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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

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Hello! How are you? May I pls request the prompts scratches and collar for Sakusa Kiyoomi for the yandere writing challenge thingy? I hope this is alright! Thank you <3

Thanks for requesting!! Sakusa is one of my favorites actually, so I am really excited to write for him! uwu Please enjoy!

Scratches - “Try that again sweetheart, I dare you.” (I don’t want to overlap prompts too much, so I am doing just this one!)

»»———��———— ♡ ————————««

Living with Kiyoomi had never been easy.

When you two got married, you’d been quite intimidated by him after your husband wouldn’t look at you even once the whole day. You thought to yourself about how much he must have hated you, considering he only agreed because you two had been promised since your childhood. This marriage didn’t seem like something he was interested in, and the moment you were ‘unloaded’ at his home, you felt like the strangest organism in the whole world.

Nonetheless, you tried to be liked. If you at least couldn’t be a nuisance to him, you thought he might accept you as his partner. But all your attempts backfired gloriously. He wouldn’t eat your cooking, clean over your cleaning, ignore you after he came home from training. For the first year or so, he wouldn’t even take you to one of his matches. You were sure other spouses were allowed to go, so why not you?

But you got used to it. You had to, somehow, or else you probably would have never stopped feeling unloved and unwanted. It wasn’t what you expected, hearing about love all this time, but you didn’t have a bad life by his side, at least. His accounts were filled with money, food was delivered fresh to your doorstep every day, and though you didn’t know anyone in the city that you two settled in, you got along well enough with your neighbors, so you didn’t feel too lonely.

And what you least expected, once you accepted that you and Kiyoomi could never be an item, he started to relax too. Had you been too much? Maybe pushing him too far without realizing? Intruding on him? Or perhaps he had just been told to be nicer to you by his parents, but your surprise was great when he joined you to watch TV one evening.

Given, he didn’t speak a word and didn’t seem too interested in the show you were watching. There also were about two seats free between you, but it was a start. And gradually, your relationship improved.

»»———————— ♡

Nervously, you looked at your outfit, wondering if it was too much. Kiyoomi had never asked you to dress up to accompany him before, scowling whenever you decided to try and impress him with your fashion sense or asked to go with him. Even now, you knew that asking you to come and meet sponsors was just a way to look good in other people’s eyes; he even had a suit delivered to him that day. It wasn’t you who was wanted. It was the image of being married to someone. But as his partner, maybe that was the only thing you could do to please your husband.

“Are you ready?” he asked through the door, not daring to step into your room. He never had entered it ever since you moved in, and you wondered if it was because he disliked you so much or because he feared you were ‘dirty’. But you gave yourself an encouraging nod in the mirror, quickly making your way out. “All done!”

You didn’t expect him to stand right in front of the closed door as you opened it, almost running into him but stopping at the last second. “Do I look fine?” you asked, noticing him appraising you over the rim of his white mask. He looked comically like that, suited up yet wearing gloves and mask as if he was going to clean, but even so, you had to give it to his looks that he was handsome. You didn’t doubt your own attractiveness, but the curt, “It’s alright,” he muttered did sting.

»»———————— ♡

Had you known how exhausting these kinds of events were, you would have almost been thankful that he never took you with him before. Giving it all you had sure was taxing when you never did it before, but you wanted oh-so-badly to be accepted by Kiyoomi’s side. You didn’t even notice your own mental exhaustion until you finally had a chance to sit down.

Alone, again.

Maybe you simply weren’t fit for this kind of life. You didn’t know much about volleyball, and there were many weird insider jokes you didn’t understand. Everyone appeared so friendly, some faces still familiar from the wedding, yet you couldn’t help but notice the pity in their eyes. They were all thinking the same thing, you were sure. Just how pitiful you were to be so unluckily married to a man who never seemed interested in what you two had.

“What’s the long face for, hm?” you suddenly heard a cheerful voice, something cold being pressed to your cheek and startling you. You looked up in confusion, only to be blinded by a warm and cheerful grin, the light of the room being reflected through a water bottle and accentuating his features even more.

“O-Oh,” you stuttered, reaching up for the drink he held out to you. “I didn’t see you coming, Atsumu-san. I’m sorry, I was in thoughts...”

“No offense, but you don’t seem to have much fun,” he sighed, plopping down next to you. “It’s such a shame Omi-Omi never shows you off, yer so cute, you know? Makes it much easier to endure parties like these!”

Laughing it off, you found yourself mesmerized by how carefree Atsumu seemed. To you, all of this was a big deal, and you had always assumed it was the same for everyone. But apparently, more people shared your sentiment of the time seemingly dragging out. Without noticing, you chuckled, and Atsumu’s eyes flitted over to you before he straightened his back briefly, crossing his legs. Smirk falling over his lips, you almost caught yourself gasping at how gorgeous he looked in the ambient lighting around you two.

“That’s much better. Ya should laugh more!”

Feeling the warmth spread through your face, you quickly cleared your throat, looking away as to not stare. For a moment there, you thought he really looked like an angel, making you feel at peace around him. “I just- You know- You call him Omi-Omi?” you changed the topic quickly, trying to hide the awestruck expression on your face by hiding behind your hand a bit.

“Huh? Oh yeah. Wouldn’t recommend it, he doesn’t really like it, but it’s fun teasing him, ya know? He gets all-” Reaching up, Atsumu pushed his brows together and put on his best impression of Kiyoomi. “‘Don’t call me that, you Idiot. Work on your serve if you have so much time.’ That’s what he says to me! I’m just trying to be friendly...”

Shaking your head slowly, you couldn’t hold back your laugh as you listened to him gush on about your husband treating him ‘unfairly’. Part of you felt sad having to hear it from a third person, never having been able to collect experiences with him yourself. Still, you were also relieved to see he wasn’t just treating you so coldly. “You’re so funny, Atsumu-san,” you chuckled, and he finally stopped talking, relaxing next to you after his tirade.

“There we go,” he mumbled, and you felt his hand fall to your head, giving it some pats. It made your heart grow to receive the affection, slowly but surely making you realize you had been missing fooling around and laughing or even being touched gently for a change. “Don’t let him get to you, ya hear me? Or I’ll come and kick his ass for you!”

“Who’s ass are you kicking?” you both were suddenly interrupted, and knowing the voice, you looked up. Shame hitting you, you stood up, Atsumu’s hand falling from you as you slipped out from under it, facing your husband cautiously. “Kiyoomi, you’re back!” you mumbled, wondering if your mood change was too noticeable. “Yeah, we’re leaving,” he announced, ready to go.

“Don’t just go around touching other people’s spouses, Atsumu,” he warned his colleague sharply, his arm coming around your back. Still, not even the tip of his glove touched you, much less gentle than Atsumu did.

“Mood-killer,” you heard Atsumu complain. “Good night, [Name]!” he called after you, and you graced him with a brief smile thrown over your shoulder, waving after him while you let yourself be led out by your husband.

»»———————— ♡

The ride home was almost as tiring as the evening itself, and the streetlights passing you as you looked out the window weren’t enough to keep you awake. It was a long drive, but the next thing you noticed was a warm body carrying you upstairs from the garage. “Bastard,” you heard a voice, slowly but surely regaining your senses.

“Kiyoomi?” you asked meekly, rubbing your eyes. Blinking a few times, when you looked up, you were met with a disgusted glare staring down at you, instantly making you shrivel into yourself. A flight instinct set in, and only now you noticed he was carrying you through the hallway of your house, not bothering being gentle with the bathroom door once he reached it.

He seemed furious and disgusted, and at least one of these were emotions you had never seen him make before. You almost expected him to drop you into the bathtub as you found yourself hovering over it, but he set you down gently. Nonetheless, the sudden stream of cold water hit you like a slap in the face as he turned on the shower without even a moment of hesitation. It grew warmer quickly, but you found yourself weirded out as your clothes began to stick to you. Kiyoomi, too, barely took off his blazer before kneeling down next to the tub, reaching for the shampoo standing close by.

It was in no way gentle or comfortable as he rubbed it onto your head, the gloves he wore not helping at all. You began to splutter as you had to close your eyes, soap going everywhere on your face. “Where else did he touch?” Kiyoomi asked, almost too calm for the fact it felt like he was trying to press the shampoo into your head rather than wash you. “No- Nowhere!” you complained, ducking out from his touch and wiping away soap from your face. “What are you doing?!”

“I don’t believe you,” was all the answer you received to your question. “Tell me. Now. Don’t make this harder for us.”

“What...” you muttered, flinching as you felt his hands fall to your body, grabbing your clothes. “What’s wrong with you!” you finally yelled, swatting his hands away harder than you wished you did. Finally, you got the time to wash off the soap and open your eyes again, feeling ill-treated and confused by his actions. Though despite the warm water, as you finally managed to look at him again, you felt your body freeze.

You thought you knew how he looked at you all this time. Disappointed, disapproving, and disgusted, but this time it was different. He looked at you as if you just ripped his heart out and claimed he was fine like that, and that hurt almost more than any look before. But in the next moment, it was gone, just like a snap of his fingers, and he grabbed your wrist, tightly and unbudging even if you complained. “Try that again, Sweetheart, I dare you.”

Blinking a few times, you couldn’t decide what was scarier; seeing him for the first time up close, face only inches from yours and without the mask, which usually gave some more distance between you two, or having him threaten you. Kiyoomi never talked more than a few words with you at a time, nor did he show any interest in anything you did. “Slap my hand away again, and I will make sure you can’t use it for a long time, you understand? Don’t you know by now who you belong to?”

His questions were so clear, yet in your head, they made no sense. Who did you belong to? Who was it?

“Y-You?” you eventually muttered. “Do I belong to you?”

A question as stupid as it sounded, and yet, it eased Kiyoomi’s rage, it seemed. “That’s right,” he confirmed. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine ever since we met for the first time, don’t ever forget that. I am the only one that is allowed to touch you and no one else. Especially no sleazy bastards like Atsumu.”

“Kiyoomi...”

“Undress,” he interrupted you. “I have to clean you.”

Hesitating, you gripped your own clothes. Never before had you heard him talk like that, especially not about you. You never even believed he could have those thoughts about you, and after being unloved for so long, they felt like bandaids to your wounds. Mind you, not strong bandaids, no. They didn’t even manage to heal you partially, but who were you to complain. Because, what Kiyoomi said...

“Okay,” you whispered, slowly stripping out of your clothes. “I’m sorry... Omi.”

You were stretching your luck, but you were so close to tears as he placed his hand on top of your head. It wasn’t like Atsumu’s. It wasn’t gentle, and it didn’t fill your core with happiness. No, it pressed you down, making you lower your head and feel so insignificant compared to its greatness. But it was Kiyoomi’s. The person you wanted to be loved and caressed by the most.

“It’s okay,” he sighed, and for once, his voice sounded almost gentle and forgiving after you did something. His hand stayed as his free one helped you get out of your clothes, and laying your own hand on top of his, you felt his warmth for the first time, no glove separating you two.

And to this day, you still remember wondering if what Kiyoomi said meant that he loved you too.

Even if that meant you were living in the worst kind of relationship possible.

[You can find the prompt list here]

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kakashiswilloffire · 4 years ago

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hey friend! i saw you are taking requests and would love to submit one if you're up for it!

would love something fluffy and sweet for kakashi. maybe some lazy day off shenanigans with his s/o and his ninken? bonus points if snuggling in a dog pile is involved at some point. reader can be gender neutral.

thanks and congrats on 100!

thank you so much!! i'm not really a dog person so i struggled a bit but i hope you enjoy!!

ao3

words: 2.4k

warnings: none!

It was the first day off you had both had in nearly a month. Team 7 kept Kakashi busy, if not with missions, then with training all day. On top of that, he was still in the on-call rotation all jonin were required to keep their names in, though his shifts were less frequent due to his status as a sensei. You had recently been promoted, and with that, your responsibilities were upped and you had been asked to step in for one of your colleagues who had recently run into some unexpected health issues. The time you had been able to share at home together had been limited to early mornings and late evenings, and frequently, there had been nights where the apartment you shared had remained empty entirely. Your fiancé had been counting down the days until your schedules finally overlapped, and you had exactly twenty-six hours in which you both had no obligation to the outside world.

You were awoken by the fire alarm screeching and a handful of swear words, followed by a crunching of plastic and sudden silence. Gaze flickering to the side, you noted Kakashi’s two-thirds of the bed empty and grinned, holding back a chuckle.

“Everything alright, babe?” you called out.

The reply came with an air of resignment. “Did I wake you up?”

You brought your arms over your head, feeling your joints re-align and pop lightly as you stretched.

“Not necessarily, unless you need help cleaning up?”

“No!” He replied quickly, and you heard the broom skitter across the tiles, dragging the remains of the smoke detector with it. “Go ahead and go back to sleep, I’ll come wake you later.”

Not one to deny the opportunity to rest after how late you’d gotten in last night, you snuggled back into your pillow with a small smile. It only took a moment before you were drifting off again, although not as deeply as you had been. You were dimly aware of the sound of teapot being filled, the burnt toast smell wafting through the open door, and your fiance’s graceful footsteps as he danced through the kitchen.

Wait.

Danced?

You raised your head up slightly, freeing both ears to focus on the sound of the Copy Ninja’s footsteps. His weight wasn’t distributing evenly on each step and the pattern of his footfalls was irregular. Bringing yourself to a sitting position, you suddenly realized that he was humming absentmindedly in the small kitchen.

Kakashi was not known for his stoicism, but the level of professionalism he established outside of the copy of Icha Icha attached to his palm was carefully maintained even in his downtime. When you went out together for dinner or drinks with friends, he told few jokes and mostly at Genma or Asuma’s expense. Gai’s repeated challenges to karaoke contests, both in locations with and without a karaoke machine, had always been flatly denied in favor of watching you and Kurenai choose the heartbreaker duet of the week to belt out. When you found yourself at the rare club, it only took light coaxing to bring him onto the dance floor with you, but anything more than swaying to the beat was out of the question. As long as he was having fun, you didn’t mind him not joining in the way the others teased him to do, but you had wished that he would be able to let go of his responsibilities long enough to really enjoy himself one day.

You slinked out of bed, keeping your movements as fluid as possible as you wrapped the comforter over your shoulders. As silently as you could move, you travelled into the hallway and through the living room, the smell of something acrid and burnt slowly getting stronger. You flattened yourself parallel to the wall, though not touching it to prevent the noise of the comforter dragging along, once you approached the doorway to the kitchen. He was certainly humming, and you couldn’t repress a grin, realizing he must be nearly skipping from the counter to the pantry from the way he moved. As slowly as you could, despite your excitement, you leaned around the corner to check on the man in the kitchen.

Kakashi was wearing boxers and a binder, his most comfortable outfit when secure inside your shared home. To your delight, he had chosen one of the binders without a mask attached, and you had a clear view of the slightly silly grin plastering his face as he shifted intermittently from humming to light, mumbled singing, punctuated by murmuring the ingredients he was using as he reached for them. He was stationed at the stove, stirring a medium pot and tasting from it in between verses of his song, reaching for more salt or minced garlic to adjust. He closed his eyes, bobbing his head side to side at a line he took a particular interest in, the morning sunlight catching glints of silver in his messy hair.

Taking advantage of his eyes being shut, you whipped back around the doorway into the living room, quickly tiptoeing away. You were so in love, and so happy to see him carefree, your mouth fell open in a silent scream and your hands, corners of the comforter still held in each, flew to your face.

You had to tell someone. No one would ever believe that Kakashi Hatake, master of a thousand jutsu, could be so sweet and cute behind the former ANBU exterior. Quickly, you crouched to the floor, abandoned the comforter, and made the required handsigns, pausing for a moment to remember if it was hitsuji or uma that came after saru, then gently pressed your palm against a squishy couch cushion. With a puff of smoke that evaporated almost as quickly as it was created, Pakkun sat before you.

You brought your finger up to your lips in a shushing gesture immediately. The tiny dog squinted, but nodded his agreement after a beat. This was your third or fourth time summoning him, and the first time you had done with without Kakashi. Animal summons were not your strong suit, and you had never particularly been a dog person, a fact that Pakkun had keyed in to almost instantaneously upon meeting you when you had no more than polite “my boyfriend’s pet” level interest in his paw pads. They were as soft and supple as he claimed, but you didn’t quite understand the appeal of man’s best friend.

You made the simple gestures required to convey that there was something to see and led Pakkun quietly toward the entryway to the kitchen where you could hear the rice cooker being sealed and started. Kakashi had switched to a different song and was now vocalizing the instrumentals softly, occasionally pausing to mime playing the instruments he was mimicking. Your hand found its way over your mouth, your heart melting with the gentle domesticity. Then you jerked away, feeling a soft scratch at your feet.

The pocket-sized grizzled dog glared at you until you bent down, when he pointed upwards toward a mess of hair. You felt a pang of guilt as you realized from this angle, all you could see was the shinobi’s calloused hand pushing silver strands out of his face, the black engagement band glinting dully on his finger. For the wedding in four months, you had managed to arrange custom bands for you both with the Hatake crest engraved into the matte surface. Kakashi didn’t know yet, and you knew that with how mission work was, he wouldn’t get to wear it often, but he would have a piece of his clan’s legacy with him whenever he did wear it.

The feeling of disappointment radiated off of the dog with the headband as you absorbed the fact you hadn’t considered him not being able to see over the counter. After a moment, you held out both your hands cupped together, fingertips resting on the floorboards. Pakkun regarded this, looking from your hands to your face, which you tried to humble appropriately. He sniffed at your exposed palms, then delicately stepped into your arms.

Bringing him up to your chest as you stood back up, you felt him stiffen. Had you moved him too quickly? Were you holding him too tightly? You ran two fingers down the back of his head instinctively and were surprised to find him relax. Kakashi tasted the cloudy liquid from the pot again and nodded firmly, turning toward the doorway. You whipped around, placing your back against the living room wall and clutching Pakkun tightly to your chest. You both held your breath, waiting to see if you’d been caught.

He sang to himself, “almost ready!” and you released your breath. Quickly, you snagged the blanket off the floor and made your way back to the bedroom.

“What’s the occasion?” Pakkun demanded as soon as you had the door shut behind you, jumping onto the bed.

“There is none! It’s just our first day off in a while, and he thinks I’m still asleep!”

Pakkun considered that quietly. “His pa, Sakumo, used to do the same thing. If he thought no one was around, he’d put on a whole concert for himself. Kakashi used to join him, up until his death. Then I didn’t catch him humming again till about a year after Minato’s death. Life had been rough for the poor pup up till about then. But he’s been in there all morning singing to himself?”

You nodded, pulling the gray comforter tighter around your shoulders. You knew your fiancé had been through more than most people should ever have to go through, but to think he might be making a breakthrough with his depression and trauma—to start singing again?

Pakkun made an odd noise that reminded you of a sneeze, then pawed at his eye and seemed to clear his throat. “I gotta tell the others. They’re gonna lose it.”

“Yeah, you should definitely head back and let them know the good news. I’m supposed to be asleep after all, he’ll probably come wake me up in a minute or two.”

The sly dog hesitated, then a wicked glimmer flashed across his eyes. “Or…”

Before you could react, you were engulfed a thin cloud of smoke that smelled vaguely of grass, and your bed began to creak. You jumped up, gasping at the number of variously sized dogs that had appeared in the room.

Pakkun addressed the crew before anyone could ask any questions. “Stay quiet. We’ve got a stealth mission ahead of us. Everyone, this is Kakashi’s partner, the one he’s marrying soon.” He then turned to you and pointed out the pack members in a line. “Bull, Urushi, Shiba, Bisuke, Akino, Uhei, and Guruko.” They were all undeniably adorable, and you’d have to ask your fiancé when he had the time to commission them all matching vests and headbands, but you were still shocked to see so many dogs. Did he really have eight summons? When most shinobi had one, if any?

“Name of the game is observe without being detected. Target: Kakashi. Location: kitchen. Standard formation. Questions?”

With no questions being posed, Pakkun lept up onto Bull’s head and led the way. You marveled in how quietly such a massive dog could move and trailed the pack as they made their way through your apartment.

You heard the timer on the rice cooker ding, then the seal breaking and relished the scent of the steam drifting through the air. There must be a stick of lemongrass in the rice this morning. You could see that Kakashi was beginning to set the table, gathering everything for a cozy breakfast for two.

He was also singing, audibly, with some degree of confidence.

One by one, the dogs all stopped and froze in awe. Akino and Uhei stepped around to the other side of you, and Shiba—or maybe it was Urushi?—popped their head between your knees to try to see. You were surrounded on all sides by the ninken, and you started to feel comforted by their warmth. Together, you all listened to your man serenade chopsticks and bowls as he spun to the small table, breaking into a mock tap routine as the china hit the wooden surface. You felt your head tilt to the right as you let the waves of love rush over you as you watched him carefully adjust the oily, burnt pan in the sink so he could wash his hands.

“Alright, love—breakfast is ready!”

For just a moment, you forgot that you were supposed to be in bed. You didn’t move as Kakashi rounded the corner, freezing when he saw nine sets of puppy-dog eyes gazing wistfully back at him from the middle of the living room, all heads tilted to the right and dreamy smiles plastered on each face.

“Ah! Uh, how long have you, uh…?”

Together, you moved as a pack toward your loved one, tackling him in a ten person hug. When you wormed your way past Uhei, you cupped Kakashi’s face and brought him in for a deep kiss, feeling butterflies in your stomach. He blushed slightly, tracing his thumb along your jawline.

“I love you, and I’m so glad that you feel safe and happy and loved with me,” you whispered fiercely, trying to beam the intensity of your emotion at him without being too aggressive.

He smiled, Sharingan deliberately taking the whole scene in as he lay on the floor with you, pulling you into his arms. Pakkun trotted over to sit on his chest while he brought you in for a firm, tight hug.

“Me too. And I’m glad you got to meet the rest of the clan.” He let the Sharingan fall shut, relaxing against you.

“Would’ve made more miso soup if I’d known everyone was coming over. Have you seen the dog bowls around anywhere?”

#fic request #kakashi can't cook #kakashi x reader #kakashi hakate #ninken #kakashi x gn!reader #gn!reader #kakashi oneshot #naruto fanfiction #domestic kakashi #pakkun

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syndxlla · 4 years ago

Text

Part nine of the More to Love series

Summary: Plans for the ball are in full swing, the concealment of your relationship with the knight dwindles and you make a deal with one another that leads to both of you learning a new and valuable skill

Word Count: 8.9k, NO USE OF ‘Y/N’

Warnings: SMUT (oral sex F receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms), swearing, mentions of wounds

Author’s Note: and we’re back to your regularly scheduled royalty and princesscore writings. this chapter is very chill honestly, but i still really enjoyed writing it! there’s also the introduction of THE DRESS. y’all this dress is insane you really aren’t ready i am OBSESSED with this dress.

Part eight

“Are you listening, Princess?” You hadn’t even realized you had zoned out. Your cheek was bright red from resting against your palm, and your eyes had glazed over with boredom. You hoped you didn’t look too uninterested, but considering the literal Queen of Mandalore looked down at you with folded arms and one arched eyebrow, you were less than confident that you looked engrossed in the conversation.

The Queen, Lady Reeves and yourself have been inside a yellow-themed parlor all morning discussing plans for the ball. Your Knight stood patiently by the door, overseeing the entire meeting. You wore a long sleeve dress that was too hot for the summer sun, which was slowly drying out the mud and puddles from then two-day long rainstorm that no one predicted. You spent the entire day yesterday pretending to rest from the exhausting day previous, but you were really hiding your arm from everyone else. You tried to argue with Koska that a long sleeve in the middle of summer would look for more suspicious than a simple bandage on your bicep, but she disagreed to say the least. The Knight stopped limping this morning, although you were convinced he was just faking it for good measure. If others knew he was injured, it could raise suspicion that you were too. You also think he didn’t want you to worry about him. The stab wound really wasn’t that deep, but you knew it had to have hurt more than he was showing. You thought he should take a few days off to rest his leg and to really spend time with his son, but he refused to.

You look up from your emotionless stare out the window, which showed the sea in the distance. The ocean was so different here compared to what it’s like in Corellia. There are sandy beaches and the water’s warm, whereas back home, it’s often frozen over, and is lined with rocky fjords and coves. You wanted to go down to one of those beaches soon if you could. They looked relaxing and much more intruiging than a wordy meeting that you stopped listening in on Lord knows when.

“Sorry, I just… zoned out for a minute.” You clear your throat, looking up at the ginger above you. You bat your eyelashes, trying do play off innocent and truthful. She shrugged, and turned around to pull something out of Koska’s hands.

“I was saying that now that we have the food and decor arranged for the ball, we can talk about the important things.” She says as she whips around for the big reveal that you weren’t expecting: iher arms was the most extravagant, fluffy gown you had ever seen. It was a soft rose gold, the skirt was huge and round, tulle pillowing out from the bodice which had clearly been hand-beaded by nimble fingers to have five-pedaled flowers with curly vines growing out of them. There was a soft sweet-heart neckline, the lace and beading of the bodice came up past the structure to overlap where your skin would be, The sleeves were off the shoulder, which was common for Mandalorian summer gowns. The skirt had a soft hint of sparkles and real diamonds had been sewn into the centers of each flower along the gown.

You perked up as you saw the ornament, your attention being drawn from the crashing waves of the ocean to the prettiest dress you had ever seen. You think you sighed, but you weren’t really sure. Dresses have always been a part of your life, designers from all over the world would send you their best sets, and it’s rare for you to wear the same gown more than once. This isn’t the first time you had been presented with a dress that costed more than some of the houses in the kingdom, but there was something different about it. It had a special glow to it, unlike anything you had ever seen.

“Her Radiance Ahsoka brought it, it’s a wedding gift from the Woodland elves.” Koska speaks up when she sees your reaction. Both her and the Queen were amused at your childlike awe. “That’s why it has that shimmer, they used silk spinners and gold.”

“I… I can’t accept this.” You wanted to, but you were desperately trying to be humble and calm in this situation. The dresses never meant that much to you, it’s just a piece of clothing. You have always been far more into the politics that came with royalty, not the fashion, so this was a first.

“Well of course you can.” The queen chuckled, “It would be rude not to.” You wished you could tell her that wearing such an extravagance would feel in vain because you did not feel affection towards the person you’ll be wearing it for. However, you supposed she was right, it would be rude to turn down a gift from the literal elves. You stand up from where you sat, walking over the dress that took your breath away. You wondered what the Knight thought of it, and you turn around to look at him. You know that he wouldn’t show any type of reaction over this thing, especially if the Queen is watching, but you wanted to show him that you were thinking of him. You smiled, raising your eyebrows to really show how beautiful you thought the gown was, you’ll get to talk about it with him later. This is the second time Koska see’s something like this between the two of you, and she first looks at you, and the knight, raising a sharp eyebrow.

You place your hand over the fabric, running your palm over it. You did nothing to deserve this, but you were honored that it’s yours. “It’s like a faerie’s dress.” You sigh. “It’s wonderful, when can I thank her Radiance?”

“She’s out and about, she usually meditates in the gardens on sunny days, I can retrieve her, if you’d like.” Koska speaks up.

“Oh that’s alright, I’ll find her eventually.” You smile.

“Interesting that you brought up the fae…” The Queen brings up, “Allow me to ask, it is your engagement ball, is there anything specific you would like to have incorporated?” A few days ago, you would have had no answer, because a few days ago there was nothing about Mandalore worth it to you. However, things have changed. You’ve spent sleepless nights thinking about the boy in the beskar armor, and you would give anything to dance with him at that ball. You knew damn well that if you asked nicely, and maybe gave him head in return, he would do almost anything you asked. He would happily dance with you alone in the room after the events of the night, although you weren’t even sure if he knew how to dance. You did want to waltz with him, but not in that way.

So, last night you stayed up late, laying on your back with the balcony doors just cracked open to let in the smell fo fresh rain and a cool breeze into the hot room, thinking about him. You especially thought about the soft skin of his thighs and the way he shuddered when you raked your fingernails down his abdomen. But you also thought about how you could dance with him at the ball, where everyone could see. You knew that you would be dancing with far more people than Korkie, it would be many people’s last (and only) chance to dance with you before you’re married, and so you’re expected to give everyone the opportunity and attention they desired. It wasn’t your favorite thing you’d have to do, especially considering you would be dancing with a number of complete strangers and total creeps of Viziers, Grand Dukes and old viscounts who would probably whisper dirty things in your ear. And that is part of why you wanted this one thing for yourself so badly.

Dancing with a mysterious stranger wouldn’t be a problem. You wanted to share your affection towards him, and you especially wanted him to see you in your true element of balls and parties and gowns and tiaras. You knew it was risky, especially considering you can hardly control yourself around him, who knows what the crowd may be whispering as you dreamily look up at him. But after having to move and change your entire life, marry a man you resent in a kingdom that goes against everything you’ve ever believed in, you owe yourself this one thing. Just this one.

However, dancing with a literal knight would be far too suspicious and obnoxious for the biggest event in the western part of the world. And you knew that he would never remove his helmet, even if his life depended on it. It would be no easy feat to convince him to do something like that in such little time, but that’s when you got the best idea to have possibly ever cross your mind.

When you were just a little girl, your nursery caretaker would sit you on her lap when you had droopy, tired eyes, and read you a story. You can’t remember what it was called, it’s been so long since you heard it, but it was your favorite. It was the tale of the masquerade ball where the young peasant girl fell in love with the handsome magician. You were always drawn into it, because you once hoped you would fall in love with a mysterious and handsome man, too.The point of the story was that she never saw his face, as they both had on extravagant swan masks covering their eyes. If everyone had their face covered, it wouldn’t look suspicious if he did, too. You knew it would be a big thing to ask, and he may not even agree to it if the Queen approves of the short-noticed theme, but you wanted to live at least one night as the young peasant girl.

“Yes, actually.” You began to reply, “I would love for my engagement ball to be a masquerade.” You made sure to add in the ‘my’ to reinstate that it is for you. The Queen stopped to consider what you asked, and Koska looked suprised. It’s rare for anyone to ask the Queen for something like that out flat. But, she was the one who brought it up.

The Queen made you wait in suspense for her answer, and every fiber of your being wanted to turn around and wink at the knight to let him know that you asked for him, but even you, the naive princess, knew that you needed to be more careful with sharing your memories with him when others are around. “I suppose we could arrange that.” She thinks out loud, and you can’t stop the smile that stretches across your face. The Queen really only agreed because she knew it would cause more buzz and conversation around her last event as Queen. Even you could see that, but if it meant you would get a chance to share the memory with your guard, it was worth it.

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but the ball is this weekend, I fear we will not have enough time to prepare for such a change in plans…” Koska spoke up.

“Well, not if we don’t have everyone in the palace working double time,” Both yours and Koska’s faces dropped, that is not what you wanted at all. “Every servant will be required to make ten masks before the ball on Saturday. Knights are exempt, obviously.” She placed the rose gold dress back in Koska’s arms. You immediately felt guilty.

“Oh that won’t be necessary, Your Majesty, I don’t want everyone to-“

“Oh nonsense,” She interrupted, “I love the masquerade idea, it will be grand. It will be the envy of Coruscant.” Was everything a battle for her? An endless contest of who’s the best between Mandalore and Coruscant? If everyone had extra work to do on top of their usual load, you would feel absolutely terrible, but there would be no changing the Queen’s mind. “As the head of the servants, you will oversee the masks, Lady Reeves.” Your face was in shock, pale and sick. Koska shot you an annoyed glare. You tried to respond with an apologetic smile, but the Queen was speaking up again, pacing as she spoke. “Of course we need the royals to stand out from everyone else, we’ll already have our gowns but the masks will make a difference too…” She thought out loud. “Koska I would like an owl mask as per usual, there will be gems incorporated as well I trust?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” She was not amused with her new task.

“As for our little Princess,” She was referring to you, but you couldn’t even listen out of guilt. Everything you tried in Mandalore somehow backfired on you. “Her dress is lovely, but her mask must also be the most extravagant in the room, after mine, of course. It would also be best if hers and my nephew’s matched, Yes?” Koska nodded, struggling to hold the heavy dress with her small stature. “Lovely, aren’t you just full of surprises, Your Highness?” The Queen smiled at you, and you forced a polite smile. “Now, excuse me, I have a designer to meet with to get as many feathers and adornments for masks as possible.” The redhead hastily exits the room, her high guard following her, leaving just you and Koska with your knight.

“What the fuck was that about?” Koska asked afterwards.

“I didn’t mean for any of the extra work to happen, I swear.” You defensively respond.

“You just love giving me a hard time, don’t you?” She asks.

“No- that not at all what-“

“Let her be, Koska.” Your knight steps into the conversation.

“Ugh you knights are so frustrating sometimes.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, what is going on with you two?” She asks and your heart drops to your ass. Was it that obvious there was something more there? Your knight tensed up, too. “Yeah, I can see exactly what’s going on here. Would either of you like to explain?” She asks.

The two of you stood awkwardly like children who got caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. You wondered how you were going to get out of this one. Your entire world could come crashing down right now if you didn’t play this out correctly, and a thousand outcomes of this situation simultaneously played out in your head. Would she rat you out? Would it lead to your knights expulsion? Or would she keep it to herself? She seemed to have a history with your knight, although you didn’t know what that might be. Maybe she would be on your side, but you highly doubted it.

You blame yourself for all of this. You should have put a stop to all of this long ago, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. He has you tied around your finger, and you like it. You wondered what was going on through his mind, was he as nervous as you? He had to be, if not more worried about what would happen. Someone knowing about your secret relationship would only lead to you getting a tap on your knuckles and then they would try to hide it from society to keep your reputation clean, but it would be the end of his career and safety for him. You were selfish for this, and you knew it.

“What?” Is all your stupid mouth says. As if you hadn’t just had the most sporadic and stressful thought process of your entire life. After all that, the only thing you were able to come up with was “what?”. You thought your body might be shaking, but you weren’t totally sure. You wanted to look at the knight by your side, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Koska must have thought the same thing as you because after you just responded with an arrogant rhetorical question, her eyebrows raised like a mother angry with her teenage son. She scoffs, and walks to the other side of the parlor to place the gown down on a sofa. When her back was turned to you, you were somehow able to muster up the courage to look at the beskar-clad figure to your left. He didn’t look any different than, well, ever. Tall and broad and stoically looking ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But you knew better. He had to have had a similar thought process to your own. He never turned to look back at you, and that’s when the guilt really set in. This could have been prevented. It should have been prevented. You fiddle with your sleeve.

Koska comes back too soon, her arms folded over her chest and the same unamused look on her stupidly perfect face. “So, one of you better start talking now, or else I’m going to get impatient and go catch up with the Queen to do your chore.” She nods to you. Why was she doing this? What did she gain out of knowing any of this? It could be to protect Korkie, although you found that seriously hard to believe. From what you can tell, Koska could care less about the Mandalorian Prince.

You sigh out of embarrassment mostly, but know that you are the one who needs to speak up. This was your mistake, and so it was your responsibility to fix it. “This is all my fault,” You have to clear your throat after beginning because of how uncomfortably your words sit in your throat. “I take full responsibility for everything. Don’t blame him for anything.” You nod. He turns his head to look at you after you say this, and you wanted nothing more than to look back at him, but Koska had your gaze trapped.

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘everything’ and ‘anything’?” The lady-in-waiting asks.

You sigh again, knowing this was going to be hard to say. “I...allowed myself to be…” You carefully considered your word choice, “i-infatuated with the wrong man.” You finally get out. That was the first time you had said it in front of him, and only the second time you had said it outloud ever, the first being to the Elven Queen last week. “I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand, but I fell under the spell of this Knight, and I don’t even know his name. I’ve never seen his face. In many ways, he’s a complete stranger to me.” You debated saying the next thing, but it just kind of spilled out, ‘A stranger who’s plagued my thoughts and actions since the day I got here.” It was hard for you to say, but there was something so liberating about saying it.

He never took his eyes off of you the entire time you spoke, but this time you were able to look back at him. Your eyes first looking down at the floor guiltily, and then they slowly make their way up his armor and to the visor on his helmet. You just looked there for a little bit while Koska processed what you were saying. You smiled genuinely at the knight, desperately trying to show him that everything you just said was true. For a moment, you weren’t sure if she was going to say anything at all, and the room fell silent.

“Well…” She begins, you can’t hear any disappointment in her tone yet, “You’re terrible at hiding it.” She sighs. Of all the things she could have said, you did not expect that.

“What?” You say like an absolute idiot for the second time. You look back at the woman.

“Look, I’ve known him for a long time.” She shakily breathes, looking at him, “We’ve actually been through a lot together.” He was still looking at you, “And honestly, Neither of us were ever cut out for the Royal life we’ve been living for a while now.” You wondered what she meant by that. “And to be frank, I could care less about your personal life.” She said to you about you, “But since he’s a friend, and you really don’t mean very much to me, no offense,”

“None taken.”

“I suppose I’ll just keep it to myself-“

The relief that overcame your body was unmatched. You can’t stop the grin that goes from ear to ear or the sigh of relief that danced on your lips and out of your lungs. You look over at him, who still hasn’t looked away from your face, but he sighs of relief, too. You see it in the way his armor shifts.

“-Under one condition.”

“Okay…”

“You have to start hiding it better, no more over the shoulder glances. Okay? This is me looking out for him.” She gestures to him with a nod. Was she really going to do this for you?

“No more glances, got it.” You repeat.

“There’s no telling what might happen to him if the wrong person finds out.” She clears her throat, and that statement scares you. You try not to let it take up too much of your thought. “And you have to act like nothing is different. You’re still engaged to the Prince and you’re still the future Queen-consort. I don’t give a damn about what happens behind closed doors, but when others are around you have to behave yourselves. This is me looking out for my kingdom, understood?”

“Understood.” You nod back, although you weren’t the biggest fan of that condition, you knew that was the price you had to pay to get what you wanted… well at least what you think you wanted. “You’re not going to tell the Queen?”

“If you do those things, she won’t hear a word about it.” Koska shrugs.

“And what about Korkie?”

“Stars, I cannot stand that boy. I don’t even talk to him.” She rolls her eyes and you chuckle. You’re happy you aren’t the only one who feels that way about the prince. “But I’m not going to cover or lie for you two, I’m not going to help you hide it or anything. Alright?”

“Of course.” You reply.

“Great. I have over five-hundered masks to make by Saturday, so I’ll be leaving now.” She finished and on her way out, she pushes the knight on the shoulder playfully.

The door closes.

“Stars.” You clear your throat and turn to look at him, before you can say anything, though, he’s picking you up by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of weightless flour, and carrying you over to the second sofa that isn’t taken up by a ridiculously large dress. You giggle when he does, blushing at his enthusiasm. You’re placed on your back and he kneels between your legs.

“You’re excited.” You chuckle and he hums in response. There isn’t very much room on the sofa but he makes his place. He then grabs the hem of your dress, pulling it up over first your thighs, then up past your hips, over the corset and up to your face. He covers your eyes with the skirt and it hides the cheesiest smile on your face. light still poured in from the fabric, but you weren’t able to see anything.

You then heard the sound of metal being placed on the floor next to you, and to your pleasant surprise, his lips and pressed tightly to yours through the fabric. The kiss obviously doesn’t make any contact, but you’ve learned that with the knight, it’s the thought that always counts. You’re smiling into the kiss like a dork, and you shudder when you feel his bare hands against your bare thighs. He pulls your legs open, and then pulls away from your separated kiss.

Your first moan comes when you feel his lips against your soft thighs. He licks up and down your right thigh first, his fingertips strong and faithful against the outer part of your legs. Your breathing hitches, and you hum with pleasure when he moves to your left thigh, taking the same amount of time to kiss, nibble and suck on your pillowy skin.

Then, before you can think any more about the heat and want in between your legs, he’s pulling down your petticoat painfully slow. You bite your lip, you knew where he was headed with this, and you were more than happy to welcome it. His index and middle finger run soft lines around your cunt, massaging the swollen and wet skin around your opening that only got wetter. Your clit begged for attention, but your arms were trapped under the position of the dress skirt, and you didn’t want to risk adjusting it in a way that would make him stop. You would have to patiently wait as he teased and prodded your lips, his free hand rubbing your thigh and occasionally making its way to firmly squeeze your ass cheek. Your breathing was needy and short as he took his time to get to know your core with the tips of his fingers, which were now wet and slick and making the friction smoother.

He then gently places a light kiss on your clit. It’s so soft that you’re only able to feel it because of how sensitive and hungry you are for that type of contact. You slightly finch when his lips touch the nerve, and you’re able to feel him smile against your skin. What you would give to see his face right now…. Then, before you can think any more, he’s licking a flat stripe up from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit where he flicks three times with the tip of his tongue. You gasp at the sensation, and try to suppress a moan. He then take his time to lick each separate lip of your sex, avoiding your actual opening but teasing in such an addictive way that you were willing to be patient for him.

The knight then finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, pulsing with his lips and flicking back and forth quickly with the tip of his tongue. You do moan this time, a broken cry falling off of your needy lips. It was a euphoric feeling unlike anything you’ve experienced before and you loved every moment of it. His arms wrap around your upper thighs, holding you in place around his head as he moves down to lap at your pussy lips. He moans at the taste of you, diving his tongue into your folds and prodding your sensitive clit with his nose.

You whine short and quietly as he does, biting your lip and bucking your hips every now and then as he took care of your sex. He must have gone down on you for close to ten minutes straight, never coming up for fresh air and never stopping the steady pace he had. You aren’t sure how you didn’t cum immediately at the feeling of his plump lips against your clit, but you also aren’t sure how you didn’t blackout from the sheer pleasure of the feeling. It was addictive, and it only got better after he pulled away to spit on your cunt. He spits onto your folds and then brings his fingers up again to start fingering you, sliding in his pointer finger with no resistance and slowly pumping it in and out. His mouth finds its way back to your slit, sucking on it as he fingers you. The sound was filthy, it filled the parlor with wet, obscene noises accompanied by breathy moans and gentle hums. Every time he hummed against your clit, your back arched from the added pleasure. The vibrating of it was pure euphoric, and you knew you were a sopping mess in between your thighs.

His chin was wet from spit and arousal and for one quick moment he pulled his wet mouth away from your core to kiss and rub the juices of your cunt on your thighs. He nibbles a few times on either thigh, marking each with a litter of purple and red hickeys. Before adding a second finger, he pulls his hand out to gently and playfully slap your cunt. He uses his wet hand to tap your core five or six times, each tap getting harder. You moan out at the feeling, and squeeze your legs together against the feeling in a horny attempt to get more pleasure from the moment.

“Huh, would you look at that?” He asks, his voice low and hungry and full of lust. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and the indulgence of the oral sex cause you to nearly forget how much you loved his rough voice. “Do you like it when I slap your cunt?” You whine in response. “With your words, Princess.”

“Yes, Sir.” You whine like a bitch. He chuckles and slaps it again, harder this time. You shudder at the feeling and feel your climax coming on. You want to delay it for as long as possible, but your thighs start to shake when he puts his mouth back in you and pushed both his index and middle finger into your opening, pumping and curling and twisting his wrist to make the most wonderful combination of finger-fucking you could of have imagined.

“I’m gonna cum.” You barely get out before your spine is burning and your stomach is flexing as you cum hard and long against his tongue and on his fingers. You cry out in broken, heavenly bliss, and look for something to grasp onto as you hit your high, but you can’t find anything, which leads to your sporadic back arches. You’re panting, and he doesn’t stop kissing against your core while you cum on his tongue. You bite your lip and swear you might make it bleed a little. His grip on your thighs tightens while he pulls you against his mouth, preventing you from pulling away from the addictive exhilaration that is his kiss.

He licks you through the entire orgasm, and then some after. You think you’re being over-stimulated but you never have been before, so you aren’t really sure. Just when you think he’s going to stop, he doesn’t and he just takes his sweet old time lapping against your core and slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. You sharply breath in, your chest heaving against the dress and you desperately want to pull your dress down to see him and breath freshly again. The way he eats you out is so methodical, like he’s done it a thousand times (which wouldn’t necessarily surprise you), like it’s the only thing he’s ever eaten or the sweetest honey to ever grace his lips.

It begins to turn you on again, the pleasure shooting into your spine and down your littered thighs and melting against your clit. You can feel the gentle rub of his fingers against your thighs, stroking your skin as he takes you in. It’s heavenly and is the only thing you can think about. Your thoughts go numb and the only important thing in the entire world is the curly-haired boy at your expense.

You mutter and whisper swears, dirty words that aren’t meant to come out of a princess’ mouth but you can’t help it when you’re seeing white hot behind your eyes. He groans a few times too before his fingers speed back up to the pace they were at before you came the first time. Your dainty hands stroke lightly on your collar-bones as the pleasure fills your soul, licking your lips and trying to hold on for as long as possible before you cum again but you can already feel your second orgasm coming on. He uses a third finger to outline your lips, coating the tip in your slick and then slowly inserting the third and final finger into your cunt, helping you chase that final hit of release. The stretch is amazing, and you were surprised you were able to take it so well. This is when you realized that he’s been training you for something much bigger. The first time he fingered you wasn’t even any penetration, the second time was two fingers, just enough to stretch you that it hurt the right amount, and now this time, three fingers that felt amazing. You remembered the size of his cock, you knew it would be a challenge to take, but he was making sure you would be able to handle it and enjoy it as much as he will.

His focus goes from licking your clit to the fingers inside. He twists his wrist to make the curl and stretch your entrance. He collects the wetness and lets it make the glide and pump smoother. You’re so drenched and needy that the fluid is running out past his fingers and dripping onto the sofa cushion, staining it with your lust. He nips so slightly at your clit and just like that, your whole world comes crashing down. The orgasm is actually mind-numbing this time, and all you can do is moan and sob and claw at your own skin. Your scratch into your shoulders and collar-bone and it’s deliciously painful. Your thighs clamp against his head and he continues to finger you long and hard through the climax, cleaning your folds up as you cum against his tongue and fingers. You’re finally able to catch your breath, painting with droopy, lustful eyes but feeling completely fulfilled. He cleans up all the juices around your entrance, collecting the cum on his tongue and happily swallowing it down like it’s his last meal. You aren’t able to see it, but he then puts his fingers into his mouth, cleaning off the three that were knuckle-deep into your cunt. He groans at the taste, and wipes his mouth before planting one last, gentle kiss to the soft, angelic skin of the mound between your legs. You're so sensitive that the light kiss makes you flinch, and he chuckles at the involuntary reaction.

He puts his helmet back on and then pulls your dress skirt down to see your face. You’re surprised by the light initially, and you blink a few times to adjust to it. Your lungs fill with crisp air and you look at your favorite sight: the helm of the knight you think you’re falling in love with. You can’t stop the smile on your face. He chuckles and then readjusts your dress to cover you up better. He takes such good care of you. You see him freeze when he sees the scratch marks on your skin, and his bare hand softly runs over the red lines, outlining the marks. You blush at him, looking up at his expressionless face with a puppy-love look.

“Everytime I think it can’t get any better, you prove me wrong.” You sigh. Every orgasm has been better than the last.

“Just you wait.” You hear the smirk under the helmet and it causes butterflies to flutter in your tummy. You sigh, still catching your breath and you just take him in, looking up at how he’s propped up above you. He has hands on either side of your head and he’s just a brudding force of metal and sex and good kissing and caring about things that you didn’t even know you needed someone to care about. You probably look like a dork just smiling up at him but you don’t even care and now your hands are free to wrap around his neck and you just wish you could see his face and kiss it all over right now.

Your fingers lock behind his neck and the positioning of his armor and the way his head is bent makes it so you can just barely feel the skin of his neck. You move your index fingers up to look for the curls at the nape of his neck. You think you could sing out when you found the prize: some strands of dark, brown, thick hair hidden under the helmet. You twirl them around your fingers and that action alone is worth a million kisses. The feeling in your heart is second to none and you wished you could stay in this still moment forever.

“Did you mean what you said?” He speaks up in reference to what you told Koska about him.

“Every word of it.” You state, genuinely meaning it as you said it. He did respond but something told you he was smiling under all that armor. He sighs, and then lets his arms go weak so he’s falling onto you. You groan at the surprise and the sheer weight of both his broad body and the heavy armor on top. The air is pushed out of your lungs but at least he’s pressed into you, your hands still toying with his curly hair. You can hear him chuckle, and you wanted to freeze time.

“Someone’s gonna see us if we stay like this.” He mutters as you tilt your head to have it rest on top of his helmet.

“Then let them.”

He doesn’t reply to what you say, and you debate if it was even the right thing to say. When you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted, it’s hard to grasp the concept that someone may not want the same thing. You’re selfish for not caring about his safety and status in these types of situations. He grunts as he pushes himself back up and stands again, leaving only you on the sofa.

“How’s the arm?”

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes, you don’t want everyone to worry so much anymore.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You reply more forcefully this time, sitting up on the couch.

“Just making sure.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You sigh, and consider your next words, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.” You sit with your palms flat against the cushion, making aware of the wet spot on the fabric and smirking fondly at it.

“Anything, your Highness.” He nods.

“Well… I wondered if maybe I could teach you how to dance?” You were nervous about what his response may be.

“Oh Stars-“ He chuckles.

“What!?”

“I had a feeling that masquerade might have something to do with me.” He puts his hands on his hips like he’s scolding you but there’s a guilty part of you that you like about it.

“Well it isn’t just about you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“...no.” He already knew you so well. He chuckles at your response. “So… what’s your answer?”

“Dancing isn't my style…”

“I don’t believe that.” You tilt your head. “Come on, it’s super easy and it would mean a lot to me.” You try convincing. He sighs and considers what you’re offering. “I can give you something in return…” You bite your lip, teasing. He chuckles just once.

“Alright-”

“What!? Really??” You stand up from excitement, you weren’t really expecting him to agree.

“But, only if you let me teach you something in return.” You nod in agreement, your hands coming to fold in your lap. You were expecting him to refer to something sexual, but his words prove you wrong, “I wanna teach you how to fight.”

“What?” Why would you ever need that?” It’s rare for royals to learn such a skill, especially princesses. You understood that it would be valuable, but you weren’t completely sure if you were up to the task.

“Well more than anything, I want to teach you how to defend yourself. So something like Keldabe doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay…” You were tentative to agree.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, “If it means I get to dance with you at the ball, I would be more than happy to learn.”

“Great. Let’s start then.” He takes a step back and holds his hand out for you to take.

“What?” You place your palm in his and he pulls you up off the couch, “right now?”

“Yes, c’mere.” You were nervous and honestly your legs were still weak from cumming twice, but you follow him as he begins to talk. “I’ll just teach you a few things and then you can teach me how to dance I guess.”

“Stop being a pill.” You tease.

“Only if you stop, too.” He teases right back at you which leads to a scoff from your lips. He ignores you. “When you're defending yourself, you always wanna protect your face, okay?”

“Protect my face, got it.” You repeat. He holds his arms up in front of his helmet, his hands fisted.

“Mimic my pose.” You roll your eyes but mirror him, holding your arms to guard your face. “See, is that so hard?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes ma’am.” He sarcastically replies. “You can’t do much if you can’t see, so that’s why you gotta protect your face. If you wore a helmet you wouldn’t need to do this.”

“But I would always be wearing a helmet…”

“It’s not so bad.” He shrugs.

“Something tells me that you don’t believe that.” You drop your arms from your face to say that, which was obviously a mistake, because instead of responding to your claim (which was probably right), he's jabbing his arm out towards your face. He’s not close enough to hit you but the quick and unexpected action is enough to startle you back. You lose your balance and fall down on the ground, wincing when you hit the ground and regretting agreeing to this. Your arms wrap into a frustrated position and you frown up at him. You look up at him surprised and a little pissed, and he just starts laughing. “What was that?”

“You let your guard down.” He says between laughs. He does hold his hand out for you to help you back up, and you take it to your own dismay. He hoists you up quickly, and you have to re-establish your balance.

“You are impossible.” You put your arms back over your face, ready to try again.

“You like it.”

“Are you gonna teach me or not?” He wasn't wrong but you figured you’d have to try and beat him at his own game.

“Are you gonna let me?”

“Just go.” You roll your eyes again.

“This will also protect your ribs. Can’t do much if the wind is knocked out of you, either.” He explains. “You also want to stand wide, it’ll help you keep your balance.” He kicks your feet out to be shoulder width which breaks every rule in the book of princess manners. “And prevent… falling on the floor.”

“This isn’t exactly easy to do in a corset, you know.” You argue.

“And dancing won’t be easy in armor but here we are.” He shrugs, and you suppose he’s right. Neither of you are cut out for the tasks at hand. “When fighting someone without armor, you’re gonna want to go for their face, their eyes are vulnerable and you can do real damage on their nose.”

“Okay….” You try to remember what he was saying, making a mental note for any future situations, although you’re still skeptical. “And what about someone with armor on?” You ask, trying not to show the smirk on your face.

“Well the guy in Keldabe did everything right, he found where the weak points of my armor was and attacked them-“

“So here?” You ask before reeling back your arm and swinging it as hard as you can into his shoulder where there was only chain mail. Your fist crashes into the metal, and you immediately regret it. “Shit!” You pull your hand back and look at your bright red knuckles, shaking your hand a few times as you try to brush the shock away.

“...Yeah, right there.” On the bright side, he seemed to be surprised by it enough that he made a little groan from the contact that turned you on way more than it should have. “But now you fucked up your hand.”

“You think?” You place the angry knuckles at your mouth, trying not to be too upset about the pain shooting through your hand.

“Punching chainmail is always gonna hurt, especially if you do it wrong… like that.”

“So how do I do it right!?” You’re determined now. No one has ever put you in your place, you’ve always gotten what you wanted, and you wanted to prove to him that you could do it.

“Why are you so eager to inflict pain on me?” He asks, you can hear the teasing in his tone but you can’t blame him for feeling that way. Perhaps you did come off a little anxious.

“I don’t know… I guess I just want to prove something to you.” You sigh, still pissed off by the pain in your hand. You’re so distracted by it that you hardly notice him walking towards you. His gentle and soft bare hands take your fist away from your mouth. You’re tentative at first, but let him take it in his hand, cupping it in between his and looking down at your red skin. You frown mostly out of frustration, but the pain is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Princesses aren’t supposed to feel pain.

Before you can blink, he pulls his top hand away and takes it to lift up his helmet just above his lips. The angle makes it so you can’t see any of his face but you understand. He bends down and kisses your knuckles in the same fashion one would when greeting you, but this was so much more intimate. His lips were like satin against your skin and the butterflies in your stomach fly right back. The physical pain didn’t go away, but the anger around it did. Your heart softened and wished he would kiss your lips but he’s already pulling the beskar back over his jaw. You sigh from the gesture, he was so romantic and you don’t even think he’s trying to be. He’s just trying to be kind and patient with you and it’s doing something to your heart that you don’t know if you can handle anymore.

“So… how do you waltz?” He asks, his hand still holding onto yours. You smile and sheepishly look down at your feet. You were unsure of how to begin, but were happy he was willing to learn.

“Okay.” You smile, “Well, you first need to loosen up. Stop being so stiff.” He tilts his head like you’re speaking a foreign language. “Like this.” You press your hands down on his shoulder pauldrons, he tries to rest them but fails and you chuckle just a little. “Roll them back.” You explain and do it yourself, he attempts to follow, and actually is able to relax a little bit more this time. Knights are always so stiff, you think it will be good for him to relax every now and then. “Good, now this hand goes here…” You lift his right hand to rest on your waist and he immediately settles into it, already feeling more comfortable now that he is holding you. You place your left hand on his shoulder, pulling your bodies a little closer together. He wanted your torsos to be flush against one another, “No, we have to keep our distance so we have room to do the steps.” You explain.

“Well that’s no fun.” He sighs. You blush and giggle.

“If we get this done I promise you can hold me as long as you want.” You tilt your head trying to make a fair compromise.

“Fine.” He’ll take it.

“Great, now we hold these hands.” You take his left hand and hold it into yours. “That’s the basic position, I learned it as home position, got it?”

“Home position…?” He repeats.

“Mhm.” You nod, your faces are close and you would give anything to feel his breath against yours. “It’s important that we sort of… ‘glide’ like we bounce as we dance, it will make it prettier.” He was convinced you were always pretty no matter what you tried or did, but we guessed he would comply this time. Your voice goes quiet and soft, the mood immediately changing from teasing to harmonious. “And your feet… okay this is sort of complicated but your left foot will go forward as my right goes back-“ You keep looking down at the floor as you try to explain the steps but his gaze is on your face, hardly listening to what you're saying and only being engulfed in your face and the way you talked about doing something you loved. You were so beautiful and you didn’t even know it.

You must have been talking for a while without really listening to yourself because he was slowly pulling you into his torso and closing the space without you really noticing that you were inches closer than you were before. “-and then your left foot will slide to meet your right foot-“ the last word fades out as you slowly look back up to his face which was now up close to yours, your bodies pressed together and both of his hands on your hips, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your back. Your heart skips a beat and you forget how to breathe as you look up at him and it just felt… right.

Your hands lift from his pauldron to his helmet and you want to take it off so badly. You knew it was too fast still, and he would remove his helmet for you when he felt like he could. At least that’s what you hoped for. It should be his decision, no one else’s. But your hands are grazing the bottom of the beskar and everything feels so right. He’s so still and his breath is quiet and for just a moment you think he might let you and then-

The door knob is turning slowly and both of you are splitting away all too fast, trying to make enough space between the two of you so it didn’t look suspicious. You both scramble, trying to put yourselves back together. The still and perfect moment was entirely gone when Prince Korkie opened up the door into the parlor. You tried not to look too shocked when his stupid perfect hair and young face looked on you. The knight held his hands behind his back to hide the fact that they were bare and side-eyed the gloves on the sofa that laid by the wet stain on the cushion. He silently prayed that the Prince wouldn’t notice them.

“Ah, princess I was wondering where you were.” He looked between the two of you. He didn’t seem too suspicious, thank the stars.

“Korkie! What are you doing?” You awkwardly laugh. Your hands fold at waist level, and you fix your posture.

“Did… I walk in on something?” He asks and your whole body goes numb. You swallow and try not to pass out. The truth is yes, he did walk in on something very important to you, but here we are.

“Oh! No, we were just…” You search around the room looking for something to take the attention away from you and the knight, “Admiring the beautiful dress the Elves gave me!” You walk to the heavy, iridescent gown on the clean sofa, picking it up to show him. You smile desperately, hoping that would be enough.

“Ah yes! It is beautiful, isn’t it?” He nods, smiling. You sigh of relief when he falls for the bait. You set the dress back down.

“Can I do anything for you?” You ask,a king sure there was no attention on the knight being you.

“I… just wanted to spend a bit of time with you. My aunt informed me of the changes to the Ball. What a wonderful idea!”

“Why thank you.” You smile, taking a few steps towards him in a hopeless attempt to not seem so suspicious.

“Yes! I had just received the RSVPS from a number of the guests. Your parents, the twins of Naboo, the senator of Alderaan and Princess of Chandrila and I’m pleased to say that we’ve found no suspicion of any attack from Coruscant!” Stars, he talks a lot. You aren’t sure how he can have any more breath to talk. You were starting to decide that you liked the boys who were more reserved.

Well… one boy.

“Oh… Um, of course. That’s great news.” You nod and finish your walk towards him, suddenly hyper-aware of the fading scratches on your collar bone.

“Come with me, we should review the letters together.” You look back at the knight apologetically before walking into the hallway with the Prince. This isn’t exactly how you hoped your afternoon would go...

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Part ten

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third-generation-female-warrior · 4 years ago

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So, I decided to maybe do a multi-chapter fic of what Talbott and Alexus were up to during the Second Wizarding War (but it could end up being a one-shot). I don't have too many plans, so I'm hoping I can keep it up. It may get a little more mature than what I've written before, never anything explicit, so far it's a T rating. Lots of romantical language, some dueling, writing the first bit felt a lot like writing quarantine, so take with that what you will.

Chapter 1

Sometimes, on quiet rainy nights, while laying in bed, Talbott Winger would reflect fondly upon the last few years of his life. He was still a young man, only twenty-four-years-old. Some would say the prime of life. He looked down at the woman laying down with him, and kissed her forehead, remembering the last few years, remembering how he was lucky enough to be living with her.

He had graduated from Hogwarts with her in 1991, and he wasted no time moving into a flat in London with his girlfriend of three years: Alexus Johnson. He continued his auror career while she had set up a private investigative office, occasionally working as a hit-witch for his department.

Working young kids, that’s what they were, tripping over themselves in the bliss of freedom, no teachers or dark cabals constantly looming over their heads. Just them, in their space, with their combined book collection.

They continued dating for another couple years until 1995, a year that Talbott reflected upon fondly as he noticed her eyes fluttering from a dream.

That was the year he had proposed to her. In a wheat field, under a large shady tree, when they were on a picnic together, he pulled her favorite book out of the basket and told her to find a story for him to read.

She turned to a marked page, a custom bookmark pressed between the pages of her favorite romantic poem. Embossed in blue lettering was the question he wanted to ask her.

“Will you marry me?”

By the time she processed the bookmark and looked at him for answers, he was already on one knee, an open box with his ring in his hands, held up to her.

They had a small ceremony, a few months later, only their closest friends and her mother and brother were in attendance. They didn’t need or want a big spectacle. All he wanted was to dance with his wife, and he did, for the whole night.

It was 1997 now, and he considered himself the luckiest wizard in the world. He loved her, he didn’t want to lose her.

He loved her, and there was a war right outside their door.

Instead of being stable and safe at their London flat, they were in a safe house.

He loved his wife, but she was rather prone to being targeted by large groups of dark wizards.

Granted, this time, as with his work serving under Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody in the auror department, Talbott himself had been targeted as the Death Eaters took over the Ministry.

Mad-Eye had been killed just over two months ago, during a big confrontation involving Harry Potter and a bunch of Death Eaters, and a few weeks after, there was a wedding for Bill Weasley.

Alexus, still being a good friend with her the eldest Weasley, had attended with Talbott.

They were attacked while there, and that was when they went into hiding, apparating to their flat to grab the bags they had packed in advance before leaving, on a muggle bus, to a train station.

From that station, they made their way to some distant station before apparating again.

Somewhere in Ireland, Talbott didn’t know the exact location. An old villa in the countryside with rolling hills to the right, as far as they could see, and a thick forest to the left of the home, her father’s childhood home, apparently. She and Jacob inherited it when he died.

It was modest, with a lush flower garden in the front, and a greenhouse in the back, a small village within a bike ride’s distance for when they needed groceries.

Most importantly, it had a library, a record player, and a radio.

The days passed slowly, the sun rose over the hills and set behind the trees.

To pass the time, they read, they danced, they cooked, they tended to the garden and greenhouse. Only sparingly did they venture to the village together, for being in sight of other people increased their risk of being sighted.

Today had included a trip to the village. It started off a sunny day, brilliant blue skies as they walked the markets in the center of the place. By the time they were leaving, fresh groceries in their arms, the dark clouds were rolling through the skys.

They had rushed home, just barely avoiding getting caught in the downpour. Alexus found the whole scenario hilarious. Rainy weather always made her feel better, and after dinner, she played music on the muggle device that she called a record player, some relic that belonged to her grandparents.

Talbott hadn’t really heard music like this before, but it was fascinating nonetheless. So, they danced that night, for a long time.

It was enough to leave Alexus properly tired by the time they were heading to bed, so she had fallen asleep in minutes, laying her head on his chest instead of the pillows.

He read his book with one hand, keeping his other arm around her. It was an old one, a collection of an author’s favorites that Alexus had gotten him for his 16th birthday.

The pages were well preserved, some passages underlined, the ink from their own pens fading.

He traced his thumb over a neat line, knowing it was Alexus who had marked it. He sighed and marked his spot before setting the book on his nightstand.

He turned off his light and gently moved, just slow enough so that he didn’t disturb his wife. He laid down and closed his eyes, letting the lullaby of the raindrops tapping on the window sooth him to sleep.

When the sun filtered in from the bedroom window, Talbott threw the blankets over his head.

“You have to get up eventually,” his wife’s chiding voice came from outside the covers.

“No I don’t,” he called back, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“We’re going to the forest, remember? To explore beyond the yard?”

He felt the weight of the bed shift, the springs in the mattress squeaking as she sat down at the foot.

He relented and sat up, pulling the covers off of his face.

She looked at him, with her big round eyes, misleadingly innocent, a soft smile on her lips. She was already dressed, wearing simple blue jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt, her hair tied back into a bun, two strands of hair framing either side of her face.

“There you are,” she said, a glint of mischief taking its place in her eyes.

“Here I am,” he repeated before lifting his arms into a powerful stretch, extending his entire upper torso, a yawn accenting his movements.

“Get ready, I’ll be downstairs,” she said, leaning over the bed to peck his cheek before sliding off the bed and walking out.

Now, he really had no choice. He couldn’t keep his wife waiting.

He reflected on their predicament as he got ready for the day. They were treating it like a second honeymoon. If any bystander that they met asked, they were on vacation from two demanding jobs.

Vacation, he mentally repeated as he examined his face in the mirror. A small beard was developing, he hadn’t shaved in a few weeks. Everyone I know could be killed by now, and I’m on vacation. He shook his head to rapidly clear those thoughts. He couldn’t let his mind go down that direction. They were just as safe as he and Alexus.

He ran his hands through his hair, letting it fall where it may before he exited the bathroom, fully dressed. He wore khakis and a grey t-shirt, simple enough, but durable for a walk in the woods. Lastly, from his closet, he grabbed a dark jacket and threw it over his shoulder before making his way downstairs.

Alexus was in the kitchen, reaching through one of the cupboards to grab plates.

Talbott took the opportunity to look over what she was preparing. Bacon on one burner, scrambled eggs on another. He looked at the counter, to see bread in the toaster.

He turned the eggs before kissing the back of her head, reaching above her to grab the plates that were just at the brush of her fingertips.

“What would you do without me?” he said, almost teasingly.

“Get a step-ladder.”

He laughed as two pieces of toast popped up. She quickly took them out and added another slice. He started to prep their coffee.

It wasn’t too long before they sat down at the little table in a dining nook.

While they ate, Alexus was looking through a book of botany, one hand balancing the spine on the table and flicking through the pages, the other holding her fork and messing with eggs that she kept forgetting to actually eat.

He watched her read, her brow furrowing in concentration, her emerald eyes blocked only slightly by her reading glasses, lips slightly parted and occasionally mouthing words, eggs hovering an inch off her plate, occasionally dropping off the fork balanced between her two fingers.

“I thought we banned reading at the breakfast table for this reason,” Talbott remarked casually, snapping her out of her trance.

“Sorry,” she muttered, quickly marking her spot and setting it to the side before she started eating.

“Find anything interesting in the book?” he asked, trying to keep a conversation.

“Well, nothing in particular,” she started, stirring her coffee slightly. Talbott waited for her to finish drinking, knowing that she was about to dump a niche patch of information on him.

“But I just think,” she continued, setting her mug down, “It’s interesting, there’s botany, the study of non-magical plants, but there’s also herbology, which is for magical plants, but there’s also a certain overlap in their medicinal and magical uses.”

He nodded slightly, watching her ramble. The topic she was discussing was rather interesting, but he always found her info-dumping made it more compelling.

“Like, dittany,” she said after a breath. “In herbology and potion making, it’s very powerful for healing purposes, but muggles know about dittany, it’s not just a magical plant. For them, it’s medicinal, ornamental, symbolic of love, used for culinary and perfumery purposes.”

“And?” he asked, encouraging her to state her real point, knowing that her tangent was merely a method of building context to set up her point.

“Why doesn’t someone publish a book containing both muggle and magical herbs?” she asked.

He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought. “That’s an excellent proposal,” he said, “I suppose we could.”

She tilted her head. “We?” she repeated.

“Well, yes. We’re both talented at Herbology, plus with all the books we read on gardening and other botanical research, we’d both be qualified enough.” He shrugged before taking the last bite of his toast.

She nodded before she continued eating. He could see the gears turning in her head.

She remained deep in thought even when they both finished breakfast and were walking out the door, heading left to enter the forest. There was a fog rolling over the hills and the forest floor, Talbott knew, was caused by the hot October sun evaporating the cold, wet air leftover from last night’s rain. It created a certain ambience as they walked along the natural pathway, the light of the sun breaking through the red and orange canopy and catching on the omnipresent mist.

The forest was cold, almost a biting chill, the shade of the trees only adding to that cold.

Talbott reached for her hand, and they walked together, keeping close for warmth.

There was a natural pathway to the forest, nothing paved, no stepping stones. Just a clearing of trees.

“What do you think we’ll find out here?” Talbott asked after a second of walking, the villa no longer visible behind them.

“Other than memories?” Alexus contemplated his answer, “My father, he wrote some poetry about this place. He called it Sunset Forest. I remember he described finding groves of berry bushes, small streams flowing into ponds, rabbits.”

“I didn’t know he was a poet,” Talbott said.

“Only in his spare time. That’s what my mum would tell me. He kept journals and filled them with poetry, ever since he was young. She gave me a box full of them for my 13th birthday.”

She let go of his hand to jump over a large branch that had fallen in the path. Talbott stepped over it and looked up, hearing a persistent little hammering on a tree trunk, knowing it was a woodpecker.

“Do you still have his journals?” he asked, looking back at her.

“Most of them,” she replied, reaching for his hand. “Jacob took some of his more… contemporary and political stuff. Apparently, he went through a phase, from what I could tell.”

Talbott laughed. “How so?”

“Well, in the journals from his early adult years, they were mostly about society and war.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. He knew Alexus had a small dislike for contemporary poetry, especially when they were about war.

She believed that every good story deserved a love, whether it be a tragedy or a happy ending.

“I also brought a few journals with me, to the villa,” she muttered. “I know we were only supposed to pack essential things, but I just wanted-”

“You don’t have to make excuses to please me,” he quickly assured her. “I understand, it’s important to you.”

She stopped in her path, making him stop with her. “Would you like to hear some? I memorized a couple about this forest.”

“I would love to,” he assured her.

She hummed a bit, leaning against his arm as she thought, mentally searching her internal catalog of poetry. For a second, it was quiet, with just her humming and the sound of yellow leaves and twigs being crushed under foot.

“Okay,” she said finally, “This one is called La Bruja de Rosa. He wrote it after my mum told him she was a witch. His response was to propose to her.”

Talbott laughed again as she cleared her throat.

“Smoothed down by the steps Of the many men that have taken this road Before my first breath This forestry path with the stories untold

My story is mine My head is mine My heart is yours La bruja de rosa

Mi bruja de rosa, I walk this path Guided by your spell From my childhood villa To a love meant to last Oh, the story this ground could tell

Magical in the way you take my breath Oh, enchantress of my soul! Meet me at Gaia’s archway, for apart for me, is living death but together, I am whole

You are my other half On the Sunset Forest path, A compliment to me my flying rose, I offer you my prose and the villa To build our own castillo To last for years But only if You’ll say ��yes” My dear”

Talbott let out a breath as she finished. “That was nice,” he muttered.

“My mother’s maiden name was Espartero-Rosales. Espartero was her mother’s last name, the one tied with my magical side of the family. But Rosales, it means “rose bush,” so there was a lot of rose symbolism in his poetry after he met her,” she explained.

“Espartero,” he repeated, humming a bit before a thought struck him. This time, he froze in his path, causing her to look back at him.

“Wait,” he looked at her, “Like, the Espartero family in Mexico?”

“Did I not mention that before? I mean, you know my mom was in both the European and Mexican Quidditch Hall of Fa-”

“You told me she played for Spain!”

“Yeah, she played for the Leona Madrid team after playing for the Mexican World Cup team!”

“You never told me you came from the most influential family in developing Herbology research!”

She started laughing as she turned to him. He wasn’t angry, it was more than likely shock manifesting in him.

She placed her hands on his chest and smoothed out his jacket. “Yes, that is my close family, yes, I keep in touch with them, and yes, we can visit them.”

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Satisfied?”

He gently wrapped his arms around her waist. “Very.”

She cupped his face into her hands and brushed his cheek with her right thumb before standing on her toes to kiss him on the lips, just for a second.

He moved one hand, placing it over hers to hold it in place as he turned his head to kiss her palm.

She smiled, staring up at him. “I love you, and we will get through this. Both of us. I promise,” she assured him.

“I will never let anything happen to us,” he murmured.

She looked into his eyes, that brilliant crimson, the sharpness of his intellect just as alluring as the day she met him, even now, after everything.

They had been married for a good two years, and it all passed like a dream for her. From the moment he got down on one knee, to when they were running home to grab their pre-packed luggage to escape Death Eaters.

He made life a dream for her, still, even in hiding, where they were the only two people in the world. He gave poems and stories she had memorized for years a new life. He gave her motivation when she had none. Hope when she was hopeless. Love when she needed it.

He was a dream for her, still, even after knowing each other for ten years. She loved him as easily as she did when they were younger, it was breathing to her.

But she was being greedy and she knew it. Neither two years nor ten was not enough for her.

She wanted so much more, she wanted what she vowed to: life. After all the danger she ran into headfirst as a youth, she knew life was not promised to her. Not when there was danger still chasing her, when she was awake, and in the dark nights where her dreams left her gasping in a cold sweat, reaching for him, depending on him to be the rock to anchor her back to reality.

Those were terrible nights, when she would sit up, in tears, trying to understand, trying to make sense of why everything she held dear was so fragile. Everyone she loved, they could be gone in a flash, and she didn’t understand it, she couldn’t understand why.

Why did so many things threaten to rip her friends and family from her hands? Why could she never escape the mysteries, the curses? She never wanted any of it, never wanted a reputation for breaking curses, defeating evil. She never wanted the things that threatened to rip Talbott from her hands. She just wanted him. She wanted to be there for him so much, it physically hurt. It was an ache in her chest, a lack of breath in her lungs.

She loved him too much, and she was being greedy because of it.

She loved him and just wanted a life with him. But the war outside the villa was just another thing that threatened to steal him from her.

She was going to spend her whole life with him; she was certain of that fact. What terrified her was how little time that could be. Three minutes, three days, three months. None of it was certain.

Nothing was promised to Alexus, except Talbott.

She stood back up on her toes and kissed him again, he leaned down so she didn’t have to strain so much.

She was so warmed by him, by his hands exploring her, by his lips moving against her own, until a bitter chill swept through a forest, a rustling wind shaking the trees.

Alexus pulled away, shivering, pulling her jean jacket closer around her.

She would have passed it off as a simple October breeze, until everything quieted, the sounds of the forest, the rustling of the leaves, the sounds of animals in the distance, it all went mute. The shadows of the trees grew longer, the sunlight disappearing, the fog taking a much more sinister presence now, heralding a threat, just lurking outside their field of vision. The only thing she heard was Talbott’s own shuddering breath, which puffed out like white smoke from his mouth.

In her stomach, a pit of dread was lodged, making her unsettled.

“T-Talbott,” she whispered through chattering teeth.

He pulled out his wand, she followed suit, and they moved to stand back-to-back.

She watched the fog, until she saw what she was looking for. A hooded figure, looming in the banks, gliding across the forest floor.

“Dementor!” she called before waving her wand, remembering her wedding night, the happiness she felt when Talbott slid the ring on her finger. A patronus of a coyote bounded from the tip and sprang in front of her, rushing at the dementor, sending it away before it could get closer.

“This way too!” Talbott called, another dementor appearing.

She turned on her heel, her and Talbott switching spots as the coyote ran, chasing away the second one.

Immediately, the air cleared, the soft October breeze rustled the canopy, the morning sun returned, even the fog seemed to fade now.

She expelled the patronus and looked at Talbott. “We have to leave, that wasn’t a coincidence,” she whispered, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down the forest path.

They ran to the villa, stumbling over tree trunks and branches, sliding on the golden leaves still wet with morning dew.

Alexus ran into the villa first, but the second she was through the door, a powerful blast sent her flying back, colliding into Talbott, sending him back as well, both of them rolling across the grassy lawn.

“Damn,” Alexus groaned, moving to stand up, clutching her stomach.

“Are you alright?” Talbott asked, sitting up,

“Fine,” she assured him, sliding her wand back into her hand. “But whoever just hit me with a jinx is going to be sorry.”

He pulled out his wand as well and stood up as a wizard, a snatcher, by the looks of his ratty robes, strolled out of the home.

“I wouldn’t try it, Johnson, we’ve got you surrounded,” he drawled casually.

There was a series of snaps as several other snatchers apparated in a circle around Talbott and Alexus.

“Johnson-Winger, I’m a married woman,” Alexus corrected, standing up. “And, I like my odds.”

She did a once-over, glancing over her shoulders, that was all she needed to do, Talbott was aware of that fact. All she needed was one look to gain an accurate account of where everyone was in relation to her own position.

Talbott dove for the ground as she waved her wand in a circle around her head, fire billowing out in a ring around them, pushing the Snatchers away from them.

Standing up, turning on his heel, Talbott fired hex after hex around him, nailing four of the seven snatchers in the chest, sending them down.

“Go inside, I got them!” Alexus called as she sent a particularly nasty hex at the most physically imposing thug.

Talbott ran inside, Alexus standing against two snatchers, both of them holding up their wands.

“Neat trick, Johnson,” the leader said, still standing.

“I’ve had a good amount of practice, didn’t they tell you my background?”

“Why do you think we brought so many?”

With that, they both snapped their wands forward, Alexus stepping to the side, dodging a glaring red jinx, but the second spell had her wand flying out of her hand, landing in the thick grass somewhere behind her.

“Damn,” she whispered before looking back at them.

“No wand, no magic,” the second one said.

Alexus planted one foot behind herself and aimed her hand forward.

She jerked her hand, red sparks shooting from her palm, colliding with the second-in-command, sending him flying back, unconscious.

“Ever heard of wandless magic?” Alexus asked as she turned to the last wizard. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve?”

He lowered his wand.

There was a shift behind Alexus, but before she could react, a pair of thick arms wrapped around her and lifted her up, pinning her arms to her sides.

She responded by slamming her head back as hard as she could into the person’s nose, prompting them to drop her. While they were occupied, she grabbed their wrist and arm, pulling it over her shoulder while hooking her foot behind his ankle, lifting him up enough to flip him over his shoulder.

She kept his arm in her hands, twisting it when he landed on his back, while placing her foot on his chest, keeping him pinned. There was a snapping noise, which was probably his shoulder, and he was yelling.

Alexus, satisfied, jumped back as the initial snatcher tried to hex her.

She quickly retreated, moving behind a snatcher who was slowly climbing to his feet. She grabbed this one by the front of his shirt and hoisted him up to his feet before turning around, using him as a shield, the lead snatcher’s hex hitting his back instead of her, forcing her to drop him as he went dead limp.

She grabbed his wand and ignored its hostile energy as she pointed it forward, right as the lead snatcher was about to hex her. They were at a draw, both ready to take each other out, but the question was, who would go first?

Alexus didn’t find out.

Before she could try, there was a small explosion at the wizard’s feet, sending him jumping back before Talbott sent another hex at him, pushing him back again.

Alexus, satisfied as her husband handled the last one, looked around the grass, running her hands through it before she found her hand.

She went around the other six snatchers and confounded them, casting obliviate on the conscious ones before taking all their wands and throwing them around the yard, some of them ending up in a pond. This would make it harder for them to find Talbott and Alexus again.

“Ready to go?” Talbott asked, holding their bags as she walked back to the house, the tent bundled at his feet.

She grabbed the tent and held it under one arm, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Ready,” she said before kissing his cheek.

With that, they disapparated away from the villa.

#hphm #hphm mc #hphm jacob's sibling #hphm talbott #talbott winger #jacob's sibling #talbott x jacob's sibling #talbott x mc #talbott winger x jacob's sibling #talbott winger x mc #acj writes #hphm talbott winger

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gemrust · 4 years ago

Note

for hnk prompts, how about “be my wife.” its jntentionally vague as hell but have fun :)))

so sorry this took so long i kinda got. carried away with this prompt hhhhhhh

Hemimorphite was jumped from behind while he was talking with an older gem who’d been taken to the moon long before he’d been born, and was surprised when he wasn’t pushed immediately down to the floor. His new, feather-lite lunarian style body was still something he was getting used to. Still, he let out an ‘oomph’ at the sudden impact.

The gem he was talking to let out a giggle as arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him from behind. “Hemi!” The ambusher cried, excited, and Hemi knew the voice like the back of his hand.

“Melon!” Hemi spun around, spinning Watermelon Tourmaline along with him, laughing at the weightlessness they both felt in the airless moon facility.

“I learned something super cool today,” Melon said when he released his grip on Hemi, spinning around to face him. Melon had been interested in learning about the Lunarians, which surprised Hemi for a time, before he realized Melon was just looking for an excuse to impress Hemi with his ‘super-smarts’, as he liked to call them. Still, Melon was learning something new everyday, and Hemi was happy to hear about his findings.

“What did you learn?” Hemi asked, genuinely interested. The gem he’d been talking to had left while Hemi and Melon flailed about, and Hemi wasn’t worried about where he’d gone off to. There were so many unfamiliar faces now that everyone blended into the crowd.

“I was talking to Cairngorm about why him and that Lunarian were always together, touching and hugging and kissing and stuff, and he told me that they’re married.”

Hemi frowned at the new word. It almost felt familiar. “What’s that mean?”

“It means they’re partners!”

“Like us?”

Melon pursed his lips. “Yeah, I think? I think it’s like, they really, really love each other, so much that they won’t take another partner ever.”

“Never?”

“Never! You’re together, forever and ever. They have a special word for the people who are married, husband and wife. Cairngorm said he was the wife!”

“What’s the difference between a husband and a wife?”

“Apparently the husband wears clothes like our winter uniforms, all stuffy and stoic and boring, while the wife wears clothes like our hibernation outfits, all fancy and flowy and fun! They have this big party when they get married, and everyone comes and watches and they do fun things and then the wife and husband go home and do stuff, and they’re partners!”

“Stuff? What kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know, but it made me think.” Melon stood tall, hands on his hips as he dramatically pushed his chest forwards. “Hemi, you should be my wife!”

Hemi balked at the suggestion. “Why am I the wife?”

“You can be the husband, if you want.”

“N-no, I wasn’t saying that! I wanna wear the nice clothes, but I know how much you like dressing up during hibernation…”

Melon pouted. “But you like wearing cute clothes too.”

“I know, but you always look so much better in them.”

“No!” Melon exclaimed. “You look good in them too! We both look good in our super cute hibernation outfits!”

Hemi hummed in thought. “Maybe, we can both be the wife? That way, we’d both get to wear a cute dress.”

Melon squealed in excitement. “Yes! That’s such a good idea, Hemi, you’re so smart!”

Hemi blushed at the praise. “As long as that’s allowed. We should find Cairngorm. He knows a lot more about this ‘marriage’ stuff.”

Melon hummed in agreement, looping his arm around Hemi’s waist and leading him to where he’d last seen the aforementioned gem. “I hope we’re both allowed to be the wife. I wanna wear cute clothes all the time with my super cute wife!”

They found Cairngorm lounging by a pool with one of those fluffy little dogs laying on her lap. The two gems walked through reception with no regard to the Lunarian asking desperately for their passes. Cairngorm looked up through her sunglasses as they approached, eyebrow arched in curiosity. The two young gems demanded a more detailed explanation about marriage, which Cairngorm complied to with a sigh.

“-and then you take your vows,” Cairngorm said as she finished explaining. “And then you party with all your friends, and then you and your husband go back home, and you kiss and you cuddle and you touch each other all over.”

“You’re the wife?” Hemi asked, and Cairngorm nodded. “And the Prince Lunarian is your husband?”

“My one and only,” Cairngorm said with a smile, looking at the ring on her finger.

Hemi and Melon exchanged a hesitant glance. Melon took a deep breath before he spoke. “If me and Hemi were to get married…”

“Could we both be the wife?” Hemi finished.

“We love those cute dresses so much…”

Cairngorm shrugged without hesitation. “I don’t see why not.”

“Yes!” Melon exclaimed, clasping his hands over Hemi’s. “We both get to wear cute dresses!”

“I’m so excited!” Hemi exclaimed, and together, the gems jumped in place.

Cairngorm rolled her eyes, but there was no malice behind them. “If you two are going to get married, you’re going to need to make a big celebration out of it. There’s gotta be dancing and singing and eating, and you’re going to have to have someone there to watch you take your vows.”

“Vows?” Hemi and Melon asked, their voices overlapping.

“The words you say that mean you’re devoted to each other forever.”

“Imagine being together forerver…” Hemi said, smiling at the thought.

“Exactly.” Cairngorm smiled, sifting a hand through her dog’s soft fur. “Even when we go to nothingness, you’ll always be together.”

“What’s that mean?” Hemi asked while Melon nuzzled against his head. “What’s ‘nothingness?’”

Cairngorm waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Tell me when you guys are doing the ceremony, I want to see how you guys do it.” Cairngorm snapped her fingers, and soon a Lunarian came over with a ‘datapad,’ which he handed to Cairngorm. Cairngorm swiped the pad a few times before handing it to the gems. “Here’s the list of everyone who helped with my wedding. Go find them; hopefully, they’re on this moon, but if you have to go to one of the others, don’t worry about the stares you’re going to get. We’re not as shiny as before, but we still stand out.”

----- It took the two gems a few minutes to figure out how the datapad worked, but once they did, their first stop proved to be on the gems new moon home. The tailer that Cairngorm recommended had recently moved locations to be closer to the gems, as apparently the Lunarian in charge of the place, Quieta, was looking forward to experimenting with new clothing styles for the gems. Melon and Hemi ‘ooood’ and ‘aaahhd’ at the examples of her work that were displayed on screen. When they found the studio they were looking for, they weren’t surprised to find Red Beryl kneeling knee deep in clothing materials while working on a suit, a squat Lunarian who must have been Quieta keeping a watchful eye on a tall stool above the mannequin.

“I’ve heard about weddings!” Red Beryl said when they explained their predicament, pins and needles sticking from his mouth. “Quieta said dresses for weddings are very detailed. He- she showed me a ‘video’ of Cairngorm and the Prince’s wedding. You should’ve seen the dress Cairngorm was wearing!”

“Who’s getting married?” An excited voice piped up from the other side of the suit, a bun-tipped head peaking around the mannequin. Hemi was surprised by her appearance- she was so skinny he had not seen her crouching behind the mannequin. “I didn’t know there was going to be another wedding!”

“We are!” Melon said, gesturing to himself and Hemi. “We’re getting married!”

“Congratulations,” Quieta said from her spot on the stool. “And you’re here for our services, I assume?”

Melon nodded. “Can you make a cool dress for both of us?” Hemi elbowed him, gently, in the side. “If it’s no trouble. We don’t want to intrude.”

“We don’t want to be a bother,” Hemi said. “But we’d really appreciate it.”

Red Beryl and the slim Lunarian turned their gaze towards Quieta, hope evident in their eyes. Quieta seemed to consider their offer for a long moment, rubbing her chin and pursing her lips. “Me and my apprentices are quite occupied by our backlog…”

“Kima’s been a great teacher,” Red Beryl said, taking a pin out of his mouth and sticking it into the half-made suit. The slim Lunarian blushed at the praise. “She’s taught me so many different techniques I’ve never even heard of! We’d definitely be able to make you two a dress, and we could design it ourselves. I love working with someone who actually appreciates the arts!”

Kima looked up at Quieta. “I would really appreciate the opportunity to work on a wedding dress… There hasn’t been a wedding since the Princess and the Prince took their vows, and I’d love the experience.”

Quieta looked at her assistants, then looked at the suit they were working on. She let out a soft ‘hmmf’ as she observed the craftsmanship on their current project. “You have permission to work on this new project, as long as you don’t forget about the countless commissions that we have on the go. I want to see you two working all day for the next two weeks to meet out quota.”

Kima paled at the prospect of two restless weeks, while Red Beryl squealed in excitement. “I’ll have to take your measurements. Wait here!” He fled off in search of supplies.

Red Beryl returned with an armful of supplies that Hemi and Melon didn’t recognize. Hemi shrunk self-consciously at the appearance while Melon clapped his hands in excitement. “Me first!” He exclaimed, bounding forward as Red Beryl held out a long string of measuring tape. He stretched his arms out, standing stiff as a board as Red Beryl let out a giggle. Kima came forward as well. Red Beryl handed him one end of the tape while he took hold of the other, and together they wrapped the tape around Melon’s waist as Quieta watched from her spot. Melon smiled with glee as Red Beryl began to discuss measurements and sizes.

Red Beryl looked at Hemi with a sparkle in his eye. “You’re next.”

The rest of the Lunarians on the list were located on the main moon, so Hemi and Melon had to take a transport to make it there, eyeing the Lunarians in their travel pod with curiosity and caution. The Lunarians simply smiled at them, and soon, Melon began to smile at them in turn. Hemi remained cautious around the bigger Lunarians, especially when they neared Melon, but slowly, he found himself lulled by the lumbering presence.

As they exited the vehicle, Lunarian heads turned to watch them. Hemi continued to be cautious, while Melon trembled with excitement. He pointed towards the expansive city. “Look at how many Lunarians there are!”

“There’s definitely a lot,” Hemi agreed, a part of him wishing they’d stayed on their designated moon. Regardless, Melon took hold of his wrist, ushering him towards the expansive buildings. Together, they entered the ever-shifting town without incident.

When they reached their destination, a quaint bakery near the edge of town, Hemi could scarce believe this was the place. “It’s so small,” he said, perplexed, as Melon read the Lunarian writing scrawled above the door.

“It’s the place,” Melon said, pulling Hemi towards the entrance with barely a thought. Once inside, the smell of sweets, a taste that Melon had already indulged in and appreciated very much, filled the air. Hemi saw the collection of baked goods on display, surprised by the variety. Melon headed towards the register, repeatedly slamming his hand on the call bell. “Service! We need service!”

A blue-haired figure appeared from the kitchens, covered in flour and sugar. “Sorry!” He said, coughing up a cloud of flour, eyes closed in the dust storm that followed. “What’ll it be?”

Melon and Hemi’s eyes widened in shock. “Benito?” They said in unison, the gem freezing in place.

Benito blinked the flour from his eyes, finally looking at the new customers. “Melon? Hemi?”

“Benito!” The two gems cried, nearly flinging themselves over the counter. Benito took a huge step back as a Lunarian came back from the kitchens, confused by the sudden fuss.

“Ah! I’m being accosted!” Benito cried, the Lunarian wrapping a protective arm around the gem as Hemi and Melon squealed in excitement. A sharp clapping sound came from the kitchens, and with that, Alexandrite appeared, patting his hands clean of flour and dough.

“What’s all this?” Alex asked, eyeing the newcomers through his visor.

“Alex!” The gems cried in unison, again, and Alex rolled his eyes and laughed.

“I haven’t seen you guys in forever,” he said. Hemi grimaced at the thought of his last encounter with Alex, but that had been Red Alex, so Hemi decided he forgave him for how he acted. “What brings you around here?”

“We need wedding things!” Melon said enthusiastically. “Me and Hemi are getting married, so we need the best of the best foods, and the list said this place was the best!”

“Well,” Alex said sheepishly, “I wouldn’t say the best…”

“Still,” Hemi piped up, “we trust you.” Ignoring the last stint on their earthly plane. “I’d be happy to have a gem provide their service.”

“Anything you need,” Alex said, leaning over the counter with a smile, “I’m at your command.”

They found the rest of the Lunarians on the list without much fanfare, though there were things that had to be explained to them about the marriage ceremony and how it would proceed, along with the unfamiliar technology that they were confronted with. Hemi was excited to see how ‘speakers’ would work for the music, while Melon was vibrating at the idea of ‘cake’. When the Lunarian they were talking to mentioned an ‘Officiant’, though, both frowned in confusion.

“What’s that?” Melon asked.

“The person who marries you.”

Hemi tapped his chin in thought. “Does it have to be someone specific?”

“Not particularly- in the past, it was often done by a religious official, but it can also be done by someone close, or a family member.”

Hemi and Melon looked at each other with the same thought shining in their eyes.

Sensei’s brow rose comically at the request, but the surprise was quickly replaced with a smile as Hemi and Melon explained the plan. “Of course,” he said, placing a gentle hand on each of their heads.

Of course, with Cairngorms references, the wedding is quite grand indeed.

Red Beryl had Melon and Hemi close their eyes as he fitted their dresses, but Melon couldn’t help taking a peek at Hemi’s, clamping his eyes shut as Red Beryl fixed his veil to his hair. Hemi’s gown was long, the train immeasurable in size, and the chest piece was skin-tight and slim. Melon couldn’t wait to get a better look when their ceremony began.

Every gem they’d known in life and many who’d been taken to the moon before they were born were in attendance, congratulating the pair and offering warm words. Most of them had no idea what was going on, but they were happy to be part of a celebration. Diamond, hearing about the event, had demanded to sing for the couple. Cairngorm was in the front row with the Prince, looking pleased at the turnout.

Lunarians, too, were among the populous, eager for a new event to occupy their endless lives. They cheered on just as loud as the gems, many indulging in strong beverages that Melon was quite curious about that made them cheer even louder than before as they whooped and hollered. Hemi made sure Melon steered clear of these drinks- he was loud at the best of times, and Hemi did not want to test the limits of his loudness.

As Hemi and Melon entered the grand hall with interlinked arms, the crowd quieted. Diamond began to sing as instruments flared to life. Hemi and Melon walked down the aisle together, nervous, but excited.

“You’re beautiful,” Hemi said to Melon as they walked, eyes shining.

“So are you,” Melon said with an equal grin, hand squeezing tight around the others.

Sensei stood at the end of the aisle, smiling softly as the gems approached. “You two look lovely,” he said.

Melon was beginning to fidget in his gown, excitement growing until he could barely contain himself. “Hurry up! I wanna party!”

Sensei chuckled. “Yes, I imagine you do.” He let his voice boom across the hall. “We are gathered here today-“

“HURRY UP!” Melon cried. Hemi blushed as laughter rippled through the crowd at Melon’s indecency.

Sensei obliged. “Do you, Watermelon Tourmaline, take Hemimorphite as your wife? Do you promise to love and cherish your partner, to remain true to him forever and always?”

“Yeah! Definitely! Always!”

Hemi smiled at Melon’s enthusiasm as Sensei addressed him. “And do you, Hemimorphite, take Watermelon Tourmaline as your wife? Do you promise to love and cherish your partner, to remain true to him forever and always?”

“I do,” Hemi said, remembering the words he was supposed to say.

Sensei smiled. “Then I now pronounce you wife and wife.”

The crowd cheered as Melon leaped into Hemi’s arms, planting upon him a gracious kiss as they spun around in glee.

After the party, when most of the guests had left, Hemi and Melon were enjoying their new matrimony when Neptunite stepped towards them, dragging a blushing Benitoite behind them. Hemi and Melon watched in curiosity as Nepti ushered Benito forward. The blue haired gem twiddled his thumbs, looking back at Nepti, who simply nodded. Taking a deep breath, Benito spoke. “So. We were wondering if you had any tips for planning a wedding…”

#hnk #houseki no kuni #hemimorphite #watermelon tourmaline #my fics #words #hnk spoilers

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kaqeyamas · 4 years ago

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♡ — folklore plots.

okay so, i just wanted to take a moment to make sure it’s known that these plots aren’t direct interpretations of the songs on taylor’s new album. they’re just ideas that i came up with based on little pieces of each song, or while listening to it!

The 1

give me a plot where muse a & muse b are exes. their relationship was actually pretty decent, despite muse b never showing enough attention or affection, hence why even after a year or two of being separated, muse a is still hung up on the other, and kind of searching for them in every new relationship and behind every corner. they were convinced they were the one, and seeing them again certainly hasn’t made that feeling go away at all??

Cardigan

“but i know you, dancing in your levi’s, drunk under a streetlight” and i’m just picturing this pair of friends who have always kind of gotten into trouble, who were absolutely the type in high school to sneak out to get drunk and wander around town together, whether it lead to drunkenly adventuring the sidewalks of random streets in town, drinking and dancing along the way, or finding themselves at the local lake with half a bottle as they talk about everything and anything under the moon. they were literally like... night owls and that’s when their friendship really existed?? and maybe as adults, they haven’t seen each other in ages and when they do all of these old memories come back like “wow i was never that happy with anyone else??”

The Last Great American Dynasty

toxic toxic toxic. these two bring out the absolute worst in one another, but one thing is certain -- the only way they were ever going to escape was if one of them died. muse a comes from money, and lives as such. expensive drinks, and infidelity. muse b is made into a monster in the town’s eyes, because they know of their partner’s cheating and they’re rightfully angry and upset, but they stick it out, because the money is too good to pass up on. it’s messy, and they’re constantly fighting, but when things are good? they’re so good. almost good enough to forget the bad.

Exile

muse a was growing restless in a relationship that felt like it was going nowhere, and muse b was oblivious to it, until it was too late. now muse a has a new partner, and muse b can’t stand it. but neither of them can truly shake the idea that they’re meant to be together -- muse b just needs to do something about it.

My Tears Ricochet

i’m just not writing this one out because i honestly can’t think of anything that’s not super toxic, and that’s not my cup of tea. (TLGAD already is pushing it; sorry y’all!)

Mirrorball

muse a has never truly felt like they fit in anywhere, until muse b shows up. they aren’t exactly sure what it is about them, but just being around them makes muse a want to be somebody completely new. whoever muse b would be interested in. making jokes to get noticed. wearing flashy outfits to keep their attention. but, at the end of the day, muse b thinks they’re perfect just as they are. this has super soft vibes and i’ll accept nothing less.

Seven

picture this -- they’re seven years old, and next door neighbors. fighting off monsters and building forts in their living rooms. their parents think they’re going to end up getting married when they’re older, and that probably would have been true, if muse b hadn’t switched schools senior year. fast forward ten years, and they run into muse a in their home town and every good memory comes flooding back because best friend love never dies.

August

this is nothing more than a summer fling. (or is it??) muse a and muse b get to spend three months together, wrapped in the sheets and enjoying the sunshine together. making memories and ignoring the reality that they couldn’t last once the season ended (maybe one of them had to go back home in august) but they made those three months count in every moment. smiles and love songs and fall came in and stole it all away. (make it angstier by saying this fling only happened because muse b had broken up with their significant other before the fling started but by august, they want them back, leaving muse a heartbroken)

This is Me Trying

muse a and muse b were head over heels. madly in love, and destined for it all. the big house, the happy family, wedding bells and all. until one drunken night, muse b makes the mistake of cheating on their partner. but they know they fucked up, and they’re not about to let the worst mistake they’ve ever made ruin the best thing in their life. they won’t go down without a fight, and if it takes apologizing for the rest of their life, they’d do it, just to get muse a back. lots of angst, and super sad. honestly?? i want this to make me cry.

Illicit Affairs

make my whole life and give me a cheating plot. but not the kind of cheating plot that’s built on toxicity and mindless decisions!!! muse a is married and unhappy with somebody that doesn’t treat them right. maybe it’s abusive, maybe it’s just empty and the passion isn’t there? cue muse b, who lives down the street and has always made a point to wave and smile when they spot muse a outside, and their friendship builds to the point of sleeping together on accident. but it’s not a one time thing, or meaningless. they fall into bed because when they’re together, it’s the first time muse a has felt alive in ages, and suddenly they’re in a whirlwind romance, sneaking around to hook up and share little moments together. muse a feels guilty and shameful, muse b hates putting them in this position but is too attached to stop, and they both know that muse a’s marriage is going to implode if they get caught. -- but that’s not enough for them to give up. (make it interesting -- let them get caught?? END THE MARRIAGE!! give me angst.)

Invisible String

you guessed it. this is a soul mates plot, and i’m not even sorry. muse a and muse b have never truly met, but their lives have always overlapped. whether it’s crossing one another in the grocery store, or sitting in a resturant at the tables that face one another. sitting in the same movie theater on opposite ends, or accidentally getting one another’s coffee at the local starbucks. after too many run ins, it’s impossible to ignore the similarities and the coincidences, and they decide to spend an evening together, getting to know one another -- and to nobody’s surprise -- they’re a perfect fit. muse a gets all of muse b’s jokes, and muse b likes all of muse a’s “flaws” and they’re just as dopey and gross as you’re probably imagining.

Mad Woman

i’m not writing this one either.

Epiphany

this one could go either way, and it’s entirely up to you and what fits your characters/what you feel most comfortable writing! muse a is either a soldier, or a healthcare worker. either way, they’ve both been through a lot, and seen more loss than any person should. but in a seemingly bleak world, muse b exists. the reason muse a works so hard. whether it’s somebody to come home from, after being overseas (if muse a is in the army!) or squeezing in time between doubles after a four car pile up came into the hospital (if muse a is a healthcare worker!), muse b is there to hold them, and remind them that there are good things left in the world and they’re just so healthy.

Betty

i’m just here to hurt myself at this point, but !!! give me a couple that everyone thought would make it. years together, and completely wrapped up in one another. they’ve been dating since high school, and now they’re about to enter their last year of college. muse a went back home for the summer, while muse b stayed at their apartment near campus. they stayed in touch, but as the summer progressed, muse b heard from muse a less and less, only to find out that muse a had spent the summer with somebody back home. when muse a finds out, they end things, but immediately regret it -- even if they won’t admit it. they’re just praying that muse b will come to their senses and come back. meanwhile, muse b is just trying to find the courage to face them, knowing that they only made this mistake because they were young, and thought they were bored of the “same old thing” even though it turns out nothing could ever compare to muse a. suddenly they’re at muse a’s front door in the middle of the night, knowing and hoping that they’ll get the love of their life back. (will muse b actually accept, despite how much they miss them? or will they slam the door?? will it be awkward if they get back together? will the trust ever come back??)

Peace

muse a has always struggled with money, but when they fell in love with muse b, they swore they’d do whatever they could to provide the best life for them. but words don’t pay the bills. no matter how hard they work, it feels like they’re always struggling to keep their heads above the water. while the late fees build up, however, there’s no denying that their relationship is based on the purest love. the kind of love that leaves a person speechless. muse a would do anything for muse b, and vice versa. muse a constantly feels as though the other deserves better, because they want to give them more. give them everything, and they just can’t. but they don’t realize that for muse b, their love is enough.

Hoax

alright, so... this one’s not healthy. but, i’m writing it anyways because i’m in love with this idea?? SO muse a and muse b have been on and off for years. they’re always finding ways to hurt each other, whether it’s flashing their newest fling in the other’s face during the breaks, or picking fights for fun when they’re still together. when it’s bad, it’s so bad. but when it’s good, it’s so good, in ways that only make sense to one another, because no matter how many people they sleep with or relationships they break, they always find their way back to one another, convinced that there’s not a single person that understands them the way they do. they’d rather be angry and fight than be without one another. no matter how many times they call it quits, their hearts belong to each other and nobody can even begin to compare. make this more interesting by developing growth!! make them realize it’s not healthy! make them realize what they want, and that they have to work to have it! sacrifices and affection! real love! not just passionate sex and pillow talk secrets. not just years of history, but the effort to make it work because wasting times on their silly game just isn’t working anymore!

#roleplay #1x1 roleplay #1x1 #plot bunny #plot bunnies #folklore #i only want to play a few of these but PLEASE feel free to reblog and use this for your own plots!!#wanted plots

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a-world-in-grey · 5 years ago

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Galahdian Braids

For @secret-engima because I took her braids hcs and RAN with it. Warning, this is gonna be a long post.

In case you haven’t read it yet, the Galahdian Color Code is here.

So! To recap so far, here are the known types of braids (SE, please feel free to add on at your leisure):

-Clan Braids: Self-explanatory, designates which Clan the wearer belongs to. Worn as soon as the child has enough hair for a bby braid, done by the parents until the kid learns to do it themselves. Can be done by others, but braiding another’s hair is typically a family/lovers level of intimate thing (I think? SE did you say that somewhere or was that a read between the lines thing I hc’d?). Clan Braids usually have one bead of either the Primary or Secondary Clan colors, with more beads added in the other Clan color or the bearer’s personal colors. This is arguably the most important braid, because THIS is the braid that gets shaved off when a Galahdian is exiled, never to be worn again, because the Clan as Cut Out that person from the Clan. I think this braid changes upon marriage into a different Clan? (SE, does someone marrying into another Clan add that Clan’s marriage braid to their existing Clan braid or straight up wear the new Clan braid with a universal marriage braid to denote their status?)

-Chief Braids: Denotes the current Chief of a Clan branch. For the most part is in the same style as their Clan Braid, but... altered somehow? I honestly feel like the easiest way would be to have like a specific bead or maybe braid in a ribbon or cord of gold (because I hc that gold is one of the things that designates Clan Chiefs) or Clan Colors. (SE? Any input?) I imagine Chief braids are removed once the current Chief steps down to become an Elder.

-Marriage Braids: Again, self-explanatory, denotes that the bearer is married. Galahdians don’t do wedding rings (because punching someone with a ring on is likely to break your finger) instead the person proposing makes/finds a pretty bead and proposes in front of as many people as possible (ngl, the Kingsglaive see a number of proposals at training), and upon acceptance, braid the bead into their new spouse’s hair. Also, the person who proposes marries into their spouse’s Clan (cue Galahdians side-eyeing Lucian practice of wives taking their husbands’ surnames even though the husbands are usually the ones to propose) regardless of gender. Galahdians very much believe in the whole ‘If You Like It Put A Ring Bead On It.” Wedding beads can be any color, not just Clan colors or gold, though for obvious reasons colors like red, white, and pink are avoided. After the initial wedding bead, more beads can be added to the braid, and typically are for things like anniversaries.

-Mourning Braids: Used to designate grief for a fallen friend/family. Two types of braids, one for mourning their own Clan, and one for mourning another Clan. Honestly don’t know if these get beads and how that would interact with the color meanings (SE, any thoughts here?). I hc that mourning braids aren’t a permanent thing - a Galahdian can take out the mourning braid when they feel they’ve sufficiently healed from the grief.

-Last Braids: A very, very sad braid to see a Galahdian wear. Designates that the bearer is the Last of their Clan. It’s a simple braid, worn how the bearer prefers. The defining characteristic of a Braid of the Last is the white and orange - either beads or cords - braided into it, the traditional colors worn by those who are Lasts. This is another braid that can be removed, theoretically if the survivor joins another Clan, but I imagine some Galahdians keep the braid as a momento for their previous Clan.

-Hero Braids: Very rare Galahdian braid, due to how difficult it is to earn one. Despite being called a Hero Braid, this braid denotes any major accomplishment by the bearer. Killing an albino Behemoth, saving the life of a Clan Chief, saving the Clan from a disaster, killing an enemy Chief, etc. This braid can ONLY be granted by the Chiefs and Elders of a Clan. It’s typically braided by the Clan Chief, but only after the Chief and Elders get together to discuss it. Another simple braid, braided with colored cord and usually at least 3 different beads to symbolize the accomplishment that earned the braid. Galahdians only ever wear one Hero Braid, later accomplishments are added onto the same braid with more cords and beads. Depending on how many accomplishments a Galahdian earns, this can result in a very colorful braid - and perhaps even warrant a 5-strand instead of a 3-strand braid to hold it all.

-Outsiders CANNOT wear Galahdian braids, with the exception of Mourning or Hero braids possibly, but only under EXCEPTIONAL circumstances. And only if permission is granted by a Galahdian (or several more like) first.

Now, because I was thinking about Clan Braids and what they would look like so people could actually differentiate them without having to get up close and personal, here are the various Clan Braids (including my Astrum Clan):

-Altius: A 3-strand half-crown braid at the back of the head. Basically, it’s two braids that meet and overlap at the back of the head. The rest of the hair hangs loose, to be styled as desired. (Because I imagined Crowe wearing this and thought she’d look really pretty and it would work well with her usual bun/ponytail while on duty.)

-Arra: A single, thin rope braid hanging down behind the ear. Simple and discreet.

-Astrum: Two cornrows - one at each temple - that turn into hanging braids behind the ear and are joined together at the ends in the back by a bead. (Similar to Libertus’ braids, but instead of both braids on one side it’s one on each side.)

-Bellum: Five cornrows, centered on top of the head, ending at the back of the head with longer hair hanging loose where the braid ends. (See Sonitus Bellum and Tobul from Comrades for examples, because I hc Tobul as a Bellum.)

-Bestia: A single fishtail braid, braided dutch-style at the top of the head. Can choose to braid all the hair, or just a thin braid and leave the rest loose.

-Canere: Two lace braids, but fishtail style instead of the simple 3-strand, starting at the front of the head and trailing down the sides to behind the ears. Again, can braid all the hair (resulting in pigtails or a joined fishtail in the back) or the excess hair can be left loose.

-Carduus: Two rope braids that start at the temples and meet at the back, where the can be left as a ponytail or fuse into one rope braid.

-Furia: A fishtail braid, braided dutch-style, one the left side of the head from the temple.

-Khara: A 3-strand rattail braid. Doesn’t require the actual rattail hairstyle (fortunately), but it’s a single 3-strand braid from the nape of the neck.

-Lazarus: A 3-strand dutch braid at the top of the head, rest of the hair is loose.

-Ornata: A 5-strand lace-braid crown braid - at the front of the head like a headband. (Because the Ornata have to be ornate. Artists everywhere hate them.)

-Ostium: Two cornrows at the right temple, that curve behind the ear and turn into hanging plaits and are joined at the ends by a bead. (See Libertus’ braids.)

-Praesidium: Two 3-strand dutch braids from either side of the temple, curving down behind the ears and turning into hanging braids.

-Tibiae: Similar to the Altius in having a rear crown braid, but fishtail style rather than the 3-strand.

-Ulric: A thin 3-strand braid hanging loose behind the ear. (See Nyx’s braids.)

If any of y’all have other ideas/input, feel free to add!

#Shadow of Heaven's Light #ffxv #worldbuilding #not my worldbuilding #but sort of my worldbuilding #galahd #braids #yes the TideSinger Clans all have fishtail braids #plus the Bestia because why not #short hair is not common in galahd #because it's really hard to adapt braids to short hair #where do you think Gladio gets the idea that mullets are cool?#it's not from the Lucian nobility that's for sure

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babbushka · 5 years ago

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Beautiful, Beloved (3/8)

You had met three times: The first, an introduction. The second, a lunch. The third, your wedding. Can bonds be made in such short a time as a week long honeymoon aboard the immensely impressive RMS Titanic?

Yes, yes they can.

Kylo Ren x Reader

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: NSFW content

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The train ride to the port was one filled with so much anticipation you were sure you would simply burst. The small sectioned off room where you and your husband sat was lavishly decorated with beautifully dark wood walls and paneling, brass fixtures, and blue velvet cushioned seats. There was a small table between you where Kylo sipped a drink and you lightly picked your fork at a warm cranberry muffin that you really had no interest in actually eating, your stomach too unsettled from the nerves of embarking on such an adventure as this, your honeymoon.

America, sailing to New York aboard the Titanic of all things! Never in a million years would you have ever dreamt that such a vacation would be yours.

You sat with your hand twined with Kylo’s, as you looked out the train window. True to his word, your husband rose exceptionally early, waking you with him. In no time at all, you found yourself dressed and eagerly making the journey from the estate to the docks of Southampton.

Dopheld and Rose had both joined you, although they sat in the next room over on the train, which was reserved for the servants of the first class passengers. You and Kylo were exchanging knowing smiles and excited glances as the overcast sky was broken by patches of sunshine. You longed to rest your head on his shoulder, but you had been done up completely in all your new finery from Paris, and the hat atop your head was so large that you’d most likely accidentally hit Kylo in the face with all your feathers, if you were to try.

So instead, you looked out the window, completely entranced, and Kylo looked at you, his free hand that was not being held by your own reaching up occasionally to brush against the soft skin just below your ear. It was a tender touch that had you smiling, a smile which only grew as the train chugged its way through the town, officially drawing the journey to a close.

“Kylo! My darling, is that it?” You asked, nearly plastering yourself to the window as a great ship came into view.

You were not the only one who had noticed or anticipated the arrival, and as the train got closer and closer to the port, there was a very palpable energy that could be felt throughout the entire room.

Kylo nodded, gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he sipped some brandy he had ordered from the food service aboard the train.

“I cannot think of anything else it could be.” Kylo said, peering around your hat to get a look at the ship, the RMS Titanic, “Isn’t she grand?”

It had to be nearly a thousand feet long, and it felt just as tall, the way the great smokestacks protruded into the air, only contributing to the England-typical foggy weather. Birds swirled around the cables and squawked and cawed, and you could see the small dots of crewman wandering the ship, preparing it for all the new passengers which would board it on its maiden voyage.

You were giddy from the size of it alone, wishing the train would finally come to a stop so that you could get off of it and onto the vessel.

“Oh Heavens it’s enormous! Absolutely enormous. I’ve never seen such a ship in all my life.” You grinned, and such a reaction made Kylo smile softly at you.

“Do you like it?” He asked, kissing your satin gloved hand, and you laughed brightly, for that would truly be the understatement of the century.

“Like it? I adore it! I have no idea how such a thing can float, surely it would be too heavy and sink – yet here she is, a true marvel.” You cannot stop looking at it, at this feat of engineering.

“The only thing worth marveling at, is you my sweet.” He said, making you blush and duck your chin just so, unused to such blatant confessions.

When the whistle of the train blew and the brakes came to a squeaky halt, it took everything in you to calmly stand and collect yourself, arm looped through Kylo’s as you made your way out of the train hall and down the stairs where you met up with Dopheld and Rose as the two handled your baggage.

Speaking of baggage, you cannot help but stare in wonder as great mechanical cranes lifted platforms piled high with trunks, high into the air and onto the ship from right there on the port. You thought of all the things they had to build specifically for this ship, for the whole of the White Star line. You imagined that the berth had to be custom built as well, not believing that any port could accommodate a ship of this magnitude with ease.

Being that it was the Titanic, the port was simply packed, swarming with people. From all walks of life and classes, passengers dressed in their absolute best awaited entry to the ship. The noise was practically deafening, between the overlapping conversations of a thousand men women and children, that you were so surprised that through it all, your husband’s name was uttered in a tone that offered nothing but suspicion and disrespect.

As you, Kylo, Dopheld and Rose made your way through the crowds of people who were disembarking from the train, you could feel the judgmental stares from higher society who had come off of the first train only moments prior.

“Look – everyone look it’s Lord Ren.” One of them, a woman wearing a fashionable black and white striped dress whispered loudly, not doing anything to really conceal her disdain.

“Oh and that must be his bride, wonder how she hasn’t hanged herself yet.” Her companion, another fashionable young woman in deep purple silks laughed behind her fan.

“Wonder how he hasn’t yet killed her himself.” A third wearing such a largely feathered hat that you wondered how she did not topple straight over, glared harshly in your direction.

Your grip on Kylo’s arm only tightened, and you take it upon yourself to put them in their place.

“Pay them no mind.” You said loudly to your husband, more so for the benefit of them hearing you say it than anything else, “One would think being in the presence of such breathtaking sights would inspire more stimulating conversation than this vapid group is spewing.”

The women gasp in shock, offended, affronted, and you only smirk to yourself and to Kylo, as he fights a smile of his own.

“I am sorry my darling, that you must bear witness to such frivolity. Shall we explore the docks?” He offers, going along with you, but you only shoot the women a look.

“Please.” You say, making a point to dramatically turn your back to the women, your own ruffles and lace and feathers coming across much more elegantly than their ill-fitting garments.

You don’t get too far, before other people begin to take notice.

“Lord Ren!” One of the crewmen came running up to you and Kylo, “Sir I beg your pardon, it is an honor to be in the presence of such nobility. Please, may I take your bags?” He asked, and Dopheld was more than eager to hand them all over, the many trunks and boxes that Kylo had packed for you.

“Oh yes thank you my good sir, I am putting my trust in you, these are mostly belonging to my wife, and we don’t dare want to misplace them.” Kylo slipped him a large note, and the man’s eyes widened, bowing in respect.

“No sir, not at all sir, right away sir!” He said, before disappearing towards where those large electric cranes were, no doubt knowing exactly which room would be yours to put them in.

Kylo leads the way through the people, and you can’t help but feel so excited, a true sense of adventure at this moment. You had never been to America before, never left the continent at all – and what a grand first journey this would be!

Suddenly, you are nearly knocked into quite harshly a young man with a shock of blonde hair comes darting between you and Kylo, whooping and cheering like he had just won the lottery. He’s shouting, held a big sack over his shoulder, and waves a slip of paper in his hand as he and a friend cut through the crowd.

“Watch it!” Kylo barked, immediately righting you in his arms, helping you regain your footing from where he had nearly made you go crashing to the ground.

“Sorry mister!” The young man tossed over his shoulder, but Kylo is far more interested in you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, checking you over, searching your face for any signs that you had been harmed. Instead he finds signs that you are on the verge of panicking – for you are, and you’re finding it difficult to breathe just from the sheer spectacle of it all.

“Yes, yes of course. Just a little overwhelmed is all, there are a great many people.” You tried to explain, but Kylo shushed you gently, held you close as he took your fan from your free hand and waved your face with it.

“You are in dire need of fresh air, Dopheld please, would you help clear a path for (Y/N)?” He asked, and the boy immediately nodded, more than willing to help you.

“Make way!” He shouted, parting a path like he were some prophet.

“Could we please just go onto the ship? I apologize, I didn’t realize how crowded it would be.” You tried to apologize, feeling terrible for ruining the good mood of the afternoon.

The clock was striking a quarter until noon, leaving only fifteen minutes before the ship was set to depart, and you very badly needed to lie down. Kylo thankfully was in no mood to argue with you, as he seemed to never be, and instead was leading you through the path that Dopheld had cleared.

“You have nothing to apologize for, the gangplank is right this way.” He kissed you, square on the lips, making those around you gasp at such a display of affection.

You smiled at the show, face hot from a slight embarrassment at being the center of such attention, but Kylo paid no one any mind as he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you some more, to help calm you down.

As his tongue slid against yours, his arms wound around you and you sighed into his embrace. The poor man had to tilt his head awkwardly to avoid knocking over your hat, but you were thankful for such the large brim, as it concealed just how passionate the kiss was – concealed it from one side of you, at the very least.

When the disgruntled men and women gave way to wolf-whistles and jeers from those of the lower classes, did Kylo then pull away.

“Perhaps we should find our cabin straight away.” You suggested, and he only laughed loud, the sound of it unfortunately swallowed by a great big horn that was blown from the ship.

Feeling a new sense of invigoration, you and Kylo ran towards the gangplank up the gangplank, and onto the ship.

You passed the third-class passengers who were getting their health inspection, men and women and children all opening their eyes and mouths and ears for doctors to ensure that no disease or illness could be spread to the others aboard, crew and passenger alike.

A few people were turned away, and you felt a pang of sorrow for them, for how must it feel to be denied entry to such an incredible ship as this?

If you were afraid of heights, you did not look down, but it wouldn’t have even occurred to you to do so, to look back at the hundreds of faces who were waving the ship off. No, you were far too occupied with looking forward, up at your husband, at his handsome face in the sun which had finally managed to beat away the clouds.

Once aboard the deck of the ship, you gasp, hand covering your mouth, at the view.

It was, in a word, breathtaking.

The sunshine really had transformed the entire ship, the white paint practically glittered and shone like the diamonds which were scattered atop the water of the English Channel, casting a bright glow over the entire port.

The deck was a flurry of activity, those very same cranes you had seen were now swinging over your head as they lowered all manner of things aboard – luggage yes, but also great cars which were highly polished, sending a sparkle of their own. There were all sorts of men doing inspections all across the ship, and you spotted one man entirely in white doing such checks as well.

“Do you think that’s the captain?” You asked, excitement showing through your voice and general demeanor.

“I do believe so my dear.” Kylo followed your gaze to the man in white, a thick white beard to boot, “Would you like to meet him?”

“Meet him! No, no we couldn’t possibly. He must be so busy.” Your eyed widen comically as you wave off your flustered appearance. Only Kylo would be so bold as to make introductions to someone so important as the captain of all people.

“Perhaps another night then, we have all week, after all.” Kylo said, making you only shake your head.

The ship had begun to set sail, and you were thrilled by this, by the cheering, the fanfare, the orchestra playing up grand music, until you saw something of a pitiful sight.

“Why do you suppose there are so many of the same ship, over in the berth?” You asked, gesturing to the row of nearly identical boats docked in the harbor, all laid up against one another, listing from side to side.

“Lack of coal,” Rose piped up, her eyes bright as she offered the information she had read in the paper only that morning, “The miners have just finished their strike, there isn’t enough coal yet for all the ships to set sail. I heard they’re consolidating the passengers from the other ships onto the Titanic.”

“Will there be enough space for them all?” You asked, but Rose nodded happily.

“Of course, there’s no sense in overloading a ship with passengers she can’t hold. It will all be fine. Besides, we are not going to be seeing them much anyway, as we’re on the top deck.” She said, pride clear in her voice.

“First class is such a luxury.” You sighed dreamily, proud in your own rights as well.

Kylo kissed your knuckles, before kissing your lips once more out in the open, like the right scoundrel he was.

“It is one that I hope you grow accustomed to, for from now on you’ll never travel with anything less.” He murmured against your lips, no doubt earning him some dirty glares from the elderly passengers which were making their way out and about on the deck.

“I would like to just go to our cabin, if we might?” You asked, lowering your voice as you pressed your lips closer to his ear, “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t get my hands on you this instant.”

Kylo only chuckled, and looked around as if he were a spy, searching for someone who might be after them. When he found no such pursuer, he pulled you back around one of the structures which housed a room you did not know. All that you knew was there was shade here in the back, and as Kylo pressed you up against the cool wall, you let yourself be kissed once again.

You had hoped that Rose and Dopheld had taken the hint, had gone to find the cabins themselves, or at the very least busy themselves while Kylo worked very hard at getting the bodice of your dress undone. It seemed to be a quiet corner of the ship, an intimate oasis where there was nothing but the wall, you, and the railing which gave a spectacular view of the port, of the channel beyond.

Kylo was not so concerned with the view, and was much more concerned with freeing your chest, with pulling your breasts up out of your corset so that he could bury his face between the cleavage. He sucked and kissed at your flesh, and you gasped lightly when you felt his fingers ruck up your skirt and petticoat, when you felt his hot hand branding your thigh as he searched through all the fabric to find the smooth skin between your legs, the wet slick of your pussy.

He truly was unashamed, as he released your cleavage from his mouth only to seal his lips over yours as you moaned into him, those deft fingers of his working you open more and more. It was entirely inappropriate, to do such a thing so out in the open, but there were no one around to judge you, not unless you counted the gulls which circled and flew low on the water.

“I am going to ravish you tonight.” Kylo promised, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you, “But I made a promise to myself to make you come as soon as you stepped foot on this ship, and that’s what I aim to do.” He grinned, those crooked teeth of his which you found so endearing shining pearly white.

“Kylo – ” You laughed, a laugh which turned into a long and low moan, such a thing he had to capture in his lips so that no one would find you, would see how he was touching you so, with your tits out as they were.

“Shh, shh just enjoy it.” Kylo said, a third finger joining the others in your pussy.

You leaned all of your weight against the wall, and held his arm in place as he made out with you, eliciting the sweetest sounds and sighs of pleasure. His wrist was turned just so, that he could rub his thumb in lazy little circles on your clit, make your chest heave.

Your hips were unable to sit still, pelvis thrusting down onto his hand, and you were so close to reaching your climax, so close to coming – when all of a sudden the sound of gunshots rang clear and bright through the air.

Kylo moved faster than you had ever seen him, pulling his hand out from between your legs, out from under your skirt, arranging your breasts so they sat comfortably back in your corset and buttoning you into your bodice in record time. He grabbed your hand and the two of your raced from the side of the boat where you had been hiding away, into the fray of scrambling passengers who had all heard the same shots.

“Get down!”

“What was that?”

“Does anyone know?”

“Can someone tell us?”

In all the confusion, dogs began to bark and children began to wail, but you only clutched onto Kylo until crewmen came pouring out of the ship onto the deck, blowing their whistles to gain attention. They were giving no information however, only blowing their whistles, and that wasn’t helping anyone, wasn’t making anyone calm down. You ran to the side of the ship, and watched with fear as more and more gunshots sounded.

“(Y/N)!” Kylo chased after you, holding onto your hand as best as he could while you maneuvered your way through the gathering which had amassed on the side of the ship to listen to the gunshots, to look for the criminal.

Except they weren’t gunshots at all, what everyone was hearing was the sound of cables snapping, of chords and wires tearing apart, breaking free from the hull of those ships which had been laid up in the port, those same ships which had donated their coal in exchange for the Titanic accepting their passengers for this voyage.

The other boats belonging to the White Star line had broken free from their moorings and were heading right for you.

“My god, the ships are turning this way!” You shouted, causing an entirely new panic all your own.

The force from the propellers of the Titanic had caused such a stir in the waters, that it had rocked and swayed those boats docked in the port until they had come breaking free, and now they were being sucked towards the Titanic due to the sheer size of the ship.

No sooner than those words had left your lips, did tug-boats pour out into the water from the docks, armed with many experienced crewmen who seemingly were prepared for an event such as this.

The presence of the boats must have done something to displace all the water, to set the gravitational pull to rights once again, because as one of the ships came ever closer, as the people gasped and backed away as quickly as they could, suddenly it was all still once again.

“All clear!” The foreman blew his whistle, trying to calm the mass of people who were now shouting and yelling, demanding a refund or to be let off the ship immediately. You didn’t blame them, the boat was close enough that you could probably reach out a hand and smack the hull. “Everything is fine! Passengers please being to settle, we will be departing in half an hour.”

Your heart was beating hard in your chest, but Kylo was right there, right there behind you, holding you tight.

He held you in a way that said, ‘I will never let you go,’ and that reassured you more than words probably ever could.

Once the initial shock of the almost crash had passed, you began to laugh, the anxiety bubbling up out of you in a hiccupping chuckle that had nearly everyone around you confused, concerned.

“What a dramatic start to the trip!” You explained to the questioning eyes, and only then did they all nod in understanding, letting out a few laughs of relief themselves.

Kylo wasted no more time in getting your party together, leading you and the servants inside the main area of the ship, away from the deck. He was not laughing, a dangerous, angry glare cast over his features that had you worried.

Was it the interruption of your moment of intimacy? Had you reacted poorly to the near-crash? Or was he simply worried, and this was how he showed it? You didn’t know, you’d have to ask him when you were both safely tucked away in your cabin.

“Could you imagine if the boats had crashed, right here in the harbor? What a waste that would be.” Rose tutted, but Dopheld only shook his head.

“I wouldn’t be worried, she is unsinkable after all.” He pointed out, echoing the same slogan which they had been advertising this ship under for so many weeks now.

“Right you are, Dopheld.” Kylo replied, opening the grand doors to the first class reception lobby, “Right you are.”

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Tagging some pals! As always if you’d like to be taken off or added to the taglist, just send me a message <3 @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @plomblooms @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @imaginedreamwrite @formerly-anonhamster @kyloxfem @tinyplanet-explorers @zaneholtzwrites @heldcaptivebychaos @inkstaineddaughter @venusianmaiden @thepilotanon @solotriplets @autumnlovesadam @punk-in-docs

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo x reader #kylo/reader #kylo ren imagine #titanic au #my writing #historically accurate

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starchildrenofdustand-ashes · 6 years ago

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My Six The Musical Review

Once again nobody cares— BUUUT I saw SixChicago yesterday with Adrianna Hicks as Aragon, Andrea Macasaet as Bolyen, Abby Mueller as Seymour, Brittney Mack as Cleves, Anna Uzele as Parr. Here are somethings I noticed (essentially this is a rundown of everything you wouldn’t get just from listening to the album lol) ((Also im so tired and its 12.28 am and im sorry for any mistakes))

❤️💚💛💗🖤💙

👑 So before the show, they were playing a ton of pop music, but it was on an instrument that kinda sounded like a lute or harpsichord. 👑 When the Queens walked out from behind the curtain in a single file line to take their place on stage, the crowd went crazy. They all came out through a tiny crack in the curtain,, but when they belt “LIIIIVE” the curtain falls to the floor as is dragged off stage. 👑During the dance breaks in Ex-Wives, they go from dancing hip hop, to dancing with each other in a style they would’ve done back then to the beat. It was cute. 👑It was so weird hearing their accents! I’m always expecting “divooced” but it felt like they were almost emphasizing the r “ divoRRced” 👑Before Catherine of Aragon starts singing in Ex-Wives she says “Remember us from PBS??” 👑When Jane Seymour sings her bit in the song she moves Stage Left and when the Queens all say “Hey!” She looks surprised and shrugs, continuing to sing 👑Anna really played up the “JA’s” during her bit and IT WAS SO CUTE (you will find I am partial to clever, bc my gay ass is in love with her.) 👑There is so much dialogue!! After they say “Chicago!! How’re you doing tonight!!” They say we are “SIIIIX” in their harmonies and “Welcome to our divorced, beheaded, LIVE TOUR” 👑Aragon says “WE HAVE SO MUCH IN STORE FOR YOU TONIGHT— WE HAVE THE RIFFS TO RUFFLE YOUR RUFFS” before she does a really sick riff 👑A few of the other queens add on to that,, I forgot what they said but then Howard says “AND A WHOLE LOT OF HISTORY” and Parr cuts her off and says “OR AS WE SAY A WHOLE LOT OF HERSTORY” 👑then they introduce their band (who are on the stage with then) as their ladies in waiting and I was soft 👑 So then they go on to explain the deal with the show; they are all competing against each other for the crown of the “ultimate” queen based on who had to put up with the most shit from Henry 👑 When they’re going down the line to explain why they say 💛Who lasted longest was the strongest 💚The biggest sinner is obvs the winner 🖤 I have no idea what Seymour said I don’t remember DX ❤️Who was most chased is first place 💗The most glorious will be victorious 💙The winning contestant was the most protestant (but she says it so it rhymes with contestant and then all the queens look at her like ??? And she sighs and says ‘protestant’ with its correct pronunciation 👑Aragon says “How in the purgatory are they gonna choose a leading lady??” 👑”The queen to take the crown will be the one who had the biggest, the firmest, the fullest…. LOAD OF BS TO DEAL WITH FROM THE MAN WHO PUT A RING ON IT 👑There is a reprise of Ex-wives but this time they change the lyrics to “welcome to the show to the coronation” 👑💛lol Aragon cut the reprise off and was like “It doesn’t matter, because I’m the winner” and then she asked the drummer for a beat 👑💛So with the beat, Aragon begins to tell her story, and the bass is strumming the baseline for no way 👑💛”Okay, I’m thinking its… a bit weird they want me to marry my… dead husbands brother”… 👑💛So then she continues recounting the story and she says “I saw lipstick on his collar and I’m like… okAY… so now he wants to annul our marriage and moves this sidekick into mY palace and wants me in a CONVENT” and she’s on a RANT so she pauses and breathes really heavily before smiling really widely and sighing “Now… I don’t think I look that good in a wimple so I said. No. Way.” And the song starts immediately after that 👑💛Idk what else to say except that Aragon was a total badass and Adrianna Hicks was a fucking QUEEN 👑💛When she asks him to name when she’s ever caused him pain, she’s all the way upstage on the same platform/semi circle that the band is on, and she’s on her knees kinda begging kinda. She pauses for a LONG time and waits for an answer and her face is smug when she’s like “no?” 👑💛She said “I had the most to deal with AND I hit that high c so that crown is mine,” 👑The other Queens stop her and are like theres another really REALLY IMPORTANT one… the one that overlapped with you who is she?? The famous one that people actually care about!” Then they all start chanting “The one you’ve been waiting for” and the lighting turns green,, while they’re chanting, Anne Boleyn looks really confused and shrugs and walks to the back of the stage and picks up her phone 👑💚The Queens eventually say “The temptresssssss” and they hold it out like a snake “ANNE BOLYEN” and they sing this very choir like 👑💚They all turn to her and Anne is just sitting there cackling at whatever is on her phone and she’s like “ Whoops sorry,,” and Don’t loose your head starts 👑💚Andrea Macasaet has SUCH a high pitched voice she was absolutely ADORABLE 👑💚When she said “get ahead” she smirked and everyone laughed 👑💚Instead of her voice going down on “Pret a Manger,” it got even higher almost In a mocking French accent. 👑💚She is pissing Aragon the fuck off this entire song lol 👑💚When she says “Are you blind??” She gestures between she and Aragon 👑💚 “What was I meant to do?” Is sung like a confused toddler lol 👑💚 So the bit where they play the wedding song, all the queens bow to her and she walks past, smiling and waving and she gets to the end of the line and is like “Hold up,, let me tell you how it went down HENRY’S OUT EVERY NIGHT …. Etc” 👑💚”Bro just shut up!” Instead of mate 👑💚She even asks the band what was she meant to do, and everyone is repeating her and she screams “OH MY GOD SERIOUSLY HE REALLY WANTS TO CUT MY HEAD OFF” 👑💚and then she grins again after a long silence and she’s all smug like “I guess he really liked my head…..” While kinda licking her lips lol 👑💚DEAR GOD HER RIFFS JESUS FUCKING HREHTTLTURHGUEHURL 👑💚And she was like “yeah… that was such a weekend… I like died… and it was so extra! So im clearly the winner. So now, I have to sing a song I wrote when I found out that Catherine of Aragon had died. Its called WEAR YELLOW TO A FUNERAL SING IF YOU KNOW THE WORDS. And the bass came in and Boleyn sings “Catherine was a massive C-” and the other Queens immediately shut her up 👑Aragon and Boleyn start arguing until Seymour is like “its my turn now…” 👑Everyone looks at het before they burst out laughing, telling her ‘bye’ and ‘girl, please’ 👑And Seymour is like yeah,, I was in love and I was really really lucky. 👑🖤 And Seymour goes into this really heartbreaking monologue about how she missed her songs future and how she had a picture of her family. She said that Henry was really sweet and that she loved him 👑Boleyn cuts her off and is like “yeahhhh,, there was this one really cute time where he, like, cut my head off :) 👑🖤Seymour said that Aragon and Boleyn were badasses. Then she said that she promised to always stay by his side and didn’t yell at him back like the other two because she loved him. Then she dedicated the song to him 👑🖤Heart of Stone started and honestly,,, its not my favorite song and I usually skip it. But mY GOODNESS. Abby Mueller is a fucking goddess wow. The amount of control she has on her voice is astounding 👑🖤(fun fact abt me— I have perfect pitch lol) they pitch changed it into A major and it transposes into B major which was SO BEAUTIFUL. It made me actually like the song lol 👑🖤Its not really eventful,, she just stands in the middle of the stage. 👑Seymour is like,, “what hurts more than a broken heart?” And Boleyn is like “A chopped off head” 👑Almost immediately after it transfers to Cleves and she’s like “soo he’s running out of options in England he had to expand his fields and adjust his location settings to find his next queen. We are Heading to Germany where he got the help of Han….. 👑At some point during the song, the other queens ran off stage to get their glasses and ruffs 👑They all run back on stage in their glasses and ruffs (Cleves still hasn’t said his last name yet) and they all whisper “Holbien” 👑WELCOME TO THE HOUSE 👑lol this song is SO funny… and Cleves is so fucking adorable (she was flossing at some point). The dancing was so… German…it was hilarious. 👑So after the song is done,, the girls still have their ruffs and glasses on and it kinda turns into a mobile app like tinder.. 👑Basically there are two queens before Cleves and they all stand up and walk downstage as they are introduced, they smile and their picture is taken and they wait for about two seconds before Henry swipes left or right. 👑The two in front of Cleves are played by Parr and Howard. 👑After Cleves is selected their is a Holbein reprise 👑❤️The other queens run off taking the ruffs and Cleves is left on the stage sighing comically several times. She’s at the back of the stage sitting on a makeshift stone 👑❤️”Its the tragic story of a princess-educated, savvy, young- deemed ugly by an ulcer-ridden, wheezing, winkled man 20 years her senior.” 👑❤️WHATS A MORE DEVASTATING FATE THAN BEING FORCED INTO A BEAUTIFUL PALACE IN RICHMOND WITH MORE MONEY THAN I COULD EVER SPEND AND NO MAN TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO WITH IT 👑❤️Get down is also key changed 👑❤️When she sings “I’m the Queen of the castle” she is skipping across the stage 👑❤️When she gives her fur to the footman, she actually takes off her coat and hands it to one of the queens. The crowd went crazy and she’s like “guys stop,’ and like acting all shy but secretly enjoying it-she says “Okurrrrrrrrr” . Then she’s like “AS YOU WERE” and everyone is quiet lol 👑❤️the part where it slows down and she’s like “SIT DOWNNN YOU DIRTTTY RrrrrrASCALLL” she opera sings it and I shat myself 👑❤️she uses her microphone as a lute lol 👑❤️YOU CANT (nope) STOP (nuh-uh) YOU CANT STOP ME 👑❤️At some point she squeezes her boob. I love her. 👑❤️after she kills us all by belting that last note she points to a girl in the front row and is like “YOU IN THE PINK DRESS!” and she gestures for her to stand up. And the girl stands up and they bop together with Cleves ad libbing in the background 👑❤️Eventually she says “Okay sugar this is my song, GET DOWN” 👑❤️And then after a moment of silence she’s like “So yeah it was really tragic…” 👑Aragon is like that doesn’t sound difficult at all and Ceves is like “oh… yeah.. I probably won’t win this thing… WELP BACK TO THE PALACE!” 👑the queens argue more and honestly it’s iconic 👑Seymour is yelling at Aragon and her voice is so loud and Cleves interrupts her and is like “guys,… I have the plague” and they all gasp and she’s like “HAHA JUST KIDDING MY LIFES AMAZING” they roll their eyes and Parr is like “our next queen! K HOWARD!” And everyone is like who??? 👑Aragon is like “ The least relevant Catherine,,” and Boleyn is like “Yeahhh i get it and I still don’t care,,,” 👑Howard is like “You’re right… I need all the help I can compete. What happened to you was terrible,, and so were you songs,,” Then she proceeded to roast everyone. She says “Anne you obviously had it worse I mean you lost your head……. Oh wait…..” 👑💗And then she says “but seriously Anna, getting rejected for your looks really sucks…. cant relate…I’m really hot…. So yeah. I can compete like this” or smthing and then all you wanna do starts. 👑💗At the beginning of the song the queens touch her everywhere and she leans into it willingly 👑💗Blowing the flute,, she winks at the audience and when she says C-D she puts her hand in front of her crotch and squeezes. 👑💗 “There was this guy… Francis and he asked me to be his little piece of aaaasssssss…istant! 👑💗The song goes from upbeat to upsetting very very quickly after Francis she starts to become less trusting and she gets more disoriented as the show goes on. 👑💗”Apparently men only hire women to get them into their private chamber… times were different then…” 👑💗When she says “He says we have this connection,” about Henry Seymour comes from behind her and touches her stomach — all you can see is her hand touching her sensually. She looks a little surprised and then she’s like “I guess its not so different..” 👑💗By the time we get to Thomas Culpepper she is flustered and VERY uncomfortable. The girls are all touching her now and she looks down and stares at their hand before pushing them away and finishing the end of the song. she keeps pushes them away but they keep coming back. She looks utterly heartbroken and you can see her unraveling. 👑💗THAT RIFF WAS SO GGHRSILGBRLGKJBJL 👑💗she screams “WHEN WILL ENOUGH BE ENOUGH” as they keep touching her and she fails as she pushes them away. 👑💗Eventually she gets them off but she ends up by herself on the stage with her face facing up and a dim pink spotlight is on her. 👑💗There is a chilling silence and then she’s smiling and says ‘YEAH and then I was beheaded and I won this competition!” 👑Then they get into another argument. Boleyn starts talking about how her beheading was more relevant because Henry humiliated her more and Aragon was like,,, um I won the humiliation game and she counts her mistresses 👑Then they start yelling about the miscarriages they had and Boleyn says she has three and Aragon says “You know what Anne BO-LOSER I HAD FIVE” and Parr is like “this is not okay, don’t compare miscarriages, thats hella insensitive” and they push her to the center and tell her to sing her song 👑Theres a random baseline again and Parr looks like she’s about to start singing but she stops and says,,”I’m good,” and tries to go off stage. They all accuse her of being a sore loser because she survived and knows that she had no chance of winning. 👑Parr is like,,, NO its pitting us against each other and the queens all groan and make fun of her and she’s like okay,, imma sing the song then. And Katherine Howard says “Are you sure?? Are you sure you dont want to stick to backing vocals where you belong?” 👑💙And Parr softly says “Queens take a seat,” before turning to the pianist and saying “Can you give me a Bb maj7, please?” 👑💙Parr shuts down all the queens and says her life wasn’t all rainbows because she survived. And she talks about her love tom, and I never realized that the song is a letter to tom. She starts off “Dear Tom, You know I love you boy,” 👑💙 Anna Uzele was so fucking good. And Tbh,, this is my least favorite song so I don’t remember much about the staging (I’m sorry) 👑💙Side note,, parr is such a badass and an amazing woman 👑At the end of the song, she turns to the queens and is like “without Henry we all disappear ,” and Boleyn is like “I don’t get it” and parr asks “How does anyone know who we are” and Boleyn is like “mY SiX fInGeRs-“ before Aragon cuts her off and is like “Put it away, baby” 👑Parr then asks Henry the 7 and 6’s wives names and nobody can answer. “but, when we get together as a group-“ Boleyn cuts her off and is like “EVERYONE NOTICES THAT JANE CAN’T DANCE!” “NO WE COMPARE OURSELVES” 👑when Boleyn finally gets it she explains the situation like she’s an encyclopedia and it was so funny and fast and oMG 👑”UGH if we had realized this before we started we could have done something else like make a fake competition to show everyone how messed up comparing us is and then we could reclaim our story and all become the leading ladies…” “:/ and they are all saying this dialogue its just split up and I dont remember it very well 👑IF ONLY WE HAD THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE 👑then they look at each other and smirk at the audience before reprising Parr’s song as “We don’t need your love,” 👑Which was so good bc THEY DON’T NEED HENRY’S LOVE YES 👑Then they point out “We might only be remember for marrying the same man,, but why does anyone give a sh- who he is? It’s because of his,,” then they all harmonize ’SIIIIIIX WIVES’ 👑AND WE ALL HAVE A ROYAL HAPPY EVER AFTER but Boleyn cuts Seymour off and is like “But we didn’t” 👑then they go onto explain how none of them had happy endings and they’re like,, but we can rewrite them! So they do and that leads into Six which is such a soft song. 👑Six, actually starts off very slowly. It speeds up after they say “we’re six” 👑It was such an energy ending I was speechless and gold confetti poured down on them and OMG I was shaken to my core.

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littleredroseonthevalley · 4 years ago

Text

The Grave of the Butterflies

Summary: She is reborn in California. She is Morgan Garrity, she is her own person, responsible for her own choices and this is her pride and joy. Here, she is only but an ex.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2900

Notes: Here we have. The sequel. I hope you enjoy it.

She thought about wearing black, and though few would believe it, her closet does contain one dress that would have been appropriate. It is colourless, characterless. It is just a black dress, so she is wearing something else, a statement about herself.

While the idea seemed natural when she was at the small room at the hotel, now she is not so sure. Her outfit is all conspicuous clutter, satsuma orange overlapping stark tribal reds where the purple does not blotch, and she usually likes when people stare. She is used to it, but not like this. These people stare and see tainted flesh, not a dress.

She is reborn in California. She is Morgan Garrity, she is her own person, responsible for her own choices and this is her pride and joy.

Here, she is only but an ex. An ex-neighbour. An ex-wife. An ex-mother. An ex-person, almost. Someone to be forgotten or scorned.

Her own mother is in her head, reminding her to walk tall, to never let small people upset her over small things, but her shoulders keep slouching. This community has power, and they know it. They always knew how to make her feel pathetic and not good enough.

She always knew how to fake it, though, so she forces the smile and flutters from group to group, leaving indignant anger and dredged-up memories in her wake.

"Jacob Calhoun!” She greets with pep. “It's been so long. How's Juliette?"

She died. Cancer.

He does not want Morgan to say she is sorry. He wants her to be the monster who abandoned not just her family but also left her friend behind when she needed her most, and she can do that. She can be dumb and selfish for him, anything to make Juliette’s husband feel better. Juliette was one of the few who urged Morgan to go, who never judged her.

Her tilted head and wide, blinking eyes imitate innocence, and she can feel him laughing, trying not to let on that he knows she is acting. The timbre vibrates on her skin, almost under it.

It is not hard to remember how that laugh used to be enough to warm her. That was before she demanded the western sun.

He is moving toward her, and she feels the gravity, the steady. It was always constant with him, and ignoring it was futile. She had been drawn in, and as the moth with the flame, she had found that her own desires could engulf her. She could lose herself.

She still thinks she was lucky to escape with her life.

"Sawyer." She smiles.

He is the same, always the same. Even at their daughter’s wedding, not two years ago, he had been exactly how he was when she had met him, when she had left. She was surprised and could not help but comment on how good he looked.

It is easier to remember him as small-town nothing in her memories, but he has never been that.

At first, he had been enough. Finally, a good enough of a man, of a living person, for her. Despite the rushing, the fact neither of them had even met Sawyer before, her parents were pleased. Her father nodded his approval, and her mother shook her head, this might be the one to keep her.

Morgan did not know why that was exciting, but it was. It said something to his power that a brush of his fingertips along her wrist or the gentlest incline of his head was enough to balm the crackling energy that exhausted her day in, day out.

“What do you do with it all?” He had asked once as they lazed on a sunny afternoon, Sawyer fishing and Morgan just being. “With all this energy? With all this life?”

“You wake up in the morning, and it's like you're buzzing with the desperate need to move.” She explains it then. “Then I see you like this and have to wonder where all that energy went.”

She had stretched her feet a little further into his side of the small boat, her dimples showing when he made no comment about her encroaching on his space, and made a show of luxuriating just a bit more in the Sweetridge’s extensive sunshine, of letting him know what she hid beneath the tied flannel shirt she wore.

Morgan had shrugged then, dismissed the concern, deeming those thoughts required to answer the question not worth spoiling the lazy peace that hung between them.

Now she knows it is all very simple. It all went to him, always him. It gave him the will to smile wide, laugh deep, and dare to be more than happy, to be blessed. To leave for the rodeo circuit.

Emotions and adventure wore Sawyer out, probably still do, but she had had enough for the both of them. She was strong and could manage the loneliness and the doubt. She was sure.

So Goddamn young and sure.

Morgan is no longer so positive about anything. She was lucky to receive an email once a month from her daughter once she let her go, once that she let her get to know the father she barely ever met, and then she is a stranger to her whole life.

She cannot match faces to names of schoolmates. She does not know who went out of their way to be here today. She definitely does not understand what her baby girl was doing driving down that winding, snowy road without guardrails at night.

And she definitely does not have a clue who picked out Sawyer's tie.

Someone did. It is silk, classic and purple. Purple, for Christ's sake! A woman was involved.

Does she love him right?

“Will you love me right?” Her voice had trembled.

It probably should have been romantic when he fell to one knee, but Morgan had honed in on the crunch of bone meeting gravel and was having a hard time finding the ambiance.

“There is no doubt.” He assured her.

She still was not convinced. “For always?”

It was cruel to draw it out, she had known, but she needed his love for her, not for her energy, her beauty or the fact she helped him with the ranch. The proposal had needed to be for Morgan.

If it was not, she had been sure she would not hesitate. She would take the drive back to Boston, her mother would begrudgingly take her back and help smooth things over with her father. Morgan and Sawyer would have waited until it could be about them.

She knew then and now: it was so, so wrong of her.

“I don't understand the question.” He had said, and his lips twitched at the corners. They'd played out the same conversation so many times. “Is there another answer than for always?”

No, there was no other answer.

Sawyer tugs at his tie in sharp, awkward jerks, and Morgan is distressed to realize she still has the suffocating urge to fix it for him or to smooth back the fly-away strands of his hair. She still loves him.

She thought she stopped. She thought she made herself stop.

"Morgan." He greets, a resting scowl gracing his face. "I am glad you could make it."

It is not a jibe, but more like praise. They have never been the type of people to dance around her nature. Everything else, but never that.

Morgan does not want to think of her daughter as dead, just gone. She is just off with her rich pretty boy, gallivanting around Europe and living it up as the young should. Not dead. Not in the ground.

He was the son of a senator from Helena. They met in college, fell head over heels for each other, married as soon as they graduated. She was happy, hosting stately campaign dinners and flouting wealth through the city streets. Now, like a spell, she is just gone. Now, her son-in-law is there, looking straight ahead, black suit and sunglasses, speaking to no-one, acknowledging no-one.

Sue her for not wanting to face this. They can just go ahead and call her immature.

She is still brusque with Sawyer, still on the defence. "Of course, I'm here. Five years of her living up here didn't make me forget about her."

He just nods, holds a hand out. She wants him to argue with her. She has to be above everybody else, tell herself that their opinions do not matter, but his does. She can be offended. She can cry.

However, as if to spite her, he is just standing there, palm up, waiting. He always knows.

"That suit looks good on you." She tells him, and he half-shrugs, and then grins wryly.

"Always the surprise." He responds, as if incredulous with what she said. He is not.

"Can you blame me? My memories are of flannel and fishing gear. The silk's an interesting touch." Her focus narrows in on the scrap of violet again, and he's blushing. He looks like their daughter.

It is interesting. A week ago, Morgan would have said that she took her traits from Sawyer, not the other way around, but God, all she can see is her daughter.

They were so alike, both a blessing on her life, something she was never quite sure she deserved. Morgan had a lot of energy, she had a lot to give, but sadly not enough for both of them.

You need to stop crying. The baby had begun to shriek more, louder, higher. When had she started referring to her daughter as "the baby" and not by her name? She did not remember.

Probably when she first began crying. Morgan did not remember how long ago that was either.

Please, please, please. Shhh. She was supposed to be the girl that liked havoc, why should the chaos of children bug her? Yet, babies were proving to be different. They got to be a mess, and she needed to be constant; the young expected schedules and order from their caregivers. She had tried and tried, but she was always falling short, falling out of step.

Baby, you have to cut it out now. Your mommy needs her sleep. Morgan had been working hard in California, to make enough to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table. Her parents and Sawyer sent her money, of course, but it was not enough to cover everything, especially in such an expensive place like Berkeley.

Her parents lived in Boston, and her ex-husband was back in Montana. If she went to either of those places, she could have a respite. She could breathe easy, with the knowledge that, if she stumbles, there will be someone, anyone, to pick her up again. She does neither of those things. She grits her teeth and carries on.

She wanted to be independent. To be the ruler of her own life. To show her daughter she needed nothing and no one, just her own intrepid spirit. It had not worked out.

To be completely fair, Sawyer was not a bad husband, he did not actively oppress or mistreat her. He tried, he really tried, but he was still demanding. He would take care of the cattle, sure, but had Morgan washed his clothes? No? Didn't she usually do that? The flowerbeds looked neglected, and the apples needed to be boxed. Had she handled the phone bill? He could take care of it if she wanted, but she'd always said it was no trouble before.

So, she left. When she found out she was pregnant, she packed her bags and left without looking back. She wanted her freedom, she wanted to give a life full of opportunities, and not the dullness of country life, the weight of the responsibilities she herself did not want to take and certainly did not care for her baby to be thrust upon.

Then, she came back.

Honey! Shut. Up. Now.

Before, before, before. Before it was just him, and she had gestures of adoration to spare.

She eventually had started to hate "the baby".

Morgan still shudders. Maybe she does not have all the maternal instincts she should, but she is still human. She had hated herself for hating her daughter.

That only made things worse.

I'm sorry! I just don't know. I don't know what to do! She had done as all the books had instructed her. She had cleaned the scrape on her daughter's knee with hydrogen peroxide, and she had followed that with ointment and a colourful band-aid, but her baby had still cried.

Morgan had not made it better.

Sawyer had received a call with them both in tears, his wife near-hysterical. “Calm down, Morgan. She is only upset because you are.”

He had not been there. He had not seen how utterly useless she had been. He just walked in and summarized, he just swooped in and saved the day. He was, after all, the town hero.

She had been the villain. She was a tragedy of a mother, and everyone knew it. She could not cook a proper meal to save her life, all the other children could talk before her daughter, most of the women were able to contribute to craft fairs and bake sales. Morgan just cried.

Depression, her nanny had said.

Stress, added the doctor.

Reality, her mother summarized.

There had been nothing physically wrong with Morgan. She had just given everything she had to Sawyer without a thought, and she did not know how to ask for it back now, and the many miles between them did not restore it to her. Then she had to draw on her own stores to nurture her. She needed those reserves. She was selfish, she is selfish.

That is why her following relationships worked. They did not need her love, and she did not care to give it to them.

She had the love to madness with Sawyer, and it had become vital that he know the extremes of her devotion, an addiction. The early days of their relationship found her peeling back layers of herself, rejoicing at each new discovery of how much she had to give. They had plateaued eventually, found a comfortable amount of love for her to shed.

Then, she became pregnant, and the baby would need more. She had a lot of love, but just not enough for both of them.

The casket is closed, and Sawyer assured her over the phone last week that it was with good reason. He had been to the coroner's office. You don't want to see her like that, Morgan. She is not sure about that. It might haunt her, but it would make it real.

"You're sure?" she asks him again. "It's her? Without a doubt?"

"No doubt." He's abrupt, gruff, and anyone else would pass it off as just his character. Sawyer Oakley does not show emotion anymore.

Except he does. Morgan knows that, knows him. He cried right along with her at the wedding, even if he hid it well.

"But how can you know?" She presses. "If the remains are truly that bad, she…"

"Morgan." He's looking at her with pity. "Don't delude yourself."

Delude?

This from the man who helped her construct an elaborate life for their daughter’s pet dog because it was just too sad to think that she figured out that it died? From the man who kept quiet about his father's death, has yet to this day to acknowledge it, since it was easier to pretend that he had never had one than to deal with it?

Sawyer was never told her to put away her rose-coloured glasses before. It is her defence mechanism. He did not want her hurt, and he let her have it.

"Sawyer, you're telling me everything?"

"Of course. All there is to tell."

Final. Curt.

Lies.

"What are you lying about?"

"What?"

"Lying, you're lying. There's something you're not telling me."

"I think you're just a bit distressed right now."

"Of course, I am. You're hiding something."

"Morgan…"

"You have to tell me. She was all I had, Sawyer. I couldn't have you both, and I chose her. So, I need to know. You have to tell me."

"Is everything all right here?" The hand that the woman places on Sawyer's shoulder is thin, bony and possessive.

Morgan knows those hands knotted a purple tie earlier that day.

She is crying, near-hysteria, and useless all over again. She does not know anything about her life, but she chose her daughter. She is supposed to know. Morgan was supposed to pour everything into her after it was just them and she could be the sole focus of her affections. That was what would happen when she left Sawyer, she had been sure.

So Goddamn young and sure.

She spent two years of her life frantic over the idea that there just was not enough of her to go around, and she knows she will spend the next fifty wishing she had just let them take it all.

The citizens of Sweetridge watch the flighty woman come home and sob over the casket of her only child, just to remind themselves they are not sympathetic. She is an ex-neighbour. An ex-wife. An ex-mother. Just an ex.

*_*_*_*_*

BSC Materlist

Series Masterlist

#Big Sky Country #sawyer oakley

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medablack · 4 years ago

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victoria pedretti, cis female, she / her ─ do you think ANDROMEDA BLACK will survive the war ? i heard whispers that they were staying NEUTRAL, which surprises me considering they always seemed INDEPENDENT, INQUISITIVE, DISCERNING but then again they were also EVASIVE, INTROSPECTIVE, SINGLEMINDED. apparently the TWENTY SEVEN year old is a WAITRESS, which makes sense considering they always did make me think of the greyish purple of dawn, the stinging salt of sea spray, feet on cool wet sand, a breath of morning air. a new beginning for cold bones. fastening the clasp of a silver necklace, carefully applied lipstick, starched white shirts wearing thin at the elbows. dark curls escaping from pins – the flash of silver scissors – a breeze on the nape of your neck, and you pull your wool coat closer. aching muscles from holding your head up high, dark eyes grown soft from fatigue. waking up angry and grieving from a dream you don’t remember. cold coffee dregs and burnt out matches from a guilty cigarette. the soft tick of a grandfather clock you don’t own anymore. fingers that have begun to forget how to play piano. a ripple in still water, stars peeking through an overcast sky. a once-crisp accent rounding at the corners and softening at the edges. turning pages of a book on the bus. snatches of a billy joel song playing from the bar gramophone. a flicker of a smile, a hint of a laugh, and you pour yourself a glass of red wine.

❛ she closed her eyes, dark-lidded, dark shadows beneath them; she really was older, not the glancing-eyed girl i had fallen in love with but no less beautiful for that; beautiful now in a way that less excited my senses than tore at my heart. ❜

from the very beginning, you are a disappointment. your mother calls you a difficult child with a mixture of disdain and relief, and maybe it’s true. druella was not a woman who ever suited motherhood. and in some ways, a child who doesn’t suit daughterhood is a relief. every time you squirm away at her touch, or refuse to look her in the eye, the resentment comes a little easier. this push and pull is your relationship, bound by blood. mother and daughter, neither quite fitting into your roles. but then again, neither of you wanted these roles in the first place.

you grow up accustomed to being just out of step with the rest of the world, though it doesn’t get easier. you’re not trying to defy your mother, but every day, there’s a new complaint, a new act of rebellion in druella’s eyes, whether it’s a childish question asked in the wrong place at the wrong time, or getting so absorbed in a book you forget to come down for dinner, or a bit of wandless magic born from a moment of frustration. a lock of hair tumbling free from its pin, a corset come unlaced, posture ruined from hunching over a book. your wrists are too bony, your lips are too thin, your skin too easily flushed. every day is a trial against you, with your parents acting as the judge, jury and executioner, and over and over again you are found guilty.

does it come as a surprise you learn to live in the shadows ? social interaction is a minefield in your house, a murky maze you haven’t managed to learn to navigate without making the wrong step and getting a disapproving glare or a sharp rebuke or worse for your efforts. so you avoid it altogether. you’re a voracious reader, and the characters from your books keep you company. they, not your mother, teach you the subtleties and intricacies of human interaction. you spend your days on the manor roof, tucked in a woollen blanket to shield against the wind, fingers growing black with ink as the sun sinks in the sky.

you get older, get your first growth spurt, fill out your bony frame a little, and people start making comments about how much you look like your mother. and one day, you look in the mirror and see her staring back at you. and you realize just how young she was when she married, and how young she was when she became a mother. the next time druella yanks a brush through your untamed hair in a vicious attempt to get it to lie flat, you think you understand just a little bit more.

but understanding doesn’t fix the rift between you two. it doesn’t bring you out of the shadows, or feed you the nights you are denied dinner for your misbehaviour. it doesn’t give you a voice the days you go unable to speak thanks to a punitive silencio, and it doesn’t grant your wish to have a real mother who loves you. who wanted you.

at least you have your sisters, bella and cissy, elder and younger, bookending you. their stars shine brighter than yours; bella, expected to be the role model, cissy, eager to impress. that leaves you to fade into the background, which suits you fine. they’re the ones your mother shows off at various pureblood functions. you stand off to the side in uncomfortably starched dresses, disappearing like smoke any time someone looked like they were heading over to strike up conversation. you explore the pureblood manors, all silent footsteps & watchful eyes, making observations on how the wizarding world’s elite lived their lives, noting separate beds in the master bedrooms & half-empty whiskey bottles in the washrooms. it seems to you that everyone is only looking out for themselves in this world, trying to further their own social status and wealth.

is it strange that such a cynical girl could have such a yearning for beautiful things ? or would that merely be a side effect of cynicism, to long for something to thaw a hardened heart ? you love beautiful things, perhaps a bit too much, but you don’t trust them. nothing beautiful was made to last, and if it was, it wasn’t truly beautiful. sunsets fade to darkness, books end, lovers grow apart. the inherent transience of beauty makes you crave it all the more.

you turn eleven and you receive the most important letter of your life. hogwarts overwhelms you, transfixes you. there are so many people, more people than you’ve ever seen before. hundreds and hundreds of students fill the castle, each with their own thoughts and lives and desires. voices overlap, faces flash by, shoulders bump into yours. that first night you manage to slip away, heart racing. you catch your breath on the astronomy tower, drunk on the beauty of an untamed scottish night, legs dangling over the fifty-foot drop. you find your constellation in the night sky, andromeda, and you wonder if your fate is written in the stars too.

slowly, you learn to navigate the swells of students who fill the castle. social interaction is still a mystery to you, so you don’t interact, merely observe. you make best friends with the library and the moving staircase, and if it ever gets too much for you, there’s always the astronomy tower, where the stars await you.

in your fifth year, you’re chosen to be a slytherin prefect. it comes as a surprise to you; your social circle is small and close-knit, and while you get good grades, you’re a quiet student. at first, you don’t think you’ll like it, but you grow to enjoy the position. not for the power it gives you over your fellow students, but for the escape it brings. you can associate with people you would normally never talk to, and roam the castle freely past curfew. and although you aren’t a naturally nurturing person, you find that you enjoy talking to and helping the younger years. you see their wonder at hogwarts in their eyes, the same wonder that you felt, and you grow quite protective over a few of them.

the story continues.

your mother begins to mention marriage in your seventh year, and you protest – i’m studying for newts, mother, can’t this wait ? i don’t have time to think about that right now. you ignore the seed of dread that has begun to take root in the pit of your stomach.

you graduate with high grades, and you land a position with the ministry, training to become an unspeakable in the department of mysteries. it’s a prestigious position, accepting only two or three trainees straight out of hogwarts each year. and it suits you; you feel as though you’re speaking less and less each day. but the prestige of the program isn’t enough to suit druella, who brings up marriage again, asking isn’t it high time – and you delay again, just let me finish training – and she concedes. reluctantly. you’ve bought yourself four years.

but time passes, as it always does, as it always will. you finish training. you are a newly fledged unspeakable. you are twenty two years old. and you have run out of excuses. the seed in the pit of your stomach has grown into a sprout, leaves unfurling.

your mother, not you, finds an acceptable suitor. your father, not you, grants him permission to ask for your hand. and you, and your mother, and your father, say yes. you always have been a business deal. but you always knew that. so why is the sprout in your stomach growing branches ?

the good news circulates. distant relatives owl their congratulations. your mother sets about planning the wedding with a cold, clinical pleasure. this was always the goal: marry off the difficult child. when she finds a suitor willing to take you, you and your bony wrists and thin lips and flushed skin, and you’re no longer her responsibility. no longer her resentment. the sprout in your stomach becomes a sapling.

and then, your mother mentions children. in passing. casually. like it was never a question of if, just a question of when. and finally, the sapling becomes a tree. vines ensnare your heart, infiltrate your lungs. you go home, and you look at yourself in the mirror, and you can’t breathe. and you wonder if this is how she felt, too; if druella felt the same dread growing inside her, choking her.

you make a decision. you are not your mother.

you tell your family that you have a two-week work trip for extended training. emphasize the fact you’ll be unreachable. you kiss your betrothed, tell him you miss him already. tell him you’ll be back soon. and then you call your work and you quit your job. you go to gringotts and withdraw your savings. you pack a bag. and you leave.

you travel. you change out your galleons and sickles for muggle money. you visit big cities, and small towns. you stay in muggle motels, and you take muggle trains. and eventually, you end up in a small muggle fishing village in northern ireland. you rent a second-floor room overlooking the grey sea from an old, cranky irish woman who barely speaks a lick of english. you unpack your belongings. it’s small; not uncomfortable, but it’s not home. just somewhere you can go at nighttime with tired bones and heavy eyes. for the first time in your life, you’re alone. and you have no plan.

and for a long time, the world is grey. you don’t speak to anyone, muggle or magic. the days blur together. you never realized how lonely freedom would be. you make tea. you mourn. you stare out at the sea. you mourn. you stare at the wall. you mourn. your small apartment and mundane life is a stark contrast to the riches you knew growing up. as a black, you’ve discovered an irreversible taste for the finer things in life; fine wine and egyptian cotton bedsheets and nights at the opera, and it’s a harsh awakening to suddenly be drinking instant coffee and eating microwaved dinners. you’re used to everyone knowing who you are, with a baseline level of respect, or fear, or both. it itches under your skin sometimes, knowing your name is still echoed at ministry benefits, on the tongues of pureblood gossip. here, nobody knows your name. and there are many, many long nights when you wonder if it’d be easier to just go back, beg for forgiveness, and accept the stifling but comfortable life that was planned out for you. and you miss your family – your cousins, your sisters, and even on occasion, your parents.

even living modestly, your savings start running low. you find a job as a waitress at a local muggle pub, a whispered confundus charm easing any questions about your rather unconventional resume. you’re quiet for the first few months, watching and listening and adapting, a chameleon changing colours. you learn the names of muggle sports teams and politicians, learn old muggle superstitions and new muggle songs. your coworkers and the pub’s patrons are curious but friendly, and soon enough learn to leave the strange, solemn-eyed girl alone.

and time passes, as it always does, as it always will. and eventually, the greyness begins to fade from the world, and colour comes back in its place. you learn to find the beauty in your small apartment, in the way the late afternoon sunlight spills across the kitchen tiles, buttery and warm. you watch the seasons change on the irish sea, watch the fishing boats sail in and out with their catches. you learn to make small talk with the people at the pub, who have been waiting all this time with a sort of patient curiosity for you to finally soften to them. they assume you escaped an abusive relationship, and you let them think it. it prevents any unwanted questions.

you learn to like the taste of beer; learn which football teams to root for even though they’re terrible, and which teams everyone only likes because they’re winning so many games this season. you learn to shop at muggle thrift stores, and that things don’t need to be expensive to be good. sure, sometimes you splurge on a bottle of wine or fancy bath salts at the end of the week, and you still wear your dragonskin boots every day because they're comfortable and let’s face it, look good, but there's something to be said about what money can’t buy.

and most importantly, you learn kindness, and patience, and forgiveness. you learn to see the good in people first, instead of searching for the bad. the folks at the pub ask about your day, and when you reply they actually listen. they invite you to potlucks, and pull you up to sing on karaoke nights, and make you laugh in a way you never thought you could. they remember your birthday. but most importantly, they love each other, loudly and fearlessly. and time passes. as it always does. as it always will. and one day, you realize they love you. and more importantly, you realize you love them too.

there’s brenda call-me-bren bradigan, your fellow waitress/hostess. she’s true irish, grew up in this town and never left, hair red as the setting sun. bren is loud and unafraid in a way you never were, quick-witted and quick-tempered. she swears like a sailor, but the bar patrons don’t mind, since they’re all sailors too. and she doesn’t judge you when she takes you to the cinema and you flinch at the moving pictures on the screen. she lives with her mum – to look after her, she says, but you meet bren’s mum one day and she’s even fiercer than bren, and certainly not in need of looking after. you look at bren, and you realize maybe she isn’t so unafraid after all.

there’s colm o’dooley, the cook, who’s more tattoo than he isn’t. he’s the one who teaches you the names of the football players, and you’ve seen him cry more than once when his team wins. he’s the youngest of seven siblings, all of whom have left the village. at first, you wonder why he doesn’t leave as well, but when you see the way he looks at bren, and you hear the way she laughs at his terrible jokes, you start to understand. ( hey alexa, play you matter to me from waitress the musical )

there’s the sethis, harjit and chitra, who own the bar. they moved to the village from london in their twenties, and their love is built into the very wood of the pub. bren tells you the story of how, when chitra had to begin using a wheelchair for her multiple sclerosis, harjit did the accessibility renovations all by himself. you quickly learn harjit loves billy joel to an absurd degree, and plays piano man at nine o’clock every saturday. he’s technically the manager, but chitra is always the one who deals with customers who want to talk to the manager. colm doesn’t let her in the kitchen, though; he says she always makes food too spicy, and she always scoffs and calls him a wimp. the sethis have a son, martin, who bren calls a little shit when she catches him nicking beer from behind the bar to share with his friends. he’s off to the university of london now, studying some muggle invention called computers. the one time he tries to explain it to you, you’re so confused your head aches. you don’t ask further.

there’s myrtle fay, who joins on as a waitress shortly after you do. she’s a towheaded, sweet-voiced girl, still in her teens, but with a chubby-cheeked toddler. her daughter’s father comes into the bar only once, all blustery anger and poorly concealed threats, and you’ve never seen harjit look as threatening as when he tells him to leave and never come back. colm tries extra hard to make her laugh, and you and bren make sure to divvy up your tips so she always gets a bit more.

you even befriend the cranky irish woman you’re renting your room from, with the meagre bit of irish you’ve picked up from the pub. her name is múireann ó dubháin, which takes you three tries to pronounce, and she’s been living in northern ireland since before there was a northern ireland, when it was all just one country. she’s the best gardener you’ve ever met, and her vegetable garden flourishes. tornapaí, turnips; cainneann, leeks; bliosán, artichoke. in time she allows you to have a patch in the corner. you plant flowers: tulips, magnolias, crocuses, daffodils. she rolls her eyes and calls them amaideach, silly, but you see the smile on her face when the daffodils bloom for the first time. she mentions the name fionn several times, and for a good few weeks you think she’s a widow and fionn is the name of her departed husband, until you mention it and she laughs for a solid minute before showing you a picture of a little white dog. she was never married, she tells you, claiming men are nothing but trioblóid, trouble. you learn your room used to belong to her lifelong friend aoife, before she passed, and you think you understand. a few weeks later, you bring home a dog, a scruffy collie mix named lyra, and múireann’s joy is plain across her face with no need of a translation.

and before you know it, four years have gone by. four years of this new life, this wonderful life, these wonderful muggles. you’ve been keeping in touch with sirius, writing letters when you can, using muggle post because owls are too risky, and you still don’t want to be found. you never expected you’d be the one to return. that changes when you get his letter that fateful day, and you learn that your mother has died.

bren tells you not to go back for the funeral. she doesn’t know all the details, doesn’t know about the magic, but she doesn’t need to. she’s seen your face the few times you’ve mentioned family, heard the strain in your voice. stay here, who gives a fuck about them, she says. but the truth is, you’re surrounded by families that aren’t yours: bren and her mum, the fethis, myrtle and her daughter, colm and his siblings. and despite yourself, you long for it. family doesn’t have to be blood. we’re your family, bren says, and you know she means it. i know, you tell her, but it’s time i face my first family again.

and here you are, back at last, an entirely different woman than when you left. part of you wonders, was it a mistake to return ? and another part of you, a tiny, tiny part but a part nonetheless, wonders, was it a mistake to leave ?

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years ago

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XVI.

"You will manage to keep a woman in love with you, only for as long as you can keep her in love with the person she becomes when she is with you." C. JoyBell

Rockin' around the Christmas tree, let the Christmas spirit ring. Later we'll have some pumpkin pie, and we'll do some caroling…

Naturally, my own vocals lightly meshed in with those of Brenda Lee while my head bopped back and forth to the infectious Christmas tune as it blared from the Beats Pill, I gifted to my mother a couple of months ago. To take advantage of the majority of my weight being pressed against the kitchen island, I slowly flexed my toes and extended my aches in an effort to minimize the throbbing in my feet. Short hisses turned into a deep sigh of bliss but unfortunately it was short lived once I grasped a knife in my hand again.

“Pass me two stalks of celery out of that bag, please.” My precise instructions were pointless. With her eyes intently focused on the phone in front of her, Celeste aloofly tossed the plastic bag in my direction as if I were a nuisance interrupting the ridiculous number of hours she spends interacting on Facebook. If anything, I avoid it, because once you reach a certain age, Facebook is nothing more than a scroll fest filled with engagement and pregnancy announcements, weddings and post-birth pictures, garbage hot takes from people about the most trivial of topics, and finally older relatives who have nothing better to do other than to be in everyone’s business, including yours.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” If she’s not going to be in the kitchen either helping me or doing something of her own, then the better choice would be for her to exit. She hasn’t been much company because we’re barely spoken since she arrived and I’d rather not be distracted by her sitting there in a trance with a phone in her hand like a mindless teen.

“Not really. You always do Christmas Eve, I do Christmas breakfast, and mommy does Christmas dinner. Don’t act brand new now.”

“I’m not acting brand new. I just see no point in you being in here.” Celeste does Christmas breakfast because it’s the easiest task to handle and I don’t have much of a problem pushing her dry ass pancakes around on a plate in anticipation for dinner later on the evening.

“For someone who claims to be so demure in the manner that you carry yourself, I’m super confused about why you have streams of diamonds glistening and circling around your neck.”

“What?” Thoughtlessly, I stretched my unoccupied hand up to the exposed skin and lightly brushed my fingers over nearly sixty carats of brilliant round cut diamonds that do not belong to me.

The manner in which O layers his many necklaces always grabs my attention and it’s something about the showiness in the midst of the simplicity of them that I continue to compliment whenever I see him donning them. This morning, for whatever reason, he randomly placed two of them around my neck as I stood in the mirror attempting to figure out just how festive my attire would be for today. Once I’d gotten past three unwarranted outfit changes, I found myself admiring the jewelry as it glimmered in the natural lighting cascading into his master bedroom beyond the curtains. I’d forgotten to remove them.

“They’re not real. It’s just costume jewelry.”

“They look pretty damn real to me.”

“Well, they’re not. There’s this new spot that opened up over on West 47th Street. I grabbed them in there. I just thought they looked cute and they reminded me of something Lil’ Kim wore one time. You know Kimberly Denise Jones is one of my spirit animals. They’re not something you wear everyday but it’s the holidays and I’m on vacation until after the New Year, so why not? I’m glad they look real though. That just means they were well made.”

“You seem to have a million alter egos. One minute you’re Florence Joyner, the next minute you’re Lil’ Kim, on another day you’re Angela Bassett, and then you’re Michelle Obama. We can’t forget you being the Oprah of sports journalism, oh and there’s Rihanna and Beyonce, who else?”

“Phylicia Rashard, Eartha Kitt, Regina King, Janet Jackson, Cari Champion, Lisa Salters, Pam Oliver, Jemele Hill. And I’ve never considered any of those women to be my alter egos. They’re women that I admire due to their drive, success, and character. I’ve taken bits and pieces from all of their careers and used them as lessons for my own. What you’ve mistaken is me saying that Lil Kim, Rihanna, and Tracee Ellis Ross are my style icons. Oh, and Mary J. Blige is my boot icon.” I think all women have a mood board of aspirations and inspirations. It doesn’t always have to be specific people. A portion of mine just so happens to contains who I believe are some of the greatest black women of the past and current generation. They’re not alter egos who I attempt to mimic but rather stories of triumph that keep me driven.

“What’s up with you and Kyle? Why are you interested?” I nearly cut into the flesh of my finger while dicing the stalks of celery. Briefly, I paused to gather myself, and immediately moved on to the three cloves of garlic.

“Nothing at all. I’m not interested so please stop pressing me about that. I’m not going to date your husband’s brother. I don’t do that all in the family stuff.”

“He’s really into you.”

“Or maybe you’re just exaggerating things. We’re just cool. We always have great conversations whenever we’re around one another and that’s good enough for me. I’ve already spoken to you multiple times about my disdain for your matchmaking bullshit. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a fan of it?”

“You continue to hold Shamel against me. Things didn’t work out. Okay. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean that every guy that I attempt to introduce you to won’t be compatible with you.”

“Compatibility? It’s deeper than that.” Parsley and cilantro were next for the wrath of the knife in my hand. I’m going to have to med onions next. I should have just bought all of this stuff chopped already.

“What’s deeper?”

“Celeste, you don’t know shit about what I went through with Shamel. You know the shortened version of years’ worth of bullshit. You think we just had a couple of typical couple disagreements to the point of us coming to terms with the reality that we could no longer be together? I wish it were that fucking simple, so don’t sit in here on your high horse with that matchmaker shit. Focus on your man and your marriage. I’m fine.”

I internalized so much of what I went through with the man. I was never the one to take my household troubles and spread all of it in places that it didn’t need to be. Anyone with the vision could see the tension between the two of us whenever we were out and about together and if you couldn’t see it, then it was thick enough to be felt. As my career began to take off, I chose to move as a single woman, often leaving him behind whenever I was out and about at industry events whether they were sports related or not. Shamel had a tendency to spend way too much time at the open bar, tossing back shots of tequila while slyly entertaining any woman that fawned over his deep mocha presence. He’d then cause a scene if he caught any men paying even the slightest attention to mine.

Beyond the decision to mask our toxicity as best as I could, I yearned to make my mother proud by being the quintessential woman; brains, beauty, a reputable career, and a good man standing alongside me. The pride she wore on her face at Celeste’s wedding stood out beyond any and everything that went on that summer night in Brooklyn. Since my father’s death, that wedding and all of the events leading up to it sparked a liveliness in her that I hadn’t experienced in quite some time although it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m not sure if she was vicariously living through my sister or she was simply just thrilled to see her began her own family, but in observing her response to it all, I wanted to give that to her.

After a short lived around of sex that left tears of mental exhaustion pouring down the sides of my face as I lie under him, he whispered in my ear that he intended to make me his wife. I’ll never forget the wave of nausea that rushed over my body and sent me dashing into the bathroom to empty out of the contents within my stomach. I thought of marriage as something beautiful until then. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life in misery with him left my mind in an emotional frenzy as I attempt to figure out when and how I’d end our relationship. Less than three weeks later, I finally mustered up the courage to get it done.

“You want to be alone forever?”

“Whether I do or I don’t, it’s my decision. You may be older, but we’re not kids anymore. We’re no longer in Brooklyn, under mommy’s roof, trying to figure out what we’re going to do with ourselves. You have your life and I have mine. I have time to figure that relationship shit out. I’m not stressed about it. Being single doesn’t bother me at all. For whatever reason, it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re single. I just think you deserve happiness.”

“And you think that I don’t have it without a man? You give them way too much credit.”

And she always has. Celeste has been a serial monogamist for as long as I can remember her dating history. As soon as one relationship of hers would end, she’d be in another one within a week or two. I can recall a couple of overlaps, but that’s none of my business.

“Don’t put the whole bonnet pepper in there.”

“I know that. I’m only doing half.” The last thing I want is to give our mother heartburn on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of me pouring olive oil into the deep red pot I already had on the stove, I reached into my back pocket for my vibrating phone.

Mrs. Claus, I’m missing you. When are you coming home?

Home? To mask my budding smile, I slowly pulled my lip in-between my teeth.

Home?

This man knows how to put a smile on my face by saying the simplest things.

Anywhere I lay my head is just as much yours as it is mine.

I should have known that when he gave me keys and the security codes last night. I’m still in disbelief about that.

I should be finished here really soon and I’ll be right back at the North Pole to keep your lap warm, Santa.

It’ll be the first time I’m spending Christmas Eve anywhere other than here and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Usually around this time of the year, O would be in the midst of the season so his family would make the effort to come to New Jersey to be with him. Even though he’s currently not playing, they still decided to come up and enjoy the chilled weather. For the past couple of days, he’s convinced me to rid myself of my reluctance and to be with him and a few people I’ve yet to meet like his grandmother Mille, his uncle Mike, his aunt Pat, and his step-father Derek.

Naked right?

And don’t even get me started on the lie that I had to tell everyone in this house so that I’d be able to get out of our Christmas Eve tradition of my cooking and us sitting around watching our favorite Christmas classics while bundled up under quilts that we’ve had since Celeste and I were toddlers. That lie involved Taylor, who’s actually in Atlanta right now, and Scott who actually did invite me to his Christmas Eve game night over at his place.

I can make that happen. Not while the elves are awake though. That’s a bit inappropriate, Santa.

My snicker wasn’t soundless. It was loud enough to alert Celeste and her eyes slowly panned in my direction and raised in curiosity at what tickled me.

“It’s Taylor.” I said it before she could ask.

Baby, don’t be mad at me but I already cut the red velvet cake. It was just sitting there and I couldn’t help myself.

I knew he’d do it. The fume enticed him by itself, so his response to the finished product was of no surprise. I didn’t even make him promise me that he wouldn’t touch it because I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself just as he said. It’s why I made two of them.

I knew you would. Enjoy it. That’s why I made it.

I spent the morning baking as a part of his Christmas request. Renee’s handling everything else, but all of the sweets are my task. When I return, I’m going to make my mini eggnog cheesecakes and cookies.

Try and make it back before the snow starts. I don’t want you driving in that.

It’s not supposed to be enough snow to keep the east coast hiding inside of their homes, but it will be enough to leave traffic dragging and the roads hazardous. I’ve never been much of a fan of driving in the snow, so I do want to be out of here before those flurries began to fall.

Will do. I’ll see you in a bit love.

“I can’t believe you’re about to go and spend Christmas Eve hanging out with your co-workers. Don’t you get enough of seeing them at work?” This is her second time making commentary about this since I’ve been here and I’m not even sure why. Celeste and I barely say much of anything to one another whenever I’m around, unless she’s scolding me about some area of my life that she assumes that I need to improve. It’ll be no different tonight as they’re all curled up in the living room watching classic holiday films while enjoying the dinner that I’m preparing and a shit ton of junk food we bought at Walmart the other day. Besides, her husband is here and when he’s with her, nearly all of her attention is on him.

“What’s the big deal? We’re not kids waiting around on Santa anymore. There are no babies here in the house that we need to be extra festive for. I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast and then we’ll all open up the presents together like we usually do. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.” Maybe my mother will, but she certainly won’t. Whenever her husband’s around, her attention remains solely focused on him. She parades herself on being a so-called traditionalist as a wife; whatever that means. Either way, her head is up his ass and luckily for her, his is just as far up hers.

“What time are you getting here in the morning? I figure I’ll at least be considerate enough to start making breakfast around them so by the time you’re here, you won’t have to eat cold food.”

“Most likely around nine or a half hour after it. It won’t be much later than that.”

“That’s if you’re not hungover, huh?”

“I won’t be. I have no plans to drink, unless it’s like a half glass of some spiked egg nog. Can’t go to a Christmas function and not have some egg nog. I’m driving, so it won’t be much.” I’m not irresponsible with my life and in addition to that, if O smells the alcohol on my breath, he’ll be scolding me all night long for having the audacity to drink and drive.

“Okay.” I never thought she’d leave the kitchen. She’s been in here since my arrival and comfortably settled at a spot in front of the island, while watching my every move. Initially, I thought she was doing it simply to be a critic of whatever I intended to prepare in the kitchen, but now I know she sat there as a mean to try and find her way into my business as she always seems to do. I’ve never been interested in what she has going on with Preston since she met the man. Even when we all went out to dinner a few years back and she first introduced him to both my mother and I, I didn’t have much of anything to say. All I could make of their connection was that she was obsessed with everything about him and luckily for her, he was smitten enough to feel the same way about her. She needed a man who could and world be a bit of a pushover for her and he is exactly that.

My father’s beloved stewed chicken or as he called it, poulet creole, was a breeze to prepare because I’m the only one in our home who learned every single aspect of that recipe directly from him. On a random summer day, while my mom and Celeste were out at the hair salon getting curls put into their hair for Sunday service, he interrupted me from watching ESPN, and called me into the kitchen for yet another one of his many lessons. The manner in which he taught me wasn’t by me looking on at his every task but instead me doing all of the work while he closely directed so I’d my hands would familiarize themselves with the process as he claimed. It was the same method that his grandmother taught him to cook with.

I preferred learning to cook under his guidance far more than my mother’s because she’s like a drill sergeant in the kitchen; barking down on her subject for any mistake or mishap with her directions. He and I laughed, danced to whatever he chose to play in the radio, and compared and contrasted our opinions on any topic we could think of. I will always hold him in the highest regard for allowing my self-expression to flourish. As a West Indian father of two girls, he could have easily chosen the overprotective and absurdly sexist route in raising us, but he didn’t. Rather than doing his best attempt to blind me from life beyond the doors of our home, he chose to listen to my perspective and then teach me about what life has to offer whether good or bad; easy, moderate, or difficult.

I miss him. Actually, that’s an understatement. During the holiday season, that pain that lies dormant within my soul flares up into an intensity that I have to stoically mask for the sake of getting through. As much as he emphasized the need to prepare both Celeste and I for the day that he was no longer with us, none of us ever expected it to be as soon as it was. I want to be the strong and independent woman that he raised me to be, but in some ways, I still need him. My mother needs him because she hasn’t been quite right ever since. Celeste needs him just as much, because there’s a part of her that has always sought him out in the men that she chose to allow into her life since his death.

“Celeste, I’m heading out.”

“Nice coat and hat.”

The caramel wool cashmere single-breasted silhouette was an unexpected gift from Kobe before we went on break for the holiday. Everything about the hand-embroidered embellishments and the manner in which it loosely accentuated my frame instantly made me fall in love with it with the Burberry piece. He encouraged me to open it up while we were standing there in my dressing room so I’d be able to see if I liked it, but I voiced that it wouldn’t be right to open it before Christmas. My curiosity nipped at me all morning long until I fed into its urge by opening it up and like a kid whenever they’re given anything new, I had to wear it immediately. The matching beanie hat is the cherry on top. Before I’m off to bed tonight, I intend to thank him again.

“Thanks. It’s my Christmas gift from Bean.”

“Who?”

“Kobe.”

“So, you’re going to be here around nine, right? You better not be late because I’m not defending you when mommy snaps.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. When she gets in from church, tell her to call me if she needs me.” I still can’t believe she went to Christmas Eve service. Actually, I’m quite surprised that she didn’t pressure Celeste and I into attending.

“Will do. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas Eve.” Unexpectedly for her, I leaned in and planted a soft peck on her cheek. We’ve never been the type of sisters who shower one another with a lot of love whether it be physical or verbal, but on there are those random occasions when I do show or tell her how much I love her. I’d like to think in all the ways I help her or come running when she needs me, it’s a reflection of what I feel just as much.

“Merry Christmas Eve. Have fun.”

“Will do. You too. Since mom isn’t here, maybe you and Preston can get a little practice in on that baby that you want.” With a slight scoff, her eyebrows raised.

“Since when are you on the wild side?”

“I’m reserved, not virginal. See you in the morning.”

A gust a wind slithered through the open space as soon as I opened the door to step outside and very faint sprinkles of snow filled the air as they lightly cascaded down to meet my frame. I thought I would have been out of here before it all started but the beauty of it ceased any complaints that I usually would have if it weren’t Christmas Eve. If anything, the snow makes the spirit of tonight even more fulfilling. I don’t have to dream of a white Christmas because it seems like the city is being gifted with one this year. “Happy Holidays stranger.” I didn’t see his car parked across the street nor had I noticed him jogging across the street after locking the doors behind himself and yet here he is, stepping up onto the sidewalk and inching closer to the steps of my mother’s porch to trigger a slight downward spiral of my mood with his presence alone. I don’t know what it is with Quinton and his purposeful choice to remain all in the family despite my resistance towards whatever he and my mother thought they had planned for my love life. Initially, I believed he genuinely viewed us as an extension of his own family and supporters in the neighborhood who he knew he could count on, but now, I’m not sure what the fuck this is or where he’s going with it. “Happy Holidays.” “How have you been?” “Well. You?” I was better just a minute ago. “I’m well enough.” “What brings you around? The holiday? You seem to always show up around here whenever there’s one.” In his hand, he held a gift bag that I’m going to assume is for my mother. It’s not that I mind that he buys her gifts, because deep down, I don’t. I’m mostly concerned with what they mean. “I don’t just show up here on holidays. I come over and check on your mom from time to time. You know I love Mrs. Nazaire.” My scoff was loud and clear. Any time we speak now, he sounds like nothing more than a fame hungry politician, who uses manipulation tactics to garner allies and supporters. I’m sure his antics are no different with my mother. It’s why she holds him in such high regard no matter how much I don’t give a fuck. “Yeah? It’s starting to feel like you’re screwing my mother. I’m not looking for any step-dads within our age range. Sniff around women your own age Quinton.” The sarcasm flowed from my mouth and into his ears; leaving a flustered expression on his face that quickly transitioned into one of annoyance. “I’m not. I’ve only been to bed with one Nazaire woman.” “I’m glad you used the past tense. I barely remember that one and done situation; but I’m glad that you do. She’s not here, but Celeste and her husband are. You’re more than welcome to wait for her and I’m sure that you will.” “I don’t know what it is that Shamel did to you, but you’re so bitter now. Not all men are hood gym owners who fucked you over repeatedly while dipping into women who bought memberships to be trained in doggystyle position rather than on treadmills. All I wanted to do was be a good man to you, but you’re coming at my head as if I’m your enemy.” He said all of that and yet I’m the bitter one? If anyone asked me anything about this man’s personal life, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything aside from what I know from the days when we’d actually hangout with one another. I haven’t kept up with much about his life story since then and I’d prefer not to know now. That’s the difference between he and I; he remains invested in what doesn’t concern him while I can’t seem to find a reason or the time to concern myself with what he wishes I would concern myself with. “I’m growing a bit confused about who has the pussy between the two of us. Only bored and lonely women concern themselves with what was or wasn’t going on in another woman’s relationship. Damn, you were more invested in what Shamel was doing with his time than I was. I’m bitter because I don’t want to play your political trophy wife or are you bitter because despite my firm no, you’re still sniffing around here and chasing me? Find your dignity Quinton. Don’t go out like a wack bitch, aight?” “I hope you don’t go out like one either. Make sure you keep it classy by not fucking with all of those athletes that you’re constantly around. How many have you been with thus far?” “All of them.” I’m usually not the type to laugh at my own jokes but I couldn’t help but to chuckle at his facial expression. I’ve been slut shammed more times than I can count. It happens every day when random people hiding behind social media accounts on apps decide to accuse me of using my body in order to keep my job, so Quinton doing it isn’t offending me any more than it does when strangers are doing it. Initially, I used to be extremely irritated by it but I’ve come to terms with the reality that people are going to say and assume whatever they want no matter what I do or feel about it. No matter who I do or don’t have in my bed, my bills are paid. “Excuse me. I have some place to be.”

Stepping around him wasn’t the problem; it was the oddness of him standing there and watching me slip into my car. Like a lost puppy, he trudged up the stairs to the house door and continued to burn a hole into my foggy windows with a scowl on his face that I couldn’t see but I’m sure is there. Maybe one day he’ll get it or maybe he won’t, either way, I’m not responsible for what he feels. I’ve been clear with all intentions and lack their off.

No matter how much snowfall happens in the northeast year after year, as soon as flakes of any size begins to fall out of the sky, the snail-paced traffic is an immediate effect and it drives me insane. It’s one of the primary reasons why I was in no rush to get a new car and am currently wishing I had a driver taking me to my destination. Not even the holiday tunes that I love so much are distracting me from wanting to roll my window down and shout at the drivers in front of me who are missing green lights and evoking slight amounts of fear within me with their skidding. What would usually be a forty-five-minute commute turned into nearly an hour and a half.

The relief that washed over me at the sight of the double entry driveway was well received as I slowly inched my way in and focused in on the three bodies standing in the driveway. I reached out to him just a few minutes ago to notify him that I’d need help getting bags out of the backseat of the car, so we wouldn’t have to make multiple trips in the brisk weather. Unlike the other males standing alongside him, the handsome one who belongs to me was hilariously covered in an oversized Santa coat with a black hood covering his blonde mane.

“The traffic was so stupid as I was on my way to the Lincoln Tunnel. I will never understand how people who have been living on the East Coast since forever still fear the damn snow. It’s not even snowing that hard.” My right hand latched onto his and he carefully pulled me out of the driver’s seat and into his awaiting arms. My complaint went into one ear and right out of the other as he endearingly snuggled my frame as close to his as possible while nuzzling his chilled face into the nape of my neck. Admittedly, I needed to feel him in this exact manner for the restoration of the joy that this night is supposed to be and bring.

“And don’t even get me started on this ass wipe in this big ass Navigator who kept slightly skidding. I was caught in between being worried for my damn life and wanting to kick his ass for driving so stupidly. Oh and…” His peck was sweet; subtle and yet enough to leave me yearning for so much more.

“Give me your keys.” To oblige his request, I dropped them into his hand and turned to both Kordell and Derek who were looking on and most likely extremely bored with my rant.

“Hi guys.”

“You finally made it. This guy was about five minutes away from hopping into his Rolls Royce and driving all the way to Brooklyn for you.” I’ve only met his step-father Derek once and in my quick assessment of him I understood that he was more of a reserve man who somehow had a humorous side to him that couldn’t be ignored. He can crack a joke and it usually comes at the right time.

“I told him I was coming. I would have been here if it weren’t for the traffic.”

“And he wanted me to get in the car and go with his lame ass.” After a shared hug with Derek, I threw my arms around Kordell and pecked his forehead despite his maneuvers to avoid it. He’s not exactly the most physically affectionate person so I purposefully shower him with some of my own to worsen whatever annoyance his oldest brother sent his way.

“You weren’t going to come looking for me with your brother? I thought you and I are good friends now?”

“We’re family or whatever, but you and bro are old. I have a lot more life to live. I wasn’t about to catch hypothermia messing with the two of you.”

“It’s not even that bad out here. You haven’t seen a real blizzard yet Louisiana boy.” His dramatics earned a light mush to his head. I’d love to see how he reacts to a couple of feet of snow covering the ground and maybe even a power outage to go with it. Now that’s hell.

“Sarai, what is all of this?” The bewildered expression on his face and him using my first name evoked me to widen my eyes in a confusion about what I could possibly be in trouble about. I don’t believe there’s anything incriminating in my trunk and if there is, I didn’t place it there.

“Gifts.”

“All of this?” Like a nagging elderly man who borders between obnoxiously cheap and being frugal with his money, he extended his arm towards the overflowing trunk and placed his idly hand on his hip to await an explanation that he’s not going to receive.

“What? I told you that I was coming with gifts. Don’t be ridiculous. Just grab them. Oh, and don’t forget the ones in the backseat. I’m going inside. It’s cold.”

“This is crazy. You went overboard.”

“I know you’re not talking about overboard. There’s a Rolls Royce parked right over there. I can start there and keep on going for hours. You really want to do this right now?” If there’s anything I’m ever ready for; it’s to prove somebody wrong. Debating is an essential part of my profession as an analyst and I haven’t lost a debate yet if you let me tell it, so I can and will give him an extensive five minutes of dialog about his spending habits and how he is by far one of the biggest spenders that I know. This man doesn’t even use his washer and dryer. He dry cleans every damn thing and never wears the same underwear, socks, or t-shirts twice.

“Nah, baby, you got it.” Without any further questions or concerns, he extended his arms into the trunk and began to retrieve a few of the many bags that they all needed to bring inside.

“Wow. You know how things go in arguments. Good job, man.”

While on my way to the warmth, my laughter at Derek’s commentary was loud enough for me to hear it but low enough so that the man of my affection couldn’t make it out. Sometimes it’s just best to keep quiet about the reality that your man is willing to put himself aside to please you and, in this case, it was his mouth.

“Sarai!”

Sometimes I’m stunned by my sincere acceptance into his family dynamic. We’re anything but traditional and we’re navigating in a manner that I’m sure they don’t understand because we certainly don’t. Aside from my overwhelming emotional affection towards the man who belongs to them more than he does to me, they’ve been unknowingly responsible for making me feel like I deserve the joy that I feel when I’m with him and around them. In my transition from hugs with Heather, Jazzy, and those who I’ve been led around the first level of the house to meet, I haven’t been able to ease away the smile gracing my face.

“Your outfit and pajamas are upstairs in the room.” I know pasta when I smell it. The fumes coming from the kitchen appealed to my senses quickly and left my stomach turning in knots for nourishment.

“Outfit?”

“Wait until you see what your guy bought for you.” Her amusement was my fear. I tend to like to make him the butt of a couple of my jokes, but I don’t want to be the one on the other end of his tonight.

“Is it a onesie?”

“No.” Suddenly I wish this glass of egg nog were spiked.

“I’m going to head up and see it. If it’s a disaster I’m pulling the feminist card and blaming the both of you because we’re supposed to be united against these men.” I waggled my finger back and forth to point out the mother and daughter duo who found my apprehension to be amusing and began slowly inch my way up the spiraling staircase that leads to the upper level of the house. Though I could hear his voice loud and clear from the foyer, O hadn’t brought my personal belongings upstairs and I’m already up here so that’s out. With that in mind, it seems even more logical to take him up on his offer of my own closet space so that I no longer need to keep trekking overnight backs to and from here.

A blend of the Italian bergamot and clay sage from his beloved cologne meshed in blissfully with the gingerbread scent that I know he purposefully misted into the room just for me. Since December came in, he frequently made note of how my home smelled like cookies whenever he came over and accused me of trying to toy with his already slightly ridiculous appetite for junk food, especially candy. Despite my love for Bath and Body Works and Yankee Candle’s holiday scents, he deemed them to be exceedingly sweet and overdone. Now look at him.

Flutters filled my core at the sight of his master suite’s fireplace being utilized for the first time ever. Unlike my obsession with them, it’s a feature within the house that he hasn’t concerned himself with since moving in. There’s something about the way the flames are curling and oscillating, flickering like gleaming lights, and cascading hues of scarlet onto the wall that naturally warms the space.

“Your stuff is on the bed.” I knew he was in the doorway. The chills trickling onto the back of my neck spoke before he did.

“You put the fireplace on.”

“I figured you’d like it. Thank God it’s electric. I’m no fireplace expert.” As his feet trudged against the wooden flooring, he dropped my monogram Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière duffle bag near the entry way of his closet.

“It’s beautiful.” If it were just us, I’d curl up on the floor in front of it with a good playlist going.

As soon as my Ugg boots were kicked aside, I inched closer to the bed and alongside three bags, was a Snoopy and Woodstock perfectly wrapped present that I certainly wasn’t expecting to see. My curiously instantly peaked but in a swift second, I checked myself for discarding the waiting rule I’ve grown up with. Celeste and I weren’t even able to open one gift at midnight on Christmas Eve.

“You forgot to put that under the tree?” Instead, I reached for the crimson red gift bag and snickered as soon as my hand silky velvet material that is identical to the kind covering his frame. My Mrs. Claus coat was that of something I’d be waiting for Santa in the bedroom in rather than keeping an eye on the elves. It’s lace-up front called for a good cleavage while the pure white faux fur trimming and flared skirted bottom were more along the lines of tradition until anyone notices the split open front. What exactly is supposed to go under this?

“No, that’s for you to open now. You probably thought I was playing when I mentioned it before but I really am impatient on Christmas Eve. I like to open presents the night before and just sleep on Christmas morning. Since it’s our first one together, I figured I’d be fair to your traditions and my own. So, we can open some tonight and then open the first in the morning. Fair?” Like an eager child hoping to get his way, his narrowed eyes slightly widened with hopes that I’d agree to what he calls fair. I don’t see what the big deal is. It all has to be opened either way.

“Fair.”

“So open that.”

Lazily, my body flopped down onto the plushness of the bed and I grabbed the box with a bit of shaking to increase his growing anticipation. The contents inside only slighting moved, throwing off just about all of my potential guesses for what it may be. My first donned a smirk as I commenced with tearing through the wrapping paper to uncover the infamous Christian Louboutin box under it. Shoes? Infinite brownie points already. Much like himself, I adore footwear. I stand by the law that a shoe can make or break a look more than any other article of clothing.

“You didn’t.” Instantaneously, thoughts of a random conversation I was having with Taylor came to mind. Christian Louboutin collaborated with Indian Couture Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee on an extremely limited-edition collection featuring hand-embroidered sari fabrics and jaw dropping embellishments that left me in awe upon the sight of it online. Every piece of material used to craft the shoes were taken from Sabyasachi’s private archive, leaving only a few pairs of each design to be created.

“Didn’t what?” His confusion was intentional. The grin called his bluff. The lid to the box went flying behind me in an instant and in dramatic fashion, I dropped back onto the bed in astonishment and bliss at the sight of the exquisite thigh high boots that I fell in love with. Their golden delicate leather straps were specially designed harness and highlight the leg. On top of it, they’re made to measure.

“Is this real life?”

“I feel pretty alive, what about you?”

“How the hell did you get these? I called everywhere. No, literally. I e-mailed fucking Hong Kong for them. Supposedly only like six pairs were made.” “Those have been in my closet since October.” The nonchalance in his tone evoked a moisture lightly seep into the seat of the lace under my jeans. I don’t know whether to jump on the bed in joy or discard everything covering my frame allow him to twist and flip me into any position of his liking. Maybe both? Both can certainly be done.

“Come and give me a hug please.” With the box now resting alongside me, I opened my arms and awaited his presence. Like a weighted blanket, a wave of tranquility washed over me at the mass of his body now being closely hard-pressed against mine. My fingers found their way into the platinum blonde curls and few loose dreads dangling from his scalp and our lips met for a kiss that I’d been yearning for since I opened my eyes this morning. The sweetness of his supple lips intoxicated me far more than anything alcoholic ever could and the way his length fingers dug into the skin of my hips nearly blurred the actuality that we’re not home alone.

“I love them so much. Thank you, handsome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Get up so that I can get one of yours from downstairs.”

“I can wait until after you’re dressed.”

“No, I insist. Let me get it.”

“Another kiss first?”

Without hesitation, I once again pressed my lips into his own for a deep peck and moved in a fluidity with his body as we eased off of the bed. I made it downstairs and back up, with a promise that I’d hurry up and change so the festivities could really begin. I need a quick shower first before I do anything else.

“I hope that you like it. I saw it and you instantly came to mind.”

“Can I just warn you that I didn’t wrap all of your gifts. The only reason why your boots were wrapped is because the boutique did it for me.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care about all of that.” The last thing I expected him to do is be frustrating himself with wrapping paper. His patience would never be able to handle it. For some odd reason, I enjoy doing it. I’ve been the designated gift wrapper in my family for years.

Though it may seem childish to some, I wrapped everything I bought him in Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” wrapping paper that I randomly spotted and happily picked up from a Hallmark store in Rutherford, New Jersey. Since he deemed it to be his favorite holiday classic, I imagined it would be festive to bring an element of it into the fun.

With my phone in hand, I snapped a photo of him as he tore through it to reveal the Louis Vuitton box, I knew it to be. Within seconds, its lid was on the floor and he drew away the protective paper to reveal the tan cowhide and calf leather “Christopher Backpack” backpack I bought for him. Unlike his ridiculously vibrant Supreme bags, I fell in love with the timeless style of the backpack and the classic solidness of its color. It’s a perfect choice for those game days when he’s more dressed up than down and needs something that’s subtle while still somehow being a statement piece.

“Damn, this is clean. This is perfect for when we’re traveling because they usually want us a little more dressed up.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I love this baby. I don’t know about waiting until next season to wear it though. I’ll have this on within a couple of days. Watch.”

Knowing him, he will. If it’s new, he’s in it shortly after receiving it. I don’t know him to be that person who saves things for later. Why should he when he’s constantly either buying or receiving things?

“I’m going to take a short shower. It’ll be quick.”

“You already smell good. What you need a shower for?”

“I was cooking. I can smell it on me. It’ll be quick. Ten minutes.”

“Your showers are never ten minutes.”

“This one will be. I assure you.”

The fib didn’t go without being grumbled about when that ten-minute duration I assured him up turned into an additional ten simply because of the feel of the warm water cascading over my skin left me in damn near a state of slumber as I stood there. My lotion lathering came with assistance and so did pulling up the opaque plaid patterned tights over my thighs. By the way of their fit, they were clearly sewn together to cater to an extremely slender woman’s shape but by the grace of God and my man’s hands they were up and over my ass without a snag or hole in sight.

“I really can’t believe you bought all of this.” We look like we work in the middle of a mall. Instead of having crying babies sitting up on his lap for photographs, he’d have lusty women beating one another to a bloody pulp for daring to cut the line to ruin their chances of sitting upon his lap and asking for his genitalia while I’d be called Santa’s Slore.

“Let’s go outside.”

Intricate patterns of the weightless ice floated downward from the darkened sky. Each flake whirled and twirled as a faint wind blustered them in our direction. Much like the silly man alongside myself randomly dancing for his personal media guy’s camera, I joyfully tracked footsteps into the barely there bed of snow covering the grounds of his driveway and took satisfaction in the sound of it squishing under my boots. I’m no longer camera shy, but being on one with him has awoken what used to be a part of me. I already knew that George would be documenting all of this just as he does for a lot of milestones and random moments of his life, but what happens if I’m no longer what he wants and he randomly comes across this Christmas video and the pictures to go with it one day? How awkward would that be?

“Hey, look.”

“Huh?” Though he only spoke two words, the thick cloud of breath still lingered as I faced him. In following his eyes as they slowly panned up, mine met the mistletoe idly hanging on the door with the red bows that were already there.

“That was not there when I got here.” I saw the bows, but the mistletoe? No. Laughter spilled from our lips at what I knew to be true. I’m slightly fatigued, but I can remember what I did and did not see.

“It was.”

“It was not.”

“Come and kiss me so that we can go inside, open up more stuff, and play cards with grandma.”

“That tone. I like it.” I’m alright with a man taking charge every now and then.

“Come here.”

The frost of the winter air was of no match to the warmth radiating from our bodies and serving as a shield around our affection. I’d often fantasize about moments like this; having a companion to comfortably, and most of all safely, bare my all to without any guards or painful baggage weighing me down. I believed the advice of allowing it to come to me was standard and cliché, but I undoubtedly understand it now. It’s when you least expect it that the unexpected happens in the best way possible. I ruled him out of my life as soon as we had that initial conversation and yet the universe continued to cross our paths, naturally coercing me to allow him in. In the midst of all of my fears from the past and present, I want only him.

“Okay, let’s go. I want to see everything that you got me.”

“You can’t open everything tonight. That’s breaking our deal.”

“Huh?” I trailed behind him as he dashed back into the house and towards the living room.

“You heard me!”

I chose the kitchen counter top as my designated seat for what turned into the most chaotic gift giving presentation. Like a hood Santa Claus, all I could pay attention to was my man and his slightly sagging plaid pants zipping through his home pulling out gifts from seemingly everywhere. They jokingly talked about how much of a grinch he was last Christmas but he’s certainly redeeming himself this year.

I can’t remember the last time I thoughtlessly splurged on luxury designer goods but I don’t need to do so any time soon because he covered that and then some. Being overwhelmed was an understatement. Chanel, Versace, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, Saint Laurent, Fendi. I lost track of the rest and the process of just how I’m going to be able to organize all of it in my closet.

In watching him, it’s so easy to understand human purpose. In the midst of being here to seek fulfillment within our own purpose, we’re just as much here to look after our loved ones and even those who aren’t. Fortunately, he’s been blessed to have more and because of it, he spreads not only his love but also the benefits of his wealth among them. There’s a pride within it that has been radiating from him for over an hour now. I too, can relate. I’ve been given just as many hugs and kisses of thanks that he’s been given and I expect that it’ll continue when I am with my own family in the morning.

“Draw 4, blondie.” What he thought was going to be a swift Uno out moment turned into him having fifteen cards in his hand and a scowl on his face that is hysterical. He’d beaten me to the point of embarrassment at Spades because I’ve never been that great at it despite the many times my dad taught me how to play, so I had to somehow coerce him into playing something that I could play by pretending that I didn’t know how to.

“You know what, I’m going downstairs to whoop Kordell in some hoops because you’re cheating.” A snicker slipped past my lips at the playfully aggravated scowl on his face as he used his body’s strength to push his chair away from the round table. In a manner to taunt him, I held out my hands before me and wiggled my fingers to signify my lack of cards and the reality that I’d just won yet another game of UNO. My man being a sore loser isn’t something that he’s modest about. I and many others have known that about him for quite some time.

“Don’t be mad.”

“You’re cheating. You keep making up imaginary rules that don’t exist.”

“Seriously? The directions are in the box. Look at them or look them up on Google. It’s not my fault that you don’t know them all. You just suck.”

“I suck?” The amused expression on Mille’s face tickled all of us as she glanced back and forth, to take in every shit talking word as they left the both of our mouths. She’d been quietly observing the two of us since we joined both she and Jasmyne at the table for a round of card games.

Initially, I thought I’d been intruding on her time with her grandchildren, but the sly smirks and eventual huge smiles gracing her angelic face swarmed me with a warmness that I needed to further soothe me into a comfort zone around those who I do not know well just yet. Every couple of minutes or so, she’d give me either a gracious caress to the hand as a sign of her welcoming or a pat of encouragement to continue beating her oldest grandchild at Uno. I’m going to accredit that to the feminism within her.

“If the shoe fits, babe.”

“I’m going to remember that baby. The mental note is made.” He used his index finger to tap his forehead as I wordlessly ogled over his exterior.

If anyone looked at his attire, it wouldn’t be deemed as anything impressive; a black Supreme sweatshirt and a pair of black loose shorts to keep him much cooler than all of that velvet he had on. Simple. Why my eyes are continuing to embarrassingly bulge out of their sockets every time they land on him is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never seen anyone’s facial structure be as chiseled to perfection as his is. The silhouette of his jawbone is completely shielded by the blackness of his thick beard and yet just the hint of it sends unwavering shivers down my spine.

The glimmer in his faintly slanted and ever so narrowed eyes illuminates any room when that priceless smile arises on his face and every aspect of myself begins to figuratively melt into liquid form; between my thighs is the worst of it. In the midst of his sleep, I love to plant soft pecks down the finely lined bridge of his nose until my lips are gently pressed into the suppleness of his own. I’m addicted. I lose all sense of who I am whenever his warm tongue meets mine.

Handsome is an understatement; it isn’t enough to compare. He is beauty personified. I don’t believe there is another man in sports entertainment who has left me gasping for just a slight breath of air upon my every sight of him. It never gets old. I don’t believe it ever will.

Sometimes I have to wonder if he’s truly mine or if the universe is playing some type of sick joke on me.

“I don’t mind you remembering that.” Whatever payback he has for that may come with pleasure that I am more than willing to accept.

“Alright.” The sly smirk tugging on his lips was enough to leave me on the borderline of tickled and embarrassed as soon as he leaned over to plant a knowing and warning kiss on my lips. Despite the presence of his younger siblings and the elders within his family, he didn’t harbor not even an ounce of regard or bashfulness when it came to his need to have his hands touching some part of my body or any other display of affection, he bestowed upon me at random moments. His actions remained consistent with all that he does when we’re alone; barely any discretion involved.

“I’m not sure if my stomach is churning because of you two or because I want some cake, but I’m going to get some cake anyway. Y’all want anything?”

“You just mad.” And just like that, her brother’s large palms were lightly meshing into the side of her head for a playful mush and she instantly pushed him out of her way.

“I’m just fine with my egg nog.” Mille opted to keep hers virgin along with the other underage beings around. The rest of us had just a teaser of rum to give it a subtle kick.

“Me too. I’m fine.” I stepped on the scale a couple of days ago and I’ve gained five pounds. Between the man in my life constantly feeding me and the holidays, I’ve been overindulging on just about everything that’s offered to me. I need to get my life together.

With yet another shove to her brother’s side, Jasmyne darted away from the table with him hot on her trail with jokes about the size of her head which is no different from his own, but I’ll leave him be. They left the matriarch of their family and I at the table with decks of cards and a “Snow Place Like Home” five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle that she’s beginning to open so that we can attempt to put it all together before we’re off to bed. The peacefulness on her face evoked a solace within me that I’ve been seeking since this day began. My internal mourning subsided for the meantime as I observed her joy in being surrounded by family and most of all, because they’re all doing quite well in all aspects.

“My daughter went from telling me that you have my grandson’s nose wide open to telling me that he’s completely lost into your world and I couldn’t believe it. Odell would always laugh me off when I asked him about girls or women and he’d tell me that myself, Heather, and Jasmyne are the only ladies of value and importance in his life. From the way he’s been floating around here since your arrival and the way he looks at you, there’s officially a fourth.” My mouth moved to speak but the words remained stuck in the pit of my throat as her ash white eyebrows arose in a satisfaction at the believed accuracy of her all too knowing spirit.

“You don’t have to be modest. He’s not sitting next to you anymore.” Immediately, giggles spilled from her rosy lips prompting my shoulders to sink in a relief that I’m not sure why I needed.

“I’m not being modest. I just don’t know what to say. It feels like a lot of this is unfamiliar territory for me but at the same time, it evokes the shy and bashful side of me.” She’s been making little comments since we were introduced. I guess they were all leading up to this moment.

“That’s a good thing dear; a great thing. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since his momma showed me a video of him working out with his physical therapists and trainers. You’ve built him back up. She gives you most of the credit for that.”

“I wouldn’t give myself any credit. His determination did it. You can’t keep someone with his determination down and he certainly wasn’t going to do it to himself.”

“Determination goes a long way, but often time, there has to be something or someone to ignite the fire behind that determination and that has been you. You cared for him, physically and most of all mentally, during what he calls one of the most disappointing and darkest times of his life thus far. So, don’t sell yourself cheaply because he talks about you like you’re priceless.”

“I believe in everyone having a person; that person that they can go to for laughter and good times or to lean on for a cry session. Whether it’s a close relative or a friend, you just need that person. I wanted to be that person for him because I know what it’s like to not have that person. He didn’t need pity. He needed encouragement that the injury is just a small part of his journey and most of all, he just needed someone to simply be there. That’s what you do for someone you lo-“

My tongue pressed against the backs of my top front teeth as I halted an admission that I’ve been withholding for a short while and coming to grips with on my own. I’ve been overly analyzing what that means for myself and how to navigate it going forward because it’s never felt quite like this before. As with all that I’ve been sharing with him, it’s new and I’ve jumped off of a cliff and into a pit of fear that I’m doing my best not to drown in.

Acceptance needed to come first and now that it has, I’ve been in a wonderment of whether or not those feelings are reciprocated on his end and how I’m going to handle my ever-going emotions if they are not. I cannot berate him for what he may not feel nor can I resent him for not sparing my feelings with lies if he does admit that I am in this alone.

I want to do nothing more than protect him. It’s almost odd because I’ve felt compelled to do that prior to even knowing him. Every attack and biased commentary that came his way felt like a personal attack on the character of a man who the world refused to understand. Now that I’ve experienced him in ways that are far beyond what were in my imagination at that time, I stand firm in what I knew all along. He’s not perfect and yet his imperfections are too what I love about him. He’s the embodiment of a security in his personhood and masculinity that I am irrevocably attached to.

“You could have finished that. Words are powerful but so are body language and actions. Yours have said it all. You know, I used to call you the young lady on TV that he likes so much, but now I call you the young lady on TV that he loves so much.”

Faint tingling nipped at the nape of my neck and the lined crevice of my back as certain aspects of her statement entered my ear like a vibrating echo; hypothetically repeating themselves for an emphasis to my thoughts. The last man I remember genuinely loving me laid down with my mom to create me. Shamel did not love me; I was something to do.

He rarely ever used the word and when he did, it was to emphasize something that he loved for me to do for him. In poor judgement and a lack of character, I accepted that because I was too emotionally exhausted to be combative with him or myself about it. Eventually, I didn’t even want him to love me. There didn’t need to be anything that kept us attached beyond an ignorant familiarity that I clung to for far too long.

“You really think so?”

“I know so dear.”

In an effort to help her, I reached my arms out and used my hands to spread out the many pieces all over the table so that we could begin a strategy to get it done. It’s been quite some time since I’ve done one of these and I’m not even sure my tired body can concentrate enough but I’m willing to try.

“Merry Christmas.” Yet again, the scent of his Sean Jean cologne slithered up my nose as the heat radiating from his body left me leaning back against my seat, relishing in it. His long arms extended over and he placed a navy-blue box down on the table directly in front of me. Upon my eyes landing on it, the all too famous Harry Winston initials were engraved in a bold gold on its surface.

“What’s this?” Along with him, Mille, and myself being in the room, there was also George who was continuing to document every aspect of this holiday celebration.

“Just a little something for my Brooklyn girl to rock with her Timbs.”

“Shut up!” Our regional teasing never ends. He tends edge me out with the Brooklyn jokes because I don’t know how many other ways, I can talk about how country he is. Technically speaking, he’s not even as country as some of the other athletes that I’ve spoken with over the last couple of years. Even his accent, that nearly melted me out of my heels the night we first conversed with one another, isn’t heavily ingrained with that Louisiana flare.

“Open it.” Without any bickering or hesitation, I slowly pulled up the lid on the box to reveal a pair of hoop earrings that instantly left me in a state of breathlessness. The emerald and round cut stones circled their platinum setting with a glimmer that one could not ignore. Every aspect of their make oozed a meticulousness to his taste and Mr. Winston’s talent. Any figure of price that came to mind could not match up with what sat before me and I know better than to ask him for specifics. I can admit to being a gold hoop wearing girl while I was back in high school, but I never imagined myself having a pair quite like this.

“Oh my God.” Circling my fingers over their surfaces solidified the reality of them now being within my possession and his supple lips pressing against my forehead widened the smile I was already donning.

“You like them? They seemed like they were very you when I saw them. Hoops for when you rock those buns in your hair.” Whether it’s a well done or sloppy bun, he always compliments how “cute” it is on me and he takes it a step further by enjoying the open access to my neck while my hair is out of the way.

“I love them. Thank you, babe. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” Just as I’ve done with every gift he’s given me thus far, I leapt out of the chair and threw my arms around his body in a physical showering of the love that I have for him. It’s beyond the gifts but rather the reality of him thinking of me and being so intuitive with what I desire and need that has taken his endless gift giving over the edge tonight.

“George did you get that? Now that’s a picture-perfect moment.” Mille’s face glowed in pleasure at the sight of us. I wonder if we’re reminiscent of those old black and white films that I secretly love so much. I hope so, but just in color. Everything about us is vibrant.

“I have it all Mama Millz.”

“I’ll be back.” I couldn’t take another moment of being in that unbearably warm coat or the tights.

I did change. The crimson red fair isle long john was a perfect touch for tonight. Much like earlier, the fireplace distracted me and I found myself sliding down onto the floor to marvel in its heat and beauty. If there were a pillow down here with me, I’d be asleep within minutes. Though he moved into this house not that long ago, for some reason it feels more lived in than my own. Maybe it’s because it’s filled with family right now or it may be the dogs, but I enjoy the way I feel here. There’s an eerie loneliness in my home that can be difficult to ignore sometimes.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the fireplace.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t have one?” Once inside, he closed the door enough just to leave a crack in it.

“I don’t have one in my bedroom.”

“We can fix that.” Yet again, the nonchalance tone and now shrug awoken parts of me that I’ve been mentally taming since my arrival. He talks like he’s more than willing to give me the world in a silver platter if I were to request it.

“I have something for you.”

“I want something for you too.”

“Me first.” Rather than hanging it to him, I nudged the velvet gift bag towards his feet and he flopped down onto the floor to meet it. He dropped his gift for me, Cartier from what I observed, into his lap.

“Patek Philippe? Oh wow.” With no response, I allowed him to have the moment to himself as he pulled the chocolate toned leather box out of the bag. Our eye contact was brief as he pulled open the lid and his silence intrigued me instead of rattling my already racing nerves. Just as I’d done to the hoop earrings, his fingers ran over its surface while his lips parted to leave his mouth agape. It may not be on his arm now, but I’ve envisioned just how incredible it’s going to look on him over and over again.

“The blue isn’t only representative of the team but it also takes me back to the night we both spoke for the first time. You were wearing blue and black. In New Orleans, when we made things official, you were wearing blue. Blue makes me think of you. I know most associate that color with sorrow, but you give it life and joy. You give it character.”

Only the sound of the fire crackling against the wood served as a tune dancing in the air of stillness between the two of us. His reaction to so many of the other things I gifted to him were boisterous and comedic, but this stole his words and left him to wallow in speechlessness.

“Sarai, I love you.”

The wholeness of his words filled voids that I neglected and accepted as everlasting destruction. His patience has sealed my gaping wounds and rid me of the leftover scarring. The acceptor of my deficiencies and the protector of my delicate soul, in his eyes, for the first time in such a long time, I recognize myself. The duality of being able to love myself and him is as synchronized as my breathing.

“I love you too, Odell.”

Undoubtedly. Irrevocably.

#odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

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the declassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [133]

(416): i asked her if she was sure that she was ready to do it and she replied with "come at me bro" - (226): It’s easy for me to be professional, the tough part is finding the perfect amount of bitchy undertone -

Josephine laughs, as she relays Bull’s text to Mahanon. “It’s a very Ellana response. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it.”

“I’ll be there for dinner,” Mahanon says, “It’s truly unfortunate how my dearest sister and my dearest soon to be brother in law decided to have their wedding ceremony at the worst possible time for me. Namely when I’m in the middle of a flight back to Skyhold. It’s almost like they didn’t want me to be there.”

“Well, Mahanon, maybe they didn’t want you to cry.”

Mahanon’s quiet for a moment and Josephine has a brief thought that maybe she’d teased him a little too much. She and Mahanon aren’t that close, after all. Polite and on fairly good terms, yes, but they don’t work together very often and mostly they’re friends with each other’s friends.

“Well then why would they have invited you?” Mahanon replies. “I’m fairly certain you can do the crying for the both of us, as well as the general teasing.”

Josephine smiles as she checks herself in the mirror. She’d changed out of the blouse and skirt she was wearing to work into a nice dress, did a quick touch up on her make up, and fixed a few strands of hair escaping from her updo. It’s simple and not really overly fancy or formal. But that’s what Ellana and the Iron Bull had wanted, so that’s what they’re getting.

Josephine’s stomach flutters with excitement. Her phone chirps again as the Iron Bull sends her another update. She glances down at it, switching between her phone’s screens to get to her messages.

“Do you think that she’ll get so excited that she’ll drag her fiancé off to elope on their elopement?” Mahanon asks, the sound of him moving rustling over the speaker.

“Well. I’ll need to update their paperwork for them either way,” Josephine points out. “I’d hope that they’d let me be part of it though.”

“Of all the unexpected things to come out of the Inquisition I never thought you and the Iron Bull becoming best friends would be one.”

“I’m sure that anyone you ask would say the same. Did Ellana text you with what she wants to eat afterwards? I should be ready to place an order but I haven’t gotten any answers on that topic back yet.”

“I’ll handle it,” Mahon replies. “Don’t worry. I’ll pick it up on my way back from the airport. Can you send me the address for the bakery you ordered their cake from? I saved it to the wrong phone.”

“Sure, I’ll forward the receipt to you as well. Work email?”

“I have the receipt. I printed that one and saved it. Are you sure Leliana hasn’t found out yet?”

“Trust me, if she has she would have done something by now. I mean. We’ll know for sure come Monday once I complete the updated paperwork. But I am entirely certain she doesn’t. And if she did, it isn’t like they’re keeping it a secret. They just didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

“They also wanted the insurance benefits.”

“That too.” - “I’m surprised that the hard part is the undertone for her,” Herah blows on her steaming bowl of soup before taking a tentative sip. “Okay, this is just magma in a bowl. How are you doing this?”

Mahanon’s eyes are watering slightly as he continues to drink down spoon after spoon of steaming liquid. “Strength of will.”

“Strength of will isn’t going to save your vulnerable flesh from scalding,” Herah mutters. “Are you even able to taste anything?”

“Strength of will,” Mahanon repeats emphatically.

“The art of bitchy undertone is a science,” Edric says, watching the two of them struggle with their soup. He spears at his salad, looking over to make sure Cole’s actually eating and not subtly transferring the food on his plate to other people. “You should know that Adaar. Mahanon’s not questioning it.”

“Mahanon doesn’t care enough to question it,” Herah points out. “Anyway I’d think that for someone like Leliana she’d be long past that specific struggle. I imagine that in her head there’s an index for the exact ratio of undertone of any kind needed to pull off any interaction in any situation or context.”

“It’s an art, it’ll never be as formulaic as that,” Edric protests, shaking his head, “You have to understand that part first, Adaar.”

“You literally just said it was a science.”

“Science and art have some overlap.”

“Yeah, but winging it isn’t one of them.”

“It’s not winging it, it’s a careful test and examination based on prior experience. It’s careful. It’s passionate. It’s a work of many years and cumulative risks.”

“You’re just saying bullshit now,” Herah scowls. “None of that makes any sense. You’re just trying to sound important and all that.”

“I am important and all that. I’m paying for lunch. Cole, it’s not going to magically teleport into you by you staring at it. Come on, you’ve got to at least push it around the plate a little.”

Cole dutifully picks up his spoon, and then starts mixing his salad around. He manages to scoop up a cherry tomato and puts it in his mouth.

“Alright, here,” Herah says, switching her still steaming soup for Cole’s salad. “Come on kid, eat. I know you don’t feel hungry but you will later.”

“That’s what the snack bag is for,” Cole mumbles, “It’s for eating when you get hungry.”

“We didn’t pack you a snack bag so you could skip meals, Cole. That’s for if you’ve already eaten and you still get hungry.”

“Oh.” Cole puts his spoon into the bowl of soup. “I should eat this even if I’m not hungry?”

“Yes.”

“I thought I’d get sick if I did that.”

“That’s — that’s a different problem. If you feel ill while eating it then don’t do it. But you haven’t eaten anything since a slice of toast this morning and you’re probably hungry right now.”

“Oh. Alright. Thank you for this food, Edric.”

“You’re welcome — blow on it. Don’t be like Lavellan. If it hurts to eat don’t do it, just wait for it to cool down enough that you can put it in your mouth without feeling pain.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

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All That Glitters {Roger Taylor} [2]

A/N: 2160 words. Every day I deadass get closer to just writing this movie. I’ve put too much time and thought into this probably. As Always @ginghampearlsnsweettea and @prettyboyroger are my favourite Giselle chearleaders. I actually rather like this, though I’m worried it’s less coherent than the first All That Glitters trailer.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

All That Glitters (2018) | “Oracle” Teaser Trailer [HD] | 20th Century FOX

[id: We open on a shot of the crowd at Live Aid from the perspective of the stage; the crowd is cheering, but it’s distant, almost like it’s underwater. The camera pans back slowly, so slowly, and we see Giselle, facing the crowd; as soon as she is in view, the squeal of a microphone feeding back fades in, growing louder until it overpowers the sound of the audience.

The feedback cuts out sharply and we see and hear the following in rapid succession; a close up of a large aux cord, from a keyboard, being plugged into an amp, a power switch being flipped and lighting up, a bare but new-ish looking parcan lighting up.

The room is hazy, a small, speak-easy style bar; the patrons mill about, smoking and drinking and we hear a general, indistinguishable chatter. It’s mostly dark, a few dim, gold lights overhead, with one exception;

We see Giselle standing on a cramped stage, wearing an ill-fitting, wine-coloured, rayon slip dress, lit only by the unflattering light of the cheap parcan. Behind her, drowning in shadows, a four-piece jazz ensemble sits, all wearing white button down shirts and black jackets, though their accessories are a mishmash of colours; some where bowties, some don’t even have their top button done up. One is wearing sunglasses and is looking like he’s almost asleep at his keyboard.

Giselle stands awkwardly, fidgeting, she looks young, and not particularly at home on the stage. She leans into her microphone and tries to speak, but there’s the squeal of feedback and she flinches away. The band behind her just looks tired. She leans back in to the microphone.

[GISELLE] (hesitant) Hello, I’m-

[MAN] (from the crowd, not visible) Sing something already!

Giselle looks taken aback, a little offended, and she looks over her shoulder at the band who nods. There’s a moment, a beat, when we cut to a close shot of the keyboard player’s hands hovering above the keys, before coming down, playing the opening notes of This Is Where You Get Off.

[Editor’s note; This Is Where You Get Off comes from Giselle’s sixth studio album, Strictly Professional (1978). It was the second single released off the album. Think, the upbeat positivity of ABBA’s Waterloo, meets the heart and catchiness of Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody. It’s joyful and tongue in cheek, as the name would imply, a song about young love and intimacy, though it may be fleeting.]

[Title cards for 20th Century Fox and Marv Films come up.]

We pull back from a close shot of hands playing the keyboard, however this time they’re Giselle’s, well manicured with gold polish, and she’s is sitting behind the keyboard though the bar is empty. She’s lit in stark relief to the rest of the room with a warm, gold light. The rest of the room is a cool, hazy grey. She’s wearing a pair of high waisted, pale blue jeans, and a yellow and green floral button-down.

[JOHN DEACON] Giselle?

Giselle looks up, a little confused. Her hands still on the keys, but the music keeps playing. It’s a wide shot, the two in profile facing each other; John Deacon is backlit on the right where he’s standing at the door, sunshine shining in behind him, wearing brown corduroy pants and a maroon jacket that’s a little too big for him. His hair is long. The space between them shows the bar, in shades of grey, almost like the colour’s been saturated from it, though it gives a nice contrast to the colours of the two figures on either side of the shot.

John smiles.

[JOHN DEACON] Thought I might find you here.

Extreme close shot of Giselle’s eyes as she squeezes them shut tightly. When she opens them, we cut to a wide shot taken from behind her, facing a small room packed with people. She’s standing now, holding the microphone on it’s stand, wearing a blue velvet, off the shoulder dress.

The camera pans back and with each beat of the music, we cut between shots, all from the same angle, all with Giselle in the same place, but it’s always in front of a crowd, and the crowd is always getting bigger; at first it’s bars, then theatres, then stadiums, with thousands of cheering fans. We never see Giselle’s face, but the crowd is always desaturated compared to her, each of her ensembles, her very presence vibrant under the stage lights.

[JOHN DEACON, VOICE OVER] So I suppose I’m gonna see your name in lights in a few months?

Giselle snaps back to the present, and we get a close shot of her looking at John a little wide-eyed.

[RAY FOSTER, VOICE OVER] Giselle? That’s the name on the marquee?

We smash cut to an over-the-shoulder shot of her sitting in Ray Foster’s office; he’s wearing a beige suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up over a bright blue button down. From what we can see of Giselle’s shoulder, her shirt is a red and orange striped turtleneck and her hair is down.

We whip pan around and stop on a shot of Giselle, sitting at her desk at the very righthand side of the shot, lit in pale yellow by her desk light, while the rest of the shot is filled with the midnight blue of the night sky through floor-to-ceiling windows; on the lefthand side of the shot is a television, showing reports and excepts all about Giselle, giving off desaturated blue and white light. Giselle is writing furiously at her desk, though we can’t see what.

[REPORTER, VOICE OVER] Giselle, the name on everyone’s lips!

[RADIO HOST, VOICE OVER] And now, with her newly certified platinum single, Giselle -

[REPORTER 2, VOICE OVER] Why Giselle? Who’s this woman who’s caught the world by storm?

The voices start to overlap, become indistinguishable as the song rises to a crescendo, though their words are clearly turning negative. Giselle’s name is distinguishable every few moments.

[GISELLE, VOICE OVER] I want to work with Queen.

Giselle stands with her hands crossed over her chest, wearing a mint green, skater style, floral dress, her hair tied back neatly. The music is still upbeat and joyful. Jim Beach stands across from her in a freshly pressed, grey suit. He looked amused.

[JIM BEACH] You want to work with Queen?

We shift through a set of quick shots all intercut together to the beat of the music that gets progressively faster, never stopping on one for enough time to get a good look; Giselle running into a drumkit and the cymbals going crashing to the ground, Giselle and all four members of Queen cheersing their drinks though they all seem to already be drunk, Giselle sitting on Roger’s shoulders and cheering and singing at the top of her lungs in a hotel room while Brian throws things at them because he’s trying to get to sleep, Roger kisses Giselle on stage in front of a stadium audience and though she’s shocked for a moment she kisses him back, Freddie walks in to what is clearly Roger and Giselle’s wedding with an elephant in tow. The final two shots are of Roger and Giselle wearing identical shocked looks, clearly at Freddie’s extravagant party, and then we cut right to the door being closed in Roger’s face.

The music stops; we come back to Jim and Giselle in the present.

[GISELLE] What’s the worst that could happen?

Her grin is all teeth.

We kick into the next scene and into the chorus section of an instrumental version of Set It Up.

[Editor’s note: Set It Up was the fifth track on Giselle’s second album, Cold In June (1971). It’s got the bass and weight of Queen’s Another Bites The Dust, courtesy of Giselle’s pre-established friendship with John Deacon, and it’s the earliest known collaboration between them. Lyrically, the original song is a love letter to dedication and drive, and is the story of a young woman forging her way in such a ruthless industry.]

Cut to; Jim and Giselle standing in the doorframe of a wood panel studio; Jim looks like he hasn’t changed, though Giselle now wears a yellow sundress.

[JIM BEACH] Boys, -

The rest of the room is filled with band equipment, and the four members of Queen, all in light coloured but colourful clothes, a solid contrast against the mid-tone brown panels along the walls, the chrome of the drumset, and the red of Brian’s guitar, the darkness of the piano and the various amps in soft focus behind them.

We quickly pulse through visions of other big name musical celebrities to the beat of the music, all looking at something just off camera, as if looking at Giselle in the room, though their background all betray different settings. We see Elton John, Aretha Franklin, Michael Jackson, and David Bowie, before settling back on Queen in the present.

The music cuts out.

[JIM BEACH] - play nice.

[ROGER TAYLOR] You’re not our father, you know!

The camera turns to show that Jim has already stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. There’s a few moments of awkward silence; Giselle looks at the door for a few minutes before smiling awkwardly at the boys in front of her.

[GISELLE] I should introduce myself -

Before she can, the music comes back in after a beat and we cut to a montage of concert footage, of Giselle in various dresses which all look incredibly expensive, as well as her appearance on Top of the Pops in 1972, the camera craning around her as she sings in her black, velvet off-the-shoulder numbers with her black and red gloves.

This is also intercut with key moments from her life; arguing animatedly with her sister, Giovanna, in what appears to be a hospital, screaming at the top of her lungs in what appeared to be a recording studio, rage written all over her face, though we can’t hear the scream for the music, she’s laying in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but elated, holding her two daughters and almost weeping with joy. The final shot in the montage is Giselle in soft focus as she holds out a copy of Rolling Stone magazine, which she is on the front cover of, posing surrounded by Queen. The headline reads ‘And All The Queen’s Men’. She sets the magazine on fire and we fade to black, and the music dies down, fading into the slow, melancholy piano chords of Ache.

[GISELLE, VOICE OVER] (she sounds tired, a little forlorn) Everything I touch turns to gold.

We fade in to a dressing room; Giselle is sitting in front of a mirror lined by lightbulbs, sneering as she addresses someone who we can’t see, not even in the reflection of the mirror. She’s adjusting the neckline of a gold, sequinned, v-neck dress, wearing thick, winged eyeliner and gold lipstick to match. She looks over her shoulder, her expression cold.

GISELLE (rueful, a bit bitter) And God, I was all over you.

The music picks up, quick to morph into Trot, Canter, Pirouette (The Show Pony Song), and she stands quickly.

We smash cut to her walking out onto stage at Live Aid, though she’s now wearing a dress with a white velvet bodice and an ombre yellow-orange-charcoal skirt. We can hear both the song, and the crowd chanting her name.

[JOHN DEACON, VOICE OVER] An engineering student and a law student walk into a bar.

Cut to; both Giselle and John are sitting at the bar from earlier, both looking young, Giselle in her yellow and green floral shirt, and John in his maroon jacket. They’re positioned in the left half of the screen, both in profile; Giselle is in the foreground, slumped against the bar, her head resting on her arms. John is looking up wistfully. We can no longer hear the crowd, but the music is still softly playing. John pauses. Giselle turns to him, resting her cheek on her arms and looking at him expectantly. The camera angle changes so they’re side by side and fill most of the screen.

[GISELLE] And?

John, who’s seemed to have zoned out, looks at her with a slight frown, as if just remembering she’s there.

[JOHN DEACON] Oh, I just got lost thinking about the future.

Giselle gives a quiet, amused smile.

[GISELLE] About my name up in lights?

[JOHN DEACON] (nodding and grinning) About your name up in lights.

We cut to; the music picks up and the title card, “ALL THAT GLITTERS”, lights up in a block font, with lights in the letters, reminiscent of a Broadway sign. We hear Giselle belt the final, high energy, upbeat lyrics of the song, accompanied by a full brass section for the end of the song; “But I cant! Call! Cut!”

Snap to black. End id.]

#roger taylor #john deacon #roger taylor x oc #john deacon imagine #roger taylor imagine #john deacon & oc #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #queen #and all the queen's men #the angry lizard writes

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