter.”

The twists and turns of the course upon which fate set them had to matter. It had to mean something. It couldn’t mete out to each of them all it had over so many millennia, couldn’t inexorably entwine them, only to rip them apart now.

For a time, an excruciating chain of moments, they remained motionless. Only the ebb and flow of her aether moved. His mouth gaped, and Kit could read in his eyes that he weighed every single word she said as he’d weighed all things over the course of his long life. She wanted to shake him. To scream at him to stop thinking and just act. To let the impulse of his heart lead for once in his existence. But she also knew that if he did, he would not be the man she’d fallen hopelessly and wholly in love with, perhaps longer ago than she cared to admit. She had to give him space to deliberate, to decide for himself for perhaps the first time ever, what he truly wanted. And if that was not a stolen life with her, she had to accept that. That, she reasoned, was what it truly meant to love him.

As it turned out, he did not need it. “Yes.”

“Yes?” She bit her lip, sinking her teeth into the flesh of it to make sure she was awake, and this was real. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he repeated. He used his hands over hers to pull her down for a kiss, something she needed no further encouragement to indulge. No more words were needed, not right now. There could be words later, as finally, they would have a later.

[desertfangs]

Had some thoughts after reading your recent fic

Do you think Armand and Daniel might have had a slight role reversal in terms of energy levels after Daniel was turned? When Daniel was mortal he was always getting older and more tired and finding it harder to keep up with the forever 17 year old with an immortal's boundless energy.

But when he's finally in the blood, maybe it was Armand's turn to feel like the slightly grumpy and tired 500 year old man with his hyperactive puppy of a fledgling.

I'm just picture newly turned Daniel throwing a coat around Armand's shoulders and dragging him out the door while Armand tries to suggest they have a night in, wondering if this is how Daniel felt all those years

Oh my gosh, this is a great question! (Also thank you for reading my fic!!)

I do think maybe they have a slight role reversal. Or, at the very least, their dynamic changes a little. Daniel is very high on being a vampire at first. Armand tells him, "You take a lot of teaching." He's a little overwhelmed by Daniel as a vampire, and Daniel is a little overwhelmed by heightened vampire senses, and while they are in the midst of a crisis, I do think Daniel takes some time to adapt to his vampire senses and abilities. I think Armand is fantastic maker and teacher, and Daniel is lucky to have not only him there but also so many others who can give him tips and tricks and also tell him stories about when they first turned.

(I will say I don't think Daniel is particularly an outlier. It might be an unpopular opinion, but I think his reaction to vampirism is pretty standard, especially given how potent Armand's blood is. We don't get a lot of him as a vampire until we see him again mad in Marius' house, but I've mentioned before I don't think it was being overwhelmed by vampirism that did him in, but rather Armand's apparent death drove him mad.)

But yes, once Daniel has the blood and is a vampire, he's no longer being run ragged by trying to keep up with Armand. And he's also no longer burdened with the knowledge of his own aging and death. I am older than Daniel was when he was turned, and I can tell you as you get older, your body DOES WEIRD SHIT. Stuff stops working as well. And I'm not even THAT OLD. But like... imagine living with Armand, ageless and turned at 17, while Daniel keeps finding more gray hairs or new lines on his face or he can't move his left arm one night because he slept on it funny - that had to have to weighed heavily on him. So I think it was just the sword of Damocles, over him all the time in those last couple of years, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it and push it back, it was hanging above him ready to fall.

So Daniel is lighter and unburdened as a vampire. He's ready to live forever with Armand. And Armand is absolutely proud of him and still loves him, of course, but Armand is a fatalist who starts to worry about when things will fall apart. I don't think that fear becomes too pronounced until later and I don't think he starts subconsciously pushing Daniel away for years yet, but it's in the back of his mind that Daniel may not need or want him anymore one day.

So in that respect their roles have changed. Daniel probably is excited to go travel or see some show or just go to Miami and walk around and shoot the shit and talk about the drunks stumbling past and all the tourists running around. He wants to go see and do everything now that he can do it without stressing about the lines on his face when he catches his reelection. He's excitable and hyper and like... I don't know how long dude is high on being a vampire, but I kind of think that initial burst probably lasts a while. And Daniel is talkative and affable and no doubt getting along with everyone.

Armand, meanwhile, is also dealing with all of his ex's in his house. So there's that to consider, too. And playing host. And running whatever business he's running on Night Island and elsewhere. (He has people! But he still needs to sign checks and papers and check in.)

So yeah, I do think a lot of '86 and '87 and maybe even '88 are more of Daniel going "Hey, boss, let's go see this thing or do this thing" and Armand being a little more... maybe not reluctant but less quick to jump on board with the idea. Not all the time. He's still Armand, he still likes to go see things and learn things! But sometimes!

I'll tell you, I think the real karma is Benji and Sybelle, wherein he has to indulge their interests and needs and suddenly Armand is there at TG remembering when he used to be the one dragging Daniel out the door as Sybelle grabs his hand and drags him to the music store or to see some concert and he's like "Ah, this must be how Daniel felt."

Thank you so much for the ask! Sorry for the long essay. TL;DR: Absolutely! LOL! I love the idea of Armand grumpily sitting in his office wondering if he can hide out and avoid being dragged to yet another rock concert with Daniel and Lestat over on the mainland for the 3rd time in a week.

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 34: Assassin - Part 2

Chapter 33 | Chapter 35

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

After almost three hours of persistent questions and ceaseless bodies piling in and out of the crowded bedroom, Esther was more than eager to see the medics to the door, if only to unburden the space a little.

“Should either of you require further assistance or medical care, we are a call away,” the chief responding medic said as his assistants straggled out, one after the other in an orderly row, equipment trunks rattling and shoulders hunching to get by without nudging into anybody. Several officers followed, bundling evidence for the next step in their investigation. “What both of you need right now is rest.”

“I’m doing okay, but I will make sure Miss Penelope takes it easy,” Esther confirmed. Although she had endured situations far more chaotic compared to this, she wasn’t comfortable sharing with a total stranger that her teenage years mostly consisted of war and tumult. It would take more than a botched assassination attempt to unnerve her. Her system still pumped with adrenaline and the rush of the fight, the last thing on her list was sleep. 

Hesitation drifted in the medic’s eyes as he searched her brazen poise. Regardless of his doubts, he decided not to probe any further and with a dip of his head, he trailed after the rest of his team. 

Esther steadily shut the door to ensure the room remained as quiet as possible for the spooked woman attempting to converse with the officers pestering her for more details. While the medics had attended to her, Esther exercised her self-control to refrain from intervening during certain stages of the interrogation. She acknowledged that every shred of information was vital, but the law enforcement’s never-ending questions only served to harm her already frazzled nerves.

“Doctor Heaton has advised me to ensure Miss Penelope gets some rest,” she said in a definitive tone, impeding their inquiry. “Perhaps I may help you with your ongoing concerns?”

“No, we have everything we need for now,” the more seasoned of the two remaining officers assured her, scratching at his beard with the back of his pen. “For protocol reasons, I must run you through the safety procedures, and then we can leave you in peace.”

“Would it be possible for you to write up these measures for Miss Kingsrose to read once she has recovered?” Esther suggested, spotting the pale pallor in Penelope’s cheeks and preferring to clear the room of prying eyes before the first tears broke free. If there was one topic that every industry leader agreed upon, it was the necessity to protect their integrity regardless of the situation. 

A grumble rested on the officer’s lips, but Esther reinforced her confidence before he could voice his gripes. “I am ready and able to offer further protection, if required.”

While he would rather obey protocol, he was not beyond leniencies in certain circumstances. Having heard the accounts of the adept mage’s quick-reasoning during the intrusion, he conceded to her request. “I’ll deliver the copies to you within the hour, miss. Some of the special forces officers will remain for added protection. They are at your command.” 

“Your assistance is appreciated, officer,” Esther said as she led him and his deputy to the door. “I shall familiarise myself with the correct procedures as soon as the papers arrive. You have my word.”

The second the latch clicked into the gap in the frame, she triggered the locks and tested the durability of the spells on the windows. Bolstered in the corners and strengthening at the midpoint, they held rigid and invisible to all but her. Inspecting the last concealed spell, she loosened the edge and remade the structure to ensure it would not unravel until she commanded it to do so. 

“Are you okay?” she voiced, jabbing at the remedied charm. “Is there anything I can get for you?” 

Picking at the skin under her nails, Penelope’s stare dove into the carpet, mouth lightly agape as though a response persisted on her lips. No sound left her. 

“Miss Kingsrose?” 

“That boy who came through the window,” Penelope said. “Who is he?” Lamplight deepened the mottled blotches and dark patches under her eyes as she tore them from the floor to meet her protector. “It seemed for a moment that you… you hesitated like you recognised him.”

Esther controlled her expression, considering her reply thoroughly. For Gabriel’s sake and her own. “You don’t need to worry yourself with that,” she answered. “It doesn’t matter now. That is for the authorities to investigate.”

“Please, just answer the question. I want to know he’s okay.”

Esther drew herself aside from the secured entry points and her defensive spells. Penelope had demanded nothing of her throughout her stay, always gracious, always approaching her with appreciation for her security, but her tone held an order. Responding was not up for negotiation. “He’s a former Ironstrike guard on the run who seems to have got himself caught up in rebellion activity, so I wouldn’t exactly say he is in the best position.”

The first few tears spilled unhampered down Penelope’s ashen cheeks, glinting in the sapphire blue before shooting towards her chin. It was at that instant that Esther observed the resemblances between Gabriel and the Kingsrose director. The candid compassion in their eyes. The slightly upturned tilt of their lips. Even the placement of their freckles appeared almost identical. 

“He is Gabriel Vyner,” Penelope said, as though uttering the name of a ghost she feared to summon by speaking louder than a whisper. “Isn’t he?” 

Esther blinked, coming to a complete standstill. “How do you know that?” she questioned. “What is he to you?” 

“My son. Illegitimate, obviously.” 

The silence hit her like a shot to the face, and uncertain what to say for the first time in a long while, she seated herself on the pillowed bench by the veneer desk and tucked her hands in her lap. 

“Gabriel’s father, Ethan, was a Kingsrose guard. I found him a little uptight when we met, but the more I got to understand him, the more I saw his true self,” Penelope disclosed. With the heel of her hand, she mopped the damp splotches from under her eyes. “He was a serious man and preferred to apply himself to something with all his being. I respected that in him, and over time, I found myself drawn to him, and he to me. Our relationship had to be kept a secret, which exacted quite a toll, but ultimately, we planned to marry. I arranged everything to perfection, or at least I assumed I had. My family discovered our intention before we had even made it to the border of the district. Ethan lost his job, but my father agreed to provide him with a proper reference so that he could find work elsewhere.”

The nostalgic gleam in Penelope dimmed, and she smothered the wave of remorse as the recollection of her ephemeral love encouraged that mourning to the surface.

“A month later, I discovered I was pregnant. Knowing what my family would suggest, I went away on the pretence that some distance would help me put some perspective on my role as heir and got a message to Ethan about the news. He stood by me throughout the whole pregnancy and promised to raise our son when I had to return to my duties. The only thing I knew of him after he had been born was his name. Gabriel. Every day since, I have thought of him, remembered the image of that tiny bundle fast asleep in my arms.” 

The room settled into a penitent hush, and Esther realised that it had not been the assassination attempt itself that horrified Penelope, but who they had sent. The baby she had cradled in his earliest hours, the child she cherished in secret and the grief of the life she could have lived. “Did you try looking for him after you took over from your father?” she asked.

“I tried, but I hadn’t a clue where he was. The others watch me closely, and if they knew of Gabriel, there is no doubt they would use him against me. If it is as you say and he was in the Ironstrike district, it explains why I struggled to locate him. Edgar locks his lands away like a covetous dragon.”

“Now you know where he is, what do you plan to do?”

“With you here, I have someone I can rely on. I’ve already asked a lot of you, but since you act with discretion and haste, maybe I could ask one more thing of you.”

“Of course.”

“Would deliver a message to him? It is possible that his father withheld the truth about me for his safety, but I believe he should be informed. Especially now.”

“I’ll go to him,” Esther agreed, “but I can’t promise a joyous reunion. There is every possibility he will lay much of what he has been through at your door.”

“All I want is my son to have the facts,” Penelope said, grateful for the mage’s warnings but resolved to try, regardless. “The rest is up to him.”

* * *

Sucking in an impatient breath, Ralph glimpsed his reflection in the clock glass and rectified his tie, tidying the knot until it pressed perfectly into the centre of his collar. The hollowed hands ticked louder in the haunting quiet.

On his way in, he gauged the hesitant hush of the estate as though it were a physical entity he could reach out and touch. Where gardeners usually cultivated the latest crop of roses, the shrubberies and low hedge mazes lay deserted. Even the lobby remained unoccupied but for the doorman on duty. The assassination attempt on Miss Kingsrose breached the atmosphere to the degree that nobody dared make a sound. 

When the door to the sitting room feebly creaked ajar, he tore himself from his mirrored image and straightened up. Esther withheld a scoff at having caught him admiring his reflection. Her eyes tracked him, drained yet vigilant.

“I hear commendations are in order,” he said in response to her expectant stare. 

“I would not exactly call this an occasion for applause,” she replied, positioning herself by the dormant mantlepiece and holding her chin a touch higher than his. “A woman nearly lost her life, and I am certain you are going to do barbaric things to that assassin to get information. This is not a cause for celebration in my book.” 

Enclosed in her voice, he picked up a confidence he had not heard before, not even in the industry heads. Commanding. Poise incarnate. Clad more informally, but still in the Lumen style, she appeared more within bounds than she had before. No hint of the Green Flame or indomitable bodyguard. The mystery waned a little and strangely enough, he felt more comfortable in her presence. 

“How is Miss Kingsrose faring?” Ralph asked. “I hope she did not come to any irreparable harm.” 

“The assassin didn’t touch her, but she is understandably shaken by the ordeal. Her doctor is monitoring her, and the authorities have ensured she has everything she might need.” 

“Of course. Sometimes mental scars can be worse than physical ones.” 

Esther couldn’t contest that. She would have suffered a hundred more bodily scars from the purge over the mental effects she grappled daily. 

“I shall meet with her later,” Ralph said. “As representative of all families, I am committed to meeting her every requirement.”

“That won’t be possible,” Esther told him, strolling further into the room and pausing on the other side of the regal clock. “Miss Kingsrose is not taking visitors.” 

The corners of Ralph’s lips stiffened, and he bridled a scathing remark. Patience was the key to people like her, and he possessed an abundance of it. “You seem to have become quite comfortable,” he observed. “In that uniform, you almost look as though you belong here.”

Ignoring his opinion in favour of preserving her upper hand, she cast an eye from his head to his feet and up again, daring him to continue with his rebuttal. He made it his mission to chip away at her, and she would not allow him that indulgence.

“Do you have the footage I requested?” she inquired. She slid the sealed electronic frame from his outstretched grasp and clicked open the edges. A flat, holographic display expanded between the boundaries and a video played. 

Crisp and clear, Gabriel’s form dashed across the eastern lawn, almost hitting a shadowy tree trunk before he stopped short.

Poor guy never stood a chance, Esther thought as the transparent figure fled the estate.

Whether the rebellion was exploiting his vulnerability after fleeing the Ironstrike district or if he trusted in the movement, his parentage put him in a precarious position now. An illegitimate son of an undermined industry head, his life would only become more troublesome once he learned of the truth. 

“Who is that?” Ralph leaned in and Esther detected the subtle floral perfume diffusing from his clothes. Roses. Distinct and clean, like a summertide garden. 

“Not sure. He was just asking for money,” she said, skimming over the next minutes of footage. “Guards on duty gave him something to eat and sent him on his way.” 

“He seems intoxicated.” 

“Probably.” Refusing to ruminate on Gabriel’s situation, she revised the rest and pinpointed the segment she was hunting for. “There,” she muttered, scrolling backwards to a particular point in the video and slowing the speed. “Bottom left corner.”  

“What is it? What have you found?” He practically rested his chin on her shoulder to better see what she had uncovered, his eagerness bypassing any propriety. 

At that close vantage, the sprawl of freckles across his cheeks that the lights usually hid stuck out to her. Behind the sheen of his glasses, she noticed his multi-coloured eyes, one cobalt blue and the other as grey as the noxious clouds that bled from factory chimneys. 

“It’s uh… it’s the entry place that the assassin used,” she said, recouping herself. “See there? I assumed he may have entered via a window since the doors were bolted and there was no sign of damage. Seems like he found a weak spot beneath the foundation and got in through the basement instead.” 

“So it appears,” Ralph mused, momentarily anchored to the concentration on the mage’s face before he returned to his full stature and removed himself from her personal space. “You have done an immeasurable service to us. I will ensure you receive your reward soon.” 

“Once I have the feathers, I’ll remove that mark,” Esther vowed, motioning to his wrist where the contractual blemish poked out from his shirt sleeve. 

Ralph glanced down at the spot in question. “Ah. Yes. I had all but forgotten about that.” 

Sure you did, she thought with an astute smirk and flung the playback device to him. “Thank you for bringing me what I asked for. You’re free to leave.” With an air of purpose and a gleam of the intrepid, she sauntered by him and out into the hallway beyond the sitting room. 

A stillness descended again, the constant tick of the clock his only company. Pocketing the viewing device and neatening his jacket, Ralph shoved his shoulders back. The sooner Esther had her feathers, the sooner he could conduct his duty without having to worry what potential trouble she might cause for him and his employers now that she was almost released from her obligations. 

* * *

Revisiting to the hectic clamour of Lumen after several weeks of placid comfort was a strange but not unwelcome sensation. The stench of motor oil, and meat grease, and swollen vapours submerged Esther, flushing away the fragrant flowers and perfumed halls she had become accustomed to. 

After managing to extract some more footage from Ralph under the guise of providing better security for the Kingsrose estate, she tracked Gabriel to the outskirts of town. He hadn’t been subtle in his escape, roaming in the open for far too long in her opinion, but by some splash of luck he had evaded most of the cameras. 

Workers bustled by, paying no notice to another body in the mix. She gravitated towards the market alleys, drinking in the flit and flutter of life within the network of stalls and commerce. At the almost hourly rattle of pipes ventilating and cooling the machinery inside the warehouses and factories, she smiled. The symphony of the city, Esther had once thought to herself, keeping everything moving. 

A few faces recognised her as she meandered, scowls pinching at the edges of their eyes and their noses scrunching like she carried a foul smell in her wake. She expected rumours to circulate. She couldn’t engage in rebellious activities, start developing a reputation as a woman of the people, and not expect them to sneer at her when she returned from assisting their enemy.

Beneath the sway of lanterns and sandwiched within the hubbub, a welcomed sight crossed her search. “Mariane,” she greeted, hesitating by the textile stall. “Am I glad to see you.” 

Mariane barely spared her a glance and humphed. “What do you want?” she said. 

Esther’s smile paled. While she did not blame her for her reaction, it stung all the same inside the memory of the pleasant conversations they had shared not so long ago. “I’m looking for someone,” she replied, holding out her tablet on a paused piece of footage showing Gabriel’s face. “He comes round here fairly often. Just wanted to know if you’ve seen him.”

“Another poor soul to throw to the wolves?”

“Actually, I need to talk to him about a personal matter.” 

The merchant’s frown softened. Despite what she thought of her, Esther was not the enemy some had claimed her to be after discovering her consorting with the industry heads. If she learned anything about the girl, it was that she truly did want to help. Whatever she was doing up high, she doubted it was for selfish reasons. “He’s staying up near the river market. Last I heard, he’d got himself into a bit of trouble. You haven’t been sent to hurt him, have you?” 

“Of course not,” Esther said, meeting the scowls passing by head on before returning to Mariane. “It’s not the Kingsrose way, and I’m rather glad for it.”

“It’s Kingsrose you’re working with?” Realisation dawned, and she planted the cloth bundle into a wicker basket. “Some round here claimed you’d gone up to the bosses and offered to protect them. Didn’t want to believe it myself, but when you were spotted up at the headquarters, dressed to the nines, it was difficult not to.”

“They have something I need,” Esther told her. “Something that will help a lot of people.”

“Well, I wouldn’t hang around here too much,” Mariane advised. “Folk have their opinions, and I don’t think they want to change them, regardless of fact.” 

Esther understood. Betrayal hurt and even after learning the facts, some would always refuse to alter their views. “Thanks, Mari,” she said, hastening out of the alleyway. “I owe you one.”

Disturbed by the chilling wind, splashes of water foamed underneath the bridge railing as they soaked the concrete and rushed back into the fray. Esther narrowly avoided getting her shoes wet as she tuned into the hubbub, sweeping the array of baggy uniforms and downcast faces. She merged into the crowd, roaming and roving until she eventually sighted her target.

Not wishing to spook him, she approached gently. The moment his terrified gaze landed on her he broke into a sprint. After tracking him into the network of alleys behind the market, she launched a shield spell into his path. He careened into the transparent barrier and almost slammed into a mound of refuse bins. 

“Will you stop?” she demanded as he pounded on the boundary, staring at her over his shoulder as if she was about to rend his head from his shoulders. 

“No, I won’t go,” Gabriel panicked. “I’ve got no information, I swear.”

“I’m not here to take you to the authorities,” Esther promised.

Scanning the sincerity in her, he stopped clawing and turned to face her, chest heaving with every pant. 

“I know you’re scared, Gabriel,” she said softly. “I don’t blame you. The only reason I’m here is to pass on an important message. You’ll want to see it.” 

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