#then by Delilah dressing her up as a woman she hadn’t even known | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harryspet · 5 years ago

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plaything | sebastian stan

[Warnings] dark sebastian stan x reader, dark chris evans x reader, lots of dub con bordering on non con, spanking (aftercare?), dub con sex/oral sex, humiliation, seb wants you to call him daddy, impregnation, over/stimulation, abusive relationship, seb domesticating reader, manipulation, seb being a jerk and chris being creepy

A/N: This is for @sherrybaby14 ‘s Prompt Challenge! If you’re not already following her, please do! The original prompt was “ Bucky fic where the relationship is already well known to be dark. Maybe he views her as a plaything and likes to do things that set her up for failure so that he can punish her. Maybe some gas/lighting too”. I’ve been watching a lot of Sebastian interviews lately so this fic was inspired by that. I know both Sebastian and Chris a super nice guys in real life but I had a lot of fun imagining them as bad guys!

In which you can’t seem to escape Sebastian’s punishments.

Please like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.1k

You watched Sebastian on the TV in your kitchen, licking a spoon covered in fudge batter. He was being interviewed by Jimmy Kimmel and he was as captivating as ever. You chuckled a bit as he made a joke and the crowd erupted in laughter.

“Y/N, it’s not lady-like to lick the spoon,” Delilah, Sebastian’s chef, said to you. You were in the middle of yet another cooking lesson. You just could never get your food tasting the way Seb liked, “At this rate, I don’t think I’ll be getting fired anytime soon.”

The dessert was in the oven and now the older woman was placing the finishing garnishes on their steak, “He likes his steak medium-well, remember that,” Delilah went on but you couldn’t concentrate.

You know you should’ve paid attention but you knew deep down you’d never be a good cook. At least, not in the way Seb wanted you to be, “You don’t think he’ll notice it’s microwaved?” You asked Delilah who had previously agreed to your scamming. You’d pretend that you made what she had.

“He shouldn’t notice because my food is delicious either way. But, it may taste a little different and you can blame that on the fact that you made it,” You nodded nervously.

“Thank you, Delilah,” The older woman only smiled as she began to gather her things. Everything was laid out and now you could put everything in Tupperware and microwave it tomorrow before Seb arrived.

You put your oven mitts on and walked over to the oven. You lifted the pan of brownies out of the oven and set it on the stove. The interview on the TV was ending now and you watched as Jimmy told the audience the opening date for Seb’s new movie.

Seb hadn’t been back to your million dollar apartment in two weeks because he was doing press all day and night.

You almost didn’t hear Delilah say from the foyer, “Mr. Stan, you’re home early,” Your heart dropped.

“Delilah,” You were sure they were hugging now, “I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for a while. You look as beautiful as ever.”

You quickly put away all the spices and cutting boards, just throwing them in a random cabinet. And then the plates of food … you stacked them and threw them into the garbage can. You panicked, he couldn’t know that Delilah had made the food after you promised you’d do better.

“Well … I- oh look, my husband is calling me,” Delilah rushed out, “Have a good evening, Mr. Stan!”

When Sebastian entered the kitchen, you were smiling wide, a dash of flour on your cheek and apron that you had just put there, “I thought you were going to be in L.A. for the rest of the night,” You said to him, kissing his cheek as he approached you. He didn’t return the affection, his eyes tired from his flight. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, “I just watched you on TV … you did great.”

“I finished up earlier than I thought. I wanted to see you,” He looked down at you, his eyes burning holes into you. He knew something was up.

“You look exhausted but I know what will wake you up. Your favorite midnight brownies! Because, you know, we usually eat them at midnight-” He took one look at the brownies and turned back to you.

“Why was Delilah here?” He interrupted, reaching a hand to wipe away the flour on your cheek.

Your smile fell, ��S-She came to give me the recipe for the brownies,” He didn’t believe it and you bit down nervously on your bottom lip nervously, “I asked Delilah to make dinner and I was gonna pretend that I had made it myself.”

Seb sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips, “And where’s dinner now?”

You pointed towards the trash can, “And you wasted the food too?”

“I panicked,” You tried to explain yourself, “But I’m gonna make dinner for real tomorrow. I watched Delilah do everything so-”

You yelped as he suddenly grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. His breath fanned over your face and then he leaned down to your ear, “You haven’t cleaned either, there’s dust on the painting in the foyer.”

“I-I was going to do it tomorrow before you got home,” You whispered, your heart pounding.

“Do I ask for too much, Y/N? I’m not sure why you like frustrating me.”

“I-I don’t like frustrating you, Seb.”

“You do,” He insisted, “Why else would you throw schemes like this together?”

“I-” He shushed you and you swallowed your words. The look in his eyes was crazy and you weren’t sure what kind of beast you had awoken this time. You tried to remember a time when things weren’t like this. When he chased you and you thought you might be more than his plaything.

You met Sebastian at one of his interviews. Of course, you didn’t expect him to spare you a second glance because he was the celebrity and you were the girl running to get everyone's coffee. You were practically an assistant to the assistants. You only did the job because it paid slightly more than minimum wage and you were late on your rent.

You carried three different trays of coffee into the dressing room. It was a smaller production company then he was probably used to. There were at least three other Avengers in the room getting their makeup touched up. You handed the coffees to each of their assistants and then to your boss.

You would’ve walked away but you saw him take a sip, his eyes still narrowed on you, “This is four sugars …”

“Yes,” You said quickly, looking over the receipt. Your face visibly fell as you read it, “Well, it’s three but I can find you some sugar, sir. It’ll only take a moment.”

“You can’t seem to get anything right on the first try, can you? I order this drink a million times a week. The other coffee girls can get it right. Why can’t you?”

You took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right because you’re-” You closed your eyes and waited for him to say you were fired. A tall figure emerged behind you and you slowly opened your eyes.

“I’m sure one sugar isn’t the end of the world, sir,” Seb had said, a hand pressed to your lower back, “If you’re going to treat your staff so poorly, in front of everyone I have to had, then maybe Marvel shouldn’t be giving you their business.”

Your boss was practically jumping out of his skin, “I-I apologize, Mr. Stan,”

As your boss scurried off like a mouse, he stepped in front of you, “I’m Sebastian.”

“I work such long hours, I have to fly around the world, but I take care of you, don’t I?” You nodded vigorously, “I just … don’t like to be lied to. You know what this means, don’t you, pet?”

Pet.

He loved to call you that when his temper got the best of him. Yes, of course, you knew, “Sebastian, not tonight, please-”

He forced you to look into his eyes, “But I know you like it, Y/N,” With his other hand he gripped your waist, pulling up your skirt. You never seemed to avoid it. There was always something you did wrong that led to this.

He pressed his lips to yours and you were surprised how gentle he was. Your lips moved in sync with each other as he pressed you against the kitchen island. He was untying your apron and it fell to the ground. Then he was reaching into your panties, easily finding how wet you were, “That’s my girl,” He smirked against your lips, starting to rub circles over your sensitive bulb.

You ground against his fingers, wanting more friction between you. He kissed the side of your mouth, then your chin and down to your neck, “Ah,” you moaned as he played you like a piano, a song that he had spent the last year memorizing, “Seb, Seb …”

“Call me Daddy,” He demanded and you moaned as you neared your climax.

“Oh my god, Daddy,” You were about to tilt your head back when he suddenly removed his fingers. Not in a teasing way and your eyes widened you realized he wasn’t in a playing mood. He grabbed your hips roughly and turned you around. He pressed on your back until your chest was against the marble, “Only good girls get to cum, Y/N,” You felt him walk away and you didn’t dare look back at him, You heard a drawer open and slam shut.

He lifted your skirt and as he pulled down your underwear, you closed your eyes shut. The impact didn’t come as you expected. You thought it stung much more than when he used his hand. You whimpered, your hands balled into a fist, “You remember what to say, don’t you, pet? I’m giving you twenty and I’m sure you don’t want any extra.”

“Thank you, Daddy!”

He’d rub a circle and then hit your bottom with the wooden spoon again. You thanked him for each one. As the spanks increased, you squirmed around and Sebastian decided to pin your arms behind your back to hold you in place.

When he was done, tears were streaming down your face, “Good girl, Y/N. Very good,” Sebastian let go of your wrist, gently helping you up before lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you out of the kitchen.

You cried as he set you on the bed you shared and as he rubbed aloe vera over your bruises. Sebastian held you, placing a kiss on your forehead, as you cried yourself to sleep.

You thought your punishment was over but as you exited the shower the next morning, you found a surprise waiting for you on the bed. A “surprise” was probably the wrong word to use. You picked up the pair of black stilettos and set them by your feet before picking up the note.

Wear this. No panties. Finish cleaning the house and then come meet me in my office. My bookshelves need dusting. - Your one and only love, Sebastian

You balled up the note, tossing it to the side, as you took a deep breath. You decided that he wasn’t going to break you down this time. You dressed in the black, satin, mini dress and your mouth dropped open as you realized it ended an inch after your bottom. The top was basically a corset that pushes your chest up and the clear straps that held them up were flimsy. A matching white apron accompanied everything but even that seemed to be mini-sized. You could barely get on the heels without your whole bottom showing.

You gritted your teeth, pacing the room, as you tried to get used to the heels. You reminded yourself again that you’d do this with a smile on your face. You pulled your hair back with a tie and left the master bedroom.

You cleaned almost the entire house with those heels on. Your feet ached and every random draft of wind sent you shivering. If you moved in a certain way, you could feel the satin rubbing against the bruises on your bottom, a reminder of the punishment you suffered the day before.

You wiped a drop of sweat from your forehead as you finished wiping down the kitchen counters. After you carried the duster to Seb’s office and as you knocked you heard, “Come in, pet,” And you spotted Seb leaning against the front of his desk.

His eyes were dark and as you met Captain America’s blue-green eyes, your heart dropped to your stomach, “Seb-”

“You know Chris, right, Y/N? You met at that wedding a few months ago?” Sebastian asked, gesturing over the muscular man perched on Seb’s leather couch.

You remained silent, not wanting to meet the other man’s eyes. You shifted uncomfortably in your dress, pulling at the sides, “Y/N looked very different then … but I have to say that I prefer this look much more,” You could feel his eyes taking in your body.

You had promised yourself you’d get through this unscathed but you hadn’t planned for this. You wanted to die of embarrassment and it was only as Seb said, “Don’t mind us, pet. We’re just talking business. You have a job to do.”

Your mouth was dry and you felt frozen, “Sebastian, please-”

You cut yourself off because the glare he gave you was deadly. It took you a moment to get the courage to take a step. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you paced over the tall bookshelves that were placed opposite the couch Chris Evans was sitting on.

You began to dust his collection of books and you cursed the fact that man loved reading about space so much.

Both of their eyes were raked in your body. They muttered a few sentences talking about some director but you knew they were just trying to fill the air. Their focus was you and only you.

You reached the lower levels but as you had to reach the top one, your dress rode up. You quickly pulled it down but it happened a few more times, “I don’t think you’ll do a very good job if you’re pulling at your dress the whole time, pet,” You almost shot an accusing glance towards him.

Instead, you stopped holding onto your dress before politely saying, “I don’t think I’m tall enough to reach the top shelves,” You spoke through gritted teeth.

Seb glared at you sharply but Chris only smirked, “You might’ve hit the lottery with this one, Stan.”

In any other context, you might’ve appreciated the compliment.

“The coffee table is a little dusty too,” Sebastian lied and you tried to scowl. You walked over to the coffee table, bending down to dust the table. You were close to Chris now and you saw him lean forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Chris had told you and you did, keeping eye contact as you dusted all the knick-knacks that Seb kept on the coffee table. Yours were on him but he was trailing down to your chest. You guessed he had seen enough of your bottom while you were dusting.

You stood up straight then looked at Seb, “Did he tell you to stop looking at him?” And you winced as you turned your head back to Chris.

Seb moved behind you but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Chris. Seb pressed himself against your back, lifted up the skirt of your mini dress. He roughly stuck his fingers between your fold and his fingers were wet as he pulled them away. How? How could that happen when you felt sick with embarrassment.

Your face was probably bright red by that point, “And I thought you couldn’t upset me further. Now you’re getting turned on by another man. Right in front of me, I should add.”

“S-Seb I-I-” He grabbed you by the front of your neck, pulling you further into him, “I-I’m not, I promise!”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You love the attention. Does Daddy not give you enough?” He spoke huskily into your ear, “Now you have to show Daddy’s friend who you belong to. Bend over, hands on the table.”

As you bent over, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had become so drastically different. You placed your hands flat on the table and it wasn’t long before you heard Sebastian’s belt come off. You thought he might spank you at first but you felt the hard tip of his length press against your entrance.

He grabbed your hair, forcing you to tilt your head up and look at Chris. He was leaning back now, his hand over his crotch. You could see the hard on beginning to form underneath his jeans, “Only Daddy gets this hole, understand?” And before you could answer, he entered you all the way.

You gasped, unable to find the words as you screamed out. “Right, pet?” He slammed into you deeply.

You nodded, “Y-Yes, Daddy. Only you.” Seb pounded into you, animalistic growls in his throat as you squeezed around him.

Soon, you had both fallen to your knees but he only went harder, “Seb, Seb!” You moaned his name, already nearing your climax. The angle you were at let him hit your most sensitive area with every thrust. And as he bent over your body, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bulb, it wasn’t long before that wave of pleasure ripped through you.

Your body shook and you tried to run away from the full force of it, Sebastian pulled you back onto him. He wasn’t done yet. Chris had pulled his hard member from his jeans and was stroking it as he watched you react to the over/stimulation. Seb had even pulled down your dress so your breasts were fully out.

Seb didn’t let up on stroking you and, as your second climax came, you thought you might fall apart. “You like it when he watches, don’t you?” Seb groaned in your ear, “You want him to see me put a baby in you.” Seb’s stroke slowed but they were still deep as his song neared its crescendo.

Seb knew that you were in the middle of switching your birth control methods.

“Beg me to put a baby into you,” He said, pulling your hair tighter.

“Ah,” you moaned, “Please give me a baby, Daddy! Please!”

With that, Seb’s hips tightened as he released into you. You felt the warmth deep inside you and you were still shaking as he pulled out, “Good girl,” He said, out of breath.

You looked at Chris who was thrusting into his own hand. Seb smacked your bottom loudly, “Finish him off, Y/N,” You turned to Seb with wide eyes. As if he hadn’t humiliated you enough. He hit your bottom again, “Now.”

You hesitated before crawling around the table. You felt your own fluids and Seb’s running down your leg. You perched yourself between the older man’s legs and he responded by grabbing your face, pulling you up to his member.

You closed your eyes as you took him into your mouth. Chris groaned, leaning back as you took him in deeper. You remembered how Seb liked it. Whatever your mouth couldn’t cover, you used hand, twisting around his length, “That’s it, such a good girl,” You gagged as you took him in further. Sebastian loved when you gagged and now you knew Chris did too. As Chris finished, he forced your head down, and you thought you might run out of air as he released into your throat.

You fell back, gasping after you were forced to swallow it all, “I think I’m going to come to New York more often,” Chris gave you a tired smile.

You looked to Sebastian who was already up, buttoning his slacks, “Straighten yourself up, Y/N, don’t be rude to our guest.”

Hope you enjoyed! Check out my dark peter parker fics and my new Bucky fic called Obedience!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #dark marvel #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #dark fic #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark sebastian stan x reader #mcu smut #marvel smut

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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ancient names, epilogue

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, epilogue: goodbye

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 3.7k

Rating: M for mature themes, mostly T though.

Warnings: just sad feels, my guy.

Notes: One last and final thank you to everyone who has read, kept up, commented, popped in to say hello to me on Tumblr. You really made this an incredible experience. ♡ I can’t wait to get started on the sequel, and I hope you enjoy this little interlude!

Everything hurt.

Or, rather, everything that he could feel hurt—which wasn’t much, or was hard to categorize, considering that opening his eyes felt impossible and thus his brain couldn’t register whether or not all of his limbs were attached or not.

“.... ohn. John, wake up.”

No thanks, he thought, tiredly, as pain splintered up his spine and radiated through his skull. No, I’m really quite good right here where I am.

“John,” and it was Joseph’s voice, muddled with the sound of steady rain. “Wake up.”

John felt the groan, rattling somewhere deep in his chest, as he pushed his eyes open. Then, and only then, did the agony really fucking hit—real, pure body-pain, the kind that sank straight into the marrow of his bones and stayed for a good many days. Struggling, he forced himself into a sitting position, hands flat against cold, wet pavement.

Hands flat. Free. Not cuffed.

“Good,” Joseph said, sounding relieved, “you’re awake.”

When his older brother extended his hand out, John took it; with a surprising amount of strength, Joseph hauled him to his feet, and he finally got a good look around him.

Carnage.

The highway was littered with bodies and blood and the mangled metal of crashed vehicles. He saw dark figures; it was night, late, and his eyes burned, and his body ached, and when the low snarl of one of Jacob’s judges echoed in his ears, he thought, ah, that’s it, then.

Jacob was there too, with Faith glued to his side. Her palms skinned and her dress torn, and the blood from Jacob’s gunshot wound seeping through dark-crimson. A steady sheet of silver rain had begun to fall, drenching them all; the chill seeped straight into his bones.

And, of course, there was Joseph. Relatively unscathed. Not an open wound in sight.

“How did—” John started, his brain still foggy from pain and, presumably, being unconscious. Joseph gripped his shoulders. There was a kind of look in his eye; fervent, urgent, and John realized that it had been there all along—that his brother had always looked like this, and maybe he had just gotten used to looking into different eyes as of late.

“Our followers have stayed true,” Joseph told him, his voice low. “The Collapse remains on the horizon. Perhaps—”

His brother stopped, as though to gauge himself.

“Perhaps,” he began again, “not as close as I thought. I prayed, John. I prayed for us—for you, and for your child, and even for...” Joseph’s mouth twisted viciously for a moment. “Even for that Delilah of yours.”

Elliot, he thought, a wave of sickening, burning fury washing over him even when the venom in Joseph’s voice doused him like gasoline. Liar. Lied to me, lied to my family, lied—

Wretchedly clever and cruel. More devil than woman. He had always known it, had loved her for it, and he couldn’t be surprised when his hand had come back from the fire burned. You can’t have both, she’d said, and she’d meant it; of course she had. He wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t the kind of woman who meant what she’d said.

“We have much to do,” Joseph plunged on, as headlights turned around the corner of the road. “God is going to speak to me, I know it. I can feel that we have so little time left, John.”

“Okay,” John said, feeling a little dazed, trailing after Joseph when he began to move to one of the nearby trucks idling. “Okay, yes, we’ll—what do we do about—”

He stopped, opening the door to the car automatically for Faith to climb in. Of them all, he thought maybe he was the least fucked up—outwardly, anyway. Inside, his body felt like it had been jumbled around, tossed like a fucking salad at Olive Garden. The ache in his head didn’t dull as the seconds ticked by.

Jacob paused. The redhead’s mouth twisted, like he was biting back the things he wanted to say; John knew it had to be something like I fucking told you, I told you the situation wasn’t under control, I knew you couldn’t control her, but the words didn’t come out.

And in his own mouth, words sat, too: I’m sorry, I know I fucked up, but I know I can get her back.

Not can. Would. Would get her back, no matter what. By any means necessary.

“John,” Jacob barked out, and he realized that moments had passed—maybe minutes—of him standing in the rain, the door of the truck open. He moved on autopilot, hauling himself into the back seat of the truck and slamming the door shut.

The air inside the truck was humid, fizzing and popping with a strange energy. He could taste it on his tongue, electric; ozone; vibrating in his mouth and in his skeleton. Some of it the storm outside, and some of it the fury in his mouth, so potent it had become tangible.

Mine, he thought, shifting as pain splintered up his spine and shoulder. My wife. My baby. She thinks she’s done with us, huh? Not even fucking close.

“We have much to do,” Joseph murmured as the truck pulled a u-turn and began its route back to the compound. “Now, more than ever.” Through the rearview mirror, his gaze met John’s; lingered for a moment, and only a moment. “We will find her, John. Her, and your child.”

John felt his eyes flutter. Exhaustion was already beginning to try and take its toll on him. “She traded us in.”

“Yes,” Joseph replied, and his voice was terse, sharper than normal. “But God is ever merciful. And are we not to liken ourselves in his image, so that we may be as holy?”

He didn’t know if he wanted Elliot back to be holy. He thought maybe he wanted her back because she belonged to him—because they belonged to each other, two wretched creatures, and she owed him, and he would have what was rightfully his. What he was owed.

“Yes,” John agreed hoarsely. “Just as holy.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nothing like dry-heaving over a toilet with your mother standing by.

“You know,” Scarlet said, “us Honeysett women have always taken well to childbearing. You were the most perfect baby, Elliot.”

Her mother was perched on the edge of the sink, a glass of rosé (chilled glass, of course) in her hand, golden curls perfectly pinned and coiffed and the floor-length maxi dress pressed to perfection—in stark contrast to Elliot, gripping the edge of the toilet in her sweats, stomach somersaulting and trying its best to achieve Olympic level gymnastics.

You’re not a Honeysett woman, she thought exhaustedly. You’re a fucking Graves woman. She managed to spit, taking in a long-suffering breath. “You said I was colicky.”

“Well, yes. But I never got morning sickness.”

Elliot gritted her teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the hot wave of nausea rolling over her, prickling sickly heat along her spine in warning. “That’s awesome, mama. Good for—” She swallowed. “Good for you. So glad. Really cool.” She exhaled. “Thank goodness it’s five in the afternoon. What’s that, then? Afternoon sickness?”

“Mm.” Her mother sipped at her wine, setting it on the counter with a little clink that somehow managed to sound three thousand times louder in her wretched state. “Yes, we’ve always been excellent vessels for our children.”

“That’s lo-uuh—” She closed her eyes tight. “Lovely.”

Scarlet’s fingers brushed her hair back from her face, cinching it in a ponytail. “Must be the father.”

You don’t fucking say? Elliot wanted to spit, but there was no room. Scarlet Honeysett tolerated a great many things—poor weather on the day of her events, a lukewarm glass to transport her alcohol, the repeated and systematic abandonment of her by her husband—but a mouthy child she did not.

“Educated inference,” is what she said instead. “I think I’m done.”

“Well.” Scarlet looked at her, arching a manicured brow. “Stay here for a while longer, then, just so you don’t go puking on my carpet.”

“Thanks, mama.”

“Mmhm.”

When her mother swept out of the bathroom and took with her the scent of her perfume—normally familiar and comforting, now only nausea-inducing—Elliot closed the door with her foot and leaned back against the wall in the bathroom. Her chest was burning; the strain of dry-heaving while the skin on her chest was still tight and healing was enough to have probably broken it open if she hadn’t been meticulously taking care of it.

And thank God her mother hadn’t seen that yet.

After a few more minutes of questioning whether or not she was going to actually puke, Elliot pushed herself to her feet and rinsed her mouth out with Listerine. It had not been easy, the last two weeks. Not only was she acclimating to living with her mother again—a thing which she had not done since she was in high school—but she was doing it pregnant. Pregnant, and with the child’s father nowhere to be.

Her arrival at the ancestral Graves home—a meticulously kept two-story historic building that had not only been in their family for so many years, but was planted on twenty acres of premium real estate in what was otherwise a small town named Weyfield—had been a tumultuous one, to be sure. Though her mother seemed inquisitive about what had occurred, she wasn’t even aware that anything had been happening at all.

Because she hadn’t been there.

“What do you mean?” Elliot had asked, incredulous.

“Well, I always come down here when the weather is starting to turn,” Scarlet had replied idly, squeezing her lime wedge dry into her glass. “I left In July.”

“The weather is not turning in July.”

“Some of us, Elli,” her mother had snipped, “are sensitive to changes in the weather. It’s not my fault you couldn’t feel it. Nor my fault that you didn’t answer my phone calls.”

It provided, at the very least, a bit of leeway when it came to explaining what was going on. Her mother had, of course, been aware of the Seeds in some capacity; but only in the kind of capacity that she thought them a zealous nuisance, and a little slimy—“Except for the oldest one, he seems like a good man,” she’d said, much to Elliot’s disgust—but nothing more than that.

This meant that Elliot didn’t need to tell her anything she didn’t want to. For now. Until the news broke, if it ever did; it seemed like headlines these days were more preoccupied with what was going on overseas than what was going on within the States’ own borders.

“Here,” Scarlet said, planting a pill bottle in her hand. “Take one of these thirty minutes before you go to bed.”

“What are these?”

“Sleeping pills,” her mother explained.

Elliot’s mouth twisted. “I sleep fine.”

“If you slept at all, I might believe you. I know you, Elli, I birthed you from my own womb, and you’ve never been a good sleeper.” The blonde paused. “And I hear you at night, you know, moving around. You and that hound.”

Boomer was fairly good at being stealthy, but perhaps not so much so in a house that was almost exclusively hardwood flooring. She’d have to remember that the next time she decided to go on a walk at three in the morning.

Elliot looked at the label. Eszopiclone, it said. S. Honeysett. “I probably shouldn’t take your prescription, mama.” And why are you giving me sleeping pills you should be taking, anyway?

“You need to sleep,” Scarlet said firmly. “For you and baby.”

It took a concerted effort to swallow back bile that tried to surge up her throat—for some reason, the knowledge that there was now a she and a baby, that she was both herself and vessel, made her nausea want to kick in. She hadn’t been sleeping, it was true. Not for lack of trying, either. She’d drink some kind of stupid sleepy-time tea, settle herself into the bed, and lay there. And wait.

And wait.

But every time she’d close her eyes, she would be assaulted by images; Joey, jaw snapped and hanging loose from her face. Kian, face a bloody pulp. The blood seeping down her chest from the WRATH scar John had left. And John, of course.

He was always there, too. His eyes on her, his hands on her, his mouth on her.

So good, hellcat, it’s gonna look so good on you.

I’m all yours, just take what you need, I’ll give you anything, anything.

I’m fucking it for you.

I love you, Elliot.

“... listening to me?”

Elliot blinked. Her eyes burned, stinging with the threat of tears, and she swallowed thickly again. It felt like choking. Things often felt like choking, nowadays—things like breathing, swallowing, sleeping. It all felt too much for her to take, sometimes. Like she was deranged.

“I’m sorry,” she managed out, her voice barely breaking a whisper, and the second she felt the slip of a tear down her cheek she quickly wiped it away and sniffed. “I’m sorry, mama, I wasn’t.”

Something in her mother’s expression shifted for just a moment. Her eyes swept over Elliot, like maybe she thought she could see what it was that was really ailing her. Scarlet had tried to pry about John; she’d tried to figure out who it was that had left her daughter destitute, like this. What she didn’t know was that Elliot had left him destitute.

He deserves it, she thought through the heavy wave of exhaustion. Whatever they do to him, he deserves it.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” her mother suggested after a moment. “Dinner in an hour.”

“I’m going for a walk,” Elliot replied, tucking the bottle into her pocket for later. “Boomer gets crazy if I don’t.”

“Well, can’t have that. Back in an hour, then, bunny.”

She slipped past her mother, snagging the dog leash by the door and calling for the Heeler. He came sprinting down the stairs delightedly, and Elliot opened the door so he could go racing out. He’d certainly gotten less time running than he had prior to this, but he seemed in better spirits, anyway—new smells, friendly people. It was a dog’s dream.

“Don’t forget you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” her mother called after her. “I’m taking you in at nine A.M. sharp.”

“Yes, mama.”

The afternoon had passed by in a blitz, as it was wont to do in late Autumn, and now Elliot found herself with so little golden daylight left; but she thought maybe she liked it best like this, walking with Boomer darting around ahead of her, watching the sky wring the last little rays of light out of the sun before it dipped fully behind the mountains.

I love you, Elliot.

She stopped walking, closing her eyes for a moment. A low, dull headache had begun to bloom behind her eyes. Lack of sleep, probably. Lack of sleep, and now she had a—

A fucking baby, she thought, with no absence of despair.

Boomer had doubled back when she stopped moving, and for a moment Elliot felt a vicious sting in her chest. Cry, it said, when the dog nosed her hand with a cold nose. Cry, it said, when she struggled to sit down in the damp, chilly grass, and Boomer could push his face into hers.

She had been alone, before. Alone in all the world. But not anymore.

Boomer tucked his face against her neck and stayed there, panting his hot doggy breath down the collar of her shirt. And as dusk fell, and the first speckling of stars started to make their appearance, Elliot felt herself come undone.

Just a little bit; just for now, while she could bury her face into her dog’s fur and cry, she would come undone.

And when she was finished, she would get up and walk back home. She would sit down and have dinner with her mother, and listen to her complain that while the doctor they were going to see was quite new but supposedly very nice, and she’d take a sleeping pill so that she could hopefully get some peace of mind for one night. In the morning, she would get up and out of bed, and she would keep living. That was all she could do.

For now, though—for a little while, she would let herself grieve. And every time she thought she couldn’t do it anymore—every time she thought she’d reached the absolute bottom—she’d keep fucking digging. What would she do with grief, if not lug it?

She would never heal otherwise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Where the fuck is Weyfield?”

Jacob’s derisive tone did nothing to help John’s mood. Hunched over a map, the scattered papers of the file he hadn’t thrown away, eyes stinging, he thought he’d felt shittier only once before—long before his reuniting with Joseph. Back before he’d been cleansed.

He’d read every paper three times over. Stared at her photo for hours. Nothing felt any better than it had two weeks ago, when she’d been screaming that she would kill him.

“Some nowhere corner of Georgia,” John muttered, passing a hand over his face. “Her file says she was born in Weyfield, but that can’t be right—that shit is so small. Like, population three hundred, maybe? And her mom’s rich, which means—”

“Probably some kind of old money, then,” Jacob suggested. “Historic home. Lots of farmland surrounding it. Didn’t you say her grandfather was a racing jockey, mom never worked, or something? Gotta have room for horses and big fancy homes to go with those horses.”

Oh, John thought absently. Oh, of course. Of course her mother is a trust-fund baby. They would have an ancestral home, wouldn’t they?

They’d been back at the compound for a few weeks; Joseph had been secluded, alone, ruminating and marinating or whatever else it was he had to do to really hear God, and that meant John had been free to figure out what his plan was. So far, it was pretty bare bones.

Find Elliot and baby. Bring Elliot and baby home.

Joseph did not have a timeline, yet. He didn’t even know what it was that had delayed the Collapse—not quite. He had fervently insisted he be left alone to himself and God, to ensure that there were no interruptions—“Interruptions,” he’d said, “interfered with it last time, I won’t have it again,”—and so John, Jacob, and Faith had been left to rebuild what they could.

What members of Eden’s Gate remained after the veritable slaughter the Family had brought upon them were run ragged, but the nice thing about having an enemy meant that they were bound together by the same hatred.

“So that’s it, huh?” Jacob asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Weyfield, for the little hellcat?”

“That’s it.” John sucked his teeth and came to a stand, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “I should head out to Atlanta as soon as possible. I’ll need—”

“That’s a big city,” his eldest brother cautioned.

“That city has resources I’ll need. As much as I’d like to think that I could just track her down and we’ll kiss and make-up, I get the feeling that if I don’t do this the right way, it’ll be dragging her back kicking and screaming.” He paused, his voice tightening. “And I will be getting her back.”

Jacob watched him for a moment. He exhaled out of his mouth before he reached over, planting a hand on John’s shoulder. He half expected his brother to say something like, just forget it, Johnny, or it’s not worth running the risk of getting recognized, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Be careful, keep in touch. And get my nephew back, yeah?”

John swallowed thickly. There was a lot wrapped up in those words; a lot that he had yet to parse through. Blinding, insatiable fury, that he had been tricked and lied to and deceived, but above all else—above all of that, he missed—

No, he thought, hands shaking and jaw clenching as he pulled his coat on. No, above all else, Elliot belongs to me, and that’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Don’t know it’s a boy,” he managed out, with all of those whispers rattling incessantly in his head. Jacob smiled.

“Joseph does.”

“I suppose so.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, and for the first time in a long time, John felt closer to Jacob than he did to Joseph—and maybe that was because he hadn’t seen his brother’s face in weeks, or maybe it was because he knew that for some strange reason, Jacob was pleased to have Elliot come back, and Joseph might not be.

Not if he was being honest, anyway.

“Off I go,” John blurted out, worried that he would get stuck in an infinite loop of trying to parse out things that weren’t meant for him to understand. “I’ll call when I get there.”

“Take someone with you?”

“It’ll just slow me down. Besides, I’m trying to not draw attention.” He paused, hesitating at the doorway of the church. “You’ll tell me when he knows, right?”

When he knows how much time I have?

Jacob’s expression hardened. He nodded once, short. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

John pushed the door open, stepping out into the night. It was chilly; soon, it’d be snowing, if it didn’t do so that very night, and the compound’s courtyard was bustling with sleepy life. As he climbed into the truck and took a breath to calm the rapid, unsteady beating of his heart, he closed his eyes for just one moment.

Just for now, he thought tiredly. I’m going to take a breath just for now, and then—

And then one more breath, and then another, turning the key in the ignition and shutting the radio off and throwing the car into drive, and then one more breath, until he was breathing all the way to fucking Georgia. He was going to get his wife back.

One way or another.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #far cry 5 fic #fc5 oc #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #i'm not cry ur cry #i have said thank you so many times and it will NEVER BE ENOUGH #but i wanted to keep things concise. but #thank you #<3 #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #john seed/original female character

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ubernoxa · 5 years ago

Text

THE DARE: A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 18: Trixy the Bitch

(Masterlist)

Taglist: @queen-crue

“Oh My God Mags it was so embarrassing,” Delilah screamed as Mags finished doing Delilah’s makeup.

“Don’t be embarrassed Delilah, Duff obviously enjoyed it,” Mags simply replied as she leaned against the wall behind her.

It had been a day and Delilah still wasn’t over what Duff did to her while she teased him on his truck. The entire time she was painting the banner that is all she could think about. She really enjoyed it, but part of her was nervous.

“What if I make a fool of myself tonight?” Delilah now whined as she sat on the toilet lid. It was the best makeshift chair they could come up with that was in good lighting.

“Don’t worry, he’ll think it’s cute,” Mags reached forward and held Delilah’s hands.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” Mags laughed at Delilah’s explanation. Whether she was referring to life in general or relationships, it didn’t matter.

“The beauty of life is that none of us know what we’re doing. We’re just reacting to the shit that happens around us. If you’re referring to the..intimacy...part of the whole relationship, then that will come with time. Everyone has to start somewhere. Some of us start earlier than others,” Mags tone was gentle and sweet as she spoke earning a warm smile from Delilah.

“What is he expects that I started earlier?” The words were almost inaudible as they came out of Delilah’s mouth. Duff had probably had countless girlfriend before her, there was no doubt in her mind that he knew what he was doing.

“Del, I hate to be rude, but everyone kinda figures that you’re at the point where you’re just...starting...to explore this type of stuff which is COMPLETLY fine. Promise me you won’t feel pressure to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Delilah nodded at Mag’s words.

“Ok, now let’s get going to the show. The plan is to meet the guys at their place and travel with them that way it will be easier for us to get backstage. This is a bigger venue and they are opening for Crue which has gained a bit of press lately,” Mags added as Delilah quickly followed her.

When they got to the guys’ place it was absolute chaos. What little clothing the guys had was thrown across the apartment. Mags and Delilah had to weave around the instrument cases that were scattered by the front door. At least they tried to get somewhat organized. When she saw the backstage passes tied to the various cases, Mags knew that Steff or Trixie had been here.

“Hey Mags hows it going,” Mags was immediately greeted by a tall blonde as she walked in leaving Delilah to feel very awkward. She tried to focus her attention on the mess that now covered the apartment.

“I’m doing good Stef, this is Del,” Mags said as Delilah was immediately bought into a hug. The smell of honey filled Delilah’s senses. It was relaxing. She didn’t know why, but it calmed her.

“Nice to finally meet you!” She explained before they followed her to the less chaotic living room.

“I love the smell of your perfume, is it honey?” Delilah asked.

A smile grew on Stef as she nodded. “Yes it is. Stevie adores the scent. If you want you can totally borrow it sometime.”

Stef’s and Delilah conversation was cut short as Mags spoke. “Hey, Trixy, this is Del.”

Trixy sat on the old couch barely covered in her tight white leather dress like a queen on her throne. She was a model plucked right off the runway.

Delilah wished she was a turtle that could hide back in her shell. Every inch of Trixy intimidates her. By height of her heels, Delilah knew Trixie would tower over her.

“So this is the infamous Del,” Trixy said as Delilah sat down on a chair. He tone wasn’t sweet like Stef’s. Trixy’s voice was laced with poison. She was without a doubt a King Kobra and Delilah was a baby mouse.

“The one and only? I take it Duff had mentioned me,” Delilah smiled as she sat down in a chair. She fidgeted with the peach hem of her dress that rested on thigh.

“Well more like all of the guys. They love your cooking, and from what I’ve heard I can’t wait to try some too. The banner you and Axl worked on looks amazing as well,” Steff added attempting to lighten the mood. Steff hadn’t known Trixy long, but she knew where this was going.

To say Trixy was territorial was an understatement. There were parts of Trixy that Stef loved. For example Trixy knew how to have fun and had a great sense in fashion. She also was a good friend, when it was convenient, but at least she tried.

Delilah felt all of her nerves melt away once Steff spoke. For some reason, Delilah had felt like an outcast, but now Delilah felt a lot more comfortable. She was practically apart of the GNR family.

“I’ll probably be making some tomorrow morning. It helps me wake up in the morning,” Delilah shrugged.

“Where’d you learn to draw,” Trixie was fast catching Delilah off guard.

Stef leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. She hated when she was right about when Trixy was going to enter her full bitch phase. She wondered if that’s why her and Axl were so attracted to each other and dating. They’re both complete ass holes.

“It’s kinda a hidden talent. I do it when I get stressed. It helps me relax,” Delilah confessed. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

“Oh so that’s why you and Axl drew on his wall,” Delilah felt like she was being put on trial by Trixy.

Mags adjusted in her seat and made eye contact with Steff across the couch. Steff shook her head causing Mags to relax a little. It was their signal for ‘she’s not worth causing a fight’ or ‘no don’t beat her up. This will be over soon’.

“He was freaking out, and I didn’t want him to hurt himself,” Delilah confessed again. She felt her heart begin to slowly race. What was Trixie’s problem?

“Why do you care if he hurts himself?”

“I care because he’s in my boyfriend’s band. He also is a HUMAN BEING,” Mags was caught off guard by Delilah’s tone. She had never heard Delilah raise her voice.

“Hey Del, I think Duff needs some help,” Izzy popped his head into the room in attempt to interrupt Trixie’s interrogation. With most of Axl’s girlfriends, he hoped Trixie would be gone within the next week or two.

“Yeah of course,” Delilah smiled leaving the room without hesitation. The sooner she got out of that room, the better.

“Ignore her,” Izzy said under his breath.

“She’ll probably be gone in a week or two. Hopefully you’ll be around longer....I don’t mean that sarcastically. You’re good for Duff. Plus you make amazing breakfasts,” Izzy added before they arrived to Duff’s door.

“Del you can just walk in. Trust me Duff won’t mind,” Slash said squeezing around Delilah and Izzy, and walking into his shared room.

“Duff, your girl’s her,” Slash said motioning for Delilah to enter.

“Hey,” Duff smiled as Delilah sat next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” Delilah asked pushing his hair back out of his face, so she could see his eyes. They were coated with think eyeliner as they always were when he performed.

“I’m nervous,” he quickly replied.

“Good,” Delilah coldly replied as she fixed his hair.

“Good?”

“Yeah Good!” Delilah frantically threw her hands in the air.

“It means you care. This band is important to you. If you weren’t nervous then that’s means you’re not taking the next step. It means you’re not getting big enough,” Delilah tapped Duff’s nose when she finished talking earning a small laugh.

“Yeah..,” Duff sighed.

Delilah adjusted her dress and sat on his lap, facing Duff.

“How about I make you a deal?”

“I��m all ears,” Duff smiled as he looked into Delilah’s eyes.

“I’ll be in the stage wing cheering you on the entire time. If you get nervous just look over at me and I’ll be there. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great Delly!” Duff played with a couple stands of her hair that hung freely.

“Hey Slash could you give us a couple of minutes?” Duff phrased it as a question, but Slash knew he intended it to be a Nice was to tell him to get the fuck out of the room because he wanted to fuck his girlfriend. Slash hid his laugh as he left the room. It was borderline hilarious watching Duff try to be cordial when Delilah was in the room. She had him wrapped around her little finger and didn’t even know it. He couldn’t wait until he had his own room.

“You look beautiful,” Duff said as Delilah remained sitting on his lap.

“You look good too,” Delilah could feel the nerves growing in her stomach. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her heart skip a beat.

In one swift motion Duff pulled her in and began to roughly kiss her. After a few moments, he picked Delilah up and gently placed her on his bed. She was so caught up in the kiss that she hadn’t noticed what happened. Duff climbed ontop of Delilah causing the kiss to get even rougher. Duff lost it as Delilah let a small moan escape her.

“Fuck, Delly,” Duff grunted as he continued. He stood up and lifted her dress up to see her underwear.

“Fuck,” Duff looked down at Delilah’s underwear. Duff was no stranger to a woman’s underwear, but there was something about the little bow on them.

“A little present wrapped with a bow, fuck. You’re so beautiful,” Duff returned to kissing her passionately and tapping her inner thigh. Duff smirked as he felt Delilah arc her back underneath him.

“Hey, lovebirds we gotta fucking go,” a voice from outside the door yelled.

“I’m gonna kill Izzy,” Duff grumbled as he helped Delilah off his bed.

“Wait,” Duff said as he fixed Delilah’s hair.

“Thanks,” she giggled.

“Duff we gotta fucking go! You can fuck your girlfriend later,” Delilah immediately recognized the second voice to be Axl.

Delilah was silent as Duff glared at door. He wanted to kill his band mates. He could tell that Delilah was shy and new to all of this, and his band mates announcing what he wanted to do with her with everyone wasn’t helping. Her face was brighter than a tomato.

“You okay? They’re just being dicks,” Duff reached out his hand and Delilah immediately took it.

“Does everyone have their passes?” Izzy asked holding his up. Delilah shot a confused look and he slowly walked back to his room to grab Delilah’s badge earning a Jesus Christ from Izzy. How hard was it to keep track of a pass.

“I can cram a couple of people in my truck,” Duff said as they left the apartment hopping into his truck, never letting Delilah leave his side.

“Wait here I’ll be back in a second,” Duff said before he hopped out of the truck. He walked out to someone he assumed to be the stage manager who currently directing people to unload what he assumed to be Motley Crue’s stuff.

“You Izzy?” The stage manager asked as Duff and Izzy stood before him.

“Yeah,”

“Stage crew can move your drum kit, but all other instruments you gotta carry in yourselves. Crue came late, so you get the short straw,” Duff and Izzy at the man’s words.

“Drum kit is in the red truck,” Izzy motioned towards Duff’s truck.

“Should we go help?”

“No, the stage crew roadies got it,” Stef plainly answered. She was tired of sitting in the hot truck that had limited A/C.

“Thank god because I don’t think I’d be able to move Duff’s Bass amp,” Delilah replied earning a laugh from Stef.

“Do you like him?” Delilah was caught off guard by the odd question.

“Yeah, yeah I think I do,” Delilah smiled as she watched Duff through the side mirror. Him and Axl were talking to someone while motioning towards their equipment. Part of her wondered where Izzy had gone.

“You girls ready?” Delilah nodded and hopped out of the door Diff held open for her.

Duff took his sunglasses and handed them to Delilah who returned a confused expression. Why?

“We’re opening for Motley Crue. They recently announced a tour, so the press are all over this performance,” Delilah smiled at his offer. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the tabloids or in some stupid magazine. If she did, it would look like she left for him.

She put them on and immediately stuck her tongue out at him. That when she heard the click of a camera. She turned to see a photographer with his camera pointed at the two of them.

“Come on let’s go inside,” he whispered in her ear as she followed them inside.

#guns and roses #duff mckagan #gunsandroses #axl rose #gnr #axl #guns n roses #slash #steven adler #duff mckagan / oc #the dare fanfic #the dare

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kingsborodelilah · 4 years ago

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Discord Thread 001: Aaron & Delilah

FT. @kingsborodelilah, @aaronhart93, with mentions of @romanbeckett

LOCATION: Club Throuple

DATE: 7/31/2020

SUMMARY: Aaron and Delilah one into one another for the first time since their breakup. They have some small talk and Aaron buys her a drink.

Triggers? None.

Aaron was having the time of his fucking like at his boyfriend’s birthday party. He loved that they finally could be comfortable enough with their relationship to show some PDA. Aaron did love PDA, but when he was a little drunk he didn’t mind it at all. Besides, his boyfriend was hot as fuck and he couldn’t really keep his hands off of him anyway. He was having a blast, taking tequila shots with his friends and forgetting all about the drama with Alison until — Delilah Thatcher. A literal ghost from his very public past. His first love. His mouth practically gaped open when he saw her for the first time in years. “D-Delilah...shit. Uh, hi. You’re back in the city?”

Delilah simply could not say no to a party. It didn't really matter where she was, if there was, you could probably find her there. So, there she was at the club, dressed up and looking to have a good time. She was about to order herself a drink to start everything off when she locked eyes with a familiar face. It was Aaron. She stopped where she was by the bar, a curious brow raising. "Pretty sure that's my name," she joked as she let out a chuckle. "But yeah, I am."

Aaron looked around the bar, he wasn’t sure who he was looking for or why he was looking — he was just suddenly very nervous. This was the first time he’d seen Delilah since the show ended. He moved to Kingsboro immediately after the show was over, and had no idea where Delilah had went. He had heard she was doing great things with her dancing and he was so happy for her. Of course he was happy for her. She was his first love. “Did, uh, did you move to Kingsboro?” He shouted over the music.

Delilah nodded her head at Aaron's question. "Yeah, I just moved here the other day. Still getting everything situated at my place," she spoke. Oh god, this was nothing sort of awkward. But, she wasn't going to seem like that in front of him. Nope, she was going to look like her normally confident self. "Guess I just wanted to be closer to family, and my older brother," she spoke. It had been ages since she was just a quick drive to Finn and her own parents, not an entire flight across the country.

Aaron made an O with his lips and leaned against the bar. “Well — welcome back to the city. Your career has really been taking off. Congratulations.” Aaron did actually know that her brother had moved into Kingsboro a few years ago but he had managed to avoid him as much as possible so far. He would imagine that he wasn’t exactly his ex’s brother’s favorite person. “ let me know if you need help moving in or anything. I’d be happy to help.” Aaron was determined to her in her good side. They didn’t have a great history and Aaron knew that was his fault. He was determined to make things right. He’d changed a lot since they dated and he wanted to show her that.

"Um, thank you," she spoke simply. Nothing more. The two of them had kept their distance throughout the years since their break up. Thought they hadn't seen each other in person, they exchanged brief text messages through one another but that was pretty much the extent of what their relationship had been. So right now? It was a bit surreal. "I, uh, hired movers to help me but I'll keep that in mind," she nodded her head. Delilah wasn't really sure if she wanted her ex-boyfriend to help her with moving into her new place......it seemed a little odd.(edited)

All the memories of falling in love with her came flooding back as they spoke. He was such a child back then; immature and still living off his father’s money with no regard for it. God, he fell so hard for the woman in front of him. She had someone changed so much, yet not at all since he’s seen her last. I wasn’t sure if there could ever be a friendship between the pair; he was working on one with Eden and not he felt like he needed to work to fix this relationship as well. “Okay...yeah just... let me know.” He told her, nodding once. “Um... can I buy you drink?” He looked behind her then over her shoulder, looking for his high boyfriend to make sure he was okay. No luck. Where was he?

"I will," she offered him a smile. Even if it was forced, she could muster enough within her to act civil. Deep down, there was still a bit of a sting that went with seeing the older boy. They had history to say the least, enough that ended oh so terribly all of those years ago. A thick brow was raised in curiously at the offer of a drink being bought for her. "Um, sure," Delilah nodded her head. She always liked having things bought for her, even if was by an ex.August 2, 2020

Aaron waved down the bartender, and ordered the drink that she always used to get — he didn’t know how things had change. What her drink order was now. Nearly 6 years had passed, after all; Des’ whole life. God, she was even more beautiful now then she was then — he couldn’t even believe that was possible. “You still drink this?” He finally asked as their drinks were served. “You know I own this bar?” He asked. He had no idea why he asked that — Did she remember the club he named after her in Manhattan?

It didn't take long for a bartender to come their way and she was quick to see that Aaron ordered her the drink she typically got when they went out. For a second, things felt like how they did back in the day....drinks flying while she was with the person she loved. She nodded her head as she took the glass, taking a small sip from it. "Some things don't change, Aaron," she replied. "But no, I didn't know that. How many do you own now, moneybags?" she joked.August 3, 2020

He looked down at her, taking in how she looked, the way she dressed. How similar yet different she was now compared to when they were dating. Aaron smiled and let out a chuckle. He slid his hand in his pocket and leaned against the bar. He always admired her wit, and how much fun she was. She always had the ability to make him smile like that. "Five clubs, one restaurant, maybe a brewery soon." He bragged. "How many music videos have you been in now, tinkle toes?" He countered, raising his brow and smirking over at her.

Delilah was liking this; the playful banter. Things were still nothing short of awkward but she could be okay with this. The alcohol sure was helping calm her spirits and help her feel like her typical self. Taking another sip from her glass, she nodded her head. "Sure seems like you have a lot on your plate, are you sure you can handle a brewery too? Jeez," she chuckled. "I have happened to be in lots of videos, plenty of one's have hit million of streams. I just got off of a pretty major tour too," she pointed out.

The businessman shook his head. "Please, you know there's nothing I *can't *do. And I got rid of the porn, which took up a lot of my time so there's plenty of space on my plate for some side projects." He mused, giving her a nonchalant shrug. He immediately thought of Marissa as he watched her speak -- how she didn't get to see her Delilah like Aaron was right now. He also thought about the history between him and the woman in front of him; all the bullshit they went through on the show had to mean that they could get through anything, right? They could still be friends. "Who were you touring with?" He asked. "Ali's about to tour again soon -- you should catch up with her too." He looked around the room again. "She's not here tonight though. She's old." He joked, even though she was actually a couple months younger than him.

"Listen, not everybody is perfect....not even you," she continued with the joking. Aaron's hardwork and ambition was always something she could admire about him. He truly was always busy with something and was very well known within the city for it. Delilah was the same way, though she was much more interested in the dancing and modeling world as of late. "I was on tour with Sia. She's really awesome to work with," she admitted. "How is Alison doing? And everyone else from the show? Hard to believe it's been so long since Rich Kids, we were just well....kids back then," she shrugged her shoulders.

A satisfied smirk appeared across the older’s face. They always had this good, playful back and forth. They always just clicked like that. She had always kept him on his toes when they were dating; always trying to outwit each other. “I’m pretty close to perfect though.” He teased. His phone buzzed in the back of his pocket. He grabbed it and realized he had three texts from Ro. He squinted to read the texts, but decided to shove his phone back in his pocket instead of responding. He was just smoking with Khai outside anyway. There was no way he was going out there to hang out with him. “That sounds really fun.” He said, bringing his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Must’ve been an amazing experience. Congratulations.” Aaron smiled when he brought up Alison. They were still ‘taking a break from each other’. Whatever that meant. But she was still his best friend. “She’s — um — she’s great. I’m sure you heard about the new album. And Des is doing wonderful. She’ll be six on the 28th.” Aaron and Delilah had broken up while Alison was pregnant, and had only met Des once or twice when she was a baby. “You will be amazed at how she grew.” He chuckled. “We’re grown ass adults now. Or — at least we’re supposed to be grown.” He mused.

"Well, if you are perfect, what am I?" she raised a curious brow. She wondered what his response would be. Delilah didn't consider herself a perfect individual, even though many people would be envious of the kind of life style she lived. She had so many many people who looked up to her and saw her as an inspiration, having already accomplished so much in her young age. She wasn't done yet in her career and she had lots of plans on becoming a better version of herself. "It is, I love going out on tours bur for now, it's nice to have some time to relax, for the most part," she admitted. "Sometimes I forget that you have a kid, I feel like half of our castmates have settled down and had families. "Then there's me, I'm just married to my career," she laughed. It was true, dance was her child.

His smirked grew bigger when she continued playing with him. "I said close to perfect. No one's perfect, you're right but you might just be the closest person to perfect that I know." He cooed, chuckling. The show had brought a lot of opportunities for many of his cast mates -- Alison, Harry, Aaron, Marissa, and Delilah too. They were lucky to have all been able to know each other, and now they were supportive in each other's careers. "Vacation is good. I just went to Paris and Japan in June." He told her. He couldn't believe that was that long ago at this point. "Trust me, I don't forget I have a kid. She's impossible to forget because she's the loudest person I know." He laughed. "Hey, you can still be a parent and married to your career. I am." He told her.

"So basically what you are saying is that I'm the closest person to perfect that you personally know? How charming," she kept the jokes coming as she tucked a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. At one point in their lives, she happened to her such a statement a lot. Their relationship might not have lasted a long time, but it sure felt like it did. They fell hard and quick, their feeling strong for one another. "I should book a vacation for myself, but I want to get fully settled here before I make my next moves," she spoke. "You know how I've always been, Aaron. Not sure if a family is in the books for me right now, plus I'm not quite ready to settle down yet, I still have too much fun to get out of my system,"

The man gave her a confident nod. "Yep." He giggled. "You know me, always a charmer." He cooed. Aaron knew Delilah well. At least, he knew the her that she was when they were dating very well. She hadn't seemed to change so much even though her career had taken off. Aaron, on the other hand, had changed a lot since they had broken up. It was mostly the way his relationship ended with her, the way his relationship ended with Aria and Des being born that really woke up him and told him to get his shot together. "Vacations are good. You should do it." He encouraged her. Aaron put his arms out to his sides. "I'm out here, having fun! Not settled down. I'm still in my 20s. The party doesn't end when you're Aaron Hart." He laughed. "I hope you don't think I'm lame just because I have a kid." He teased.

"I have no idea where I'd want to vacation, it's something I'd really have to think about," she admitted. Delilah could honestly vacation anywhere in the world, she had the money for it now. She had grown up middle class, not super rich but her family lived comfortably. It was almost still a little crazy how much money she had brought in from touring and her various movies and music videos she had stared in. Hard work paid off, huh? "To answer your question, no....I do not think you're lame. We're in our late twenties now, plenty of people start families by now. You don't need to prove yourself to me, unless you really want to make me believe you aren't a lame ass dad now," she laughed.

"Paris. That should always be your go to." He said, way too overeager. "You still know that's my favorite place right?" He gave her a charming smile before sipping his drink. "Good, because I'm not. I'm a cool dad. And I want to stay that way too." He mused. "I'm happy with the way everything is going with me, Des, Ali and Ro- m-my , uh, my boyfriend." He cleared his throat, smile faltering a bit. He took another large sig of his drink. "But, uh, yeah a lot of my friends in their 20s have kids too. So I think I'm in track." He pressed his lips together. This had been such a good conversation up until he word vomitted.

”The city of love? Yeah I remember it,” she recalled. Even though it had been years since their break up, she could remember the little things Aaron liked. She wondered if he could remember too, since she was his first real relationship. Taking another sip from her drink, she nodded. “Oh, your boyfriend? Seems like you’ve been quite the busy man these last few years,” she chucked. “Is this Roman fellow someone I should worry about?” She joked, secretly liking to mess with him like this.

He nodded. "Of course you do. You always remember the important things." He mused, smiling down at her. Delilah was something very special to Aaron. She was his first love, after all. Feelings like that don't ever go away. Even if Aaron was the one to inevitably be the cause of the break up. "I have. I seem to be starting a new project every few months or so. It's going great. Look at us; both of our careers taking off." Aaron smiled though when he realized that Delilah was just messing with him. Like the old days. "Nothing, nothing. He's great. He dances too. He's an off broadway performer actually." He said, boasting about his boyfriend's talent. Speaking of..he pulled out his phone to shoot him a quick text back, telling him where he was then slid his phone in his back pocket.

”Oh, he dances too? Seems like you have a type,” she pointed out. Delilah’s biggest passion happened to be dancing and she was always eager to hear when someone else liked to do it too. “What shows has he done? One of the reasons why I wanted to move back here was to possibly see if I might like broadway shows or not. I don’t know, try something new?” She explained herself.

Aaron shook his head and chuckled. “I guess so.” He mused. “I know he was a dancer in Wicked on Broadway but now he owns his own off broadway theater here in Kingsboro. He’s starring in and directing Rocketman that’s playing right now.” He smiled. “I think you’d be great at that, Del.” He confessed.

"Wicked? Seems like he has taste," she nodded her head. Wicked wasn't her favorite musical but it was a classic and true staple when it comes to Broadway shows within the city. "I'm going to try and see if any place would want someone like me. I like to think I'm versatile and have the experience," she added on.

He nodded confidently. "He does. But I also think he kind of just took what he got, ya know? He definitely gets to be more creative now that he owns his own theater company." He nodded. "I mean, Bullskits will more certainly take someone as talented as you are." He told her. It was weird that he wanted his ex-partner to work with his new partner, but he knew she would fit in. "I could definitely talk to Roman...if you want." He was unsure if she would take his help. She was always so independent.

"Well, you gotta start somewhere - huh? I've done my fair share of pure grunt work and being a backup dancer, simply so I can just put my name out there," she admitted. LA was hard for her at first, not landing every single job or audition that she had applied for. Eventually, she grew to hold quite a nice resume and background for herself. "Um, maybe? I can always send over my resume and set up an audition or something. It's worth a shot."

"Exactly." He nodded. "You get it." Aaron scratched his head, and once again scanned the room for his boyfriend. It was his birthday, so why was he talking to his ex? "Yes. Send it to me and I'll make sure to give it to him." He told her, enthusiastically. "Speaking of my boyfriend," he began, putting his hand on her shoulder, "It's his birthday, and I should probably go find him." This was awkward as fuck for him, but he wasn't sure if Delilah was feeling the same way. Without even asking her, he pulled her in for a hug. "Catch up more soon, Del?"

"I never to update mine, but I'll make sure to remember to do that," she spoke, finishing off the drink that had been ordered for her. "Oh well, Happy Birthday to him. Hope he's having fun so far,"Delilah added on, knowing that birthday parties were always a little stressful to enjoy when you were out like this. "But yeah, totally," she hugged him for a quick moment before pulling back, feeling odd after the act. Sure, they were asking civil in the moment, but she still didn't quite know where she stood with him.

#( ch: Aaron )#( threads )#( discord thread: 001 )

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seromreven · 6 years ago

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title: flowers grow tall.

pairing: starrison, (george harrison/ringo starr).

summary: written for friends’ au ‘baby you’re a rich man’ on instagram.

also posted on ao3.

“Normality is a paved road:

It’s comfortable to walk but no flowers grow.”

Vincent Van Gogh.

Ringo woke up late one Wednesday noon. Something that wasn’t unusual in the Starr household. In fact; one could say that noon was early for the young man. Ringo knew it wasn’t good for him to sleep so late, but he was a rut. An emotional rut. With only himself to blame, really. He felt he was doing the same thing day in and day out. All alone. With brings up another thing for which was causing his rut. He was in love. Usually, one would think, that would be a happy occasion. One to feel giddy and happy about, one with no cloudy days. But not for Ringo. For he was in love with his gardener, George Harrison, and for that reason, he couldn’t do anything about his feelings. He couldn’t ruin the budding relationship with which he had built with the younger man since his hiring. And surely it would be unorthodox; he was George’s employer after all. And Ringo, admittedly, was nonetheless scared to risk it. Scared to say anything even near the topic of crushes and love. And even if he did risk it; it wasn’t like the feelings would be mutual. How could it be?

Ringo heaved a sigh and forced himself out of bed. He could tell the housekeeper had been in. His drapes pulled apart and the wine bottle from the night before gone, together with the stains on the table. As he sat on the side of his bed, flexing his toes before standing up, he noticed a vase on his nightstand that wasn’t there the day before. It was filled with gardenias from his garden and was surprised that he hadn’t noticed them earlier as they emitted a strong pleasant scent, renewing him of his hope for the day, for more than just that.

Not much further away from the awakening Ringo, down in the mansion’s great garden, a man with long brown hair tied into a messy bun was hard at work. Studying the flowerbeds, mending the earth, shaping the bushes. He was the gardener. He had been here since early morning and still, he could tell he had a long day ahead of him. The amaryllis looked worse for wear and the sight broke his heart. It had been a stormful few days, record-breaking he had heard on the radio and tried not to have his hopes up upon his return to work. And it looked like he was right not too. It had looked like a bulldozer had torn through the garden, vengeful machinery angry in throwing flowers and plants alike left and right. He sighed and looked around. He had met in early purposely to see the damages and a piece of him wished he had stayed away altogether. But the work had to be done, and he loved the garden so.

The gardener, George Harrison, looked over to the thorn bushes and sighed as he went over to them. Hands on his hips; he looked down upon the mess and paused, it could easily be fixed, he knew this. But it still brought a certain kind of sadness. To see nature fight nature in such a way. But in the ruins of the garden, new life could grow. A meow was heard from the bundle of leaves in front of him, and out came the source. It was Starr, his cat who had so loyally followed him earlier that day on his walk to work. George picked up the darling cat, nuzzling his face down into the luscious fur which earned him a purr. Putting the animal down, he turned and noticed he was watched.

From one of the many windows facing the garden, one stood out. It was his employer’s, Ringo Starr, bedroom window and there, saw George, the man himself stood looking out. George threw a hasty smile and wave but quickly turning back around as he felt his face flush. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the staring, admittingly a part of him did, which was where the problem lied. He liked Ringo. More than a friend, an employer, and it was a torment. Nothing could come of it. There was the status inequality. He was poor. Ringo wasn’t. Really wasn’t. He was a man with means and connections. And George didn’t want to be a cause of ruin, as he was certain a relationship like theirs could bring. But, surely, Ringo felt nothing alike for George than he himself did for Ringo. He needed to take some kind, any kind, of comfort in that.

So he returned to the ruined garden. A fitting metaphor, he thought somberly and returned to work.

Once Ringo had dressed; he made his way down the grand staircases with the scent of gardenias lingering in his nostrils and with George on his mind still. He hadn’t meant to stare at the aforementioned man in the garden. And certainly not long enough to be caught. And while he for a short while was embarrassed, a warm light feeling and introduced itself to his chest, bringing forth a smile and erasing all regret.

He reached the kitchen. A massive room with marble tiles and sunlight beaming through the windows. A small of coffee and freshly baked bread greeted him as he stepped inside. Inside stood the housekeeper, going through a folder, who quickly noticed his presence. Shutting the folder; she looked to him with a polite smile, “Morning, Monsieur Starr,” she greeted. Astride Harrier was a robust woman of French nationality at the end of her fifties, a woman he had known most of his life and who had worked for his father before him. “Letters arrived for you, Monsieur, I have placed them next to your coffee.” She said and went out of the room with a smile. Ringo smiled in return; he had told her often to just refer to him with his first name to always no avail. He looked over the letters. Three of them. One from his mother and he wondered anxious what it could be about, usually she would just call him. One from a J.Lennon that he didn’t know. And a third dealing with work that he just didn’t have the headspace for right now.

But before he could look into any of that, he felt a plush tingling at his ankles and looked down. It was a cat. And not just any cat, his gardener’s little Delilah. It’s soft mews intensified as he bent down to pet her. It was a pleasant creature, always ensuring to lift his spirits. It was only when the small animal left his arms that he noticed he wasn’t the only man in the room. At the kitchen door leading to the garden stood the owner of Delilah. Cowered in the dirt with his shoes off and arms full of tea roses; stood George Harrison, the source of butterflies and fit of flushes. Ringo hurried up, almost knocking into the kitchen aisle at his side and a stammered a greeting. “I, um, didn’t notice you there.” He looked from the other man to the letters on the aisle, unsure of what to do with himself. “It’s alright. I didn’t say anything.” He heard George say and glanced at him, noticing a smile. The cat was pacing back and forth between the legs of the two men.

Ringo, as much as he didn’t want to, turned his back to George and looked down at the letters; willing his sudden thoughts away. His thoughts about wiping the dirt of the other man’s brow and cheeks. Gently holding his hands, washing them clean of dirt. He heard soft gentle laughter and the tapping of shoes as George entered his view on the other side of the aisle. George’s back was turned as he turned on the faucet, leaving a view for Ringo that he certainly didn’t hate.

As he washed the stems of the flower, a waft of dirt and nature greeted him. It was the faucet to use for garden work, he knew this, but as he had seen Ringo on the floor petting Starr, something had just pulled him inside. And instead of just leaving again, exposing what he had originally gone there to do, he had come to the idea of risking his job to just be a moment longer with Ringo. His heart was beating, almost painfully, as he continued fixing up the roses. His thoughts were filled with images of Ringo and he reached up to grab a vase, he lost his grip on it as he had gotten distracted. It shattered at his feet and George sighed.

A sound of stool hastily pushed back was heard, later combined with the tapping of shoes that came hurried to his side. Ringo grabbed his hand and stared at it. “Are you alright?” He heard himself getting asked, but it was like a haze to him. A warmth filled him from his hands to his ears and he looked at Ringo with giant brown eyes. “Y-Yeah,” he tried his best to say but it only came out as a mumble. He looked down at their feet surrounded by porcelain that probably had cost more than everything he owned combined. “Sorry ‘bout your vase,” he said, probably to low to be heard. But the answer he got was a burst of delightful laughter that got him to look back up. It was stunning. Ringo was stunning. Ringo who was stilling holding his hand, looked at him with bright eyes. “That’s okay.” He nodded. George, almost without noticing it himself, moved his own hand to place it above Ringo’s. And there they stood, now in silence. Holding onto each other with porcelain pieces at their feet. Both leaned closer to each other. George felt time move and the beating of his heart in his ears.

The lips met, worlds collided, and George felt dazed mixed with the taste of coffee and toothpaste. His eyes were shut as he leaned down to meet the slightly shorter man. It was hard for him to believe it was happening but it really was. The room felt warmer than it ever had. Sunlight and the smell of the roses filled the air, together with his smell of dirt and Ringo’s cologne. They parted, both with a sigh, and George rested his head atop of Ringo’s. He knew this was something to be talked about. To be discussed. The after. But for now, all he wanted was to stay in the now. To stay so close to Ringo. To breathe him in. To stay in this moment just a little longer.

#the beatles #george harrison #ringo starr #starrison #beatles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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haledamage · 6 years ago

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Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: Once, Cait could have walked the road between Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine with her eyes closed. She knew every endless, rainy mile of it as well as she knew the halls of the Vigil. It was nearly as familiar as the walls and flowers and hidden passages of Highever itself - which, regardless of her fondness for Amaranthine, had still been her home.

Once, Cait could have walked the road between Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine with her eyes closed. She knew every endless, rainy mile of it as well as she knew the halls of the Vigil. It was nearly as familiar as the walls and flowers and hidden passages of Highever itself - which, regardless of her fondness for Amaranthine, had still been her home.

But time was more cruel than any darkspawn, and the road to Amaranthine was not as she remembered. It had grown wild, packed dirt and cobblestone now broken by tree roots, overgrown by the encroaching forest, beset by bandits and worse.

They were traveling with a couple of Varel's soldiers - Garevel’s soldiers, technically, but Cait tended to think of everyone in the Vigil as either ‘my people’ or ‘Varel's people.’ Even though Varel himself was one of her people, as loyal as any of the Wardens and he had to deal with a lot more shit than they did.

These soldiers, Jasper and Avina, were… certainly enthusiastic. Young and excited to be on a mission with the Hero of Ferelden, which they insisted on calling Cait instead of any of her actual ranks or, perhaps, her blighted name. She stopped trying to strike up conversation with them before they’d even left sight of the keep.

“Cait,” Anders asked slowly, “why are there children following us?”

“Because we are going on a rescue mission and we need someone with us to bring the girl home. I doubt she’ll want to continue on to the city with us.” Very quietly, she added, “I never thought I’d regret wanting to save someone from kidnappers, but here we are.”

“Look on the bright side!” He slung an arm around her, conveniently blocking them from view by his height alone. “Free cannon fodder!”

“Shhhhh!” She put a hand over his mouth but was laughing as she did.

It was a beautiful day, by Amaranthine standards. The sky was overcast and heavy, but it didn’t smell like rain was due yet and the air was warm with the promise of summer around the corner. Good day to embarrass some kidnappers and maybe visit the market in the city.

Cait was trying very hard not to think about Delilah. Delilah, who had been her sister in all but blood since the moment they were born, less than a week apart. Delilah, who Cait hadn’t seen in three years, who had gotten married and she hadn’t known about it.

“You weren’t at breakfast this morning,” Anders said, quiet and dangerously casual.

“I slept in.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” he said, which she elbowed him for. “You know, Nathaniel wasn’t at breakfast either. What an interesting coincidence.”

She knew her face must be red. She refused to acknowledge it. “Don't ask if you don't want the answer, Anders."

“That is an answer.” He looked everywhere but at her, but his arm tightened around her shoulder in a quick, one-sided hug. “Good for you. If he breaks your heart, I'll set him on fire."

She hugged him, wrapping her arms around his still too skinny waist. It was awkward, and they tripped over each other a little on the uneven road, but it was good. “Noted. And appreciated.”

He pointed behind them before she could say anything else. “Not to interrupt, but I think Oghren is giving your baby soldiers some of that swill he ferments in his backpack.”

“Of course he is.” She sighed, weary to the depths of her soul, then turned around to see if he was telling the truth. “Oghren, if they pass out, you’re the one carrying them. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

-------

“Leader up front, two flanking” Cait muttered.

“Three archers in the back,” Nathaniel added, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“That bridge is a bottleneck,” Oghren grunted, “Either get across it real sodding quick or wait for them to come to us.”

“One on the left is a mage,” Anders said, nodding briefly toward the woman in question.

“There are four in the tent,” Justice said sternly, much louder than the rest of them. “One of them is afraid.”

That meant ten bandits total just to shake down a nobleman that was supposed to come alone? There was no way Ser Bensley would have left this cove under his own power. Wouldn’t be enough against five Wardens, though.

Nathaniel put a hand on Cait’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Please tell me you aren't honestly considering giving these bastards money.”

“Of course not. Trust me, remember?” She touched his hand, then shrugged it off. “Be ready.”

Then she strode ahead, staying three paces in front of the others. She tried to affect the cocky swagger Zevran always wore into these situations; he had a way of convincing people he was supposed to be there, no matter where it was. Cait was pretty sure she just looked angry.

The man she’d identified as the leader confirmed her suspicions when he called out to her. “We told Bensley to come himself. Alone.”

Cathain leaned against a small rock outcropping, relaxed and casual and blocking herself off from anything that might try to sneak up on her. “Yes, well, I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd come on his behalf.”

“And who the fuck are you, princess?” He looked her over. She didn’t miss the way he paused at the griffon on her chest, again at her knives.

“I'm the Warden-Commander, who the fuck are you?” The two bandits behind him took an involuntary step back. Cait bared her teeth. She was already bored with this. “Where's the girl?”

“Where's the money?”

She held up a small pouch, letting the coins jingle within. “Give me the girl or you won’t see a single blighted copper of it.”

They dragged a young girl out of a nearby tent. The girl, Eileen Bensley, couldn’t have been any older than sixteen and was terrified past the point of being able to speak. Her dress was ripped and filthy, her hair so dirty Cait couldn’t even tell what color it was, and she flinched at the slightest movement. Rage hardened in her chest at the tear streaks on Eileen’s face; she fought hard to keep her hands off her weapons.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she said, as gently as she could manage. She waited until she nodded before addressing the apparent leader again, voice full of steel, “Hand her over.”

“Give me the money first.” He dropped several points in her estimation of his intelligence.

“Hand. Her. Over.” She stared him down, impatient, unintimidated, furious. He blinked first.

He nodded brusquely at one of the men holding the girl and they shoved her forward. Cait caught her before she fell and she clung to her, sobbing into her armor. “I've got you, sweetheart,” she said, not taking her eyes off of the bandit leader. She brushed a bit of the girl’s hair back from her face. “Eileen, right? You're safe now, Eileen. We're going to get you home to your father. Nathaniel.” Nate gently pried the girl from Cait and led her to Jasper and Avina, speaking gently to her the whole way.

“My money,” demanded the dead man.

“You know what I think?” Now that Eileen was safe, Cait no longer bothered to sound the slightest bit friendly. “I think I don't want kidnappers on my lands. I think that girl was the only thing keeping you alive.” She drew and threw a dagger in one fluid motion. The leader surged into action, but too late; It caught him in the throat, and she watched with a cold gratification as his body slumped to the ground.

There had been twelve of them, in the end. Two were hiding behind a large rock outcropping, behind the mage where her magic had obscured them from Justice’s senses. It didn’t make a difference.

“Search the area,” Cait ordered. “Make sure there aren’t any others hidden in the shadows. And check the bodies. If they weren’t working alone, I want to know about it.” Trusting that her orders would be followed, Cait turned her full attention back to Eileen.

The girl stared up at her with wide eyes. She hugged Byron, fingers clutched in his fur, and he tried to make himself look as harmless as possible for a war dog. She was so small. Cait couldn’t remember ever being that small. But Eileen met her eyes and held them, and no longer looked afraid. “Are you really the Hero of Ferelden?”

Cait fought not to cringe. “Some people have called me that. I prefer to be called by my name. I’m Cait.”

“I’m Eileen. But you knew that already. Did my father send you?”

“He did. This is Jasper and Avina.” She pointed at Jasper, hovering awkwardly nearby; he was barely older than Eileen. “They work for me and they're going to get you home safe to your family, okay?” She threw the pouch of gold that she’d shown the kidnappers at Avina, who fumbled it a little before catching it. “Anything she needs, get it for her. If that isn’t enough, let me know how much I owe you when you get back to the Vigil.”

“Yes, ser!” They said together as they actually, honest-to-Maker, saluted her.

She watched them leave until the forest swallowed them, then turned back to the bandit camp. It didn't contain much: a few crates of half-spoiled food, a pile of firewood, the single tent they'd been keeping Eileen in.

Oghren and Justice found no other bandits; the cove ended at a steep cliff down to the Amaranthine Ocean and no other places someone might hide. Nathaniel returned her dagger from the body of the leader, as well as a blade he'd drawn but never had a chance to use.

She gave it a cursory spin, checking the balance. It was front-heavy, the blade of much denser metal than the hilt, but it hummed ever-so-slightly from some kind of enchantment. She stuck it in her belt to inspect more thoroughly when she had time.

Anders was the last to return, bearing a small stack of papers for her. Most were drafts of threatening letters to Ser Bensley. One was a half-written and clearly heavily forced note written by Eileen; most of it was written in a shaky hand, but it suddenly ended in a large, angry DON'T GIVE THEM ANYTHING PAPA and then a blot of spilled ink. Cait swelled with pride for the girl. She'd fought back where she could.

The last note made Cait's stomach drop to her knees. It was orders to the lead kidnapper from his apparent patron, signed ‘burn this letter once received’ with a very familiar signature and the symbol of a bear on a yellow and white shield.

She'd known Esmerelle was behind a lot of the issues still plaguing Amaranthine. She knew in her gut that the bann was also behind the plot against her, though she still didn't have any proof. But that bear… that made things much more complicated.

She held it out to Nathaniel without a word and he stared for a moment uncomprehending. “That's my family crest. Why is it here?”

“Any chance your sister could be behind the assassination plot?” Anders asked hesitantly.

“No.” Cait and Nathaniel said simultaneously. She added, “Delilah never had much taste for subterfuge. If she wanted me dead, she'd do it herself. She’s like her brother, in that way.”

“Then they're trying to make the old Arl into a martyr.”

Cait pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache building behind her eyes. “Of course they are. Oust the Cousland usurper and put the arling back in the hands of it's rightful owners.”

“Such a shame that the remaining Howes have been brainwashed by the usurper,” Anders said sourly, voicing exactly what Cait was thinking. “They have no choice but to remove them as well.”

Cait sighed. She hated politics. “We should get moving if we want to get to the city by nightfall.” She folded up the papers and stuck them in her bag, then led the way back to the road.

-------

They did not, in fact, arrive in the city before nightfall. They walked through the main gate just after full dark, when the market was closed but the streets weren't empty yet. The open doorways of taverns beckoned to them, beacons of light and laughter in the night.

As they walked past the first one, a seedy bar with light peeking out through the uneven boards of the walls, Cait became aware of an additional presence at her side.

“You are getting complacent, my dear Warden,” Zevran said with a sly smile. “If I were an assassin, you would already be dead.”

“You are an assassin,” Cait said, feeling an answering smile spread across her own face.

“Then it is a good thing for you that I am retired.” He chuckled. “Is it strange to say that I missed you?”

“It’s barely been two weeks,” she said fondly, “but I missed you too.”

“Ah, but there is someone else who has missed you as well. She's waiting for you.”

Cait froze, suddenly nervous. She fidgeted with a buckle on her armor. “She is? It’s not too late? Maybe we should wait until morning. I don’t want to impose.”

“I have seen you face down demons without blinking, but you’re scared of a merchant’s wife?” Anders laughed, appearing behind Zevran. Cait had kind of forgotten he was there. She’d remember to feel guilty about that later, when she was in a calmer state of mind.

“I don’t care about the opinions of my enemies.”

Nathaniel put his hand on her back, warm and reassuring. “If we don’t go see her tonight, she’ll just hunt us down.”

Cait laughed and it settled her nerves. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She turned to Anders and gave him a handful of sovereigns from her coin purse. “Whichever tavern you pick, get Nate and I rooms.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, but he took her money anyway. “You must not know the kind of places I drink at.”

“Whatever it is, I guarantee I’ve slept in worse.”

Then they left, following Zevran down the winding, cobblestone streets of Amaranthine. Cait hadn't often been here at night; 'the city wasn't safe for children', Adria, the Howes’ governess, had always said, 'especially not for pretty young ladies'.

It was beautiful. The windows shone like fireflies, warm light reflecting on the stone of the streets and buildings until the whole city seemed to glow. Jewel of the North, indeed.

Delilah's house was small but tidy, in a quiet corner just off the market district. The lights were on, and Cait could see shadows moving around inside. Zevran knocked before she could try to back out again.

The door burst open and a tiny woman with the same dark hair and pale eyes as Nathaniel sprang out and threw herself into her brother's startled arms. He wrapped himself around her, nearly dwarfing her entirely, and they stayed like that for a long, quiet moment.

From somewhere within the tangle of Howes, a delicate arm snaked out toward Cait. “Come on then,” said Delilah's stern, sweet voice. “This is a family reunion, Caitie Cousland. That means you too.”

They enveloped her as soon as she stepped close. She couldn’t tell which arms belonged to which person; she pressed her face into the nearest shoulder and willed the tears building in her eyes not to fall.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before Delilah cleared her throat and stepped back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “Well, come on inside. Dinner’s getting cold. You too, Zevran, don’t think I don’t see you hiding back there, you aren’t as good at it as you think.” She turned and walked inside, assuming that the rest of them would follow.

The inside of the house was as cozy and tidy as the outside, filled with the smell of baked goods. A man with light brown hair and a nervous smile stepped out of the kitchen, wearing an apron covered in flour. He shook Nate’s hand and said, “Albert Reese. You must be Nathaniel.”

“I am. Pleasure to meet you.”

Albert offered Cait his hand next. “I know who you are. Everyone in town’s got something to say about you,” he said, sounding so genuinely friendly that she couldn’t help but smile.

“They’re probably untrue. Definitely exaggerated,” she said and Albert laughed.

“My Lilah tells some wild stories about you too.” He started walking back toward the kitchen and they all followed.

“Those are likely true, I’m afraid.”

Dinner was delicious, the best meal Cait had had since Nan died, and by the time they’d finished dessert she was already trying to figure out how to convince them to come live at the Vigil. Albert was charming, with a warm smile and easy laugh, and was clearly, hopelessly in love with his wife. Delilah shuffled around the house, never seeming to stop moving; Cait wondered if she actually thought she was hiding the roundness of her belly under the loose housecoat she wore over her dress, or if she just didn’t want to talk about it yet.

“So how long have you been back?” Delilah asked her brother as they all settled in the little sitting room.

“Two months back in Ferelden. One in Amaranthine.” Nathaniel laced his fingers with Cait’s as he relaxed on the sofa next to her. “I didn’t know where to find you or if you were alive, otherwise I’d have been here sooner.”

Delilah looked skeptical, but turned her attention to Cait. “And you’ve been here a month. And clearly possess the resources to have got in touch sooner.”

“I didn’t think I’d be welcome,” Cait said honestly. “Nate tried to kill me as soon as I got here.”

“Nathaniel Howe!” Delilah scolded, looking like she was considering throwing her teacup at him.

Cait laughed. “Relax, Lilah. It was a misunderstanding. We’ve worked it out.”

“I see that,” she muttered, but set her tea down at least. “I heard about what happened to your family, Caitie. I am so sorry.”

“It’s…” she started to say okay, but that was a lie. She amended, “It’s not your fault.”

“I hear you’re the one that killed Father,” Delilah said, voice hard. All Cait could do was nod. “Good. It should have been you if it couldn’t be me. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Delilah! The man may have done some terrible things, but he was still our father!” Nathaniel said, but he just sounded resigned, sad, instead of angry. Cait squeezed his hand.

“You weren't here, Nate. You didn’t see what he became. Violent, paranoid, lashing out at everyone over the smallest slight. I ran away as soon as I could. That’s how I met Albert.” The anger faded from her face as she smiled at her husband. “He saw me in the market and offered me a loaf of bread and a job at his bakery. We’ve been together ever since.”

“And when are you due?” Cait was happy to move to friendlier subjects.

“Due? Delilah, are you pregnant?” Nathaniel sat forward on the couch, studying his sister.

Cait laughed. “How could you miss it? That baby’s almost as big as she is!”

Delilah put a hand on the swell of her belly, leaning back against Albert to really bring attention to it. “Soon. Before summer, likely. Do you want to feel her kick?”

Watching Nathaniel greet his niece or nephew for the first time was a revelation Cait had not been prepared for. His smile was boyish and joyful and exceedingly attractive, and when he turned it toward her it felt like a punch in the gut. She’d never given much thought to having children before, but for just a moment it overwhelmed her. She pushed it down, bottled it up as well as the wave of panic that followed in its wake, and by the time Delilah approached her, her smile was easy and uncomplicated again.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said to Delilah’s belly, feeling the strange shift and twitch of the life growing within, “I’m your Auntie Cait. I can’t wait to meet you.”

Delilah’s smile was warm, but her eyes were shrewd as she stared at the spot on the sofa where Cait and Nathaniel’s hands were still linked between them. “So how long has this been going on?” she asked, as if she didn't know. As if Cait hadn’t confessed everything to her in the dark of their shared bedroom, as if she wasn’t the only person alive who had ever heard Cait say ‘love’ and ‘Nathaniel’ in the same terrified sentence.

“Four days,” said Cait and it wasn’t quite a lie. At the same time, Nathaniel said “thirteen years,” but it wasn’t quite the truth.

“Uh-huh,” said Delilah, somehow seeing through both of them to the truth in between. But she relented, and returned to her seat next to her husband, and the conversation turned to lighter things.

It was very late when they left with many hugs and promises to visit soon and often. Zevran stayed behind, had apparently been staying with them for days. Cait was too tired to question it.

They found Anders at the Crown and Lion Inn, still drinking merrily and losing a lot of money at cards. The patrons were apparently too drunk to notice he was a mage, or simply didn’t care, even as he used a bit of frost magic to chill his drink. How refreshing. Anders gave Cait her room key with an exaggerated wink that she didn’t understand until she went upstairs to find Nate was already in her room, their room, having gone up before her while she chatted with the drunken mage. At least he’d gotten them a decent-sized bed.

It had been a good day. Long, emotionally draining, mildly panic-inducing on several different levels she didn’t have the time or energy to examine, but good. She undressed quickly, leaving her armor, weapons, and clothes in an untidy pile in a chair, and crawled into the thankfully clean and surprisingly soft bed. She watched Nathaniel disrobe more slowly, leaving his belongings neatly folded and sorted. It was cute. The novelty of this stage in their relationship was still fresh enough that she couldn’t help lay there and stare at him, gorgeous and graceful and hers.

He climbed into bed and pulled her close and she was asleep within minutes.

-------

Cait woke him the next morning with her lips on his skin and finally took the opportunity to explore him like he'd done to her a few nights ago. Their bed creaked alarmingly under his grip as Nathaniel clenched his fists around the posts of the headboard in an effort to keep them out of her hair. She felt a heady rush at the idea that this was something she was allowed to do now, first thing in the morning or whenever they wanted to. It was almost the same rush she felt watching him shake and gasp as he came undone. He was quick and eager to return the favor, and she didn't last much longer than he had, had no means or desire to defend herself against his clever tongue, and covered her mouth with her hand so she didn't wake the whole inn as she shouted her release.

He grinned against her lips as they curled back up together on the bed. “Good morning.”

“Mmm, it is now.” She chuckled and pulled him down for another kiss. “We should have done this ages ago.”

“I know it's been a while, but we have definitely done this before.” He caressed her back, tracing the scar from the archdemon.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

Neither of them made any attempt to get out of bed for a long time.

Byron eventually took issue with it and came over to stand next to Cait. When she turned to look his way, he let out a deep, warning boof. If they didn't get moving, he would bring every patron in the building running their way.

They still managed to beat Anders and Oghren downstairs, but Justice sat at a corner table in the bar with a mug of ale in front of him. Cait was pretty sure he'd been in the same place when she'd gone to bed last night.

“Did Anders not get you a room?” she asked as she sat down across from him.

“He did. I preferred to stay here.” His eyes traveled the room, more emotional than she’d ever seen from him before. “There is an energy to this space, of all the souls that have passed through it. It is… enlightening. Invigorating. Are all human cities like this?”

“I… don’t know,” Cait said. “You can see the energy people leave behind? Or feel it?”

“I can feel it. Like the sun on my skin.” Justice held his hand over the table between them. “A man once sat in this chair with a ring in a box, practicing a speech to ask his beloved to marry him. Another was drinking to numb his pain, a persistent headache that had lasted several days. He could not afford to visit a physician, but he could afford another drink.” He dropped his hand to the smooth wood of the tabletop. “Layers upon layers on every surface.”

“That’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“The Vigil must be very noisy for you,” said Nathaniel. “They say it’s been around for thousands of years. I can’t even imagine how many lives have been lived there.”

Justice studied Nate with those too-knowing eyes of his. “You want to know about the lives of your ancestors.” He nodded to himself as if Nathaniel had answered, even though he didn’t say anything. “In the Fade, nothing outlives the spirit that made it. Here, everything is built upon the bones of what came before. Yes, many souls have passed over the stones of Vigil’s Keep. Some of them bore the name Howe. When we return, I will tell you of them.”

The conversation shifted as Anders and Oghren stumbled downstairs and slumped into empty chairs. They looked like they were regretting several of their life choices.

“So!” Cait said, loudly and with more cheer than necessary. She clapped her hands once and grinned as her hungover friends groaned at the noise. “Does anyone have business in the city while we’re here? I know Justice, you wanted to visit Aura. I also need to find a man named Colbert. Apparently he found a gorge in the hills to the west that may lead to the Deep Roads.”

As she spoke, she reached into her bag and pulled out a couple vials, placing one each in front of Anders and Oghren. “Maybe try to limit yourselves next time when you’re on the job, please,” she said sweetly, but she knew they could hear the order in the words; they were hungover, not stupid. “Drink all you want on your own time, but I will not hesitate to drop you into a nest of darkspawn while you’re wasted.”

They both muttered something that sounded like “yes, Commander” as they drank their potions. She gave them a few minutes for the worst of their headaches to fade, and then they all got to work.

Their second meeting with Aura went… better. She didn’t panic at the sight of her husband’s possessed body, which was a start. Justice told her, fumbling but sincere, that he mourned Kristoff’s loss with her, that he would avenge him. Cait didn’t know Aura well enough to read the look on her face, but she hoped she found comfort in his words. He stood as little taller as they left.

Talking with Colbert and his partner Micah was enlightening, but frustrating. Colbert said a lot of things that didn’t matter and Micah said barely anything at all. They spoke in circles for what felt like hours until Cait gave in and threw money at them to get an answer that made sense. A couple sovereigns magically got her exactly the information she needed.

Cait wished a couple sovereigns could solve the problem Colbert’s story brought to light. An open path between the surface and the Deep Roads, in a land beset by new types of darkspawn. There was no way this could be coincidence, and no way Cait could ignore it either.

“I won’t order any of you to come with me,” she said, once they’d moved away from the city crowds. “The Deep Roads are miserable. It’s either a slog through empty, lightless tunnels a hundred miles underground, or it’s a constant battle versus endless hordes of darkspawn, and there’s not much in between. Volunteers only.”

“I go where you go,” said Nathaniel firmly.

“That’s really sweet,” Cait said, and it was. It was hopelessly, stupidly romantic, but she was apparently into that. “but I don’t think you understand what you’re committing to.”

“Then I guess I’ll find out when we get there.”

“Well, I can’t let you have all the fun,” added Anders.

“We’ve been to the Deep Roads together before,” said Oghren. “How much worse can it be?”

“If it is as dangerous as you say, I will not leave you to face it alone,” Justice said.

Cait was torn between indignation that they were all so stubborn to not take the opportunity to stay behind, and humbled that she had such loyal friends. “Thank you. We’ll take the rest of the day to resupply and head out at first light tomorrow. Anything you need to do in the city, do it now. And try to stay sober please.”

#nathaniel howe #cousland/nathaniel howe #dragon age #dragon age awakening #dragon age fic #cait cousland #cait/nate #rhi writes #something might be found #just a little lighthearted fun and rescuing a damsel before we get back to plot stuff #delilah was fun to write

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jlalafics · 3 years ago

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*So I plan to post this on Ao3...probably tomorrow so you can read this in this chapter in the whole. I'm already working on Part Two!

Now the continuation of Part One!

“This cannot be real!” Katniss paced the length of their living room. “It’s absolutely ridiculous!”

“It might be ridiculous,” Prim said as she sat on the couch with her own laptop perched atop her thighs. “But it’s absolutely real.”

She turned her laptop to show Katniss a headline: Panem Mourns Beloved King.

The picture below it showed a young man—King Peeta, Katniss assumed—in a black suit with his head bowed. Behind him were three girls, all in black dresses. The youngest looked to be in her preteens, her hair in a neat braid going down her back.

“‘The Kingdom of Panem mourned the death of His Royal Highness, King Reginald, who passed away last week at the age of 76.’” Prim read aloud. “Looks like he was sick for a long time.” Her sister’s face fell as she skimmed over the article. “Apparently, he hadn’t been the same since the death of the Queen who died after having Princess Claire, their youngest daughter. How sad…”

Katniss sat down next to her sister, looking at the photograph of the mourning family.

“Claire kind of looks like you at that age,” she remarked. “What are the names of the other sisters?”

“The second eldest is Delilah, age 20, but she’s known as Delly,” Prim said. “Then there’s Lauren, age 17, and then Claire, age 12.” She scrolled down to see if there was any other information that might be pertinent about her so-called husband. “Oh, look at this! It says that their mother was from District 12. Queen Marguerite was from one of the most prominent Merchant families—”

Katniss started. “Did you say Marguerite?” Her mind went to a memory of a pretty, blonde woman with a prominent belly. She must have been pregnant with Delly at that point. “I remember their mother, Prim.”

Prim’s eyes widened at her words. “You do?”

“Twenty years ago,” she recalled. “The Queen was talking to mom, and she was pregnant. I even remember asking about her accent and she said that it was from where she lived.” Katniss drew her knees up, her arms wrapping around them. “She must have taken the picture. I even remember Peeta a bit…”

Prim grinned. “What was he like?”

She snorted. “To be honest, he was a dick. Real snooty. And he stepped on my sandcastle!”

“There must have been something nice about him,” her sister replied. “I mean you married him.”

“He told me that he’d give me a bigger sandbox,” Katniss retorted.

“If you were the age you are now, that would totally be a sex thing!” Prim cackled. She put an arm around Katniss’ shoulders seeing the frown on her sister’s mouth. “I’m just messing with you. Listen—call this Effie and explain that this whole thing is a mistake and that you won’t be coming to Panem. They might just want you to sign something to annul your playground wedding.”

Katniss let out a long breath.

“You’re right.” She smiled, feeling assured at her sister’s words. “This is just a big mistake.”

++++++

“Your Royal Highness!” Effie cried out over the speaker of Katniss’ cellphone. “I am so glad to hear from you! I’m already getting your living space and offices ready for your arrival. All I will need from you is your identification so I could prep security on your arrival—”

“Listen, Effie—” Katniss interrupted. “I know that you think that I am married to Peeta—I mean, King Peeta—but this is a mistake. We were children and were obviously just playing—”

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Marguerite, was absolute in validating the marriage,” Effie replied. “She even had your marriage license registered in the Royal Church.”

“You’re joking,” she replied.

“No. Queen Marguerite even declared herself as witness. You were married by the Duke of Hawthorne!”

“Do you mean Gale—the emo boy?” Katniss recalled.

“Ah yes.” Effie tittered. “Gale can be ornery at best.”

“The fact of the matter is that I will not be coming to Panem,” Katniss told the woman. “Your King cannot just summon me like I don’t have a life here in District 12. I am not his wife nor am I Panem’s princess—”

“Queen Consort,” Effie corrected.

“Whatever. The point is that I do not want any of this,” she continued. “Send me any sort of paperwork to annul this and I’ll sign it.”

With that, Katniss hung up before the woman could get another word in.

++++++

“Yes, there is a warranty,” Katniss explained through her headset. “Mrs. Lang, I’m going to send you the instructions to redeem your warranty to your email. Can you confirm your email for me?”

She sat back looking over the rows of cubicles as the woman rattled off the email address that Katniss had on her computer screen. Working at a call center was not her dream job, but it paid the bills and helped her buy the camera equipment she needed to work on her blog.

“Okay—” Katniss brought up her mail system and input the woman’s email address. “—you should be getting an email from me in a few minutes. My name is Katniss, and you’ll see my name on the email. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

The woman replied in the negative and she let out a relieved breath.

“Well, thank you for calling and you have a nice day!”

Hanging up, Katniss quickly put her phone on break mode. She removed her headset and stood to stretch her arms over her head. Her stomach growled in hunger so she sat back down and opened her drawer, taking out her leftover chocolate croissant from Starbucks.

“Whoa! Check out that sedan!” someone called out.

Her eyes went to the floor to ceiling windows where a black Sedan was parking. Immediately, the window was crowded with employees trying to see who was in it.

Katniss stood up and looked over to the other cubicle where Darius, another service member, was sitting.

“Did you hear about corporate visiting or anything?”

“Nope,” he replied. “If we did, Cray would be shitting himself—”

The man quickly silenced, and she turned to see Harold Cray, Manager of Client Services, heading over to them.

Katniss sat down, placing her croissant down, just as he stopped in front of her desk.

“Mr. Cray,” she greeted.

“Miss Everdeen, please follow me,” he instructed.

Shit—was he going to fire her?

Standing, she quickly followed the man down the line of cubicles.

Katniss could feel everyone’s eyes on her and Cray, who looked even stiffer than usual, as they walked down the hallway to the main offices of the building.

She knew that her satisfaction number were decent but maybe she wasn’t taking enough calls. It wasn’t really her fault since the times she was on duty were often slow, and it definitely wasn’t working in her favor.

Cray opened the door to one of their conference rooms. “In here.”

Rushing to the door, Katniss stepped inside—but Cray didn’t.

Instead, he quickly bowed and closed the door.

“What the fucking hell?” she muttered and turned to grab a seat.

Katniss froze spotting the three occupants in the room.

Two men, both smartly dressed, immediately bowed to her.

One was a handsome dark-skinned man in a navy suit. The other, raven-haired, and smoky eyed, wore a grey suit.

The two men flanked a blond-haired man sporting a charcoal suit and a very irritating smirk.

“Oh goody,” Katniss said drolly. “You’re here.”

His Royal Highness, King Peeta of Panem, let out a snort of amusement.

“Hello, Katniss,” he greeted. “Or should I say wife?”

---------

I’ve been kind of wanting to write some sort of royal Everlark tale and it looks like it’s happening.

As an anglophile, I’m all kinds of obsessed with royal life. Also, I’ve been reading a lot of royal romance fiction. Some of this was inspired by it.

Anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Until the next part,

JLaLa

"Photograph"-a Royal!Everlark story

This was inspired by this prompt from @writing-prompt-s:

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

This is totally unedited. Thank you to @sparklingdust4612 for bringing this prompt to my attention. Looking forward to everyone else's interpretations along with this one and the story by @jhsgf82!

I actually have more of this but I thought I'd show y'all a little bit of my interpretation of the above prompt.

****

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen, still…

-Ed Sheeran

Photograph

Katniss Everdeen loved building castles.

In the massive sandbox, she packed another bunch of sand into her bucket before placing it upside down to set. While waiting, Katniss imagined how she would decorate the inside of her palace, a delighted smile growing on her face as she thought of the possibilities.

First, the walls would all be yellow. Not the ugly yellow that looked like snot—but yellow like Prim’s, her baby sister, golden locks.

Yellow meant hope: that’s what Daddy always said.

Knocking on the sides of the bucket to loosen the sand like Mommy showed her, Katniss slowly lifted it revealing a perfect tower for her castle.

“Yes!” she hollered, jumping up in excitement.

Her eyes went to Mommy who was sitting on the bench across the way. She was talking to a pretty, yellow-haired woman with a big tummy. Prim was asleep in her stroller, her binky hanging from her mouth.

“Mommy!” Katniss rushed over, stopping just a scant from toppling over on the concrete. “Look! I’ve made the perfect tower!”

Her mother smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Katniss.” She turned to the woman next to her. “My Katniss is always building and dreaming on how to make her perfect home. Her teachers tell me that she has such a creative mind for a seven-year-old.”

“How absolutely charming,” the woman responded kindly, a smile on her pink lips.

Katniss tilted her head at the sound of her voice. There was something different about the way the lady talked—the dips of it sounded strange—but still nice.

“Why do you sound like that?” she asked bluntly.

Her Mommy frowned. “Katniss Everdeen! Please apologize!” She looked to the woman once more. “I’m so sorry—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured her. The pretty woman turned to Katniss. “I have a little bit of an accent because of where I’m from, that’s why my voice sounds different.”

Katniss nodded. “Okay, but it does sound nice…like a song!” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

The woman glowed like an angel. “My name is Marguerite.”

“Hello Miss Marguerite.” Katniss looked to where her sandcastle waited. “I better go before someone takes my stuff! Bye!”

Throwing a wave at the woman, she plopped back down onto her space in the sandbox ready to add some detailing to her newest tower—

The foot crushing her tower landed straight in the middle of it creating a space between each side.

Katniss fumed and her eyes went up to the blond-haired boy with the snooty face.

She stood, her hand slamming into his chest. “Hey! You destroyed my castle!”

The boy stared at her in shock. “No one ever touches me!”

“Until now—”

Katniss was suddenly blocked by another boy, tall and dark-skinned.

“No one touches his royal highness,” he declared, and the blond boy stuck his tongue at her.

Another boy, this one dark-haired and sharp-eyed, approached.

“Prince Peeta has decided that you will be his bride,” he stated with a scowl.

Katniss made a face, crossing her arms to show them how disgusting that sounded. “Gross.”

The so-called Prince Peeta walked over to her.

“As my bride, you can make as many sandcastles as you want,” he explained. “I’ll build a bigger sandbox than this for you!”

Something inside zinged at the thought. “Really?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katniss eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you want to marry me anyway?”

Peeta shifted in his stance, the confidence in his blue eyes suddenly wavering. “I like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

A rise of pink colored his cheeks. “They’re soft…and pretty.”

That had been it for her.

On that warm afternoon, by the swings of District 12’s only playground, Katniss Everdeen married the so-called Prince Peeta.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Gale, the dark-haired boy, said. He looked at Peeta, a teasing smile on his face. “Go on—kiss her!”

“Close your eyes,” Peeta told her.

Katniss, wearing her paper towel veil courtesy of the park’s public bathroom, did what he said and closed her eyes.

SPLAT!

She barely registered being shoved down into the muddy puddle.

Katniss looked up at the sneering boy, feeling the rise of anger in her body.

“That’s what you get for pushing me.”

++++++

Twenty years later…

“Katniss.” She looked up from laptop to find Prim at her open doorway. Her sister held out a Fed-Ex envelope. “This just came for you.”

Without even glancing at it, Katniss tossed the envelope on her bed, going back to the open page on her screen.

“Don’t you want to open it?” Prim stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed, picking the post up to examine it. “It looks important.”

“Probably one of those things saying that I’m eligible for another credit card.” Katniss frowned, sitting back, and staring at the blinking cursor. “I’m so stuck on this blog post!”

“Is this the one about kitchen flowers?” her sister asked, and she nodded. “You got some great pictures from Madge’s shop.”

“I know but my writing inspiration is zilch,” Katniss explained. “I need to get this done if I want to post by Mother’s Day.”

“Speaking of Mother’s Day, mom is wondering if you’re bringing anyone to Sunday dinner,” Prim informed her.

“I love our mother but lately every conversation we’ve had is either about my lack of a dating life or my withering eggs,” Katniss said. “Right now, I need to focus on getting more attention on the blog. It’s just gaining momentum!” She rested back and turned to her sister. “This is important to me.”

“I know,” Prim replied. “And you are good at it. I mean, look at what you’ve done to our apartment! To this room!”

Her sister’s bright blue eyes looked around the buttercream room, beautifully decorated with white-washed furniture. The console that her television sat atop was bought at a nearby thrift shop and refurbished by her. Katniss had sanded it down before putting a whitewash over it and adding lacquer to give it a more modern look.

In fact, most of the furniture in her and Prim’s apartment was completely refurbished by her. She had always had an eye for decorating and instead of going to a four-year college, Katniss had opted to go to design school.

Creating something new from what people considered junk gave her a special kind of thrill—almost akin to being in love.

At least that’s what she thought it might feel like.

“Whoa!”

Katniss whipped over to her sister—who was holding an unfolded paper in her hands.

She stood from her seat and went to Prim. “What?”

Wordlessly, Prim handed the piece to her—it was a letter.

The letter was on marbled paper, an elegant insignia atop it, and she could see that the elegant calligraphy was done by hand:

Dear Miss Everdeen,

You are hereby summoned to the kingdom of Panem to present yourself to His Royal Highness, King Peeta.

Photo documentation has validified that you are the Queen Consort to His Royal Highness.

Attached is my business card, please contact me to arrange your travel to Panem.

Respectfully,

The Rt. Hon. Effie Trinket

Private Secretary to His Royal Highness

“This is a joke!” Katniss tossed the letter onto her desk and laughed. “Photo documentation? There is no such thing—”

The laugh fell from her lips as Prim turned the FedEx envelope upside down and a single photo fell onto her bedspread.

“There’s a business card in here, too,” Prim told her carefully.

Walking over, Katniss could see that the photo was facedown.

Trembling, she picked the print up and read the elegant cursive atop it:

‘Peeta and his new bride, Katniss Everdeen!’

Next to the caption was a happy face; it was obvious that this statement was made in jest.

Turning the photograph, a wave of nausea hit seeing the image of her seven-year-old self, a paper towel veil atop her head, joining hands with a blond boy—

Prince Peeta.

Or to be more precise, His Royal Highness King Peeta of Panem.

#Photograph #Royals!Everlark #commoner!katniss #royal!peeta #Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #share the love and reblog

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tveckling · 7 years ago

Note

im the anon from earlier, and I guess I’d prefer the corvosider, but if you have the time, the other would be good to since it’s technically two asks now and all

:D Send me prompts~

Emily had told him about Meagan Foster, the woman who had helped her in her battles against Delilah, so when the letter from her arrived he didn't open and read it as he normally did to all correspondence from untrusted sources. But Emily did trust this woman, so with only a moment's hesitation he took it to her. He hadn't made it more than halfway through the hallway outside her study before the doors slammed open and she rushed after him, letter clutched in her hand. It had been hard deciphering her face, whether she was excited or anxious.

And after he had read the letter himself Corvo had grown used to the feeling, spending all his time moving from one feeling to the next. The letter had said she would arrive in a month’s time, she and her companion, and as the days drew closer Corvo began having trouble focusing, finding little sleep when he lied down. All his thoughts were circling the impending arrival and what it would be like meeting him again. The thought made a phantom heat flash through his unmarked hand.

The Outsider had come to him in his sleep after Delilah, explaining the situation and for once being willing to stay and answer Corvo’s questions. They talked for such a long time, there in the Void, about Emily, about the Void, about Delilah and her plans. They had both avoided the question for a long time, but when the Outsider eventually offered to give Corvo back his mark it came as no surprise. And for a long, impossibly long, moment Corvo was tempted. He had grown used to relying on the Outsider’s gift over the years, and finding himself lacking it was unnerving. It was precisely that that made him decline. For too long he had relied on magic, enough that it almost crippled him when he lost it, and he knew now that it could happen again. He had to grow stronger by his own merits, grow used to strengths that couldn't be taken from him with a twist of a hand and a cruel smile. He couldn't fail Emily again.

If he had allowed himself to wonder Corvo would have thought that the end of the Outsider’s visits. He had offered Corvo the mark again and had been rejected. With Emily carrying the mark there shouldn't have been anything keeping the Outsider’s interest in Corvo. And yet, yet, his dreams kept being visited, far more often than before. Sometimes it was idle chatter, sometimes it was a place where Corvo learned to air all his worries and headaches and receive cool-eyed advice, and sometimes it was simply peaceful silence. Companionship. Closeness that Corvo hadn't expected, never thought he would feel with anyone again after Jessamine.

Then there was the last visit, where the Outsider had sat in silent contemplation before telling Corvo it would be the last time they saw each other in his dreams. Perhaps they would meet again, perhaps not. For once he couldn't predict what would happen.

And that had been that. He had disappeared immediately after, letting Corvo wake up in his bed, worried and angry and alone. Cursing the Outsider with all his breath as he got dressed and rushed off to the shrine he had erected in his and Jessamine’s secret room. But no matter how much he raged, how much he pleaded, he didn't receive an answer. Not even Emily got a reaction from the god, once Corvo had explained it all to her. It was a mix of frustration and helplessness that Corvo hadn't felt since his days in Coldridge, and remembering that was less than a welcome memory.

The worry had become a part of his life after that, for the next couple months. Until the letter. Until Billie Lurk, as she was actually called, had said she would bring them a certain formerly black-eyes bastard. There hadn't actually been much else in the letter, only a promise that she would explain everything when they met.

It was just his luck that they had arrived when he was in a meeting with an informant. The servant Emily sent had been clearly instructed to knock on his door anyway, thankfully, and Corvo could quickly end the meeting and rush off, heart stuck in his throat. He didn't know what he would see, but the thought of finally meeting the Outsider again made him wish for his old powers so he could move faster.

For once he didn't bother knocking before opening the door to Emily’s study, and already before he stepped into the room he was searching for the shape he had grown familiar with. His eyes slid past Emily and a woman he assumed was the famed Billie Lurk, Emily’s excited chatter dying as she turned to him, and stopped at the third figure in the room. Tall and thin, dressed in clothes that wouldn't stand out in the modern world. Still pale, especially with his black hair, but there was life in him like Corvo hadn't seen before.

And his eyes.

No more was the inky darkness Corvo had grown used to. In the light from the window he stood in front they looked green, and as he smiled, softly, carefully, as though he wasn't used to the expression, Corvo decided it was the most beautiful color he had seen.

“Hello, Corvo,” said that familiar voice, from those familiar lips.

Throwing all caution and hesitation to the side Corvo walked across the room to pull the Outsider into a tight hug, something he never would have imagined doing. It got even more surreal as he felt arms wrap around him too. He felt tension leave the Outsider as he leaned his forehead against Corvo’s shoulder.

“Guess I can't feel special any longer. I've never gotten a hug like that.”

“You have never initiated a hug like this, Billie,” the Outsider said, his voice slightly muffled. Taking a deep breath he raised his head and took a step back, forcing Corvo to also let go or look foolish. In truth it was a hard decision, but the smile, full of tenderness, that the Outsider gave him made up for the distance. They still stood close enough that Corvo could more clearly see the brown mixed with the green in the Outsider’s eyes.

“Yeah, like that's the reason.” The woman, Billie, snorted over her crossed arms—Emily hadn't said anything about her arm looking like a piece of the Void—but her tone was fond and her smirk was decidedly amused.

“I never really realized it, but seeing it now… it's so clear,” Emily said with a wide smile that Corvo knew meant he was going to get a headache. “I never took you for the pining type, father, but everything makes so much more sense now. Not just from you, but from him too.”

A slight shift in posture made Corvo glance at the Outsider and—he had no idea the Outsider was even capable of blushing.

“I am finding myself regretting giving you my mark, dear Emily,” the Outsider said, the bite in his tone sounding too much like a cover for embarrassment, along with his red ears and scowl, to be genuine. Corvo couldn't fault Emily for laughing, not when he found himself smiling. When the Outsider glanced at him he quickly dropped the expression.

At least she was focusing more on tormenting the Outsider rather than him, Corvo thought with more than a little relief.

“You adore me, you just don't want to admit it.” Emily dramatically sighed and waved a hand. “But I understand how it is. When you finally meet the one you've been waiting and pining for there isn't anyone else that matters any longer. Isn't that right, Billie?”

Billie chuckled and shrugged. “He has been getting more and more excited the closer we got.”

“Please, don't join her.” The Outsider rubbed his face and glared at the two women.

There was a warmth in his chest as he watched the three squabble that Corvo couldn't remember feeling for a long, long time. Contentment. Happiness.

“Fine, I'll stop, I'll stop,” Emily said, raising her hands. “On one condition. Give me a hug too!”

The Outsider sighed, shaking his head. It couldn't quite cover the small smile he wore, though. “If it will make you move on to more important matters then, fine, I acquiesce to your request.”

Emily just laughed at him before walking over to him, arms held wide open. Corvo chuckled at the surprise on his face when Emily, instead of simply hugging him, picked him up and spun him around several times, grinning wildly. When she finally put him down he looked like he didn't know whether to be laughing or scowling.

“You weigh so little,” Emily said with a snort before reaching for his hands. “I bet I could-"

Her voice was cut off with a gasp of pain, at the same time as the Outsider staggered back, and Corvo caught the bright flare of the mark on her hand. Seeing Billie rush over to Emily Corvo grabbed the Outsider’s shoulders, steadying him. He could feel tremors beneath his hands, scaring him even more.

“What's- oh. No. No, no, it can't-"

The Outsider drew a shaking breath and looked up at Corvo, and not until then did Corvo notice how his eyes had turned back into the black pools they had been in the Void.

“What happened? My mark-" Emily shook her head, waving the now unmarked hand, before looking up and freezing.

“Corvo.” The Outsider looked pained, lifting a hand to press against Corvo’s cheek. “I didn't think- it appears there's a lot I couldn't predict, though I should have known. The Void doesn't like losing, Billie. Be aware. And Corvo, I'm so-"

With a gasp the Outsider’s voice broke, and as the blackness faded from his eyes tears filled them, soon overflowing and running down his face. He stared at Corvo, unblinking, wide-eyed. He looked scared.

“I- I can't breathe. I can't-”

Beneath the shaky fingers the Outsider pressed to his neck Corvo could see something shifting. Gently, but with panicked hurry, he moved the hand, only to see the skin being opened in front of his eyes. Cut, as though with a knife. Deep, judging by the blood that quickly flowed out and covered the hand Corvo had pressed there in desperation.

“Lower him to the ground, quickly!” He hadn't noticed when Billie moved, but she was at the Outsider’s other side, wide-eyed and scared but with determination written all over her face. “Emily, call for a doctor. Quick! Corvo, we need to stop the bleeding. Corvo!”

The slap came as a shock to his mind, a much needed one, and Corvo could found himself finally able to think again. With a curse he ripped off one of his shirt arms and pressed the fabric against the Outsider’s neck, trying not to think of the last time he had a loved one bleeding in his arms. Behind him Emily was yelling into the hall, next to him Billie was muttering to herself as she tried to do—something—but all he could focus on was the Outsider’s wide eyes, staring right into his.

“You'll be okay,” Corvo found himself saying, his voice thick and almost unrecognizable. “You'll be fine, and we'll continue our conversations again. You left me hanging, remember?”

The Outsider made a noise, as though trying to say something, but it only made the blood flow faster. His hand was squeezing Corvo’s, hard enough that Corvo could pretend he didn't feel the shaking. There was blood all over the Outsider, the floor, and Billie, though it wasn't as visible with her red clothes. Corvo was certain he was covered in it too but something stopped him from thinking too much about it.

“You'll be fine. I'll take you out wandering the city, just like you said you'd like. Just keep walking until our feet are sore and we can't stand. Then we'll sit down and you'll tell me about the stars. You have such stories about them, you have to tell me. Just like you promised. I'll take you to my favorite places, I'm sure you'll like them too. You can tell me all their history and secrets. You-"

“Corvo.” Billie’s hand was light on his arm, but Corvo flinched like she had punched him. “He’s-"

“No.”

“He’s gone.”

“No.”

“He’s dead. Corvo, listen to me.”

Corvo shook his head, keeping his eyes on the Outsider’s. He kept on squeezing his hand and pretended he could still feel the Outsider squeeze back.

Billie’s voice was also strange, uneven and wet somehow. “Listen, I know. I know, he’s- I loved the bastard, damn it, why did this happen? Damn it! First Daud and now- damn it!”

Someone was shaking his shoulders, and dimly he could hear Emily’s voice, but he refused to let go of the Outsider. He kept staring at the Outsider’s eyes, shaking his head and mumbling denial. Not until black, shaky hand reached out to gently close the Outsider’s eyes, did Corvo allow Emily to separate his and the Outsider’s hands. Then she held him, hugged him to her chest as they both cried, shielding him from having to watch as the Outsider’s body was taken away.

#corvosider #corvo attano #the outsider #dishonored #death cw #blood cw #heeeeehehehehe #my writing #Anonymous

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kirin-jindosh · 7 years ago

Text

A Decade Gone Ch. 4

Chapter 4! There’s actual romance in this chapter wtffff. Finally, I know.

TW: Mild scolding, degrading talk. Death mention. Jindosh getting up-close and personal.

You finally had heard back from the Armstrongs. Their letter was sitting on your dresser; it’s vanilla colored paper seemed to be inviting, but you were filled with too much dread to even approach it. There you stood, dressed for work, your chin balancing on your hand as you stared down at the envelope. The Armstrong wax seal was so familiar to you; it had been two months since you’d carried one very similar to Jindosh mansion. Since then, things had changed.

A quick glance to the ticking clock on your bedside table let you know you would be running late if you deliberated any longer. You’d been on time every day since you had started and you weren’t about to break that record for fear of what that smug bastard might say.

So, instead of opening the letter, you leave it sitting where it was.

You’d get back to it after work.

The carriage ride to the mansion was as crisp and cold as every morning. Your stomach turned a little with nervous anxiety brought on by the presence of the heavy letter still sitting on your dresser. It was strange, but you comforted yourself a little knowing that things would soon return to normal once you arrived at the mansion.

At what point did the Armstrong estate become the dreaded foreign land while the clockwork mansion had become home?

You didn’t really have any co-workers who you would call your friends. You knew them all by name, but you didn’t seek out any sort of relationship with any of them. Likewise, they didn’t make an attempt to get to know you, besides maybe that one guardswoman who routinely eyed you as you went about your daily routines.

So, all in all, you spoke with Jindosh far more than you spoke with any of your fellow servants.

Some conversations between the two of you consisted of him lightly complaining about something you’d forgotten to do or done incorrectly as you served him his tea and biscuits. These complaints never came to fruition, as he never truly reprimanded you. The other portion of your conversations revolved around him talking endlessly about his latest project or his most recent discoveries. You never really understood what he was talking about, but you would nod and listen as you cleaned his office area around him. Sometimes, he asked you questions that you tried to answer in an interesting way. From what you could tell, he was genuinely interested in what you had to say. He seemed to rather . . . enjoy your company. Or something like that, at least. He called you to his office far more regularly than what was required and more often than not had nothing to ask of you other than trivial things.

You were beginning to suspect he . . . well, you couldn’t make assumptions. Especially not for Kirin.

As you approach the mansion, something catches your eye. Atop the white brick archway stood a woman clad in dark clothes. The closer you got, the more of them you noticed. There was another sitting on the steps up to the front door and another on top of the outer wall’s windowpanes, leaning against the cool brick. Their faces were ashen, their collars laced with flowers and thorns. They stared at you unabashedly as you climbed out of the carriage.

Eye contact was polite, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. They were being rude; they hadn’t said anything to you but were obviously looking right at you. It made you uneasy.

“Running late, aren’t you?” says the one sitting on the steps.

You pause, a little taken aback, and give her an angry glance, “Just on time, actually. May I ask who you are here to see?”

She glances up at you with dark, blood shot eyes, a smile curling on her face, “Who does everyone come to see at the clockwork mansion? None other than the Grand Inventor himself, of course.”

“Kirin?” you mutter, thinking on her words.

“That’s a little unprofessional of you,” says the one above you, standing on the windowpane, “Aren’t you a low born?”

“What are you saying, Drella? We’re all low-born,” says the one sitting on the steps.

“Yes, but we don’t serve a lord or lady,” says the third, gazing down from atop the arch way, “We serve our mistress, Delilah, and she treats us all as sisters.”

The name sends a chill running down your spine. You’d heard her name before and would prefer not to hear it again. They all seem to notice the way your skin prickled at hearing their mistress’s name, turning to you with smirks on their faces.

“Is . . . is your mistress here? To see Kir—to see Mr. Jindosh?” You ask as steadily as you can. The one sitting at your feet gives a flickering laugh.

“We’re here with Breanna Ashworth,” says she, “Now enough with your pointless stammering, scurry off to scrub the floors, won’t you?”

It takes everything in you not to bristle on the spot, but you manage to hold your tongue and continue up the stairs without excusing yourself. Their airy laughter follows you through the front door of the mansion and doesn’t seem to stop even after the doors close.

Once inside, you hastily make your way to your personal locker near the pantries, all the while thinking about who was in the mansion and why.

Breanna Ashworth was a renowned name in Karnaca, almost as widely spoken as Kirin Jindosh. You knew she was the royal curator, in charge of the Conservatory. She was brilliant, not quite on par with Jindosh or at least not in the same way. You’d read a few of her articles that the Armstrongs had set aside to be thrown away. Nothing she said made a whole lot of sense or mattered to you as a law student, but it was clear that she was indisputably intelligent.

And now she was here to see Jindosh? Surely she didn’t want to purchase a clockwork; that was the only reason guests visited the mansion.

“Who does everyone come to see at the clockwork mansion? None other than the Grand Inventor himself, of course.”

She was here for Jindosh specifically. Why?

You arrive at the lockers to find a small note placed neatly atop your cleaning supplies. You can recognize the tidy handwriting right away. Jindosh had written, ‘I have a very important guest here today. I need you to bring us refreshments. We’re meeting in the smoking room. Be on your best behavior.’

You stare at his penmanship for moment longer before you neatly fold the note and tuck it into your pocket. Be on your best behavior. Oh, so that’s how he’s going to be today.

Something about his wording made you feel as though he wouldn’t be as playful this time around. This guest must be very important to him; he wants to impress her.

“Ah, there you are,” you hear the voice of the cook, “You’re supposed to bring a tray of refreshments to the smoking room for Ms. Ashworth and Mr. Jindosh, yes? I’ve prepared a meal to be set out on the foyer tables, but he made it clear that he wanted you to serve the drinks. They’ve been waiting on you, you should hurry now.”

It suddenly occurs to you that you were in fact late—even later now that you had talked to the women outside and idled by your locker. A sense of anxiety fills you as you think of Jindosh sitting on one of the velvet sofas, waiting impatiently. Be on your best behavior.

“Dammit,” you hastily pick up the tray he had set aside for you, the porcelain kettle sloshing around. “How long have they been sitting there?”

“About fifteen minutes, I believe,” he looked at you with a sense of pity. “Or twenty.”

Without another word, you turned and scurried toward the elevator, frantically pushing the button over and over again. It doesn’t make it go any faster, you knew, but it seemed to calm you a little. The cheerful ‘ding’ as it arrived made your heart skip; you almost pried the doors open in an attempt to fit yourself in. The guest area button was also pressed a hundred times, even after the elevator began to rise. Oh, he was going to be so upset.

Several guardsmen were at attention today in the marble parlor. Other servants bustled about, but you knew it wasn’t their job to serve the drinks—it was yours. They threw glances at you which confirmed your suspicions that Jindosh was angry; they looked positively horrified for you.

Aside from the Guardsmen and the servants, there were more women clad in black. They stood apart from Jindosh’s staff and seemed to physically repel anyone who came near them. They couldn’t have known who you were or the special torment Jindosh was putting you under, but they almost appeared to pick up on your uneasiness and gave you wry smiles as you quickly walked over to the smoking room.

The smell of perfumes and expensive tobacco was almost nauseating as you stepped foot into the dim room. The month of high cold was approaching fast which explained why the fireplace kindled warmly. The stuffy feeling of the room almost seemed to choke you as you entered. Jindosh was seated in a single armchair near the windows. He was wearing darker colored trousers than normal, his upper half clad in a dark red undershirt, a neutral colored asymmetric waistcoat hugging him nicely. Golden buttons caught the fire light, as well as his signature triangular pendant that was affixed firmly to the vest’s upper breast pocket. Around his throat hung a necktie quite similar to his favorite one, though this one looked like it was made of finer materials. He held his appendage-pipe to his lips, a cloud of smoke escaping as he finally noticed your presence. He looked handsome.

“Ah, you’ve finally decided to arrive. How kind of you,” he says, his face saying it all. He was quite angry.

You decide it’s best not to retort, opting instead to place the tray of tea onto the nearby table. You take this time to glance at the other person in the room, finding her sitting curtly on the love-seat across from Jindosh. She’s a beautiful woman, her hair wound up neatly with a silver pen. Her clothes, while not expensive, look well put-together. She’s wearing a dark olive suit with a low collar, her shoulders lined with golden roses. She’s looking at you, her snake earrings glinting ominously.

You look away from her and stare intently at the glasses of tea you’re pouring.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” says Jindosh to Breanna, “The help these days are tediously incompetent.”

He’s not really speaking to her, he’s speaking to you. You feel your face get hot and it isn’t because of the fireplace. You try not to think about how much time you’ve spent with him recently—you try not to think of how close you’d started to get to him. It hurts to do so.

Breanna waves a hand at him, “Jindosh, I’m not hear for pleasantries anyway. Whether or not your serving staff can do their jobs is of no matter to me. I’m here to discuss the progression of the clockwork design. She wants to know if they’ll be ready by the month of Earth.”

Jindosh visibly shifts in his seat, looking incredibly agitated at both Breanna’s scolding and your tardiness. “I promised the duke I’d have the final design done by the month of Songs, at the latest. She has nothing to worry about. I can send a prototype along with you today, if you think she’s in doubt.”

Breanna sighs, tipping her head back with mild exasperation. “That won’t be necessary, Kirin. Just as long as you yield results, you’ll get what was promised to you. There’s no need to—,”

“Alright, fine,” he dismisses her words with a wave of his own hand, “Then tell me this: how is the device running? The new lenses are working correctly, I assume?”

“With all the time you put into them, I should hope so,” says Breanna with a hint of smirk on her face. You hand her a cup of tea with honey. She doesn’t thank you or even look at you. “Watching you work is tiresome, Kirin. How you complete such meticulous work each day is astounding.”

He straightens up at the complement, as per usual. “Yes, well, it’s what I’m best at. Though I’m curious to see the device in action.”

At this point, Ashworth sends a cutting glance your way, “Are you sure it’s best to be discussing this in front of a . . . maid?”

Your jaw locks and shift nervously, Jindosh’s glass of tea in your hand.

He, too, looks at you. His eyes are steady and sharp, his face contorts slightly with irritation. “I suppose you’re right, it’s not wise to trust a servant with anything, these days. Shall we go somewhere private?”

Something in you wilts as he humiliates you.

Breanna stands, her form slender and angular. “I’d like that, yes.”

Jindosh’s glass of tea is still in your hands as the two of them stride past you. Breanna leaves the room first, but Jindosh hesitates, turning around to address you, “If you’re late again, you’ll find your stay extended by another ten years, do you understand?”

Swallowing, you say, “I understand, Mr. Jindosh.”

“And another thing,” he says, his eyes locked onto your own, “I expect to see you in my office at five. Don’t be late, if you know what’s good for you.”

And then he leaves.

You feel your legs shaking. That’s the first time he’s talked to you like that since the loading bay incident. You’d almost forgotten who he was to you, having instead chosen to look at him through rose colored glasses. Your throat burns; it’s been a long time since you’ve had an employer embarrass you in front of a guest like that or even reprimand you in such a way. An abrupt laugh bursts out of you; hadn’t you told yourself this would happen? That he’d show his true colors right when you were starting to . . .

Starting to what, exactly? It was true that you’d spent every afternoon in his office for the past few weeks, watching him work or even having small conversations. He’d have you arrange the books on his shelf or dust the area. You had begun to think that it was because he enjoyed your company; that he thought you were different than the others. He had lent you novels from his collection and had asked you questions about your time in law school. He was horribly egotistic and condescending, but he was also quite brilliant and fascinating. You could have listened to him talk and talk for hours without growing bored. At the very least, you respected him and found him to be interesting. And at most . . . you were afraid to admit that you’d thought of him outside of work. He’d made you feel important, like you separate from the rest. You’d opened yourself up to this man—the same man who you had hated months ago. You’d made a fool of yourself again.

He was responsible for Henry’s death, he forced you to leave your home, he was a horrible man with no sense of morality.

So why were you crying?

You feel hot tears pouring down your cheeks as you shakily pick up Breanna’s cup of tea and set it back onto the tray. You feel your body jerk as you hold back tiny whimpers, feeling embarrassed and angry and sad all at once. How could he have talked to you like that? You thought he admired you, too.

“I’m an idiot,” you murmur to yourself, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your sleeve, “Stop crying, you’re making it worse. You’re at work, act like it.” It was very unprofessional of you to cry here. You’d never expressed yourself like this, not even when you worked for the Armstrongs. It was a principle of yours.

Your eyes are scratchy, but you stopped the tears. By the looks you were getting from the rest of the staff as you stepped out of the smoking room, you knew that they could tell you’d been upset. One of the maids gently touches your shoulder and you can only send her a thankful smile before you make a quick exit back to the elevator.

This wasn’t even over yet, either. You’d have to go see him after Ashworth left.

In the time between, you made yourself work twice as hard. The floors of each level were mopped, including the foyer you’d been in. The Guardsmen looked at you awkwardly, but said nothing. After that, you waxed the furniture in the waiting room and the guest area, as well as the wooden handrails of the lobby staircase. You then set to work cleaning all the windows, though you only got done with the first floor by the time that Jindosh called for you over the sound system.

When you heard his airy voice echo through the halls, you had jolted with surprise. It was only a quarter past three. Dread filled your chest as you went to return your cleaning supplies to your locker, your mind swimming with ideas of what he had in store for you. As you’re on your way, you are surprised to see Breanna Ashworth and her group of black-clad women leaving through the front lobby. She was going back already?

Back at your locker, you put up your supplies and remove your apron. Carefully, you dig into your back pocket and pull out the note that Jindosh had left you this morning.

You stare at the folded piece of paper for a second before you tuck it back into its previous place.

Be on your best behavior.

You could get through this, you knew you could. If he wanted to fire you, so be it. There were other occupations, some less than inviting, but you could live without this.

The elevator ride to his office had never seemed to take this long before. Even the cheerful ding as you arrived on the top floor did nothing to soothe you. Steel yourself, you can handle anything he has to throw at you.

Stepping out of the elevator room, you round the corner and see him propped against his desk. He’s not working on anything, he’s not preoccupied—he’s waiting on you.

All you can do for a moment is stand and stare at him, about forty feet between you and the inventor. Though your feet feel heavy, you know that he’ll eventually snap at you if you don’t approach. So, you take a slow pace toward him, your head held high, your shoulders steady. He cannot hurt you. He cannot hurt you.

He could if he wanted to.

As you stop yourself about five feet in front of him, he says nothing to you. He looks you up and down, slowly, several times. His arms are crossed, but you see his index finger on his good hand tap rhythmically against his arm. He’s thinking.

He says your name like it’s a question, then lets out a long sigh. “Why do you think I decided to hire you instead of killing you on the spot?”

The question falls flat and heavy on your shoulders. You take a brief pause to weigh your answer.

“Because you were being merciful.”

“No,” he retorts angrily, “That is not why.”

You have nothing to say to him. You’re at a loss for words, wondering if there even was a correct answer. You shake your head to notify him that you have no clue.

He lets out an exasperated grunt, setting his face into his hands, massaging the bridge of his nose. “You know the answer; we’ve talked about it. I hired you because you were challenging. You were angry and defiant. Most of all, you hated me. I could tell almost instantly.”

You can only stare at him blankly as he talks.

“Don’t get carried away,” he laughs roughly, “Nearly everyone despises me, you’re not the first to do it. But you are the first person in a long time who I met and thought to myself ‘I don’t want them to’.” He’s quiet, suddenly, lost in a memory from a long time ago that you cannot see.

He looks back you, something new in his eyes. “I have to keep you around—for as long as it takes. I’m not sure what I want from you, exactly, but I’m not about to let you walk away. Do you know what that means?”

You’re at a loss for words, merely shaking your head weakly.

He closes the distance between the two of you with one elegant stride, his hand coming up to tip your chin so that you’re forced to look him in the eyes. “That means you can’t behave in such a way that I might have to fire you.”

The proximity has your head spinning. He’s never been so close to you before. You can smell his cologne, the hint of whale oil on his skin. Why is your heart beating so hard; why does he have to look at you like that? Your breath is shallow and you’re starting to feel his body heat seeping into you. Your back is against the railing—there’s nowhere for you to go. And you . . .

You don’t want to go.

Realization hits you so hard that you almost gasp. The reason why you care about his opinion. The reason why his reprimands hurt so bad. The reason why you enjoy his company.

And, unfortunately, it hits him as well.

His eyes widen as he observes the blush on your cheeks, the glassy look in your eyes. His mouth opens for a moment, as if to say something, but he comes up short. His gaze flickers down to your lips which have parted just above his fingertips.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he breathes, “I don’t believe it.”

You snap out of it as soon as he speaks, ripping yourself away from him and stumbling back toward the elevator a few steps. Your gaze is cast toward the ground; you couldn’t possibly meet his. A thousand things are rushing through you, mostly embarrassment and regret.

He’s quiet, observing you wordlessly. Then, very softly, he says, “I didn’t hypothesize this to be an outcome at all. How curious.”

You stammer, “I—I don’t . . . it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m just . . . I’m just confused or tired or . . . it’s not like that.”

“It’s not?” he muses, a smile in his voice. “I must say, it’s been a while since I’ve had someone look at me like that. Though can I really blame you?”

You feel a lump form in your throat.

His chuckles die off and he says, “Did I accomplish my goal already? Have I changed your mind about me?”

You retort, venom in your voice, “Not at all.”

“You certainly could have fooled me, my dear.”

You’re only half aware of his footsteps approaching you. Your eyes are cast to the floor, your head angled so that you cannot see him. “Look at me,” he orders.

You refuse. “I’ve not changed my mind,” you reiterate, “I hate you.”

A hand touches your cheek, warm and large and calloused from days and days of tinkering. You feel your breath catch in your throat. “I don’t think that’s true anymore than you do.” Once again, he guides your face up to level with his own.

You have your eyes closed tightly. You cannot look at him. If you do, you’ll lose yourself again. Yet, though you cannot see him, the feeling of his hand against your cheek seems to have the same affect.

Timidly, you murmur, “Can I please be dismissed?”

When he doesn’t answer, you take a chance and open your eyes, looking up at his face. He’s not smirking at you or staring wickedly. In fact, his face is calm and observing, as if he’s studying you.

He does not dismiss you. “Now that I’ve completed my original goal, I believe I’ve found a new point of interest. Don’t worry, you’re still needed.”

Your face must be pitifully red. You’re so ashamed and flustered. You wanted more than anything to run out of the room, but you knew he wouldn’t appreciate the rudeness.

“You may be dismissed, but I’ve a new request for you from now on. I would like you to start working the night shifts here. Don’t worry, I hardly ever sleep so I’ll make excellent company. I’m also granting you permission to enter the private areas of the house, such as the photography room, the laboratory, and my bedroom. That’ll be all for now; I’ll see you tomorrow at dusk.”

His hand leaves your face, the warmth dissipating almost instantly. You stand limply where he had held in place, your mind racing.

He heads toward the elevator, likely going down to the laboratory. Before he rounds the corner to go into the elevator room, he calls to you over his shoulder-

“Oh, and don’t be late.”

Note: FINALLY SOME ROMANCE! God, I really want to write them in love and happy and bangin’ but I can’t yet and I know that u_u in the meantime though, I’m happy that I could finally get to the part where Jindosh realizes what’s he’s doing to the reader. I hypothesize that he’s the type of person who would know how to court somone/woo someone because of his upbringing but has no actual experience or interest in such a thing—hence why he’s treating the reader like they’re some kind of experiment. That will, hopefully, change “^u^

#kirin jindosh #kirin jindosh x reader #a decade gone #chapter 4 #a decade gone ch 4 #dishonored #Dishonored 2 #jindosh #reader insert

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the-freckle-game-is-strong-blog · 8 years ago

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Letting Off Steam (Creepypasta)

(Ahh, I’m so happy I rewrote this story, it’s like puberty hit it or something. It is vastly better… Downside, finding a writhing format that looks nice either tumblr’s allergic to indents layout is hard)

Delilah Van Grahams was a worrisome woman. Rightly so, many would agree. Her eyes carried more bags than an airport, luggage from her long nights without rest. Every night she had the same routine. First she would tell Riley it was getting late. Despite being sixteen she still needed some coaxing to see herself to Bedfordshire. Then she would come downstairs and stick the kettle on before plonking herself down beside the phone. Sometimes the television would be on, the volume stuck on a dismal five as if anything louder would make her miss a phone call but usually it was not on at all.

She tried not to stress. It was not good for the baby, or so she had been told. Her fingers drummed idly on her four month bump. There was quite an age gap between Delilah’s two children. One sixteen years, one merely sixteen weeks. She had, admittedly, had Riley quite young. Not a teen mother or anything of the sort, mid twenties but youthful enough that she could still now bare more children. Both by the same man, Rylan Blackwood.

Rylan was not the stereotypical idea of the perfect partner. They had never been wed, citing that it was unimportant but finance also being an issue because of reason two. Rylan was unemployed. He had worked dozens of jobs over the last eighteen years of their romance but fate had been cruel and he had never been able to keep a job longer than a few months. Mostly because of his last habit; vanishing.

Rylan had, for as long as Delilah had known him, disappeared. He did this every so often. One day, without warning, he would just take off. He could be gone for less than a day or even months. She would hear little to nothing of him, sparse text messages and occasional letters- If she was lucky. Then when he returned, he could never explain himself. He claimed to genuinely remember nothing. Doctors had suggested some form of selective amnesia but had never been able to provide more than theories.

This was one such instance. Rylan had been gone for weeks now. As usual Delilah had reported his absence to the authorises. As usual, they had not rung her back with the victorious finding of her partner. No. The first few times they had sent out search parties but by now, they had come to the conclusion he would find his way home on his own and that, in fact, this was a cruel trick. He was actually seeing some other woman and this was an elaborate coverup. Delilah scoffed. She knew Rylan better.

While the idea that this had happened countless times before and he had always come home safe reassure her somewhat, it did not totally ease her. No. She continued to wait, anxiously hovering by the phone in case of a call. News of the man she regarded as the love of her life.

“ Mum? ” Riley’s drowsy voice caused Delilah to jump, having not expected her daughter awake. In her paranoid focus on the phone, she had failed to see her entering. She smiled softly at her. The apple of her eye. Dressed in a fluffy pyjama set with just one slipper.

Riley reminded Delilah very much of her father. Her hair for example. At the roots and tips of Riley’s hair where the infrequently and self applied blue hair dye was weakest her natural hair colour was revealed. Ginger, a true redhead, like her dad. She had his freckles as well. Dotted all over her face, torso, arms and legs. Like thousands of tiny blotches of colour splattered from a paintbrush.

That being said, a lot about Riley was clearly inherited from her mother. She shared her skin tone with her mother rather than father. While Rylan was quite pale, Delilah was truly albino and had passed that on to Riley. Her skin was more than milky, like untrodden snow. There was also the matter of her eyes, another of her maternally inherited traits. They were glassy like a low quality gem one might find in cheap jewellery. The lilac tinge to them was soft and only visible in certain lighting. They were odd, yes, but not unheard of for those who suffered albinism.

“ Riley, what are you doing? It’s two in the morning, ” Delilah asked, getting up from her seat with an awkward rock before throwing her weight up. Getting around with a baby bump made even such mundane tasks a nightmare. Wordlessly Riley crossed the cold living room floor, her one slipper squeaking slightly. Lifting up a blanket she had carried from upstairs, she draped it sweetly over her mother’s shoulders.

“ Go to bed, mum, ” Riley insisted after a moment, her voice laced with her Scottish accent, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. Delilah sighed before smiling at her.

“ Sweetie, I can’t, I need to watch the ph- ”

“ Why? Does it do tricks? ” The teenager sassed, quirking a brow. “ Go to bed. There won’t be any phone calls tonight, or any other night. You know that. Dad will come home whenever it suits him.

” I- “ Delilah opened her mouth to protest before swiftly realising that actually Riley was right. She had been doing this for years and there never was anything. The fleeting rings she did get fell into the daylight hours. ” … Alright… “ She agreed, some sense having seemingly been talked into her by her daughter. Riley flashed a toothy grin, showing off the gap between her front two incisors, at the sight of her mother relenting and shuffling back to bed.

” Where have you been? “ Riley’s voice was bitter, laced with venom as she looked over across the dining table, spitefully digging her fork into her chicken nuggets. Delilah turned to see Rylan looking over at them from the doorway, lingering there. His clothing was a mess. Holes and patchwork littering them. He was unshaven, unlike his typical baby face. The bandaging around his arm suggested it had been injured. Not as bad as a break but worse than bruising. A sprain, perhaps?

"Rylan, ” Delilah got to her feet, dropping the plastic baby spoon she’d been using to feed Blossom- The newest addition of the Blackwood family. She gurgled and laughed as she threw her pot of baby mush onto the floor.

“ Dee, ” Rylan responded fondly, rushing forth to pull her into a hug. Delilah felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. When he hadn’t turned up for Blossom’s birth, she had been broken. Surely, sick or not, he understood how important it was? He had been there when Riley was born. Late, yes, he had turned up late and Delilah had already been in full blown labour by the time he turned up to the hospital. He had looked like someone with a vague idea of what Rylan should look like, but had never actually seen him had tried to recreate him from scrap materials. Yet for all he had looked homeless and messy he had been there. This time he had not.

“ Uh, hello? I asked you a question, ” Riley cleared her throat, shoving aside her plate and getting to her feet. Riley was tall, especially for her age, standing at 5'9 which easily dwarfed Delilah but still she fell short of her father’s 6'2.

“ Hey, ginger snap, I missed you… You’ve dyed your hair, ” Rylan comments, walking over to his elder daughter, lifting a hand to take a lock of her choppy hair in his fingers. Riley pulled away briskly.

“ Don’t touch me. Do you have any idea of what you’ve put mum through? Where the fuck have you been? ” Riley demands, her glassy eyes glaring holes in her father.

“ Riley! Language! ” Delilah scolded. Truth be told, she didn’t actually mind Riley swearing. She was an adult, near enough. Who was she to dictate what she could or couldn’t say? But this was her father!

“ No, no… She’s right, let her shout, ” Rylan relents, waving off Delilah’s protests.

“ Damn right I’ll shout! You asshole! Not only did you miss my birthday for the eighth year in a row but you weren’t here. You weren’t here for Blossom! What if something had went wrong? Touch wood, what if? ” Riley snarled, pointing a finger at him accusingly. This seemed to strike a nerve with Rylan.

“ Don’t you go there young lady, you know fine well I can’t co- ”

“ ‘Can’t control it, I’m ill, boo-hoo. Feel sorry for me’ is that what you were going to say? ” She asked, her face scrunched up unattractively, conveying the full extent of her disgust.

“ Oh, you ungrateful bitch! One day you’ll understand and then you’ll… You’ll…. ” Rylan trailed off, pacing, silently fuming.

“ Both of you, stop it! ” Delilah snapped as she rushed over to comfort Blossom who had started to wail.

“ Me? Ungrateful? You’re the one who can’t even get over this stupid amnesia, teenage runaway bullshit for the sake of your family! You’re the ungrateful one! I’ve been here, looking after mum and Blossom. Where the fuck have you been? ” At this point the argument had transitioned to a screaming match. Riley’s voice was even scratchier than usual- She’d suffered from infant coeliac as a baby and it had scarred her for the rest of her days with a particularly shaky voice.

“ I said both of you, sto- ”

Thwack!

Before Delilah could get any further, she let out a gasp. Rylan growled, rolling his shoulders tensely, his fist now balled to his side. Slightly red but not as red as Riley’s left cheek which he’d just smacked. A bright handprint blistered on her skin. Tears began to stream down her face. Delilah was shocked, her stomach churred. Rylan had never lifted a hand to any of them.

“ …I think you should leave, ” Delilah spoke, her voice hoarse, hardly believing she was sending him away just after he’d turned up. Rylan turned to her, blood boiling.

“ Fine! Whatever! I wouldn’t expect you to understand either, ” He snarled, making Delilah jump. Sure they’d argued before, of course but never had he sounded so… Sincerely hateful. Stomping off, the front door slammed behind him. His figure was visible out the window as he stalked off into her street before taking off at full sprint while Delilah cuddled a sobbing Riley while cradling Blossom on her hip.

She loved Rylan but enough was enough.

“ Riley, I know you’re going to your dress up party thing- ” Delilah was cut off before she could get any further.

“ Oh my god, ” Riley exclaimed. “ It’s not 'dress up party thing’, mum, it’s a steampunk convention, ” She corrects, as she adjusts the bow tie around her neck before moving to fiddle with the strap of her goggles.

“ Ah, right, ” Delilah responded, trying to understand. Admittedly, she did not but it made Riley happy and she had not seemed to smile in so long. Things had be rough for the family recently. Riley had been such a great help with Blossom, she was a gem of a girl, so if dressing up a little weirdly not and again pleaded her? Delilah would not stop her. “ But I need to pop to the shops and Blossom’s asleep. Do you mind watching her? ” She inquired.

“ Sure, I guess, but don’t take ages, ” Riley agreed, moving over to look at herself in the hallway mirror, sticking out her tongue thoughtfully before setting her index finger and thumb using her lips before using her spit to flatten down an unruly strand of her hair. Which almost instantly popped back up.

“ Alright, I won’t, ” Delilah agreed, however inevitably time would get away from her.

Upon returning home an hour later, Delilah instantly knew something was wrong. She was not sure what as of yet but it hit her like a truck. Some primal sense that there was something amiss in the home. It sent shivers down her spine, the hairs on her neck standing on end. Yes, she was sure of it, something was very definitely wrong.

Dropping her shopping bags in the hallway, she took a few steps deeper into the house and began to fully understand what the matter was. A nauseous scent clung to the air. Coppery and metallic in nature. It was weak but still made Delilah want to be sick.

“ Riley? ” She called out into the house, her voice echoing. No answer. While the three bedroom semi detached house had felt snug and even claustrophobic in the past it was now a vast mansion and she was calling uselessly into the west wing. That was unlike her daughter. She never ignored her. She clicked her tongue. Was she angry because of how long she had taken at the shop? Delilah wondered, before returning to the previously abandoned shopping bags to lug them into the kitchen

Upon reaching the kitchen, she dropped the bags again. They clunked heavier this time. A white pool began to form around the plastic bags suggesting the milk carton had burst with the force. It pooled in the cracks between the tiles but that was the least of Delilah’s concern.

The kitchen was a complete mess. Utensils were strewn out everywhere. Thrown here and there. Cupboards flung over, a forlorn box of cornflakes was tipped over the side, its contents on the worktop below. Of course there was only one person who could have done this but Delilah could seldom believe her darling daughter, who had been so much of a star these last few months, could do such a thing.

“ Riley! ” Delilah hollered, anger brewing up in her as she began to replace items such as broken bottles and discarded canned food. Among the mess was her sewing kit, spools of thread all thrown around but still there, apart from the red one. Riley had borrowed that for restitching a skirt a while ago and had never returned it. It was probably still in her jacket pocket. However, something else was missing too. Her dress making scissors. She could not see them in the kitchen either, they were easy to spot, being so large. Nearly nine inches long. Not to mention the bright plastic blue handle.

It was only then occurred to Delilah actually, what if they’d been broken into? She could not see any clear point of entry but that did not mean it had not happened. Fear set upon her again, overcoming her like a tide on the beach before she rushed for the stairs to check upstairs for any further damage- And for her daughters.

This was when the smell began to get worse, encroaching on her sense of smell, causing her to gag as she pressed on. What was that!? It stunk to the high heavens and the house certainly had never had any such pungent odours before she went shopping.

Her feet, which were bare now having toed off her shoes and socks when she had first got home, made contact with something aside from the carpet of the stairs. It was soft. Squishy. It was rounded before it popped under her weight and a lukewarm fluid was released underfoot. She stopped to look down, confused for a moment as to what it was. A white circle mashed into the carpet, with a grey ring and a little punk tail… Was that… An eyeball? Delilah screamed as the optic nerve tickled her toes, causing her to lose her footing, going tumbling back down the stairs. Her head collided roughly with the floor and she was out in seconds.

Upon waking up, Delilah groaned in pain as she feebly sat up. She could feel a warm liquid on the back of her head and neck. Blood she assumed, she had likely split her head open from the floor. She was surprised she had woken up at all. Even small head wounds could be fatal… But there was something else. That copper scent from earlier was stronger and now it finally dawned on her. It was blood. She could smell her own blood matting her hair but earlier on it had been the same- And she had not been bleeding then.

Remembering the eye, the first thing Delilah did was throw up. Her body trembled as she turned to empty the contents of her stomach onto the floor. No way she imagined it. That had been someone’s optic nerve. The familiar grey colour suggested who to her- But she could not consider that. She refused to believe it.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she got to her feet to look around. That in itself was hard. The room was incredibly dark. All of the curtains and blinds had been shut, banishing the natural sunlight and the lights were out. She stumbled to the light switch- Only for nothing to happen. Someone had killed the lights. She was not naive enough to believe a power outage was a mere coincidence in a time like this.

Rushing instead to the front door, she rattled on the handle but no luck. It was locked and when she searched for the keys on the table in the entrance way, where she always put them, they were gone.

As the panic and confusion began to set in she frantically checked her pockets for her phone- To provide contact to the outside world or even just a light. It was gone.

Turning to the curtains, she yanked on the nearest ones. They put up some resistance. On closer inspection it seemed they had been duct taped to the wall but the adrenaline made her strong enough to pull the curtains free, tearing the wallpaper the tape was attached to in the process.

It was dusk now and there was very little light outside. The stray beams of half sunlight, half moonlight that filtered in only very slightly illuminated the room and only the half that was nearest the window. Yet that was enough to terrify Delilah.

Covering the walls were red handprints, like a macabre mocking of mischievous children. Delilah knew what it was but it made it easier for her to block it out and think of it as red paint, as frightened tears soaked her face. They were everywhere, apart from one area. One space on the wall had been left be. Instead of handprints, a haphazard drawing of some trees had been inked there. It was messy, clearly done with fingers as the main applicator. Hidden among the cluster was a tall man, drawn as willowy as the woods around him. He wore a suit and lacked a face.

Delilah had to get out of here. As weak as she felt right now, she threw herself at the window, banging on it trying to shatter the glass before another thought caught up to her. In her hysteria she had forgotten about her daughters. Her breathing hitched in her throat.

Turning around, she tried to collect herself. She did not know what was going on but if there was even a slim chance her girls were alive in this twisted mockery of what used to be the family home, she he had to find them.

“ Ri… Riley? ” Delilah called into the darkness. There was no point calling for Blossom, she was just a baby, she couldn’t respond. For a moment, there was only silence. And then there was a whimper from somewhere above her, a broken cry.

Without another thought Delilah raced to the abyssal ascent that was the stairway. Thoughts of the disembodied eye clouded her conviction for a moment. Mayhap it would be safer to escape? Run to the neighbours and call the police first? But no, she decided, by then something dreadful could have happened. She needed to get upstairs.

Gathering her courage, she began the climb, taking the stairs slowly. The light from the window did not reach this face and she was staring into endless shadow. She tried to avoid stepping on the eye again but devoid of light as it were, it was impossible. She flinched as the ball of her foot touched the moist residue, most of the fluid had dried into the carpet but it made it no less disgusting. Her head felt fuzzy and she pressed on before she could repeat her fall from earlier.

Delilah felt breathless as she reached the top, despite having climbed a mere twelve or so steps. The stink up here was worse, more concentrated. She had to heave for breath, panting, unable to take air through her nose. The aroma of awful was just too much to bear. Her lips felt dry. Be it due to using her mouth to sustain her lungs or do to the horrifying reality of her situation.

The first room she came to was Riley’s. The door was slightly askew and opened all the way with a slight creak of protest but it was too dark to see anything. “ Riley? ” Delilah whisper-shouted, but the only sound she could hear this time was her own laboured breathing.

Somewhere behind her a light came on.

Delilah flinched instinctively before spinning to look behind her. Squirming under the tiny cracks in the closed doorway, it shone like a halo around the door but the guiding silhouette did nothing to calm her. How was that light on when she had already checked that the power was out?

Creeping closer to the door, she could feel her heart hammer in her chest. Her footfalls on the creaky floor sounded like an avalanche and she was frighteningly aware of how obvious she was. Whoever, or whatever, was beyond that door knew she was here. Tears streamed down her face, ghosting her lips and leaving a salty taste. Why was she putting herself through this? Her common sense screamed to run away as fast as her jittery legs would carry her but she could not. One thing was more important than her life.

Her daughters.

Fear could only restrain her so much when her mother’s love was called to action. Delilah did not typically consider herself to be any braver than the average person but she did think she had more to lose. Maybe it would be more sensible to make a break for it and have the authorities deal with it- But she fell into that age old trap of refusing to feel helpless. She had to be the one to do something. She could not trust anyone else with the safety of the two people most important to her.

Her hand hesitated, hovering just above the handle before grasping it; the metal cold in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if it made any difference in such dim light. With a small amount of force she pushed the door open. It swung easily round to tap against the wall, giving a whine of protest. As it peeled back to reveal what lay beyond, Delilah became aware of a soft dripping noise. Like a leaky tap.

At first she was not sure what she was looking at. On the floor lay the unrecognisable tangle of… A baby doll? One of Blossom’s toys. Its form was twisted, legs forced up behind it over its shoulders, while one of its arms was missing. Its little pink dress was destroyed, now barely scraps of material hanging from its form. Her hair had been chopped off and littered the floor around her. Red thread had been wrapped around its plastic body. A flashlight was positioned beside it; the light source.

“ What the fu… ” Delilah trailed off, unsure what this morbid display before her was supposed to be. She drew closer, paranoia growing. It was just a doll, she told herself and she needed that flashlight. Bending beside it, her hands shakily grabbed for the light, her nerves making her grip weak and the torch slippery. It took three attempts to pick it up.

She felt breathless, her chest growing tight. Her knuckles turned white, holding the torch with an iron grip. Suddenly she became aware of the dripping noise again. Delilah whimpered and jumped backwards, snapping to turn the light of the torch in the direction of the noise with a swift motion. There was a speck of ooze on the doll’s near bald head. A red spot that slowly began to droop and run down its lifeless face. She hadn’t noticed it before because of the poor visibility and the red thread, but there many similar splotches.

Drip.

Suddenly another hit the plastic skull.

Drip drop.

Another two. Slowly Delilah shakily turned her torch upwards. What she saw made her shriek like a banshee, wailing in a hysterical mixture of terror and disgust. More tears hit her face, splashing off of her face to the floor. Her flashlight hit the floor with a loud thump, the force separating the head from the body, the batteries escaping their prison and killing the only light she had. In the darkness it would be impossible to reassemble it.

The image was seared into Delilah’s mind, like an imprint of the back of her eyes. The room light had swung back and forth, the light shade having been removed. What she at first thought was a red rope had been twisted around the light, lowered down to another dismembered doll. Wrapped around its little neck and torso. Like the other an arm was missing but the legs this time merely hung limp, pointed to the floor. The hair was matted but remained in place. The stomach had been slashed open and an eyeball was missing from its porcelain face. Then Delilah came to the horrid realisation.

It wasn’t a doll.

Seeing the tiny corpse strung up by its own intestines, Delilah felt the bitter taste of the lining of her stomach bubble up in her throat before retching. There was only one person such a petite cadaver could belong to… And to accept that would drive Delilah off the brink into insanity. It was much easier to pretend it was another broken toy.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone laughed. An evil, brutal cackle that echoed off the walls, carrying its malice. Like a hyena fresh from a kill. It was only then that it occurred to Delilah that flashlights cannot be turned on remotely, yet it had been turned on while she was just outside and there was only one exit to this room.

She was not alone.

Scrambling around in the light emptied room, desperately searching for the parts of the torch on her hands and knees, she cursed herself for being so stupid. Her hand frantically brushed over a battery which she snatched up.

However then something collided with her face, hard, knocking her to her back as she let out a cry. Then like she was suddenly on an operating table, a bright light was shone in her face, temporarily stunning and blinding her. Her attacker chortled again. The flick of a switch sounded and the light was gone, leaving her in terrifying darkness. The message was clear. She was not to look for the torch.

They were toying with her, Delilah realised, panting.

For a moment she paused on the floor, gathering her bearings before pushing herself to her feet. She hesitated for a second, waiting to see if another hit came. Nothing. She struggled, rushing forward and bumping into the wall. Slowly she inched around the room, using it to guide her to the doorway which she eventually found.

Out in the hallway she could see the glimmer of light from the window downstairs. The thought that the outside world still existed beyond this madhouse was somewhat comforting.

There were only two other rooms upstairs. Her and Rylan’s shared bedroom and the bathroom. She could not think for the life of her why she would go to her bedroom at a time like this when the bathroom, with its perfectly good lock, was an option. She could have ventured downstairs to break the window and follow through with her original plan but fear derailed any logical train of thought. Her primal instinct to shelter herself somewhere secure and wait for the storm to pass, as unlikely as that was, won out any other wishes.

Finding her way to the bathroom with the help of the downstairs lighting and the wall, she stumbled in. She slammed the door and swiftly jammed the lock shut, bolting out the outside world- But that included the small amount of light she’d had.

Flinging her body back against the door, she gasped. For the first time in hours she felt a sliver of safety. Her breathing began to steady to a regular pattern. Her adrenaline began to waver, bringing attention to the stinging feeling on her cheek and the throbbing at the back of her head.

Squeak!

Delilah flinched. What was that? Searching for any possible source of the noise, trying to keep calm whole she determined whether it came from outside or in the bathroom.

Then there was light. Not like before not a bright, dizzying spotlight to the eyes. A lighter. Just a little flicker of fire. Then another. A tea light, just bright enough to return Delilah’s minimal sight. As her panic began to set in again, the first thing she caught sight of was the bathroom mirror and her own dimly light face. A bright mark adored her cheek, the pattern making it easy to guess it was from the bottom of a boot. A gift from her attacker earlier on.

Then her gaze snapped to the source of the light. Lounging in the bathtub, waving around a tea light in one hand and rubber ducky in the other, one leg hanging out of the tub was her daughter. Still clad in her convention outfit. Her top hat was squint, pushed to the front of her head, her goggles holding it up from tilting any further forward and falling.

“ Fancy a bubble bath? ” She inquired, her grip on the bath toy tightening slowly to release a long, depressed squeal from it.

“ Riley! ” Delilah exclaimed in an whisper-shout. “ What are you doing in there? ” She asked, while Riley gently rocked the foot she had hanging out of the tub back and forth. As if she had not a care in the world.

“ …Having a bath? ” Riley responded nonchalantly, throwing the rubber duck to the other end of the bath and setting the candle down on the edge of the bath before getting to her feet. Her boots thumped on the floor as she hopped out. “ What else am I doing in the bath? ” She asked with a voice full of attitude.

“ Because- ” Delilah began loudly before lowering her voice. “ Because for a start you’re fully clothed and two, there is someone in this house trying to kill us, ” She said, placing her hands on Riley’s shoulders trying to shake some sense into her daughter. Even for as odd as her girl could be, surely she could grasp the gravity of the situation?

“ Well, yeah, ” Riley’s response came with typical teenage boredom. Like a nineteen year old trying to explain the Internet to their ageing parents.

“ What do you mean 'yeah’? ” Delilah responds, fussing. “ Did they hurt you? Are you alright? ” She asks, her hand moving down slightly and catching onto something sticky on her daughter’s outfit. Her shirt was wet and the red colour was only barely visible in the dark. “ Oh my god- Are you alright? ” She gasps, as the half dried blood clings to her fingers.

“ Huh? ” Riley responds looking down before flashing a grin. “ Oh? That. Don’t worry. It’s not mine. ”

Delilah was engulfed in emotion for a moment, first relief that Riley was safe. Then confusion, who’s blood was it then if not hers? And then finally, the horrid realisation hit her.

“ …No! ” She gasped, as she staggered away from her daughter, grabbing frantically for the lock. As she struggled with the small bolt, Riley snickered behind her. With a great exertion of her remaining strength Delilah managed to force the door open, at the cost of slicing open the skin on the the side of her hand open.

Delilah whimpered as she rushed out of the room, shaking her now blooded palm as she rushed into the hallway, the warmth of her needed fluid spilling out against her skin causing her to shiver. As she bolted for the stairway, she glanced behind her for a single moment. Riley stood there, in the doorway of the bathroom, candle in hand having retrieved it from the edge of the bathtub. Her maniacal smile was barely illuminated in the dim light. She raised her opposite hand and pinched the wick with her index finger and thumb- Extinguishing the light. Plunging upstairs into darkness once more.

Racing downstairs, Delilah stumbled in her haste and gravity did the rest, causing her to slip forward and rather ungracefully descend the stairs for the second time today. She landed on her front this time, winding herself, knocking the air from her lungs. She wheezed, panting as she crawled forward, her nails scratching the floor as she drove herself forward to the wall. Tearing the handprinted wallpaper as she tried to return to her feet, she cried out, as a pain shot through her ankle.

Looking down the nauseous feeling in her stomach returned at full force. Her left ankle was twisted in an unnatural fashion and trying to support weight upon it was met only with agony.

Limping towards the window, doing her best to avoid using her left leg as much as possible, she paused and huffed as she tried to steel herself and ignore the multitudes of pain coursing through her. She was starting to feel dizzy, the amount of blood she had lost starting to take its toll on her.

Yet it seemed she could not catch a break. She could heard footsteps coming from the upstairs hallway. Boots stomping. Slow and loud. Taunting her again, letting her know she was coming, like a lamb who knew the butcher was only just beyond the relative safety of its pen.

Why her? Why did it have to be Riley? She was a good kid! She got decent grades in school, did all she could to help around the house and only very rarely got into fist fights with other students. Had she missed something? Had she overlooked some sort of mental health issue? No, she thought, trying to keep focussed as her vision spun before her like a carousel. She was a tentative mother, of that she was sure. She had been there to fuss when the school had referred her to a specialist to have her diagnosed with ADHD. She had been there. If there was some deep seated psychological reason, she would know.

The footsteps banged on the stairs, beginning to get closer, telling Delilah she had a limited time to come up with a plan of action. Banging on the glass of the window, she screamed in frustration. She could sense Riley lurking in the shadows of the hallway.

Growing more and more hysterical, she began to ram the window with the full force of her shoulder. An amused 'heh’ alerted her Riley was in the room with her, barely a few steps away, taking her time, leisurely strolling across to Delilah. Trapped, like a fish in a barrel.

Finally, the glass began to break under the force, a small dent beginning to stretch into a line. The possibility of smashing the window becoming more and more real.

Yet it was already too late. The sharp sound of metal scraping metal made Delilah turn. Riley stood directly behind her, face inches from hers, wielding her mother’s stolen dress making scissors. Slowly opening them before snapping them shut again. Some of Blossom’s now dried blood blunted them ever so slightly. Delilah realised Riley had not been taunting her, or trying to work her to panic. She had merely been taking her time to clean her weapon. This threatening gesture was intended to remove the last of the crusty red and sharpen her blade.

“ 'Sup, ” Riley chirped before thrusting her scissors into the right side of her mother’s stomach. Delilah flinched, her hands snapping to Riley’s wrist and white knuckling her, screaming in anguish as she tried to defend herself. Trying to shove Riley back however seemed in vain, her daughter was much better built than she and easily overpowered her, driving the scissors through her body and piercing an exit wound on the skin of her back.

“ No, no, stop! ” Delilah screeched, squirming, as she fell back against the window, hearing it crack more against her weight but not enough to give out. Riley flashed an evil sneer, twisting the scissors, niggling her insides and tearing through human flesh like butter. Delilah felt like she was on fire, the pain rushing through her from her head, her hand, her side, her leg. “ P-Please! Stop! ”

Riley ripped the scissors free, causing more damage as she did so. Delilah sobbed in a mixture of terror and anguish. Her blood splattered the semi broken window behind her like a morbid stain glass painting.

“ What’s wrong? I arrange all this mother-daughter bonding and you don’t even appreciate it? Ungrateful! ” She snapped, as Delilah’s vision began to fade.

“ Why, ” She gasped at her daughter, reaching out a weak hand to her. “ Why would you… ” She trailed off, as Riley pocketed her pilfered scissors and took her mother’s outstretched hand in hers, squeezing it. A motion that might have been affectionate, reassuring even, if not for the context of their situation and the extra pain it caused in Delilah’s injured hand.

“ I understand what daddy meant now, ” Riley tells her, turning her gaze upwards to the drawings on the wallpaper. Her gaze seeming to linger on the painting of the faceless man.

“ Ri… Ril- ” Delilah stuttered, her voice escaping her as she slumped against the window, sliding to the floor. Riley went with her, lowering herself, crouching before her.

“ Shh, shh, it’s okay… Go ahead, you can rest now, it’s over for you, ” Her daughter’s scratchy voice whispered, their hands still holding onto one another, fingers intertwined.

Delilah was already so far gone, she was barely aware of the revolver being lifted to her head.

Bang!

A few weeks later, Rylan was sipping his coffee, his eyes never leaving the broadsheet newspaper in front of him. He had been nursing this hot beverage for long enough it had went cold but in a cozy, backwater truck stop in the middle of no where like this? Nobody bothered him over it.

He had always known it was a possibility this would happen. A very probably one in fact. The question had merely been by who’s hand. Yet, reading about Delilah and Blossom’s gruesome end still stirred deep sentimentality in him. Still, they had served their purpose. As had he. His time was limited now. He would be replaced soon- Discarded.

The bell on the door tinkled alerting the sparsely populated diner someone else had entered. Rylan heard them brush off a waitress, telling them to give her a moment. He glanced up slightly.

“ You know, you’re inconspicuous as fuck in that outfit, ” He grumbled, as his daughter took a seat across from him. “ You’re supposed to be laying low. ”

“ 'You’re supposed to be laying low’, ” She mimicked sassily. “ Fuck off, Snitch, ” She grunted, addressing him by his alias rather than his proper name, despite knowing it full well. She shivered, clearly cold, pulling her tailcoat close. “ This place is fucking freezing, ” She grumbled before picking up Rylan’s coffee, taking a long gulp before beginning to choke up. “ Fucking hell! That’s cold, how can you drink that swill? ”

“ Will you be quiet? You’re causing a scene, ” Rylan warned her lowly, the few other cafe goers risking glances at the unusual pair.

“ See, the thing is, to cause a scene you need a crowd and unless you hadn’t noticed, we might as well be in the Sahara, ” She retorts. Rylan snorts, turning up his nose at her.

“ …You been given a name? ” He asks simply moving on. She flashed a toothy grin, glancing over as one of the waitresses tried to perform a hushed phone call. As Rylan had suspected, his daughter’s over-the-top getup had given them away almost instantly, sticking out like a sore thumb. It would hardly be a tricky police line up.

“ Aye, ” She told him, lifting her revolver and firing without looking. In the last few weeks, her skills had already been honed. Trained by the tough lifestyle and the threat of death in the face of failure.

Someone screamed, as the waitress’ brain was turned to mush with the impact of the bullet before spraying across the wall.

“ Bullseye, ” The girl let out a low self-impressed whistle. “ Three sixty no scope that shit! ”

“ Nice shot but don’t be an idiot. So, name? ” Rylan pressed, guiding her attention back to his question, as people began running from the truck stop, screaming bloody murder. In such a secluded country corner, the duo could take their time. Any law enforcement would be at least ten minutes this far out in the sticks.

“ Steampunk, don’t wear it out, ” She told him as she clicked the safety of the revolver back on and holstered it again.

“ …You’ll be…. An interesting proxy. I’m sure he’ll be watching you very closely. ”

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #slenderman #proxy #Creepypasta Steampunk #horror #short story

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