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the-fiction-witch · 2 years

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Mine.

Media The Queen's Gambit

Couple Benny Watts X Reader

Rating Kinky Smut

Concept This. Means your mine.

Smut 'Pet' / No underwear/ fondling/ hj/ choking/ 'slut' / Blow job

I smiled as I stood at the small coffee bar, my heels against the light brown wood polished within an inch of its life. My little white wedge heels against the floor, if I looked down my blood red nails made an appearance in my open toed shoes. My little sheath high neck white dress hugged my every curve so much so I couldn't wear panties or even stockings with it. I had also forgone a bra half for comfort as this dress is supportive enough not to need one and half for… the attention me being braless often got at these events. My fairly chunky black belt around my waist, my long silver chain around my neck with my small black onyx stone as a pendent, two rings on my hands one on my right index finger my sweet silver flower, and on my left ring finger still making me blush my silver ring with an impressive kite cut smoky diamond I was still getting use to it but I did like having such an obvious sign of our relationship. The boy brought me the coffee and apple juice I had asked for and I slid over the cash as I did. I caught him staring at my breasts, and I gave him a glare which turned him red quickly handing my change over and returning to cleaning a glass. I didn't think much of it and took the two drinks in hand. I noticed why he was looking immediately. My nipples had got hard slightly poking out my dress, likely a result of some of the boys from this college opening the window which I theorized was part of their perverted plans but I didn't care.

I walked across the student union sitting my coffee In Front of the open seat so my coffee sat behind the chess clock for the board currently on the table sitting the apple juice on its requested milk glass beside his hand, immediately I noticed the chess problem on the board they were fiddling with so I moved the knight to the obvious solution and took my seat.

A shocked look ran across Anthony's face as he looked over the board repeatedly before leaning back defeated in his chair and slightly rolling his eyes.

"That's my girl" He smirked, making me glance to my other side, to him. Benny sat in the chair in his comfortable jeans, his belt sat as usual with his knife holster on his thigh, his black t shirt hugged him closely chains hung down his chest, holding the glass close to him about to take a sip his rings against the glass, he gave me a wink before having himself a sip.

"A game?" Anthony offered

"Go on then." Benny told him letting Anthony set the board back up as he sat his glass down, before clicking his hand to me twice

"What?" I giggled sipping my coffee

"I gave you a dollar if you recall a pet" he smirked at me, lining up his pieces a little better "that's thirty five cent coffee and sixteen cent apple juice. So" he smirked clicking his fingers again and opening his hand expectantly "forty nine cents" he smirked waiting for me response

"Fifty cents benny" I correct handing him his change which he double checked

"I know. Testing you" he winked "tip?" He asked so I smiled leaning over the corner of the table to give him a gentle kiss which only grew his smirk more

"We playing or what?" Anthony asked

They began there game and I watched A usually sipping my coffee every so often as they plaid I noticed some boys hovering but that wasn't unusual when benny plays he noticed them too but thought little of it too focused on his game, but not long into there game I realized they weren't watching benny, they were staring at me. I suppose I should be used to it. Boys always stared at me when I attended tournaments and such being of course one of the few women in the chess world. I didn't play much as I wasn't really that fond of playing more of a puzzle and problems chess player but I always attended if nothing else to support benny. That and if I didn't I'd be sitting in that damn dismal basement nine months out of the year at least this way we got to spend time together. Once the game was over Anthony resigning once again Benny glared at the hovering boys.

"Oi!" He called in the boys direction making them all jump not expecting him to actually speak up "come here" he encouraged for a moment they didn't move but slowly stepped over clearly college boys from the campus clearly not knowing much about who we all where, the three boys stood at our table nervously "what where you staring at?" He asked but none answer "come on enlighten me"

"Just uhhh" one stuttered looking in my direction

"Oh I see. Beautiful isn't she?" He smirked stroking under my chin to make me tip my head up a little

"Ohh uhhh yeah yeah she is" the boy nodded

"In your looking did you boys notice this?" Benny smirked moving his hand down my jaw, down my neck, down my dress, down my arm and taking my hand holding it gently in his own his hand under mine of course my ring immediately catching the light and their attention. And the boys turned as white as sheep "this kite cut natural black diamond, set in 999 silver. Almost pure silver. Without one flaw or fault. Doesn't come cheap. Do you know what this means?"

"We uhh we're -" they stuttered

"It means she's mine. So fuck off. And I catch you staring again we'll have some problems" he warns and the boys quickly scurried off

"Just because you're marrying her doesn't mean you need to show her off all the time" Anthony said setting the board up again

"When you get your own little lady I'll allow you too show her off. Course she won't be as beautiful as my y/n" he smirked kissing my hand "come on come here pet" he smirked to me so I smiled moving my chair a little so we could sit closer together and I could lean on his shoulder "I want my little good luck charm" he smiled kissing my head

They continued on with their game so I just happily sat nuzzled into his shoulder feeling the soft cotton of his shirt against my skin, the sweet smell of the aftershave on his neck I watched for a while but admittedly I was a little board but my mind hatched a rather wicked idea.

I waited for benny to do his move and then I moved my hand down to sit on his thigh, his chocolate eyes flicked to me for a second and returned to the board, seconds later his hand came and moved my hand back to my own leg giving my thigh a stroke as he did he did his move and shot me a very warning glance but I merely closed my eyes and cuddled a little closer I waited a little while making sure he was fully focused on his game and I moved my hand back to his thigh giving the inner seam of his jeans a suggestive stroke, he merely ignored me focusing on the game at hand so I continued stroking up his leg until I met his belt, still he ignored me so slowly but surely I loosened it making sure to be quiet and make sure knowone noticed until it was loose enough I could tug back his jeans. I tugged them enough away from his skin that my hand could slip in feeling his warm lower stomach, the little small hairs much like what graced his face, ticking my hand as I moved down feeling the shaped v his muscles provided I moved down my hand meeting the elastic waistband of his boxers gently stroking my fingers across the stretched elastic. He glanced at me, his jaw tight, his brown stern, as if threatening me with nothing but a look. I only smiled and nuzzled closer into his neck rubbing my nose against his skin. He continued with his game so I waited making sure to let him relax a little before I moved my hand down meeting the soft squishy bulge of his soft cock, I took a gentle grip of him and stroked my hand against him through the cotton. He ignored me, not wanting to give me a reaction. Which only fueled me more I began to stroke and play with him much more passionately and attentively making sure to touch all the places he needed and slowly but surely it grew stiffer and harder in my hand I continued making sure my movements couldn't be noticed until he was completely hard, it was then I moved my hand under his boxers stroking my fingers across his tender head and shaft making sure to stimulate his hard erection, once I saw Anthony resign I giggled and pulled my hand away fixing his belt as I went. He gave me a very dark look so I just gave his cheek a kiss and went to sit my hand back in my lap but he grabbed my wrist

"Again?" Anthony asked

"No, I think I've had enough for one night. I'll see you tomorrow" benny told him

Before getting up so I quickly grabbed my bag and we said our goodbyes before heading out onto the campus I followed along with him even if I couldn't help my sly smirk seeing he was still hard

"I-" I began

"Not. A word. Out of you" he growled as we turned into the dorm we were staying in for the tournament the lights all already off for the night, we went through the door to the stairwell climbing up as our room was on the second floor but as we reached the landing between floors he grabbed my neck and pushed me against the wall putting his knee between my legs "what the hell was that?"

"What?"

"You know what."

"I was just a little board benny"

"Board? That's not an excuse to be a slut pet" he warns "we could have gotten in trouble, gotten kicked out. You're little stunt could have cost me the tournament" He warns moving his hand up my dress until he meets and began softly stroking my clit "I'm already having to bat boys off you like flies to ice cream. And you go pull something like that"

"I just wanted to make sure you where concentrating"

"Did you. I don't need you rubbing on my dick to keep me focused, pet." He smirked "you are not going to pull something like that again"

"I-"

"Are you." He warns "because if you do, I won't wait till the games over and we leave to punish you pet. I'll put you over my lap and spank that slutty ass till there's tears streaming down your face"

"In Front of everyone"

"Yes In Front of everyone. Then they'll all see how bad you like it." He smirked "so. You won't pull something like that again?"

"No"

"No?"

"No benny"

"Good girl." He Cooes giving my neck a few gentle kisses "and tomorrow when we go down to the tournament you will not look like this"

"Like what?" I giggled

"You know what. Everyone can see every inch of you. A Lot of those inches are only for my eyes." He warns "bra. And panties tomorrow. Or I'll wrap a chain around your neck and dress you myself" he smirked

"Yes benny" I nodded

"Good girl" he smirked "apologize"

"I'm sorry benny"

He chuckled "you know that's not how we apologize pet" he smirked moving his hands away to unbuckle his belt and his jeans "apologize"

I blushed hard but fixed my hair a little and moved down pressing my knees against the cold stone floor, I pulled down his boxers immediately being faced with his hard erection, I knew how easily we could be caught so I didn't waste time I took him completely into my mouth and began to suck moving my head back and forth as quickly as I could it didn't take long to get into a rhythm even if at times he held my hair and forced me a lot harder or faster which often made me choke a little in shock but I also regained my rhythm, he grunted and groaned but often low and quietly till he held my hair tightly pulling me as deep as possible and he finished inside my mouth "uuughh" he groaned Bucking his hips a little

I pulled back and swallowed as much as I could as he did his jeans up I was about to wipe my mouth but he stopped me and pulled me to my feet

"So. My little pet going to behave herself from now on?"

"Yes benny" I nodded

"Good. Remember pet. This" he smirked taking my hand stroking a finger across my ring "means your mine. And I will have it drilled into you by the time we get married. That clear?"

"Yes benny"

"Alright, back to the room. we have a long tournament day tomorrow" he smiled wrapping his arm around my waist and tugging me up the stairs

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whatthecrowtold · 2 years

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#unhallowedarts "Everything, alas, is an abyss, — actions, desires, dreams, Words!" - Baudelaire's "Fleurs Du Mal"

Carlos Schwabe "Destruction" (1900)

“You know that I have always considered that literature and the arts pursue an aim independent of morality. Beauty of conception and style is enough for me. But this book, whose title (Les Fleurs du Mal) says everything, is clad, as you will see, in a cold and sinister beauty. It was created with rage and patience. Besides, the proof of its positive worth is in all the ill that they speak of it. The book enrages people. Moreover, since I was terrified myself of the horror that I should inspire, I cut out a third from the proofs. They deny me everything, the spirit of invention and even the knowledge of the French language. I don't care a rap about all these imbeciles, and I know that this book, with its virtues and its faults, will make its way in the memory of the lettered public, beside the best poems of V. Hugo, Th. Gautier and even Byron." (Baudelaire in a letter to his mother)

Don Juan in Hades

"When Don Juan descended to the underground sea, And when he had given his obolus to Charon, That gloomy mendicant, with Antisthenes' proud look, Seized the two oars with strong, revengeful hands.

Showing their pendent breasts and their unfastened gowns Women writhed and twisted under the black heavens, And like a great flock of sacrificial victims, A continuous groan trailed along in the wake.

Sganarelle with a laugh was demanding his wage, While Don Luis with a trembling finger Was showing to the dead, wandering along the shores, The impudent son who had mocked his white brow.

Shuddering in her grief, Elvira, chaste and thin, Near her treacherous spouse who was once her lover, Seemed to implore of him a final, parting smile That would shine with the sweetness of his first promises.

Erect in his armor, a tall man carved from stone Was standing at the helm and cutting the black flood; But the hero unmoved, leaning on his rapier, Kept gazing at the wake and deigned not look aside."

He turned out to be right. Victor Hugo himself wrote enthusiastic lines to his younger fellow melancholic, just a couple of his weeks after Baudelaire’s evil flowers sprouted from the booksellers’ shelves and were read in Paris salons and cafés while the Moloch of a metropolis around them swallowed its own children. In hecatombs. On a daily basis. Baudelaire was certainly not the first who found the urbs worthy enough for a good yarn or to inspire poetry. As backdrop or a scene, with the big city lights illuminating the dramatis personae. But never as an end in itself. He found a way to integrate his Romantic predecessors’ otherworldly Gothic mindscapes from their grim fairy tale-like settings of ruined castles, lofty mountaintops, dark forests and other exotic spots, rooted in history and legend, into a grim, contemporary reality. Paris had become the Castle of Otranto, an autotelic location inhabited by a genius loci of disillusion, pessimism and melancholy in their ugly and morbid actuality. Filled to the brim with black Romantic symbols and imagery. And while Baudelaire barrages the reader - his likeness, his brother – with biblical tropes and ancient mythology and not the likenesses of the miserables from Rue Trou à Rats it is impossible to imagine his picturesque, morbid misery in another light than that of the dim streetlights of the dark metropolis. Literary modernity had begun in earnest with “Les Fleurs du Mal”. And what earned the poet a lawsuit for offending the public moral of 1857 and forced him to publish his works abroad, can now be found as “epoch-making” in schoolbooks.

Posthumous Remorse

"When you will sleep, O dusky beauty mine, Beneath a monument fashioned of black marble, When you will have for bedroom and mansion Only a rain-swept vault and a hollow grave,

When the slab of stone, oppressing your frightened breast And your flanks now supple with charming nonchalance, Will keep your heart from beating, from wishing, And your feet from running their adventurous course,

The tomb, confidant of my infinite dreams (For the tomb will always understand the poet) Through those long nights from which all sleep is banned, will say:

"What does it profit you, imperfect courtesan, Not to have known why the dead weep?" — And like remorse the worm will gnaw your skin."

When the poet lay dying at the age of 46 in Dr Duval’s hospital in the Quartier Chaillot in Paris, after a stroke he suffered the year before in Brussels that left him paralysed on one side and incapable of speech, cared for by his ageing mother, there were really few things left that he had not pursued within the framework of a stereotypical vie de la bohème. Picking up the Great Pox when he was 18, dawdling in the Parisian demi-monde while letting his law studies slide, experimenting with every type of narcotics available, drinking, of course, like a sailor on shore leave, squandering his inheritance, making several suicide attempts, living with his Haitian mistress Jeanne Duval, an actress and dancer of mixed French and black African ancestry, while declaring popular courtesans to be his muses, being always in debt and indulging in Wagner and whatnot. And, as a sideline, Baudelaire squeezing the idea, the spirit and the awareness of modernity out of the chaos of his own life and the labour pains of the industrial age and pressing it in the shape of a poetic language that was and his unheard of in its quality and depth.

Spleen

"I have more memories than if I'd lived a thousand years.

A heavy chest of drawers cluttered with balance-sheets, Processes, love-letters, verses, ballads, And heavy locks of hair enveloped in receipts, Hides fewer secrets than my gloomy brain. It is a pyramid, a vast burial vault Which contains more corpses than potter's field. — I am a cemetery abhorred by the moon, In which long worms crawl like remorse And constantly harass my dearest dead. I am an old boudoir full of withered roses, Where lies a whole litter of old-fashioned dresses, Where the plaintive pastels and the pale Bouchers, Alone, breathe in the fragrance from an opened phial.

Nothing is so long as those limping days, When under the heavy flakes of snowy years Ennui, the fruit of dismal apathy, Becomes as large as immortality. — Henceforth you are no more, O living matter! Than a block of granite surrounded by vague terrors, Dozing in the depths of a hazy Sahara An old sphinx ignored by a heedless world, Omitted from the map, whose savage nature Sings only in the rays of a setting sun."

All poems quoted above are from Charles Baudelaire's "Fleurs du Mal" (1857) - the imagery for Baudelaire's epochal poems was created by the Swiss Symbolist Carlos Schwabe (1866 - 1926) for the 1900 edition, complete and bilingual, linked as facsimile below.

#unhallowedarts #dark literature #dark art #dark poetry #dark aesthetic #dark academia #gothic art #gothic aesthetic #charles baudelaire #fleurs du mal #carlos schwabe #symbolism

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jewelllsww · 11 months

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Unique design collection of pendent set online at best price by Anuradha Art jewellery.

Buy rich lady gold finish white stone side online pendent set for women and girls online at best price by Anuradha Art jewellery. To see more collection click on given link: https://www.anuradhaartjewellery.com/artificial-jewellery/pendent-set/3

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malani-jewelers · 2 years

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#Diamond pendants

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blingvineindia · 2 years

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paganimagevault · 2 years

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"Funerary altar of Iulia Victorina. Marble. Last quarter of the 1st century CE. The altar is dedicated to the en:manes of Iulia Victorina dead at 10 years and 5 months old. Purchase 1863. Louvre museum (Paris, France). Portrait on the front of the 10 year old girl at her death, garlanded in a floral frame, and on the back as the young matrona she would never become. Trees on each (side). Color by @chapps on twitter.

While Julia Victorina is only one child in the unhappy statistic that half of all Roman children died by the age of ten, her death in the last quarter of the 1st century CE is personalized by the unique and costly monument her parents set up in her memory. With this elegant altar, now in the Louvre Museum in Paris, Gaius Julius Saturninus and Lucilia Procula, who are otherwise unknown by rank, ancestry, or situation, memorialized their grief and hopes for a young daughter taken from them prematurely. The monument would have been placed in a family tomb and held a cinerary urn containing the child's ashes. It is a rectangular block of white marble, elaborately carved on all four sides and crowned by a marble cover gracefully decorated with motifs (mouldings, volutes, and blossoms) that echo those carved on the front and back of the lower stone. The front of the altar bears the dedicatory inscription and features a portrait bust in high relief of the lovely face of a girl, framed by a wide border of acanthus leaves and variegated flowers, symbols in the Mediterranean world of eternal life. Julia Victorina, gazing pensively off to her right, wears ball-shaped pendent earrings, probably of gold; her shoulders are draped, her hair is styled almost boyishly and is crowned by a crescent moon, at once a symbol of eternity and association with Diana in her role as the moon-Goddess. On the back of the altar she appears again, similarly framed with botanicals, but now as a young matrona, as her parents had hoped in a few years to enjoy her; her face is solemn and thinner but recognizable as the child she was. She looks directly at the viewer, wearing the married woman's stola, a palla draped over one shoulder and the same pendent earrings; her hair is arranged in a more matronly style, topped by a radiate crown that symbolizes her apotheosis in the heavens and her immortality. The short sides of the altar are decorated with a flourishing laurel tree, an evergreen sacred to Apollo, God of the sun; within its branches hover two birds, possibly ravens, his sacred bird, seen here together with laurel-crowned Apollo in his shrine. This extraordinary altar, with its portrait busts and floral designs promising immortality, offers moving testimony to the grief of Victorina's parents over the loss of a beloved child. The dedicatory inscription is crowded into the space below the child’s bust, which awkwardly divides the girl's cognomen. The words are written in square capitals over five lines of diminishing size, with prominence given to the Di Manes and the girl's name. The letters are well formed and centered, with medial dots (interpuncts) separating the words in lines 3-6.

Latin:

D[is] M[anibus] IVLIAE VIC TORINAE QVAE• VIX[it]• ANN[is] • X• MENS[ibus]• V• C[aius]• IVLIVS• SATVRNINVS• ET LVCILIA• PROCVLA• PARENTES FILIAE• DVLCISSIMAE• FECERVNT

English:

To the spirits of the dead

Julia Victorina

Who lived for ten years and five months

Gaius Julius Saturninus and

Lucilia Procula

Parents of this sweetest daughter

Had this monument made

Notes to Funerary Inscription for Victorina: Di Manes, m. pl. the collective spirits of the dead, the divine spirits. DM is a common abbreviation for the dedication of a funerary monument to the spirits of the dead and thus is in the dative case. These letters or the words they stand for are regularly found at the head of funerary inscriptions dating from the end of the 1st century BCE through the 2nd century CE. Iulia, -ae f. Julia is the proper name of women born into the gens Iulia. Victorina appears to have inherited the nomen gentilicium from her father. The name of the deceased is either in the dative case as the dedicatee of the inscription, or the genitive as the possessor of the DM. Victorina, -ae f. The dead girl's cognomen. menses, menses m. month. Both annis and mensibus are ablatives of time following vixit. Some inscriptions included days as well. Saturninus, -i m. The cognomen of Victorina's father is found during the Republic and the Empire. There was a centurian named Gaius Iulius Saturninus who came from Chios and served under the Flavians in a unit of Spaniards in Egypt, but no firm connection can be made. Lucilia, -ae f. Lucilia is the proper name of women born into the gens Lucilia; Victorina's mother's cognomen is Procula. parens, -entis m./f. parent. It is in the nominative plural, in apposition with Saturninus and Procula, who are the subjects of the verb fecerunt. dulcis, -e sweet, lovely, dear, kind. The adjective is in the superlative degree. It modifies filiae; both are in the dative case, in apposition with Iuliae Victorinae. [hoc monumentum] this phrase normally follows the verb of dedication (fecit/fecerunt) in funerary inscriptions. Monumentum is the regular word for a Roman tombstone. Sometimes the entire formula is omitted as unnecessary or for lack of space or money."

-taken from feminaeromanae, vroma, and wikipedia

More pictures and sources on my blog: https://paganimagevault.blogspot.com/2022/05/funerary-altar-of-iulia-victorina-1st-c.html

#ancient rome #roman statue #pagan #paganism #apollo #artemis #funerary art #european art #roman art #ancient art #italy #archaeology #reconstruction #art #ancient history #art history #1st century

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fanartfunart · 2 years

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[Image Description: A set of 5 colored digital designs based off Sheik in the Majora’s Mask masks and a young Sheik. Young Sheik wears a light blue head scarf that is pulled up to cover his mouth and nose. He wears a white tunic frayed at the bottom with short blue sleeves and a red Sheikah eye on the chest. Fierce Deity Sheik wears an outfit closer to OoT’s Sheik, but with silver chest armor, and his scarf is not covering any of his head. His hair is white and braided, and his face has the Fierce Deity markings. Goron Sheik has bangs over one eye, and a sheikah stone on the bead necklace. His boots and gauntlets are dark blue and purple, the gauntlets have a white band in the center, and he wears a white skirt. Under his eye is the same white markings that OoT Impa has. Deku Sheik has the head scarf, and a leaf ‘braid’ that ends in a red flower. He has dark blue half gloves and boots, and a white wrap around his arm. His eye has a white sheikah tear and three dots. He has a frayed white skirt. Deku Sheik is gesturing at Tatl, a yellow fairy. Zora Sheik has yellow and red lionfish spines on his head and fins, and ends in a white gradient instead of green. He wears a red choaker necklace with a sheikah eye pendent, and boots and gloves that match OoT Sheik’s. He wears dark blue shorts and a red belt. Under his eyes are the same white markings as OoT Impa. End ID]

Someone in a server I’m in wondered who would’ve stopped the moon from falling in a timeline where Link wasn’t sent back, and my brain supplied the most obvious answer: Sheik. Since he doesn’t have the Ocarina of Time he only got 3 days to do it all, but if his harp is the one from Skyward Sword... perhaps he could take advantage of some Termina equivalent of a Silent Realm, assuming they stop time while you’re in there.

#sheik #loz sheik #kid!sheik #legend of zelda #majora's mask #ocarina of time #goron sheik #deku sheik #zora sheik #fierce deity #fierce deity sheik #fanart's fanart #legend of fanart

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beelsnack · 3 years

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I Put A Spell On You - Obey Me Boys and A Witch MC

I may have mentioned it in an ask or something before, but I'm actually a practicing witch. (Sorry, Mammon.) So, in honor of spooky season, I bring you witch MC!

----

Lucifer: "Can I ask you something?"

Lucifer looked up from the report he had been working on. In the House of Lamentation, hearing that question was very rarely followed by anything but disaster. He bit back the urge to sigh and turned to look at the human. "You may."

"Have you ever been summoned by a witch?" the human set down their pen. They had taken refuge in Lucifer's room in an attempt to actually get their homework done, and had been working diligently up until this point. "Like, successfully."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't. I doubt any mortal witch would have the power to actually summon me."

"That's what I thought," they leaned back in their chair, stretching.

"What brought this on?"

"A witch I know up in the Human Realm swore up and down that he had, quote unquote, ‘summoned Lucifer himself.’ No one believed him anyway, but I figured I would ask just to confirm my suspicions.”

“No, it is highly unlikely that a mortal witch would have the magical power to summon me,” Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Although many have tried.”

“What happens to them when they do?” they asked, completely abandoning their work at this point. Part of Lucifer wanted to reprimand them for getting distracted, but he couldn’t deny that he liked having their attention on him. “Do you curse them or something?”

“I do nothing,” he smirked as they got up to lean against his desk. Perhaps he could stand to take a break as well. “The minor demons they actually summon, however, often have their fun with those foolish enough to try.”

“Oh, I’ll bet the Little Ds have a blast with them, huh?” the human grinned.

“Ask Number Two about the time he possessed a ouija board and convinced a human they would die if they ever wore the color blue again.”

Laughing, the human moved to return to their spot at his coffee table where they had spread out all of their study materials. Lucifer, however, had different plans.

“Oof!”

In one quick, fluid motion, he had grasped the human around the waist and tugged them into his lap. The movement had mussed up their hair, and he affectionately moved a few strands out of their face to see their adorable pout.

“You know, my dear, you are the only human witch able to summon me. You should wear that fact like a badge of honor.”

Mammon: “Now that’s just playin’ dirty!”

The human had to make a concentrated effort not to laugh at Mammon. “Yeah, they really didn’t have to go that far. They already have you by the balls.”

“They do not!” Mammon growled, crossing his arms. “Nobody has control over The Great Mammon!”

“Except for the multitude of humans who you made pacts with because they promised you a few bucks.”

“Wow, okay.”

Shaking their head, they gently plucked the doll out of Mammon’s palm. It was a standard poppet, made out of cloth. “Why don’t you just have Lucifer or Satan undo the curses?”

“Because,” Mammon huffed. “Human magic is different from demon magic. None of us know the first thing about it.”

“You just don’t want to admit to anyone that the witches pulled one over on you again.”

“Can you fix it or not?”

Smothering another laugh, they brought the poppet closer to examine it. Aside from the basic filling, it felt like there were some stones in there, and they thought they smelled some herbs.

“So, basically all you need to do is remove whatever link they used to bind the doll to you,” they muttered, more to themself than anything. “Usually it’s hair, nail, a drop of blood if they’re feeling particularly nasty…”

“That’s what they were doin’?”

The human looked up, tilting their head. “What?”

“One of the witches was bein’ real nice to me,” Mammon sighed. “Patting me on the head when I dropped off some money for them. Shoulda known she was trying something fishy!”

“Okay, that answers that.” they made their way over to their desk, plopping down in the chair. “So she probably pulled out some of your hair and put it inside the doll. So all we have to do it get it out, this thing becomes a regular old doll, and voila, curse broken.”

“How do we do that?” Mammon asked, peering over their shoulder as they reached into their drawer. His blue eyes widened when they pulled out a pair of scissors. “Whaddaya plan on doin’ with those?”

“Mammon, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

“Wha - ack!”

Mammon doubled over in pain at the same time the human cut open a slice on the doll’s belly. There, right in the center of the stuffing and stones - and there were herbs in there, they had been right! - was a little bundle of white hair, tied with a piece of twine.

“Ah-ha!” they plucked the bunch out of the doll, and Mammon just barely managed to catch himself on the corner of the desk before he went crashing to the floor.

“Holy shit, human, I’m gonna fuckin’ hurl.”

“Do it somewhere that isn’t my room, please.”

Leviathan: “Levi, I don’t know how to tell you this, but ‘witch’ and ‘magical girl’ aren’t the same thing.”

Ever since they let it slip that they practiced witchcraft, Levi had obsessively forced them to watch every magical girl anime he could think of. It was his way of relating to them, they were sure, but it was starting to get a little out of hand. There were only so many variations of the magical girl trope in existence.

Levi frowned at them. “It’s not?”

“Well, for one, I don’t own a super cute lolita dress.”

“Do you want me to make you one?”

The human laughed. “Somehow I don’t think showing up to a coven meeting wearing a pink loli dress will make the others take me very seriously.”

“What about blue?”

“Leviathan.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed. “So if it’s not like in the anime, what is human magic like?”

“A lot more boring than demon magic, honestly.” the human shrugged, turning back to the monitor. Since they had put their foot down against watching Madoka, the two of them were rewatching Sailor Moon. “A lot of using herbs and crystals and energy. Really symbolic.”

“That is boring,” Levi scowled. “You don’t even get a transformation sequence.”

“I’m just as mad about it as you are, dude.”

Satan: “Holy shit, Satan, that is a ton of books.”

THe demon had no reason to look as proud as he did as he sat the stack of books on the table in front of him. “This isn’t even all of them. Some of them are cursed, so I let them be for now.”

“That’s...both impressive and concerning.” the human picked up a book off the top of the pile. “Whoa, it’s even handwritten!”

“I’ve collected my fair share of grimoires over the millennia.” Satan took a seat across from them, watching as they turned each page with reverence. “I believe that one is from a Scottish witch from the 16th century.”

“Should I be wearing gloves or something?” they cradled the book like it was made of glass. “This is historic, Satan.”

“I’ve cast the appropriate spells on them to prevent them from decaying, don’t worry.” Satan laughed. “Although your concern is appreciated.”

“I could learn so much about the craft from these,” their voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide as they scanned each page like it contained the secret to eternal life. “This is...wow…”

The look of utter rapture that the human had on their face was endearing, and Satan couldn’t help but smile softly at them. “Feel free to peruse them whenever you like. They deserve to be appreciated.”

“You mean it?” they looked up with hope sparkling in their eyes. “Thank you so much, Satan!”

“Of course,” he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind their ear. “That look on your face is worth any price.”

Asmodeus: “I have a gift for you!”

Asmo poked his head up from where he had buried it in his D.D.D. The human stood next to the couch, arms clasped behind their back and a giddy smile stretching across their face. Asmo could practically feel them vibrating from excitement.

“Ooh, for me? Darling, you shouldn’t have!” He pocketed his phone and gave them his full attention. “What is it?”

They held out their hands, revealing the treasure they had been hiding. “Ta-da!”

Asmo carefully picked up the chain from their palms. Dangling from the end of it was a small bottle, wrapped carefully in wire and turned into a pendant. Tiny, translucent pink stones sat inside, nestled in a layer of salt and herbs. The magic surrounding it was faint, as most human witchery was, but it was so uniquely them that Asmo could just about cry.

“Oh, darling, you made me a love charm!” he exclaimed, immediately slipping the necklace on. “It’s so cute! I love it, thank you so much!”

The human smiled. “I’m glad! I wasn’t sure what to do with the rose quartz, but I knew you would love them, so I figured I would make you something! Not that I really think a love charm would work on you, but I figured you would appreciate the aesthetic.”

Asmo laughed, reaching forward to cup the side of their face gently. “You don’t need to use a love charm on me, darling. I’m already captivated by you.” His other hand came up to touch the pendent resting against his collarbone. “This will just serve as a reminder of how spellbound you’ve made me.”

Beelzebub: When they had first described themself as a “kitchen witch,” Beel had thought that they meant they were a really good cook.

And while that was true, they also were literally a kitchen witch.

“Basil for protection...oregano to ward off negative magic...there, that should do it.”

To Beel, it just looked like they were making pasta. Which was never a bad thing. But they chose which herbs to season it with such intention and purpose, Beel knew it was more than that.

“Do herbs really have magic?” he asked, leaning on the counter next to the stove while the human worked on magic dinner. “I’ve never thought of them as particularly magical.”

“It’s more of a human thing,” they said, sprinkling the last of the oregano over the pot of sauce. “We don’t get the flashy sparks and all that, so we had to develop our own magic.”

“Hm…” Beel regarded the pot with curiosity. “Is that why your cooking is so good?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” they laughed, swatting at his hand as he slowly approached the pot. “You aren’t sneaky, Beel.”

“Can I just have a taste?”

“Your ‘taste’ is drinking the whole pot like it’s soup.” they rolled their eyes. “I haven’t even started cooking it yet! It’s cold!”

Beel pouted, looking every bit the kicked puppy. “But I want to taste your magic.”

“You can taste my magic when dinner’s ready.”

Belphegor: On nights when he couldn’t sleep, Belphie usually ended up with the human.

Sometimes it was just him wiggling his way into their bed and cuddling with them until he felt sleepy. But tonight, it looks like they were sharing a case of insomnia.

So that was how he ended up sitting on the human’s floor with his hand in their lap as they studied it like it was a textbook.

“So? What do the squiggly lines of destiny tell you about me?”

“That you’re a little bitch.” they shot back, running their thumb over the center of his palm. “You have a lot of crosses on your heart line.”

“Which means?”

“You’re emotionally fucked up.”

Belphie snorted. “I could have told you that one.”

“You’re the one who came in here and wanted to see some human magic, I don’t want to hear any complaining.” they let go of his hand. “The only reason I’m breaking out the salt and candles is to banish your demonic ass from my room.”

“You know that only works on lesser demons.”

“Anything will work as banishment if I throw it hard enough.”

Diavolo: This...felt kind of pointless, honestly.

They knew it was mainly because of Diavolo’s obsession with human culture. But doing a Tarot reading for the Crown Prince of Hell seemed like a waste of everyone’s time.

Well, regardless, a summons from Diavolo was not to be ignored, so they had dutifully gathered up their cards and made their way to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

“You know,” they began hesitantly. “If you want to know the future, you have a time-manipulating butler right there.”

Barbatos, ever watchfully, chuckled and inclined his head. “My Lord is fascinated by human methods of divination.”

“It’s true,” Diavolo nodded. “Tarot especially has always piqued my interest, but very rarely do I have time to indulge with the other witches who visit the Devildom.”

....Oh, they really couldn’t say no to the hopeful gleam in his eye. A man that large had no right to look that cute.

“Alright,” they handed him the deck of cards. It looked hilariously small in his hands. “Go ahead and shuffle them.”

“Oh, I get to do it?”

“If you want,” they shrugged. “I usually have whoever is being read for do the shuffling, so the deck can get a feel for their energy. Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“No, this is exciting!” He really did look like he was having fun. “How many should I draw?”

“Just one, and we can go from there.”

With a focus that might have been a bit too intense, Diavolo began shuffling. He handled the deck carefully, which made them happy. So many people were rough with the cards, and they were always worried they were going to get ruined.

“Alright.” Diavolo laid a card face down on the table between them. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He was being dramatic, but they couldn’t help but play along. What was the harm in a little bit of fun? They flipped the card face up and let out a startled chuckle.

The Devil.

“Did you do that on purpose?” they asked, laughter dripping from their voice.

“No, honest!” Diavolo was laughing too. “What does the Devil card mean?”

“It means my deck has a sense of humor.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo

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superwings-cultural · 2 years

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Architecture and Monuments: Tower of Pisa - Italy

The Leaning Tower of Pisa (Italian: torre pendente di Pisa), or simply, the Tower of Pisa, is the campanile, or freestanding bell tower, of Pisa Cathedral. It is known for its nearly four-degree lean, the result of an unstable foundation. The tower is one of three structures in the Pisa's Cathedral Square (Piazza del Duomo), which includes the cathedral and Pisa Baptistry.

The height of the tower is 55.86 metres from the ground on the low side and 56.67 m on the high side. The width of the walls at the base is 2.44 m. Its weight is estimated at 14,500 tonnes . The tower has 296 or 294 steps; the seventh floor has two fewer steps on the north-facing staircase.

The tower began to lean during construction in the 12th century, due to soft ground which could not properly support the structure's weight. It worsened through the completion of construction in the 14th century. By 1990, the tilt had reached 5.5 degrees. The structure was stabilized by remedial work between 1993 and 2001, which reduced the tilt to 3.97 degrees.

Construction of the tower occurred in three stages over 199 years. On 5 January 1172, Donna Berta di Bernardo, a widow and resident of the house of dell'Opera di Santa Maria, bequeathed sixty soldi to the Opera Campanilis petrarum Sancte Marie. The sum was then used toward the purchase of a few stones which still form the base of the bell tower. On 9 August 1173, the foundations of the tower were laid. Work on the ground floor of the white marble campanile began on 14 August of the same year during a period of military success and prosperity.

The tower began to sink after construction had progressed to the second floor in 1178. This was due to a mere three-metre foundation, set in weak, unstable subsoil, a design that was flawed from the beginning. Construction was subsequently halted for almost a century, as the Republic of Pisa was almost continually engaged in battles with Genoa, Lucca, and Florence. This allowed time for the underlying soil to settle. Otherwise, the tower would almost certainly have toppled.

On 23 February 1260, Guido Speziale, son of Giovanni Pisano, was elected to oversee the building of the tower. On 12 April 1264, the master builder Giovanni di Simone, architect of the Camposanto, and 23 workers went to the mountains close to Pisa to cut marble. The cut stones were given to Rainaldo Speziale, worker of St. Francesco. In 1272, construction resumed under Di Simone. In an effort to compensate for the tilt, the engineers built upper floors with one side taller than the other. Because of this, the tower is curved. Construction was halted again in 1284 when the Pisans were defeated by the Genoese in the Battle of Meloria.

The seventh floor was completed in 1319. The bell-chamber was finally added in 1372. It was built by Tommaso di Andrea Pisano, who succeeded in harmonizing the Gothic elements of the belfry with the Romanesque style of the tower. There are seven bells, one for each note of the musical major scale. The largest one was installed in 1655.

There's 7 bells who was tuned to musical scale, clockwise, their names are in order: L'Assunta, Crocifisso, Ranieri, La Terza, La Pasquereccia or La Giustizia, Vespruccio and Dal Pozzo.

About the 5th bell: The name Pasquareccia comes from Easter, because it used to ring on Easter day. However, this bell is older than the bell-chamber itself, and comes from the tower Vergata in Palazzo Pretorio in Pisa, where it was called La Giustizia (The Justice). The bell was tolled to announce executions of criminals and traitors, including Count Ugolino in 1289. A new bell was installed in the bell tower at the end of the 18th century to replace the broken Pasquareccia.

The circular shape and great height of the campanile were unusual for their time, and the crowning belfry is stylistically distinct from the rest of the construction. This belfry incorporates a 14 cm correction for the inclined axis below. The siting of the campanile within the Piazza del Duomo diverges from the axial alignment of the cathedral and baptistery of the Piazza del Duomo.

#super wings #super wings cultural #cultural history #ancient monument #historical monuments #cultural monument

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wolffe-simp · 3 years

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Heart Of A Wolf

This is just a random thought I had and may make it into a series, not sure yet but I hope you enjoy. This is a 3am thing, so it may not be as good as it could be.

Translation :

Evaar'la wolf means young wolf

Buir means Father

Jedi Master Plo Koon must face the past when an unexpected arrival at the Jedi Temple causes certain events to unfold and Commander Wolffe is entrusted with his Generals most important possession.

The force works in mysterious ways, it lives in every creature, big and small, taking many shapes and forms among the vast populations of living organisms. But it was not the force that had brought you to the Jedi temple on Coruscant, it was fear of the darkness that had followed you halfway across the universe, nipping at your heels as you ran away. Everything that had been, everything you knew was gone, now ashes on a planet that many had overlooked and forgotten.

Ever since you had landed on Coruscant, you had made your way to the temple, your mind focused on one task, to find the one person who would be able to help you in your time of need. Now you stood, staring up at the towering structure of the Jedi Temple, the setting sun bathing its stone walls in a warm glow, like a beacon of light, like a beacon of hope. Taking a deep breath, you made your way over to some temple guards who were stationed at the entrance, they watched you as you approached, observing your every movement to ensure you weren't a threat.

"Sorry, but no civilians are allowed inside the temple without permission from the Jedi or other personnel." One stated when you stopped in front of them.

"I've heard, but I need to find someone. A Jedi who has this emblem,its important." You replied, pulling a small necklace from your pocket, a wolf head pendent dangling from the chain.

The guards seemed slightly taken aback by the sight of the necklace, they shared a look between each other, seeming to have a silent conversation before finally moving to let you pass. Two of them followed alongside you as you entered the temple, leading you down a few halls, already you had lost your way and you wondered how they remembered what hall led to where. You received many looks from passersby, temple workers, clones and even a few Jedi themselves. After a while, the guards stopped you outside a pair of double doors, asking you to stay put while they went inside to sort things out.

You watched as they disappeared, shuffling awkwardly in the empty corridor, alone once again. You turned to the open windows, deciding to sit on the ledge of one while you waited, the city of Coruscant spread out before your eyes. It was so different to what you had known, there were no open fields of green, no birdsongs to coax you from sleep, no rushing rivers to guide you home when you lost your path. It made you feel small, as if you were a child again but now you did feel lost, lost in the vastness of the galaxy.

It seemed like forever when the doors of the room finally slid open, you expected the guards to come out and tell you to leave but instead, you were greeted by the figure of a Kel Dor. You slowly got up from your seat, nervously playing with the necklace in your pocket , you opened and closed your mouth, trying to find something to say. Yet you couldn't find your voice, eyes downcast to stare at the floor as if were suddenly the most interesting thing in the galaxy. Did he remember you? Was he even aware of who you were? or of where you came from. Would he even believe you? You were so conflicted, your mind was too loud for you to even think clearly, every thought making your chest tighten with fear and anxiety.

"Evaar'la wolf"

The words made tears well in your eyes, the memory of the name spoken softly to you as a child suddenly swam in your mind, a younger version of yourself clinging to the side of the Kel Dor as you drifted to sleep.

"Buir." You whimpered, flinging yourself at him, arms winding around his waist in an embrace.

Despite being watched, Plo Koon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as you cried softly into his chest. It had been many years since he had seen you, many years since he had left you in the care of your mother to continue his life as a Jedi. He remembered the few times he had seen you, never truly having a stable presence in your life. You were two by the time he first held you and you were five when he had last held you in his arms and you had cried like you did now, clinging to him like he would suddenly vanish and he had. He always wished you would understand why he had done what he had once you had grown. Now you were here, a young woman, as beautiful as her mother. Your lack of resemblance to him had always put him at ease, making him hope you could have a peaceful life without being ridiculed by some for being the child of two species. You were Mandalorian, like your mother, but you had his heart and spirit.

"Come now, young one."

He kept his voice soft as he let you go, guiding you into the room he had been occupying only moments before. You huddled into his side, greeted by the eyes of a few clones and what looked like two other Jedi. Plo Koon took you over to a create for you to sit on, along with two clones wearing grey and white armour, they were two of three that wore it, the last standing not so far away. You sniffled softly, feeling your father wipe away a few of your tears before turning his attention to the others in the room.

"Obi-wan, Anakin. If I may ask, would you do me the favour of rescheduling the meeting until tomorrow morning?"

"Of course Master Plo, I believe more important matters need to be tended to." Obi-wan replied, bowing his head respectfully before leaving the room with the Anakin and their clones.

The other clones stayed, looking towards their general for orders to leave but none came, so they were left to watch as Master Plo Koon crouched in front of the girl that had called him father. The clones were use to the caring side of their general, he treated them equally and fairly, making them feel like they were more than just numbers from a cloning facility. Yet it felt different now, as if he was treading in uncertain territory.

"You are a long way from home, young one."

"Home is gone father." Your voice trembled as you spoken, filled with sadness. "Its all gone, home, mother, everything."

"What happened?" One of the clones asked, his hair cut into two rows, savage scars running down the right side of his face and his amber eyes watching you closely.

Silence feel over the room, the words dying in your throat. You didn't know how to explain it, maybe they would think it was all your fault and your father would hate you for getting your mother killed. You knew the laws of the Jedi about attachments but you knew he cared for your mother nonetheless. You didn't want your father to see you like this, weak and broken, you weren't a damsel in distress but you needed him now more than ever.

"It started with the nightmares, mother said it was just my imagination running wild. I saw the forests set ablaze, the animals trapped among the flames, mother calling for me and then everything fading into nothingness, it all felt so real. It was the same dream, every night until my name day. Instead of the normal dream, a wolf came to me, telling me it was time to embrace my destiny and to allow the force to guide me down the path presented to me. It was the same day the separatist invaded our home, searching for something."

They listened to every word you said, even though you didn't go into detail, they were able to understood what had happened, Plo Koon more than the clones.

"It is possible, that a spirit of the force was able to contact you and warn you of the coming danger." Plo Koon hummed.

He stood up, stroking his masked chin in thought as he paced for a moment. To attack your home, to attack you and your mother in a place so far from the war was a concerning matter, one be would have to bring to the council as he sensed something else was at play. Right now, he was just happy that you were alive and thanked the force that you had found him.

"Commander Wolffe, I require a audience with the council. I trust you to keep my daughter safe until further notice."

"Yes General." The clone in question nodded briskly, saluting your father.

You shared a look with your father, knowing the unvoiced question and nodding. You would be fine without him for a few more hours, you had commander Wolffe to look after you so hopefully no harm would befall you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within the long hours you spent with Wolffe after your fathers departure, you had managed to become quite close with the other two clones, Boost and Sinker. They had made it their mission to ensure you felt better, every small giggle of smile encouraging them to do better until your mind was rid of the thoughts that invaded your mind. Sometimes, they would get to far with their jokes and almost hurt themselves or potentially you, which meant Wolffe would have to intervene and tell them to reel it in.

Eventually, the two headed off to what they called 79's while Wolffe took you to his office to he could keep an eye on you while he finished some work. Sinker and Boost had invited you to go along with them but Wolffe declined their offer for you as he didn't want you to be overwhelmed with the likely bombardment of questions from other clones after his drunk Vod let loose that you are Master Plo Koon's daughter.

You sat in the chair opposite Wolffe, looking around at his plain, bland office with a look of empathy, you had heard of how badly clones were treated. He was a soldier and yet, he couldn't even get a decent office because of how people looked down on him. You sighed softly, crossing your legs and adjusting yourself in your chair, trying to keep yourself somewhat entertains now Sinker and Boost were no longer around.

"I like your scar."

Wolffe looked at you in shock, he was halfway through one of his datapads. He had suspected there would be some small talk, but he hadn't expected you to make a statement as bold as that, especially about the one thing he himself, felt very subconscious about.

"Thank you." He mumbled in return. "Though, it scares a few people."

"Of course it scares them." You scoffed. "The people who sit back and relax while you fight their war, are scared by your sacrifice to make their world a better place."

Wolffe stared, from the crying girl he had met only hours ago, you had suddenly become another version of his general. He hadn't expected you to be so caring towards him despite the reason you had ended up here. He could still seen the pain in your eyes but he could also see a small spark, hidden deep in the depths of your iris. He had been sceptical of you at first, merely out of wanting to protect his general and his brothers from a possible trap from the separatists, after all, you could be someone in disguise, the Jedi had done something similar themselves with Kenobi.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Wolffe reassured you, gracing you with a rare half smile. "Not many see us the way you and Master Plo do."

"Dad has always seen people for who they are, rather than what they are. Life is the right of all beings after all, we have no control over how we are created so we shouldn't be judged by our places of origin."

"Whats your place of origin?" Wolffe asked before he could stop himself.

"My origins are a planet far from here, where a Mandalorian went to hid from her people, outcasted and branded a witch for her shapeshifting ability. A woman who saved a Kel Dor from a crashed ship and nursed him back to heal and in return, he gifted her a child, so she would no longer be alone. A child with the heart of a wolf and the spirit of a Jedi."

You smiled at one another, continuing to chat into the late ours of the night, talking about anything that came to mind. Eventually, you fell asleep in your chair while Wolffe explained a story about how Boost had eaten a spicy fruit from of of the planets they had visited. Wolffe chuckled softly at your sleeping form, moving to scoop you up in his arms. He carried you bridal style to his general quarters and tucked you into bed, knowing Master Plo Koon will be a few hours more and would likely take the couch. Until Plo Koon arrived, Wolffe took a chair and sat it outside the door, his blaster in hand, ready for any threat that might come for you.

#star wars #clone wars #jedi master #plo koon #commander wolffe #kenobi #sith #jedi #shapeshifter #reader insert #original character

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zebransofficial · 2 months

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Gifts that Speak Love: 5 Romantic Gestures for Her

In a world brimming with materialistic offerings, it's often the heartfelt gestures that resonate most deeply in the realm of romance. When words fall short, expressions of love through thoughtful gifts can speak volumes. At Zebrans, we understand the language of love and curate a selection of exquisite pieces that encapsulate the essence of romance. From delicate pendants to elegant earrings, each item is crafted to convey affection and admiration. In this blog, we unveil five romantic gestures for her, each accentuated by our handpicked collection.

Zebrans Golden White Heart Pendant Minimal

The timeless symbol of love, a heart-shaped pendant, adorned with delicate details, speaks directly to the soul. Our Golden White Heart Pendant Minimal encapsulates purity and devotion. Crafted with precision and finesse, this elegant piece exudes sophistication while symbolizing the depth of your affection. Whether as a token of appreciation or a declaration of love, this pendant is sure to capture her heart.

Zebrans Double Side Color Pendant With SS Gold Color Chain

For a gesture as unique as your love, consider our Double Side Color Pendant with SS Gold Color Chain. This exquisite piece combines versatility with elegance, featuring a reversible design to suit her mood. Crafted with attention to detail, the vibrant colors symbolize the myriad hues of your relationship. Paired with a gold color chain, this pendant radiates warmth and affection, making it the perfect embodiment of your enduring bond.

Zebrans Long Tassel Chain Earring For Women

Elevate her style and sweep her off her feet with our Long Tassel Chain Earring for Women. Exuding grace and sophistication, these earrings add a touch of glamour to any ensemble. The delicate tassels sway with her every movement, symbolizing the fluidity and beauty of your relationship. Whether for a romantic evening or a casual outing, these earrings serve as a constant reminder of your love and devotion.

Zebrans Snake Stainless Steel Kada

Embrace the mystique of love with our Snake Stainless Steel Kada. Symbolizing eternity and resilience, the serpent motif embodies the unwavering strength of your bond. Crafted from high-quality stainless steel, this kada exudes durability and longevity, mirroring the enduring nature of your love. With its sleek design and timeless appeal, this accessory serves as a testament to the depth of your commitment.

Zebrans Multi-Color Stone Pendant Minimal

Infuse her world with color and vibrancy with our Multi-Color Stone Pendant Minimal. Featuring an array of captivating gemstones, this pendant celebrates the diversity and richness of your relationship. Each stone represents a cherished moment or memory, woven together to create a tapestry of love. With its minimalist design and captivating hues, this pendant captures her attention and ignites her imagination, reminding her of the kaleidoscope of emotions you share.

In the language of love, gestures speak louder than words. At Zebrans, we believe in celebrating romance in all its forms, from grand gestures to subtle expressions. Our curated collection of gifts is designed to evoke emotion and create lasting memories. Whether you're celebrating a milestone or simply expressing your love, let our exquisite pieces serve as a reflection of your affection. With each gesture, may you continue to strengthen the bond that unites you, one timeless moment at a time.

So why wait? Surprise her with a token of your love today and let your gestures speak volumes.

#Zebrans Multi-Color Stone Pendant Minimal #Zebrans Snake Stainless Steel Kada #Zebrans Long Tassel Chain Earring For Women #Zebrans Double Side Color Pendant With SS Gold Color Chain #Zebrans Golden White Heart Pendant Minimal #online shopping #women accessories #best artificial jewellery online #artificialjewellery #online store #bangles #pendent set #Heart shape locket with chain

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fleckcmscott · 3 years

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Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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sunshine-apprentice · 3 years

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Masked: Aftermath

(Azul and Nanami belong to @azulsartdump and Marsella is @/sthikaru)

A week went by after the identity of the dancer from the masquerade was revealed as Carnation. It was the evening of the rushed talent show when anything happened again. The duet was sitting backstage waiting in between rehearsal and the actual performance in front of the student body when they were approached.

"Luciole, Reine da Son Cœur," Rook cooed as he came to a stop, "I have been requested to deliver these to you both." He handed each a bundle of flowers. To the red head a bouquet of red camellias and gardenias bound together with a purple silk ribbon. For the lantern shark white tulips and purple hyacinths tied together with a simple white ribbon with a small apple charm. Two sets of brown eyes look at the flowers with scrutiny.

"Who sent these?" Vectra quirked an eyebrow at the deliverer.

"I'm not to disclose that, but the answer is there," the blond smiled, bowed, and walked away. The pink haired student gently sniffed one of the flowers with a slight smile.

"Like 'em?" They nodded at their friend's question. "Do you know what flower language is?"

"Flowers have a language?"

"Sort of. Each type and color of flower has different meanings and different ways of getting them mean something. Like if you receive a flower of bouquet upside down it means the opposite of what the flowers mean."

"Oh, that's interesting! Do you know what these ones mean?"

"For mine, it's from someone in love. Yours is more interesting, it's an apology. I imagine it's from one of those guys involved in that stupid race."

Slender fingers delicately traced the soft petals of the flowers, a conflicted look on their face. 'An apology,' they thought and looked at the two bouquets 'probably that guy from Pomefiore.'

"Where should we keep these during the show?"

"I mean there's the dressing rooms, we could keep them in there with our stuff for now," she explained after a moment of thinking. They nodded to her and they both walked back to the dressing room to put their bouquets with their bags while waiting for the show to start.

---

Several acts went on before two and the smaller was shaking as their turn got closer and closer. They put their mask on as their time to get on stage approached. The taller of the two reached out and put her hand on their shoulder to reassure them.

"We got this Nation," she smiled confidently. The shark took a deep breath and nodded at their companion. The performer before them left the stage and they could hear the crowd clapping. Once the students calmed down the duet was called onto the stage.

The two stood some distance apart and both looked down. Everyone was quiet before the background music came on for them. Vectra started to sing the first couple lines before being joined by Carnation. As the music began to pick up the two began to dance with each other which caused some cheers from the crowd. The two continued to perform happily singing, dancing, and occasionally doing flips.

Everyone in the crowd seemed to throughly enjoy their act and soon they were finished. The students all cheered loudly as the two bowed, breathing heavily. They saw their group of friends standing as they clapped and whistled. It took a good minute before things began to calm down and they both left the stage. They returned to the dressing room their bags were in to rest and get something to drink.

When they walked in there were more gifts around their things, most were flowers. Bouquets for the red head were mostly red and pink roses in tissue paper wraps. There were some little notes in her flowers, but she didn't bother looking at them after reading the first and getting annoyed. She also got a narrow box that contained a thin silver necklace with a dove pendent lined with a type of clear stone. The merfolk got a small bouquet of white camellias and white tulips being held by a plushie dog as well as a beaded bracelet with a fang shaped pendent.

"I bet these are also apology gifts," Carnation muttered with a sigh and looked at the pile of flowers that their friend got. Vectra put her hand on their shoulder and gave a soft smile.

"You don't need to forgive them just because of the gifts. It's your life you do what you want, and if that is helping me throw this necklace into the ocean later then you do that, but make sure it's what you choose." The speech made them smile and laugh slightly. She continued to try to help them feel better as the show went on.

---

The talent show finished with the duet getting second place as favorite. The two met up with their friends, gifts in hand, only to see more flowers from each. A single orange rose and yellow rose from Marsella and Nanami to each. Erik handed Vectra a bouquet of chrysanthemums and sunflowers before tucking a white carnation behind the lantern shark's ear.

"You both did great." He smiled with affection to both.

"Thanks Erik," the knight said giving him a weird look. The prince mouthed 'good luck' to his childhood friend causing her to nod. The merfolk was then enveloped in a hug, they look up to see Azul beaming at them.

"You did great I'm so proud of you both. Now, I'm treating us all to dinner, should we drop off all your stuff first?" the fae asked before pulling away from the embrace. The two nodded and the group of six headed off towards Octavinelle.

"Hey Carnation, I would like to talk to you about something kinda important soon, okay. We don't need to talk right this second, but before the next school break." The Diasomnia student pulled the first year aside to talk to them before the two start walking with the rest of the group.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #carnation lumiere #vectra schmee #twst rook #nanami #marsella #erik hansen #azul attwood

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aurumacadicus · 5 years

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Hohoho ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You remember this post? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I do. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

As soon as Rokgar accepts Tony’s deal, Tony gets ushered from the large tent as Rokgar turns back to the group of—his underlings? Generals? Tony isn’t sure how things work in… this. Rokgar was a feared warlord, but there were also pretty terrifying rumors about the others in his group, like the Widower, Nailata; or the White Fang; or the fearsome Scarlet Witch. Tony wonders if they defer to Rokgar because he’s more dangerous and fearsome, or if they just didn’t want the responsibility themselves.

It doesn’t matter, he decides grimly. He hasn’t promised his body to any of them in return for revenge against those who had murdered his family and taken over his kingdom.

Tony is led to a smaller tent a good distance away, and when he pauses outside, the men escorting him point at the door flap. “I’m staying here?” Tony asks dumbly. When they stare at him blankly in response, he points at himself and then at the tent. “Me? In here?”

Eventually the guards seem to understand, and they nod.

Tony shuffles nervously, then firms his resolve and straightens his shoulders; he’ll be staying here for quite some time, so it would be foolish to be scared of the inevitable. He pulls the flap aside and steps inside. The guards don’t follow him in, so he decides to take all the time he likes looking around.

It’s small, but there are rich tapestries hung up, and glittering jewels, and brightly colored feathers bunched together. This must be Rokgar’s tent, and these are the tributes paid to him, or things he’s earned for his battle prowess. Tony stares up at some blue stones. They look a lot like the pendent Rokgar still held. Tony wondered if he’d keep it forever. He hadn’t looked entirely enthused when Tony had handed it over, but a deal was a deal.

Tony notices something in the corner of his eye and turns. There’s what looks like an expansive platform set up in one corner, covered in thick, luxurious furs. Tony approaches it, reaching out to touch the furs with shaking fingers. He wonders if Rokgar will take him on them, or if he’ll insist on using him on the ground so they aren’t dirtied. He wonders if he should tell someone he knows how to clean things—it’s one of the few things he learned from Jarvis that he was actually passable at. Maybe Rokgar would take him on the furs if he said he could clean them.

Tony snatches his hand back and looks around the tent again. Would it be presumptuous to sit on the bed? There aren’t any other places to sit. Tony gets the impression that Rokgar doesn’t take guests in his tent—that was what the bigger tent was for. Rokgar probably only… only brought bedmates in here. Tony’s breath hitches. If Rokgar decides to bed someone else, where is he supposed to go? Is he just supposed to stay here and watch, or would he be sent to wait outside, so everyone could see him out there, knowing that Rokgar had found someone he preferred? Tony swallows thickly. Perhaps he should have bargained more, to at least be given a modicum of respect—

A hand comes down around the back of his neck, and Tony whimpers in fear even as he sags underneath it. The hand retreats almost immediately, and he turns to find Rokgar standing there with his hands up placatingly, and he even takes a step back when he sees Tony has seen him.

Tony takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks up at him. “I—” he begins, then realizes Rokgar won’t understand. He looks back down at his feet, shoulders sagging. Suddenly his lot feels even more daunting; if Rokgar hurts him, will he even be able to tell him? Would it matter? Would Rokgar stop?

He sees Rokgar’s hands coming back into view and has to fight not to take a step back. He’s Rokgar’s to do with as he wishes, after all.

Rokgar says something softly, and he takes the bag out of his hands. Tony lifts his head to stare up at him, uncomprehending, and Rokgar offers him a small smile. He pats the bag twice, then points at a wooden chest in the corner of the tent. Once Tony has looked at it, he pats the bag again.

Tony turns to look up at him again. “You want to put my things away?”

Rokgar moves the bag in the direction of the wooden chest and says a word, something like ‘kepkep,’ and then offers the bag back to him.

“You want me to put my things away?” Tony asks, and then when Rokgar just raises his eyebrows at him expectantly, he turns and walks over to the wooden chest. He pauses with his hand hovering over the lid, turning to look at Rokgar unsurely, but the taller man simply nods, encouraging. Tony takes that as permission and turns back to the chest, opening it.

It’s filled with what looks like very nice clothes. Tony blinks down at it, stunned. The clothes Rokgar is wearing are plain, covered in thick hide—armor, perhaps. And this is all very lovely. Tony looks at his bag, unsure, because he’d been traveling an awfully long time and the dusts of his travel hadn’t been kind to him. He looks back at Rokgar.

“Kepkep,” Rokgar said, waving encouragingly at the chest again.

Tony looks back down at it, then settles his bag in the corner, hoping it won’t get the fine fabric too dirty. Then he closes the chest and turns to look at Rokgar again.

“Lis. Lis,” Rokgar says, and waves him back over.

Tony comes back over, more on the visual cue than the actual word. Rokgar looks pleased, though, so he thinks he can safely assign the meaning of ‘lis’ as ‘come.’

Rokgar looks him up and down slowly, and Tony feels cold sweat forming at the base of his spine even as the hands that touch his shoulder, his cheek just gently graze him. Finally, Rokgar says, “Nntoyee.”

Tony blinks up at him, confused. “What?”

“Nntoyee,” Rokgar says again, and gently touches his chest. “Nntoyee.”

“Nntoyee?” Tony repeats, absolutely baffled.

Rokgar smiles at him and taps his chest again. “Nntoyee.”

Tony stares down at Rokgar’s fingers on his chest, trying desperately to comprehend. “Nntoyee.” He looks back up at him. “Is that supposed to be my name? Are you saying ‘Anthony?’”

“Nntoyee!” Rokgar repeats cheerfully and nods.

“No,” Tony chokes out. “It’s not—not even close.” He looks back down at Rokgar’s hand, then looks back up at him. “You can probably say ‘Tony’ better.” He pats his own chest. “Tony. Can you say that? Tony.”

Rokgar frowns at him, and then his brows furrow together. He purses his lips for a moment, then opens his mouth, slowly piecing out, “Toyny.”

“Well, it’s closer than Nntoyee,” Tony mumbles, and then lets the corner of his mouth turn up. “Yes, Rokgar. Tony.”

Rokgar smiles for a moment, obviously pleased with himself, before he parses at least the sounds Tony had made and frowns again. He pats his own test. “Thiiv.”

Tony is glad they got this out of the way with his name, because Rokgar’s is a lot more difficult for his own tongue. He’s suddenly a lot more sympathetic about Nntoyee and Toyny. “S. St,” he begins.

Rokgar rolls his eyes, looking amused, and reaches up to grab his face, squeezing his cheeks so his lips purse. “Th-i-i-v,” he repeats slowly.

“Sthev,” Tony tries.

“Iiiiiv,” Rokgar annunciates.

Tony’s brows furrow together, and eventually he sighs. “Stheve?” he tries helplessly.

Rokgar seems to consider this, and then he just shrugs, looking amused, much like Tony had when he’d figured Toyny was close enough. “Stheve,” he agrees, relaxing his grip, brushing his thumb over his cheek as if in apology for it.

Tony almost leans into it, but then he remembers where they are, what they’ve agreed to, and he becomes a bundle of nerves again. He’s played around before, shared kisses with a few people, but never done more than pet feverishly over underclothes. Jarvis and Ana had always said to wait for commitment for that. Rokgar—Thiiv, he seems to be touching him so gently, but so much could go wrong.

“Stheve,” he begins nervously. Thiiv leans back, looking at him intensely with those blue eyes of his, and Tony feels naked even under his layers of clothes. Tony swallows thickly. Then he yelps as Thiiv grabs his waist and lifts him onto the bed platform. The fur is soft underneath him, taking the brunt of the action, but it still knocks his breath out of him a little. “Oh!”

Thiiv looks at him a little longer, licking his lips, before he seems to shake himself. He climbs onto the bed beside him, and he wrestles one of the furs out from under them to cover them. Tony squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for those big hands to cover him again, but Thiiv just curls his arm around his waist and pulls him close, plastering Tony’s back to his front from shoulder to thigh. Thiiv lets out a low, deep sigh and settles behind him.

Tony waits a moment for Thiiv to paw at him, but then he realizes that he’s still doing those low, deep breaths. “Stheve,” he asks. “Are you asleep?” When he gets no response, he turns his head a little. He has to look forward again very quickly and clap his hands over his mouth so he doesn’t laugh. Thiiv’s asleep. He just laid down like Tony was his childhood toy and fell asleep. He can’t believe it. All this worrying and Thiiv had just immediately passed out. Incredible.

.-.-.-.

It takes three days for Tony to realize they’re not giving his dagger back.

He scurries around the camp trying to find someone who speaks his language, but they’re all busy packing up tents and putting them in travois and carts. They were clearly getting ready to move and so had no time for someone who wasn’t going to pull his weight. He doesn’t hear anyone saying words he understands, either, so it’s not like stopping and asking them would help.

Luckily, he eventually finds Sam, and he waits until Sam takes a break before approaching him.

“Anthony,” Sam greets when he notices him.

“Sam,” Tony says, and then, “I don’t know how to ask,” and, “It means a lot to me, so—”

“Slow down,” Sam orders. “What is it?”

“My dagger,” Tony explains. “My—my knife. I’d like it back.”

Sam looks both impressed and annoyed with his gall. “You lie with Thiiv. You cannot have it back.”

“But,” Tony begins, distressed.

“Until you can be trusted, you cannot have it,” Sam tells him sternly.

Tony wants to press, but Sam turns back to work, and all Tony can do is huddle off to the side, feeling useless and hurt and devastated that he’d lost more than he’d realized.

.-.-.-.

Tony wonders if Thiiv will live long enough to help him avenge his parents.

Nailata is smacking at Thiiv and yelling at him. She looks incensed. Thiiv tries to put Sam between them but Sam just shouts something and scrambles away, looking terrified. Nailata’s shouts take on a truly screeching pitch as she grabs Thiiv by the shoulders and shakes him.

Tony wonders if this is a coup or just a squabble between two strong personalities. People had turned and looked at them when Nailata’s screaming had started, but when they didn’t get more physical than Nailata pushing Thiiv around, they’d turned away, uninterested.

Nailata eventually bullies Thiiv over to Tony. She chatters at him angrily, like a cat that sees prey just out of reach, but Tony catches a few words that he recognizes—‘mma,’ for a maternal figure; ‘kykas,’ for betrothal or engagement; ‘tacc’ for dull or useless. Nailata also makes a gesture at her face as she screeches ‘uccor!’ that makes Thiiv blanch as if mortified, but Tony recognizes it as a gesture his mother used to make at his father when talking about their betrothal.

Nailata smacks Thiiv about the head three times before finally allowing him to scuttle away like a chastised puppy, and she shouts after him, shaking a fist. Tony can’t help but stare at her, a little awed.

Nailata notices and turns toward him. She taps the side of her head and raises her eyebrows, even manages a stilted, “O… kay?”

“Okay,” Tony squeaks, because even though it appears to be that she’s on his side, he still can’t understand her and he is also still absolutely terrified of her, especially if she can cow a powerful man like Thiiv.

“Okay,” Nailata agrees, and she smiles before she turns on her heel to stomp away.

“What the hell was that,” Tony whispers, clutching his chest, as he watches her leave.

No one answers, but he hadn’t expected them to, either.

.-.-.-.

Thiiv presents Tony with his dagger, looking contrite. He murmurs something that sounds apologetic. Tony reaches out for it, but Thiiv jerks it back, horrified, and waves at him chidingly, hurrying to turn it so that he’s offering only the hilt.

Tony suddenly sees the dagger has been whetted to the sharpest edge, and he likely would have sliced his hand open if he’d grabbed it as he’d meant to. “Oh,” he says, and draws his hand back. No wonder they didn’t want him to have it.

Thiiv says something quickly, holding the dagger out to him, and finally, distressed, reaches out to put the knife in his hand and curl his fingers around it himself.

“I can have this?” Tony asks, surprised.

Thiiv cups his cheek gently, frowning, and murmurs something else.

Thiiv is surprisingly gentle for being a feared warlord, Tony thinks, as he also offers him a leather sheath for his dagger. He slips it into the sheath obediently, watching the etched rose gold disappear into it until only the jewel-encrusted hilt remains visible. He looks back up at Thiiv. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Thiiv smiles at him. It makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Tony doesn’t know why he finds that charming. Thiiv is a man who has crushed the throats of enemies beneath his boot, but he’s only touched Tony with achingly careful hands. He’ll make someone a good mate someday, Tony thinks, looking back down at his dagger. His father had slipped it to him when his mother had been distracted, fearing what would happen to it if he didn’t survive the coup. If it was in Tony’s hands, he’d feel better about it, even if Tony had to sell pieces of it off to take care of himself; at least that way he’d know it was loved before being destroyed.

Tony had decided as his father had pressed it into his hands that he’d rather die than sell pieces of it off. Maria had proposed to Howard with it, after all. It didn’t seem right to break apart his mother’s engagement gift to her husband.

#ideas #stony #warlord steve #finally getting this engagement dagger in lmao

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- the end is nigh folks. Just a few more chapters. A/n2- So sorry if this feels rushed.)

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6 Chapter7 Chapter8

Chapter 9- Aftermath

“I’ve always been the kind to contemplate But you like the kind that don’t hesitate.” -Steve Moakler, Hesitate

When Y/n got back to her apartment, the first thing she did was call Julie, who unfortunately, didn’t answer her phone. With a heavy sigh, she made her way to her bedroom, getting out of her dress, tossing it to the laundry hamper, narrowly missing. Rummaging through her dresser, Y/n finally pulled out a pair of comfortable shorts and an old college sweater with the letters UCLA printed in bold navy letters at the front. Her hair was still wet from the torrential downpour, but Y/n couldn’t be bothered to plug in the drier. In fact, after the events of earlier that morning, all she wanted to do was bury herself in a mountain of pillows.

Every time she blinked, she could see the hurt look at Keanu wore when she just exploded at his place, like a time bomb that had been just waiting to go off. It had all just happened so fast; him blurting out that he loved her, waiting for her to say something, anything and then those pictures from the restaurant and Keanu admitting that he knew that it was happening all along. How could he?

Sniffing, Y/n finally realized that quiet tears had started trickling down her cheeks and as she plopped onto the sofa, her silent tears turned into body racking sobs. Possibly the best relationship of her life had just crumbled to nothingness.

Beside her, on the sofa, her discarded cell buzzed, and thinking it was Julie getting back to her, Y/n grabbed up the device, only to be disappointed when she saw what it actually was. Bombarding her notifications were texts from old friends and relatives, all asking the same questions, though, in different fashions; “Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing someone?” “You’re dating Keanu Reeves?” “Is that really you in the pictures?”

Of course, attached to their invasive messages, were tabloid articles and social media posts, and without responding, she opened one of the articles, the headlines reading; John Wick Star Keanu Reeves Dotes on Mystery Woman on Valentine’s Day: Check Out the Lucky Lady’s 21 Carat Present! Sure enough, the picture just below the headline was a zoomed in shot of the pendent resting on her chest, next to it, a photo of them kissing just after he had put it on for her. Quickly, with blurred vision, Y/n skimmed the article, that was filled with mostly speculations about how long they had been together and where on earth he could have possibly met a woman that would prompt him to buy a $30,000 necklace for what appeared to be their first Valentine’s together.

“Fuck,” Y/n breathed when she saw the estimated cost of it; it was almost as much as she got paid in a month. Which, arguably was a lot, but still. When Keanu had given it to her, he had said that expensiveness was subjective, which she eventually understood; to him the cost of something like that was barely a dent in his pocket and thus, being able to afford it was less than afterthought. But the writer seemed to have a different take on the issue, insinuating that Y/n had only gone out with him for his money and that she just wanted five minutes of fame.

Before she could get to the end, Y/n heard her front door open and slam, not even bothering to get up to see who it was; there was only one person with a key, and she was very liberal in using it. “Have you read these bullshit articles?” Julie’s voice reached the living room before she could, but soon, she was plopping down on the spot next to Y/n, “I can’t believe these assholes, calling you a gold digger,” Julie scoffed, though when she realized that Y/n was still crying, she pulled her into a hug, “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. These things die down pretty quickly anyway.”

Y/n sniffled, “I know, it’s just....” she was so close to telling Julie what had happened earlier that morning, but Y/n didn’t think she was ready to talk about it, not until she had processed her feelings on her own.

“Just what honey?” Julie probed, passing one hand over Y/n’s tangled hair, while rubbing her back soothingly.

“Nothing,” Y/n shifted, pulling away and wiping her eyes hastily, “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she determined, her tears slowing and her breaths evening.

Julie frowned, slumping her shoulders, “Are you sure? I shouldn’t have to tell you that you can talk to me about anything. Anything,” she took Y/n’s hand, “I’m here for you, always.”

“I know,” Y/n nodded, looking down at their joined hands, her brows knitting when she noticed something that wasn’t there before, “Is this.....what I think it is?” Y/n lifted Julies left hand closer to her face, examining the pink tinted, diamond. The ring, which sat comfortably on Julie’s left ring finger, was gorgeous; the largest, glittering stone set in a rose gold band, flanked by two smaller white diamonds, all no doubt, very real.

Suddenly, Y/n was putting aside her own internal turmoil to squeeze some details out of her best friend, “This is an engagement ring!”

“It is!” Julie returned with the same vigor.

Y/n’s mouth hung open, reddened eyes wide, “You don’t even have a boyfriend!”

Laughing childishly, Julie shook her head, “But now I have a fiancée!”

“Since when?”

Julie just shrugged, “Since about eighteen hours ago,” grabbing Y/n’s hands again, she scooted closer, “Don’t you want to know who he is?”

“Umm, obviously,” she chuckled, and when Julie hesitated, Y/n bounced a bit in her seat, “Come on Jules, tell me.”

“Okay, okay,” she beamed, “It’s Eric Riley. I know you two have never met, but I swear, you’ll love him, he’s such a sweetheart.”

“Jules, hun, isn't that the author you’re working with?” Y/n frowned, her brows furrowing. Julie had only known the man for a couple months, and now they were engaged? They hadn’t even been dating. Between the two, Julie had always been the one willing to take risks in the name of love, but an engagement and possibly marriage? That was a lot, even for her. She didn’t want to see her make a mistake that she might regret, but Y/n didn’t want to dwindle her excitement either. “Sweetie,” she continued, “You’ve only known him for two months, and he proposed last night?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Julie countered, clearly about to try to convince Y/n of otherwise, “But we do love each other. And I know we haven’t been dating, but we have been going out a lot outside of work and I’ve never felt this way about someone,” Julie determined.

Stuttering, Y/n shook her head, standing and heading for the kitchen, deciding that a glass of wine might help her process the whole thing. Julie followed, close on her heels, eyeing Y/n through the corner of her eye as she got a couple glasses out of the cupboard. Wordlessly, Y/n poured them some and it was only after her first sip, did she speak again, “You can’t love someone you barely know Jules.”

Julie scoffed quietly, “Really,” she blinked quickly, as if trying to get rid of gathered tears, “Cause I loved my dad for sixteen fucking years and it turns out that I didn’t now him at all,”

Y/n’s jaw clenched and she involuntarily winced at the memory; when they were sixteen, Julie and her mom found out that her father had another family a couple states over and that his business trips were actually excuses to see them. By the time the news had spread to the rest of their community, he was gone, for good that time. Y/n had been at her friend's side, offering as much as she could and twelve years later, she knew Julie well enough to know that it still hurt like hell. Sighing, Y/n shook her head, “That’s not the same.”

“I know,” Julie agreed, “It’s not, but it means that you can know someone your entire life and still never really know them. Besides, I’ve learnt more about Eric in two months that I did about my dad in sixteen years, and it was enough to make me fall in love with him. Y/n/n,” Julie sighed, “So many people spend months, years even, going through the motions, never skipping a step, and in the end, they still end up with something they never wanted in the first place. And the way I see it; true, real love is already hard enough to come by, do you really think we should waste time putting it through all these tests? Why can’t we just feel the way we feel, for whoever we feel it for?”

Huffing, deep down, Y/n knew Julie was right, and glancing away, she couldn’t help it when her mind ran back to Keanu. Why couldn’t she just let herself feel the way she felt? If Y/n was being honest with herself, she was in love with Keanu, no doubt. Be she was also so scared of the fact; scared that it would make it easier for him to hurt her, scared that they were mistaking lust and infatuation for love, it wasn’t logical and the things she felt when they were together wasn’t something she could easily understand. What if things were going too fast for them to last? What if they were setting themselves up for heartbreak? There were so many ‘what ifs’. Taking another lengthily drag of her wine, Y/n began again, “Because-”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” Julie finished before Y/n could, “You really want to wait around for something to make sense, and risk missing out on something beautiful?”

Tears pinched at Y/n’s eyes, but after a deep breath, she managed to quell her emotions before Julie could notice, her voice almost breaking when she finally admitted, “Maybe you’re right.” Forcing a smile, not wanting to further damper Julie’s moment with the ruins of her imploded relationship, Y/n pulled her into a tight hug, “Congratulations hun.”

Hugging her back just as tightly, Julie thanked her, “I’m so glad you could come around, my wedding would be a bore without my maid of honor.”

When they broke, Y/n and Julie still held each other’s arms, still smiling, Y/n added, “I hope he knows that if he breaks you’re heart, I’ll have to make him disappear.”

Giggling, Julie threw her blond head back, “Don’t worry, I told him. Oh!” She cooed, pulling Y/n into another hug, “I’m so happy!” She squealed, “And isn’t it amazing? We’ve both have these great guys, at the same time!”

Julie couldn’t see it, but Y/n’s fake smile faltered, and she wasn’t half as enthused as Julie when she meekly returned, “Yeah, yeah, I guess we have.”

Two Days Later Y/n sat in her car, the engine of her shiny off-white Range Rover idling. She was already ten minutes late for dinner with Julie and her new beau. Julie had offered to wait until Y/n had gotten home from work and was ready, so they could all go together, but she had declined. And because she had yet to tell her about Saturday afternoon’s incident, and probable break-up, when Julie had also asked if they could turn their introductory dinner into a double date, Y/n summed up some excuse about Keanu having a meeting with his manager.

The truth was that she actually hadn’t spoken to Keanu since that day. Though, Y/n would have liked to think that it was no fault of her own; she had called and texted, but he hadn’t been so inclined to respond. Of course, it stung, but considering that she was the one that walked out, she guessed that he deserved some time to work through it the way she was working through it.

That was what he needed right; time?

Then why did giving it to him feel like she was just making things worse?

Sighing, Y/n fished her cell out of her clutch, pulling up his number and hitting call. It rang, and rang, and rang, until his voicemail came up, and with a huff, Y/n didn’t bother with leaving a message and hung up.

Just as she turned the car off, her phone buzzed and with high hopes, Y/n quickly turned it over in her lap, only to let her shoulders slump when she saw that it was Julie, asking where she was. Hurriedly, Y/n let her know that she was on her way in, locking her car and jogging towards the entrance.

Inside, the hostess, a young woman dressed in black lead Y/n to Julie and Eric’s table just past the bar. “You’re here!” Julie clapped excitedly, standing, along with an attractive man, probably in his mid-thirties dressed in sensible khakis and a pale green sweater.

“I am,” Y/n giggled, pulling Julie into a short hug, “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up with some things at the office,” she lied smoothly. As they pulled away, Y/n offered her hand to Eric, “I’m Y/n.”

“Eric,” he returned with a warm smile, using his free hand to push up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose, something that Y/n quickly registered as a nervous tick, “Pleasure to meet you, Julie talk about you, a lot,” he smiled, returning his hand to the small of Julie’s back as they all sat.

A waiter came, offering them wine, which everyone gratefully accepted and Y/n chortled quietly, “Funny, because I’ve barely heard a thing about you,” she teased, though Eric didn’t seem to find the humor in it and he started stuttering, obviously not sure if Y/n was trying to be mean or funny.

It was strange, Y/n thought; already, Eric didn’t really seem like Julie’s type; she usually went for the kind of guys that were so over-confident that they stole rooms by just walking in, the Adonis types with camera ready smiles and a body that was the product of six days a week spent at the gym; the personal trainers, wanna-be models, and if Y/n remembered correctly, there was even a pro-footballer somewhere in the mix. Of course she’d never call her best friend shallow, but Julie definitely had a type and if one wanted a word for said type, ‘jerk’ perfectly encapsulated it.

But Eric was shaping up to be a pleasantly welcome change of pace; a little shy, bookish, looked at Julie with wide eyes filled with adoration and Y/n was willing to bet all her money that the most outlandish thing he had ever done was proposing to Julie after just two months of knowing her.

Rubbing his arm comfortingly, Julie offered Y/n a playfully scolding stare, interjecting; “What Y/n means is that we haven’t had enough time for me to tell her about you. But this is what tonight is about; my guy,” she pecked his cheek sweetly and he went red up to his ears, “And my gal,” Julie took Y/n’s hand across the table, “Getting to know each other.”

A couple hours later, just before they had called for the check, the three sat, comfortable chatter dominating the table. They had already gone through a bottle and a half of wine, though none of them seemed drunk in the least, but the alcohol did seem to break the ice; warming Y/n a little more to idea of their engagement and helping Eric open up a bit.

A brief break in to conversation when Eric handed over his credit card to the waiter saw Y/n leaning back into her seat, wine glass to her lips, eyeing the couple wistfully; Eric’s arm was draped over the back of Julie’s chair and her head was nestled comfortably in his side. If Keanu were there, Y/n knew that they might have looked just the same.

“What?” Julie knitted her brows, meeting Y/n gaze.

“Nothing,” Y/n shook her head, finishing off her drink, toying with the stem of her now empty glass. Emboldened, Y/n barely hesitated before adding, “You know Eric, when Julie told me you proposed, I was a little worried. But now that we’ve met, if someone is going to propose to my sister after two months, I’m glad you were the one brave enough to do it.”

“What can I say?” Eric chuckled, glancing at Julie, “When you know you know, right? You just need to be willing to take that risk. Besides, Jules is worth any risk.”

As if forgetting that Y/n was there, the two fell into an episode of sweet kisses punctuated by soft giggles and whispered sweet nothings. With Eric’s earlier words and Julie’s little speech from Saturday still swirling around in her head, and seeing them so happy and in love, Y/n couldn’t help but miss Keanu more than ever.

It had only been two days, but still Y/n missed Keanu more than she missed past boyfriends that she had been away from for weeks. And yet there she was, calling phone calls and texts her best shot at reconciliation, just because she was too scared to march up to his house and offer him what she had been too frightened to before.

It had only been three weeks, Y/n didn’t know everything about Keanu, she probably never would, but she did know him enough to love him.

He was worth the risk.

And she had been waiting for something beautiful to make sense.

But what Y/n had only just realized was that the only thing that made sense about her relationship with Keanu was that she loved him. His laugh, the way it felt when they held hands, the warmth she felt down to her toes when they kissed, everything. Y/n loved Keanu, in the truest sense of the word.

She had to fix things.

Standing abruptly, Y/n grabbed up her purse from the table, startling both Julie and Eric. “I have to go,” she offered hurriedly, already searching for her car keys, “It was great to meet you Eric,” Y/n was already walking off, glancing back towards the table.

“But we wanted to tell-”

Y/n cut Julie off, “Uh, I’ll call you.....or something. But I really have to go.”

In no time, Y/n was out of the restaurant, in her car and backing out of the spot. Taking all the shortcuts she could think off, she even came close to crossing the speed limit.

It didn’t take half as long as it would have via the usual route, and twenty minutes later, Y/n was parked on curb, in front of a familiar house. The same one she had left in a frenzy on Saturday, while the rain poured down on all of Los Angeles.

With her heart in her throat, Y/n got out, shoving the door shut and making her way to the front door. Her breaths were ragged with anxiety and her palms were sweaty. Exhaling loudly, she pushed the little silver button; the automatic hum of the doorbell faint from the outside. Not long after, the front lights turned on, bathing her with a bright white warmth. And then, seconds later, the front door was pulled open, revealing Keanu, already in his pajamas; lounge pants and an old t-shirt, his hair messy and renewed hurt painting his handsome features at the sight of her.

Licking his lips, Y/n thought that Keanu looked as if he were contemplating shutting the door but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Swallowing tightly, she willed herself to speak, “Hey,” Y/n croaked and when he looked away without replying, she continued, “Can we talk?”

******

Tagging- @kindainlovewithkeanu @harrisongslimited @a-really-bi-girl @soarocks @baphometwolf666

#Keanu Reeves #Keanu reeves x reader #Keanu reeves x you #Keanu reeves fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick #john wick fanfic #the one that stays #ff #fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 9

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