#it's one of the few frivolities she's allowed herself

[kurogane2512]

I see so many breeding fics with some family-oriented characters like Childe, Arlecchino etc but rarely ever with Signora.... Ya'll can't tell me she wouldn't be into it. Okay, granted she wouldn't want it immediately but HEAR ME OUT

I very much believe she wanted to have a perfect little family with Rostam but ofc it never happened. Then eventually her body lost the functionality (could be due to liquid fire or just ageing as she's literally 500+). Then due to all the tragedy she became completely untouchable as a Harbinger and suppressed these 'maiden' desires but.... what if she starts thinking of them again when she finds new love? UGH IDK I JUST WANNA BREED HER SDOHWOEIFHWF

Fluff + Smut below

Reader has a cock but no gender stated (I imagine g!p but others are also welcome)

It was another cold winter night at Snezhnaya when you returned home from work. You were exhausted and wanted to immediately rest, you opened to door to your room only to be met by an unexpected yet pleasant sight.

"Oh, welcome home, my love~" your partner, Signora, the 8th Harbinger of the Fatui was already back and currently undressing herself in your shared room. You watched her dress slide down her exquisite body as soon as you entered and almost became flustered despite having seen her that way plenty of times by now.

"Ah, sorry, I should have knocked...." you averted your gaze and she simply chuckled before beginning to walk towards you, a small smirk adorning her beautiful face.

"Well, you came back at the perfect time. I was just going to take a bath so...." she paused before sliding her hands down the lapel of your coat and leaning in to whisper seductively, "Care to join in?~"

All the exhaustion from before suddenly vanished as you speedily undressed and walked in the bath together with her. The tub was already filled with warm water, a scented bath wash and rose petals. Signora stepped in first and sat on one edge then pulled you inside and made you sit in her embrace, your back facing her as you comfortably rested back on her body.

You relaxed together as the warm water seeped in your skin and rejuvenated you, complimented by the feeling of your lover's presence and touch. Signora wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her chin on your shoulder followed by planting soft kisses on it, you giggled from the ticklish feeling and she only continued doing that more to tease you.

"How was your day, Rosa?"

"Mm, just the usual.... Jester still doesn't allow me to take field missions, says I need to continue resting and that others are handling them...." she sighed in dejection then cuddled into you.

"Do you feel bad?"

"Certainly, I understand why he says that but it just makes me feel worse...."

She sighed again and embraced you tighter before continuing, "But at the same time, it's not so bad. I get to come home early and spend time with you more~"

She pecked your cheek as you chuckled together. La Signora would have never said that until a few months ago, nothing mattered to her over her mission and Tsaritsa's dream. She was a ruthless and untouchable Harbinger of the Fatui, the people who had sworn their life in service of their Queen. Such frivolous moments of pleasure and indulgence were useless to her, yet she could no longer ignore the feelings rising in her recently.

She pondered about your current situation, the way you were lying in each other's arms in a warm bath with no care of the outside world. Everything felt perfect. She could never picture this scenario for a long time, she knew her life was drastically different. Yet, the bliss and relaxation of this moment caught up to her. She could picture a life with you, living together as any ordinary family even when there was nothing ordinary about you both.

Her thoughts almost scared her, how could she? How could she have these feelings again? She was supposed to have forgotten them, she was supposed to have embraced the pain she suffered and look forward to a future the Tsaritsa promised. But she could no longer ignore the beating of her heart right now as she pictured you both living together somewhere faraway in a little house of your own, with a perfect family of your own....

"Y/n, I wanted to ask something...."

"Hm, what is it?"

She remained silent for some time which caused you become worried, you sat up and turned to face her and saw a rather serious look on her face.

"Rosa? Are you okay?"

She nodded then spoke, "....Have you ever thought of having.... children with me?"

The question surprised you to no end, your eyes becoming wide in shock.

"W-Why this all of a sudden....?"

Her brows furrowed, "Just answer.... Do you want to have a family with me?"

You fumbled on your words, "I-I mean....Uh, y-yes I do but family doesn't necessarily require...c-children, you know?"

"Then.... you don't want children with me?"

"T-That's not what I meant! I-I...." you trailed off and struggled to reply, unsure of what was happening. You looked at her expression which was filled with a strange sense of longing and affection, something you had never seen on her before.

"....Ideally, yes, I would want to have a family with you, a proper family but...."

"But?"

"I know it's not possible and I don't want you to blame yourself or anything, I accepted our situation long ago and am perfectly fine with the way things are...."

Signora's eye widened now; of course, how could she forget? How could she forget the limitations of her own body, one of the many prices she had to pay for her sins. How could she even for a moment think she was deserving of wanting that perfect life?

"R-Rosa, what happened? Why did you ask that?"

You became increasingly worried as she stayed silent and looked down, you had no idea why she had this thought now of all times. You were well aware of everything that had happened to her and how her current condition was, you had accepted it all the moment you fell in love and never thought of anything more. Yes, a perfect family life would indeed be ideal but you never bat an eye to it.

"I...." she finally spoke and looked up to meet your gaze, her eye filled with tears which she held back from falling then suddenly lunged forward to embrace you tightly.

"I imagined that life with you.... living together as a family, away from all these things, doing simple jobs, having children and raising them together....and much more." she confesssed her deepest desires and you were speechless.

"....Did you want all of this in the past? Before.... things turned the way they did?"

"Somewhat. I never pictured it too far but.... I suppose it was the dreams of a young maiden heart who fell in love with a knight, to gaze upon each other and think of a future together...."

Your grip almost tightened hearing that, you understood what she wanted to say.

"But I no longer think of it that way.... I hadn't had these thoughts until recently and now I think of you in them, even if it's not possible anymore...."

She cupped your face and lovingly gazed at you with a small smile before kissing your forehead, "I'm sorry for this, you don't have to brood over it. Just.... think of it as a silly little thought."

She let go of you and proceeded to step out of the tub then dry herself with a towel, you pondered for a moment then stepped out as well and suddenly hugged her from behind.

"....Let's do it then."

Signora was caught by surprise, "What? What are you saying, Y/n?"

"I'm saying let's do it. Let's have the perfect life you want."

"B-But, Y/n—"

"I know, I know what you want to say. And I mean.... let's have that experience at least, that feeling.... Even if in the end nothing would change, we can still experience the feeling a little."

Signora was shocked at your proposition but pondered over it a little before turning around to passionately kiss you, "Yes, let's do it."

The next few moments happened in the blink of an eye as you two made your way over to the bed while kissing and clawing at each other. Neither of you required any prep time, you were needy and desperate enough that she was soaking down her thighs and your cock was throbbing hard. This wasn't going to be your usual session, no matter how passionate and hardcore your previous sessions had been, this was going to be completely different.

"Do it deep and hard, Y/n. Breed me like you mean to, impregnate me like you would!"

She pleaded while holding you close, your cock rubbing against her eager folds. Hearing those words only made you want to do it more, you wanted her to feel what she wanted. You pushed inside soon after, penetrating her hot walls and sliding to her deepest parts. She arched up feeling you push so deeply, her legs dangling over your shoulders to give you the best angle.

You didn't have to be fast, you only wanted her to feel you deeply and understand how much you wanted this. Your thrusts were moderate and controlled but everytime you made an effort to push deeper than before, to explore the spots you had never touched before. Her angelic moans resounded in your ears, your hands fondled her supple breasts and you leaned down to suck her hardned nipple, causing yourself to push deeper.

She gasped at the feeling, your hard and thick member was filling her up so well. It indeed felt different than your previous sessions, perhaps it was really due to the fact that the purpose right now was different. You pushed her legs closer to her chest, folding her in a mating press as you angled even deeper and continued pistoning in and out.

"Yes! Yes! Do it, my love! Cum in me! Give it all to me!"

She chanted her sinful thoughts as if she was lovestruck, you cock splitting her open then suddenly felt a rush of hot and thick liquid fill her insides. She arched up as you filled her up with your seed, pushing in every single drop and ensuring none fell out.

"More! Y/n! Do it more! I want you inside more!"

You needn't be told twice. You flipped her to lay her on the stomach and she automatically stood on all fours and you hilted deep in one go. You moaned at the contact together, her back arching down as you began pounding deep and hard. This position was even better than before, you were deeply connected with each other and no obstacles were in your way.

"Aah!~ Yes! Right there! Yes! Mmmmm!~"

You grinned looking at her figure, she was moaning out so messily and needily, nobody could imagine her this way. You suddenly held her hands and pulled her up to make her stand on her knees and hugged her close, your face being buried in her neck as you continued thrusting. She almost whimpered feeling you inside, your right hand roamed down her abdomen and pressed on a particular spot as you slowed down your movements but still kept going deep.

"Feel it here.... Touch it, feel where I am~" you whispered, making her move her hand to the same spot as well and she could feel it, your cock was making a small buldge every time you thrusted. She couldn't describe how she felt at that, she could see how deep you were, feel the lining of your cock deep inside her as you pounded into her. She wanted this forever, she wanted this so much.

Your hands were busy playing with her breasts now, pinching on her pointed nipples. She moaned so loudly, breathless gasps leaving her lips as she couldn't take her hand away from that place. Her other hand looped around your neck and pulled you closer, giving you the chance to kiss and suck on her neck.

"Aah...I told you, Rosa.... I'll give you that feeling.... Do you like it? Mhm~ Is this what you wanted?~"

"Yes! I feel you so deep! I love you, Y/n! I love you so much, my darling! Keep going! Fill me up all night!~"

Well, if she kept being this way then you could indeed go all night. She was irressitble to you, so tempting and captivating. You let go of your hold on her and pushed her down in an arch again, roughly gripping her hips and squeezing them as you fastened your thrusts. You came another bout, thick ropes of cum painting her insides and filling her up once again. But you were far from over, and she knew that too- she wanted that.

You ended up in so many positions all night, tossing and turning each other and finding yourselves all entangled with desire. She was now on top of you, straddling your lap as you rested on the bed and she wanted control now. She aligned your hard cock with her cunt and pushed it all the way in, immediately touching her deepest part. And she wasted no time to grind and bounce on your cock, she wanted to milk it dry and have every last drop of your cum inside her.

You gripped her waist and thrusted up as well, a delicious rhythm forming of your bodies. She then leaned forward and deeply kissed you, your tongues intertwining messily before leaning back and continuing to ride you. Her walls had a deathly grip on your cock, it was evident she was going to keep you inside all night. You had lost count of your orgasms, the amount of times you came inside her but she was ready to still hold more.

"Mmmm~ Cumming, my love... Aaaah... Y/n! Together.... come on, inside me! Breed me!~"

And yet another spurt of cum deep inside her, she too came at the same time and arched back with a loud guttural moan. Your bodies were still connected, you sat up and embraced her as you breathed out together. You nuzzled into her neck and she softly caressed your hair, the feeling of your cum drip down made her feel euphoric.

"I love you so much, Y/n... Thank you for this." she whispered in a low voice and you smiled to yourself before suddenly turning over and placing her on the bed, your dick still inside.

"We aren't done yet, I still have lot more to give. You'll hold it in, right?~"

She smirked then pulled you down by your jaw, "Who do you think you are talking to? That's not even a challenge for me~"

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin women #la signora #signora x reader

[swallowprettybird]

beginning | previous | next

hey! another new episode is here 😀 and if you didn't recognize - the same one on the cover, our Bianca 💃🏾

full description 👇

As much as Billy wanted to stay, it was time to go back. He couldn't just leave everything behind, especially since he was running out of money every day.

After returning, everything went back to normal. Days slowly became weekdays. Billy was expected to manage a mine, a factory, a farm - duties he hated. No matter how hard Cassidy tried and pretended that everything was fine, things didn't get any better.

But there was no point in denying it, because their farm is far from what it once was. Things got especially bad a few years ago.

A huge hurricane, uncharacteristic of their region, almost wiped the town off the map, but at the same time took their dear mother.

Mr. Holiday Sr. never got over it. He hoped that his children would do what he did not have time to do in his lifetime.

Meanwhile, Billy never asked for it. He never had tender feelings for this house. He was attracted to distant lands, travel, discovery, he was fascinated by history, while the family was looking strictly towards the future.

Nevertheless, his energetic, adventurous, but balanced nature has always played into his hands. He has always been more trusted.

- If you do it! If you do, you can't count on me anymore! Not on me, not on my inheritance, not on anything!! - Holliday Sr. shouted at his daughter

- But father! Why do I need that disgusting man, Mr. Joy? I can take care of our business on my own! I don't need his money. I don't need his love. - Cassidy argued no less loudly and passionately, she was completely worthy of her father.

But she definitely underestimated his words when she thought that her father would not do such things to her. Now it's hell in her chest. Why not me? Why? Her brother, he's so narcissistic, so frivolous, he doesn't deserve this.

- You will not do this.. - Cassidy feels a lump in her throat

- You know very well that I will do

At first, he wanted to just leave, leave everything behind, and leave with his beloved companion.

Bianca quickly got used to her new status but never got used to the new town. Billy forbade her to work on the farm or in a job like her previous one. She spent most of her time in the house, where she quickly got bored. She was ready to go anywhere, especially with Billy.

They were going to go on an expedition into the deep jungle. But suddenly Bianca found out she was pregnant. It changed everything. Billy would never have allowed her to take that risk.

One day he told Cassidy : "I'm selling everything. Bianca and I are moving to Mexico."

Needless to say, young Miss Holliday was beside herself with disappointment?

Of course, the only and obvious advantage of heir status for Billy Holiday was money. And for a new family, for a new home, a new place, for a future child, savings were certainly needed.

- Get over it, Cassidy, Billy said. - Don't you see that it's a futile exercise? If you want, you can come with us.

No. Where will she go? Where she is a stranger, where she means nothing? No This is her home. This is her business. This is her town. She can't lose it, even if she feels completely powerless:

- I'll buy it from you. How much?

She looks dryly at her brother's surprised but smiling face.

- Well, well! I love your passion, sis.

He lights a cigar with a sly squint.

- A million. You have six months.

Time is running out... *laughter*

#sims 4 #ts4 #simblereen #s4 screenshots #simblr #sims 4 story #the cursed chronicles

[themalhambird]

The world is not real: Charlotte cannot touch it. This -news-, this tragedy  is not real either, and it cannot touch her. There’s too much cotton in her ears, there’s an endless, keening chime slowly boring through her skull- in at one temple, out at the other- a continuous line, all the way through…

She is sitting on the sofa. There’s a cup and saucer cradled in her hands. She doesn’t remember picking it up, but the steam is ghosting over her face. It’s fresh. (Her husband is dead). Polly must have given it to her. (Her husband died at his own hand.) They have a visitor, she ought to be showing more hospitality. She wonders if there’s any of that fruitcake left. (Alfred confessed to murder. Alfred confessed to murder,  and then Alfred murdered himself)

“Mama?”

Polly’s voice, soft and tentative as it is, makes her jump. Tea sloshes, spills over, pools in the delicate saucer. She shakes herself and focuses her gaze on Sir Julian. “That’s not,” she tries, but the sound barely forms. Charlotte pauses, swallows, tries again. “That’s not right,” she says, unsure if she’s really addressing Sir Julian Harker or merely facing his direction whilst trying to bargain with a Higher Power. “That’s not- none of this is right, Alfred wouldn’t- he wouldn’t do any of it, any of this…” But he has. He has, he has, he has, and when he comes home she’s going to skin him alive. “What will we do?” she asks, as the first beginnings of fear worm their way through the numbness of shock. “The disgrace of it-”

“Mama!” Polly cries, indignant. “At this moment, of all moments, your thoughts cannot be of what other people will think- what does that matter, what do any of them matter!”

It matters because they have never been reckless with money, but savings will not last forever and Charlotte doesn’t know if the widows of Police Inspectors who confess to capital offences and then take their own lives qualify for any sort of pension. It matters because the disapprobation of society in any circumstances can be death by a thousand cuts, whereas the widow who has the sympathies of her community has a better chance at maintaining a somewhat genteel situation. It matters because the infamy of the father will cast a shadow over the life and the character of the daughter- the best chance for Polly, now, is marriage, but what respectable, decent man would want a father- in- law six feet deep in unconsecrated ground?

“Mrs Hillinghead,” Sir Julian says solemnly, “I wish to assure you that you and your daughter will have the fullness of my protection. The events of the last twenty four hours- they will not reflect on you, nor on your daughter. You have my word.”

She acknowledges his words without really understanding- it will not be until much later, lying in a too-empty bed and staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep- that Charlotte will consider that Harker told Polly about Alfred’s death before he told her, that he stood as close to Polly’s chair as proprietary allows for, that he has seemed- these past few weeks- to admire Polly: her beauty, her music. And perhaps nothing will come of it but friendship- , but the friendship of a man that powerful is not an asset to be scorned. And if it turns into anything more…

They were nineteen, she and Alfred, when they married- they had been friends their whole lives before that. And she had known about him:  years before they had married, she had known that  his desires steered his eyes not towards the ranks of giggling, frivolous girls who batted their eyelashes at his well built figure and handsome face, but to other members of his own sex. And she had ignored it, because she knew him: he was too good a man to act on those desires. And he was kind, and gentle, and they were friends, and a husband who would be perfectly happy to conduct a marriage with minimal activity in the matrimonial bed suited Charlotte. She had courted him as much as he had courted her, really, although whether he ever realised that…

And he’s dead. Her best friend of nearly forty years. The murder confession, she has already written off- she neither knows nor cares about the details. If it was a false confession, then he confessed to try and protect someone- probably that journalist, given the confession it prompted to her, and she is furious at him. She is furious at him for not protecting his wife and child, and for not letting the journalist face whatever justice he merited- unless, of course, the man threatened to reveal Alfred’s inclinations, and take the Inspector who had detected his crimes down along with him. That seems, to Charlotte, the most likely explanation. And if the confession is- was- true, then Alfred must have had good reason for taking another man’s life: she has seen him carry spiders in the palm of his hand to release them outside, rather than squash them underfoot; she has listened to him vent his frustrations about officers being too heavy handed with their arrests at more dinners than she can remember. Taking another human life…it must have broken something in his mind, which would explain being in such a state that he would…. It does not matter. Alfred is dead, either way- she is a widow, either way. And she will encourage Julian Harker’s friendship, because if Polly can catch him she will have a comfortable home, and a husband who seems a good hearted and generous man. And she, Charlotte, will grieve Alfred Hillinghead. But if his death unravels into the scandal she fears, then she will take care to grieve him quietly. She will survive this. She has to. She has to survive this so that there’s someone who remembers that Alfred Hillinghead played cricket as a boy and took two sugars in his tea.

#bodies netflix #bodies 2023 #suicide ts #homophobia ts #(victorian-typical attitudes) #alfred hillinghead #charlotte hillinghead #trying to flesh Charlotte out a bit beyond 'generic victorian wife/mother #(also trying to get a handle on the Polly and Mannix happy timeline because they seemed to get married very quickly #but Charlotte wasn't in mourning dress during the ceremony so either there was a much longer gap than implied or Charlotte wasn't following #the usual customs for victorian widows) #anyway she didn't seem surprised when Alfred told her he was attracted to other men so I'm working on the basis that she worked it out #for herself long ago #And because I can I'm imagining Charlotte Hillinghead as somewhere on the ace spectrum who had #doesn't want sex every ten minutes #at the top of her shopping list when considering potential husbands #my fic #long post

[butterflyseas]

⸻ the language of love

☆ノ aka how they show they love you (ft. march 7th, seele, tingyun)

↳ notes: half inspired by my tingyun headcanons post, half inspired by the way these women have me in a vice grip. i was going to add more, but i just left it at these ones for now <3

↳ content: gn!reader. sweetheart used in tingyun's. march is super clingy lol. maybe a tiny bit of spoilers for seele if you squint really hard?

⸻ 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗛 𝟳𝗧𝗛

physical touch and quality time

more than anything, march just loves being around you. whether it be out on a trailblazing expedition, hanging out around the astral express, or having a sleepover in her room, she always wants to be by your side.

and when she's by your side, she also loves touching you. always has to be holding your hand or have her elbow linked in yours if you're walking somewhere. wraps her arms around your waist from behind and rests her chin on your shoulder when you're standing still. the type to swing your arms while you walk or sway your bodies side to side while she's hugging onto you.

in private (or the astral express, which has gotten her more than few eyerolls from dan heng), she borders on clingy — always seeming to be right by your side; draping her legs over your lap; cozying up under your arm as close as she possibly can. it's her favorite place to be, after all <3

⸻ 𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗟𝗘

acts of service

seele isn't one for flowery words — they don't come easily to her, and when she tries, they make her cringe from how awkward they sound. the life she's had to live wasn't one that allowed for her to become acquainted with something as dangerous as softness.

when she offers to do things for you, it come out more blunt than it otherwise would from someone else. "here. let me do that." — it's more of a command than anything else; little more than a warning before she simply takes over your task for you, nudging you aside with her hip. if you protest, she'll just protest back, so you've learned not to — it's easier, even if it makes you worry about the workload she's putting on herself.

though it comes off harsh, it's anything but — it comes from a place of care; of wanting to carry your burdens for you so you don't have to. she'd rather shoulder everything if it meant your worries are quelled, even if just for a moment.

⸻ 𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗬𝗨𝗡

gift giving and words of affirmation (and a hint of physical touch)

there's two things tingyun showers you in beyond affection: compliments and gifts.

her gifts aren't frivolous things, though — they're all things that she saw, either within the xianzhou alliance or on other planets, that reminded her of you and she thought you would like. things you mentioned offhandedly needing (a new shirt because yours ripped; a notebook because you finally finished up the one you were using), things she saw you eyeing through the window as you passed by — those are the types of gifts she gives you.

it's also not uncommon for her to commission you personalized gifts regardless of the price — she just wants the best for you and would spare no expense for her sweetheart.

much like her gifts, her compliments aren't any less serious when she gives you them. compliments you both on your appearance and also your qualities as a person; especially compliments you on things you feel insecure about. you're perfect in her eyes — and she'll make sure you believe her when she tells you.

#☆ノ writing #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #march 7th x reader #seele x reader #tingyun x reader #also i don't think this is long enough to warrant a cut but lmk otherwise

[fay-run]

“Not planning to stick around for a cuddle?”

It was one particularly uneventful night, a rare occurrence during their travels in the Underdark thus far. There had been no minotaurs, no bulettes nor spectators, nothing to interrupt their rest. Sindyrdra and Lae’zel had snuck to a small alcove not far from where their companions slept, an opening carved from the rock surrounding them. It was their first tryst since they’d ventured into the Underdark. The gith was a wonderful way to let off steam, but Sindyrdra found herself wishing for something more when they’d finished. Silly of her, for certain. She’d become somewhat sentimental from her years spent on the surface. 

“Chk. You bring this up again?” Lae’zel had risen to fetch her discarded clothing. The Underdark was devoid of moonlight, but the glowing mushrooms in the cavern around them illuminated the glistening sweat on her skin instead. “This act you speak of is frivolous and wasteful. Come, let us return to camp and make better use of our time.”

Sindyrdra didn’t move. “And yet,” She began, a smirk playing on her lips. “You admit you’ve never tried. How can you be so certain?”

“How does a varsh know when a pupil shall be slain by their betters?” Lae’zel rolled her eyes. “If there were any useful function of this cuddling, Githyanki would have implemented it into our training regimens.”

The image those words brought to mind had Sindyrdra stifling a laugh. Laughter, however, would taunt Lae’zel too far. There was a delicate balance in convincing the woman of anything. It was easy to go onto the wrong track. She had learned that the hard way, when she’d failed to persuade her to lie to the Kith’rak at the bridge. That had been a long and bloody fight, even against only a few other gith. How they’d managed to survive fighting their way out of an entire créche later on, Sindyrdra did not know. 

“It seems as though the mighty Lae’zel is scared of that which she does not understand,” Sindyrdra raised an eyebrow. “Try it, and understand. If you don’t enjoy it,” She shrugged. “I’ll shut up about it forever.”

“I am not scared!” Lae’zel snapped, but shifted uncomfortably. Sindyrdra held out her arms wide, luring in her catch. It was all she could do not to smile the widest smile when Lae’zel’s shoulders fell and she began towards Sindyrdra, huffing, “g’lyck…”

Stiff as a board, Lae’zel stood above Sindyrdra, frowning. She hadn’t a clue what to do next. Sindyrdra took pity on her and opted to help her rather than watch her squirm, which would have been cruel but shamefully entertaining. Leaning forward, she took one of Lae’zel’s hands that hung limp at her sides, and pressed her lips to the second knuckle. Their eyes didn’t leave one another’s for even a moment. She coaxed Lae’zel forward and she bent down to her knees, hesitating before falling completely into Sindydra’s arms, her face unsure. 

“I do not–”

“Shh,” Sindyrdra shook her head and carefully guided Lae’zel down to her level, taking both her wrists and wrapping her arms around her torso. Tentatively, Lae’zel laid her head upon her breast, and Sindyrdra brought a hand to rest on the back of her head, raking gentle fingers through her hair. 

All words seemed to have left the headstrong gith as they sat entangled. A sigh fell from her lips, and her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily. Sindyrdra was careful not to spook her, not allowing herself to adjust even when her right shoulder began to scream in protest. This was farther than they’d ever gotten, and she wasn’t about to let something as insignificant as comfort ruin this for her. Just as she wouldn’t listen to the warnings shouting at the back of her mind. There was nothing wrong with this. There was nothing weak about this. She would say it to herself a thousand times over if she must. 

“Your heart,” Lae’zel said suddenly, her voice small and soft. “It thrums as quickly and as elegantly as a war drum.”

If she had turned her head up to look at her, Lae’zel would have seen Sindyrdra flushing a deep purple. Her heart was beating rather fast. But Lae’zel hadn’t meant it as a tease. Her words were spoken almost with awe, and Sindydra noticed she was clinging to her tighter than she had been before. 

Sindyrdra cleared her throat, ignoring the growing bloom in her chest. “Is that githyanki for ‘this is nice’?” 

Lae’zel only hummed, rubbing her face against Sindyrdra contentedly. The two laid in silence for some time, listening to the drip of water in the cave and the hauntingly beautiful sounds of the Underdark outside. Eventually, the rest of camp would wonder where they’d run off to, but Sindyrdra couldn’t bring herself to care. In fact, she couldn’t bring herself to care about any of the things she’d been agonizing over in that moment. Not even the tadpole could bother her here.

As the night went on, Sindyrdra found herself slipping into a trance involuntarily. It had been too long since she meditated, she realized. She was about to stir and tell Lae’zel they should head back, as random caverns weren’t the safest places to rest in the Underdark, when Lae’zel spoke; half-asleep, her voice hoarse from being unused.

“This is nice,” She said.

#oc sindyrdra #sindyrdra x lae’zel #lae'zel #bg3 #fanfic #my writing #lae’zel x tav

[purgemarchlockdown]

Amane and Her Costuming

CW: cults, child abuse.

(Edit: Added a few things and cleared up a few sentences.)

I've been thinking about how Purge March affects Magic so I'm going to let out some thoughts on that right now. As archivalofsins pointed out on this post right here the flag Amane is carrying does not have the exact same symbol as the balloon. I don't got any other way to put it other than it's more aesthetically pleasing, with the accents and the dots and so on. Same post also mentions how Amane isn't allowed to go amusement parks which is actually important to what I'm thinking about:

Q.05 If you went to an amusement park, what ride would you choose to go on? Kazui: Not gonna lie, I kinda want to go on the merry-go-round. Amane: That’s a place I’m not supposed to go.

As I've mentioned extensively in my analysis of Animal (that i need to update) Amane isn't allowed to indulge, she isn't allowed to have frivolous things, she isn't allowed to have attachments to things like that.

And as I mentioned in my initial thoughts on Purge March: In the scene where the Amane who fails to represent the flag gets drowned, the rule Amane fails is the one about vulgarity, and we also see Amane being punished both by herself in her mind and Gozake. I Doubt the cult is talking about the actual meaning of vulgarity but instead about "frivolous" and "indulgent" things, things that aren't "modest," (in the sense of being moderate and not the other definition) which can included Literally Anything from breathing to eating good food.

This makes Magic's costuming and presentation really interesting to me because it is kind of "frivolous" isn't it?

Ignoring the darkness lurking within it for a second. Magic has anthropomorphic animals and fun mascots and Amane is wearing a lovely magical girl-esque oufit. I'm a big magical girl fan and I would definitely call magical girl outfits very ornate and very extra. Let me get a design from Precure for a second:

Here's Cure Mermaid from Go Princess! Now admittedly I'm using the Go Princess designs (cause I like them) and the theme is inherently pretty extravagant but even the less extravagant magical girls have their own kind of extra-ness to their designs.

Ahiru from Princess Tutu (which I need to finish its really good guys go watch it!) is a simpler design in a lot of ways but is still pretty extra with the little crown and wing-like accessories on the back and the hairpiece (? Honestly I'm not sure) Thing that Ahiru has on her head.

Amane's design in Magic follows these design conventions of extra-ness and fun and what not:

She has 4 different colored buttons on her vest and colorful lines on the outer part of her skirt and fluffy balls on them and a cute hat and long socks (or maybe just straight up leggings) with an yellow zigzag, she has a badge on her chest (and before this a bow) it's a very ornate design!

The Purge March designs aren't this extra (and they certainly have less color!) but even then she is still wearing a performance outfit!

Like Look at it! She has big boots and a cute skirt and a Giant Cape and a really big hat with a FEATHER on it! This isn't holding back in the slightest! She's wearing a fun pretty costume!

This is pretty consistent with how marching band outfits can look too.

Outside of her mind however we see Amane in a school uniform:

It's a pretty regular uniform overall and I don't think we see Amane outside of this uniform though, unless the drowning scene counts:

It does look a lot like her school uniform though which has Horrific Implications but even if it isn't the clothing is the same shade of dark blue and is overall pretty dull.

However her hat is something I find really interesting.

It's a cute hat with a cute little ribbon tied into a bow around it! She wears it basically everywhere! She wears in her T1 design even though she was in Prison! Edit: Something I forgot but remembered right now is that the other girl has the same hat she does so its probably apart of the uniform, still Amane keeps the hat around and both Magic and Purge Marge have her wearing a hat of some sort. It's not a unique hat or anything but I do think it means something to Amane for her MVs to keep on giving her one.

(Her bag also has sticker markings but I'm unsure if those stickers were about her cult or not so I'm not mentioning them but it's possible that Amane Decorates her bag.)

Amane likes this stuff! If were bringing the Minigrams into this, (and I'm going to cause Shidou brought the pancakes into Tirage) this Minigram has her her hair styled, and in it she's bothered by her bedhead! She likes that Mahiru styled her hair! She likes dressing up and being cute! Her outfits in her MV have an extra flourish to them, capes, bows, feathers, extra colors.

No wonder that's one of the rules she fails to obey

#milgram #amane momose #008 #milgram amane #milgram meta #milgram analysis #cw cults #cw child abuse #I should probably post this later but fuck it Ill just reblog it

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter X

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4.2K

Beta. @starstofillmydream

21 Melona

The picture frame was heavier than Kazi originally planned. Arms trembling from her awkward grip, she managed to connect the hook to the nail and secure the frame to the wall. 

With a satisfied breath, she retreated a meter to assess the picture’s balance. Her triumphant smirk slid into a rictus. The right side of the black frame was tilted higher. Much higher.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. 

A beep from her comm drew her away from the unbalanced frame. The number was familiar. Her heart stuttered. 

“Lucien,” she answered tightly.

“Ms. Lucien,” the voice chirped. “This is Licae Thurmin with Eluca’s Adoption Center for Young Girls and Boys. I have a recent update on Neyti Lucien’s application.”

Kazi chewed the inside of her cheek, scanning her surroundings for any listening ears. 

She was alone. The men outside, Daria in her garden, and Neyti upstairs. 

“What’s the update?”

“The application you submitted has been processed and accepted,” Licae Thurmin said. “I want to remind you that a live application does not guarantee immediate adoption—”

The kind woman’s voice quieted as Kazi stared blankly at the room. 

White walls housed three new paintings, the colors smudged and blotchy, common for a six-year-old artist. The refrigerator displayed a handful of sketches. On the kitchen table, a small collection of bird feathers Nova had gifted Neyti a few weeks ago rested. Beside the collection was an unfinished drawing of the feathers. 

Formerly barren and devoid of personal touches—other than Daria’s succulents and Kazi’s dragon on the bookcase—the living area and kitchen now spoke of life. The existence of a family—

“I understand,” Kazi said once Licae Thurmin stopped speaking. 

For a fleeting moment she hesitated. Considered revoking the application. Or asking for a deferral. The adoption center was Elucan and had no connection, at the moment, to the Empire. One of the reasons she went through this center and not another. To protect Neyti from the Empire’s eyes. So, revoking Neyti’s application wouldn’t raise Imperial suspicion. 

However, it was silly—a frivolous desperation to cling to a new normal—and she knew better. 

Instead, she said, “I’ll await further updates.”

The comm went silent and Kazi pocketed it, eyeing the lopsided frame next to the holoscreen. A hammer and nails scattered the floor. The measuring tape lay limply on the table. 

What the hell was she doing?

Closing her eyes, she ran her hands through her unbraided hair, massaging her temples. She was stupid. So fucking stupid. 

After all these years she had perfected the mirage of closeness. Of companionship, so that others felt appreciated and needed. It was all an illusion. An illusion that allowed her to maintain distance to protect herself. 

And yet, sometime in the last three months, she had formed a semblance of a bond with Neyti. A bond so small and fragile it could easily be snipped. But it still existed. 

The tightness in her chest, the empty disappointment in her bones, were proof an attachment was forming. 

Three goals. She had outlined three goals upon her move to Eluca, and one of them was Neyti’s adoption. The application’s process and submission shouldn’t have surprised her. She had no right to be upset. 

“You are aware that picture is crooked.”

The voice startled her from her thoughts and she dropped her hands to her sides. How a man so large could move around so silently was beyond her. Cheeks flushing, she frowned at Wolffe.

“Thank you for that illuminating observation.” Wolffe threw her a bland look and she sniffed her exasperation, muttering, “I was just about to fix it.”

Sweat sheened on his face and matted the white shirt he wore. Sleeves rolled to his elbows revealed the black ink darkening his left forearm. Piqued interest encouraged Kazi to analyze the tattoo closer, but she fought the urge, instead, lifting her gaze to his. 

He was already staring at her. Rather, he was scanning her neck. It started, she assumed, the morning after their conversation beside the lake. His assessment was subtle, and she didn’t notice it until a week later. Now, it was obvious. And even though it had been a month since the incident, he didn’t appear content to stop.

A small piece of her appreciated his analysis—appreciated the thought of someone caring about her. A greater piece of her disliked the attention and the confusing emotions it brought forth. Life was easier and simpler when their lives remained separate and uninvolved.

Stepping toward the wall, subsequently creating distance, Kazi unhooked the picture frame. From the corner of her eye, Wolffe retrieved the tape measurer and the stylus. She held out her hand for both items. He blinked at her outstretched hand, levelled an unimpressed look in her direction, and then stepped toward the wall.

Kazi straightened. “I was going to do that.”

“I know.” 

Stylus between his teeth and the old nail removed, he measured the distance from the floor to a spot on the wall. Kazi folded her arms.

“I can do it—”

“I know.” Wolffe penciled a small dot and dropped the tape measurer. He extended his hand to her and she rolled her eyes, handing him the hammer. “Did you present the intel?” 

A frisson of unease twisted in her stomach. “I did.”

His silence, as he hammered the nail into the wall, demanded further explanation. 

Kazi glanced out the window that overlooked Daria’s garden. A neatly-twined hat kept the sun off her sister’s face, but it was the obvious trembling in Daria’s hand as she snipped dead leaves from her plants that caught her attention. 

“The magistrate was impressed,” she said to Wolffe. “But he didn’t elaborate on my findings. I still don’t know why he’s interested in this.”

Wolffe set aside the hammer and hefted the picture frame. Annoyingly, he didn’t struggle with its awkward size or its heaviness. 

“You’re sure the outpost is abandoned?” she asked.

“I’ve told you”—he grunted and hefted the frame higher—“it’s been cleared for months.”

Nearly five weeks ago, Kazi noticed a nearly imperceptible pattern in her data analysis for the magistrate. A pattern concerning deserted clones. 

Most of the clones Wolffe and his men rescued relied on secure comm channels. However, there were a handful of desperate ones. Those who needed a quick extraction and couldn’t wait for a secure channel. And even though they spoke in code, their transmission could be located. 

Hence the pattern: Before a clone deserted, Eluca or Coruscant received a long-range transmission. Days later, the deserted clone disappeared. 

Luckily, the pattern had occurred only three times—twice to Coruscant and once to Eluca. But, Kazi feared if she noticed the pattern, someone else might, too. It could lead to an Imperial investigation. So, she decided the best solution was to manipulate the data to a different location. 

The outpost was a secret, former Republic station located on a hyperlane route within Veridian Sector. It stored rations and additional weapons and was used primarily by commando units who needed a hideout in the midst of a mission. According to Cody, who offered the outpost’s location, it was abandoned a few months before the war’s conclusion. After a Separatist ship located it.

Seemingly forgotten by the Empire, Wolffe and his brothers had stripped the outpost of its goods. And now that it was emptied of provisions, the men claimed it no longer served a necessary purpose to their missions. 

The solution was simple. All transmissions between deserted troopers and the men would appear connected to the outpost rather than Eluca. Thanks to the outpost’s long-range communication tower.

Wolffe stepped away from the wall. “I want to know: What will happen to you when the magistrate realizes the outpost is abandoned?”

The question was a point of contention the last two weeks. Wolffe thought it too risky to provide an abandoned location, arguing the magistrate was too impulsive and it could threaten Kazi. She argued the need to deliver intel and keep the magistrate satisfied outweighed a possible reaction. 

“I think it’s still crooked,” she said, changing the conversation.

Jerking his gaze to the frame, Wolffe scowled. “It’s not.”

“Huh.” Placing the tools in the tool box, she shot him an awkward grimace. “Thank you. For helping. Even though I didn’t ask you to.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wolffe crossed his arms over his chest. He watched her, and when she was finished, he cleared his throat. “I keep expecting you to return with new bruises.”

A current of tension tightened her skin and she rubbed a spot on her arm. A month had passed since her interaction with Magistrate Aro, and yet she still woke some nights from a phantom pain in her neck. Her sheets dampened by sweat. Her heart racing erratically. A shout of terror built in her throat. It took a long time for her to return to a fitful sleep.

Most of the time, she avoided thoughts regarding that day, and she diverted conversation whenever it seemed Wolffe might reintroduce the issue. Especially in the past few weeks when discussing an intentional mislead through the outpost.  

“I don’t know why you would expect that—”

“What will happen to Neyti? To your sister? Have you thought about them?” Wolffe exhaled sharply. “Lying to the magistrate is needlessly dangerous.”

“It’s not.” Irritation heated her blood and she folded her arms across her chest. He knew she only ever thought about Neyti and Daria—that they were her first concerns in everything. “You know I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t necessary.”

“And what happens if you die?” He took a step toward her. “You’ll leave my brothers and I with a kid—”

“If that’s your concern”—she lifted her chin, glaring—“let me reassure you. There’s an adoption center in the capital—”

“Do you really think so little of us?” His tone was harsh. His eyes were narrowed in indignation. “Of me?”

Time spent with the men the past month had convinced her of their honorable character. They wouldn’t abandon Neyti, and they wouldn’t abandon Daria. Kazi knew this to be true. But she had also learned an important lesson over the years: relying on another was a direct path to abandonment and hurt. 

The optimistic side of her that believed in morals and ethics and justice yearned to trust Wolffe. The realistic side of her, the side that endured too much and yearned to protect, couldn’t relinquish control. 

At her continued hesitation, Wolffe huffed a wry chuckle.

“I told you,” he said curtly, “if a problem arises, we will protect you—”

She shook her head. “That’s not your job.” 

“You’re fucking aggravating, you know that?”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “Have you met yourself?”

Wolffe scoffed. “You’re closed off and guarded. Too independent to ask for help. You’re stubborn and self-righteous, and it’s fucking aggravating.”

“You’re guarded, too.” A scornful smirk twisted her mouth. “You carry responsibility like you’re the only one who can. You’re reserved and apathetic, and borderline overbearing.” 

Rolling his eyes, Wolffe opened his mouth but he was cut off by the approach of padded footsteps. A pair of bunny slippers rounded the corner. 

Dressed in a green dress, Neyti wandered toward Kazi and Wolffe. She frowned at the recently hung picture frame.

“It was Mr. Wolffe’s idea,” Kazi said quickly. Wolffe levelled a disapproving scowl in her direction but she ignored him. “What do you think?”

Tilting her head to the side, Neyti scrutinized the frame.

Kazi followed her line of sight. “It’s crooked, isn’t it?”

Wolffe sighed. 

Tiny hands wringing together, Neyti didn’t react to the comment. Hesitation hunched her shoulders and distress worried the line between her eyebrows. 

Kazi shared a disconcerted look with Wolffe. The man eyed the little girl, his gaze intense and assessing. 

“Neyti?” Kazi searched the youngling’s face. “Is everything okay?”

Gray eyes, wide and timid, bounced between Wolffe and Kazi. Understanding the girl’s unspoken discomfort, Wolffe excused himself, making his way through the sunroom and out the backdoor. 

“Did something happen?” Kazi hedged.

Dark thoughts spun in her mind, like a spider spooling its web, and she considered the past week in its entirety. The only disruption was the men’s last mission. The three deserted clones they rescued had left yesterday. 

Uncertainty stalled her heart and she glanced toward the sunroom’s windows. If something had happened to Neyti—

Blinking rapidly, Neyti reached for her hand. Neyti’s throat bobbed and Kazi squeezed her fingers. Gently, softly.

Neyti tugged on her hand and led her to the stairs. Nonplussed, Kazi followed Neyti up the staircase. Her bewilderment increased when they wandered down the short hall and found themselves in Daria’s bedroom.

Pale pink curtains lined the windows that overlooked the backyard. Sunlight dappled the carpeted floor. The room was fresh and inviting, except for the clothing items littering the bed like unwanted paint splats. Kazi pursed her lips at her sister’s lack of basic cleanliness. 

Daria was always put together, and yet she couldn’t make her bed in the mornings. The contradictions in her personality never failed to irk her.

A white dresser housed a dozen succulents, the plants ranging from prickly cacti to flowery geometrics. Opened and recently written in, a notebook sat on the desk. Penned in superfluous script was the day’s date.

Kazi had half a mind to read her sister’s diary. If Daria refused to respect her personal space, willingly sharing her adventure book with Neyti, then the same rules applied to her. Maybe she would finally understand her sister’s thought process. Then again, she would probably read diatribes concerning her actions and complaints concerning her perpetual singleness.

Neyti dropped her hand and wandered into Daria’s ‘fresher. Kazi followed, watching as Neyti extracted one of Daria’s morning/evening potions. Liquid an iridescent blue, the potion shimmered beneath the fractured sunlight. An empty bottle from this morning sat behind the faucet. 

With an abashed grimace, Neyti mimed draining the potion in the sink. Kazi’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Neyti repeated the gesture. 

Realization dawned on Kazi, slow and creeping, like the sun rising on the horizon, and with it, the world around her quieted. 

Slowly, she peered into the black basin, running a finger along the bottom. She withdrew her hand, praying Neyti was wrong. 

A blue tint coated her finger pad.

Her breathing sharpened. Her throat dried.

She thought she might be sick.

Months of unexplained symptoms, months of unusual episodes suddenly made sense. 

A dull roaring filled her head. She turned on her heel. 

The descent down the stairs passed in a haze.

In the kitchen, Daria was washing the gathered herbs and vegetables from her garden. Her dress fell to her knees, light and airy. The white spoke of innocence. A quiet tune sounded from the radio. Daria noticed her and she started to smile.

Hand shaking, Kazi raised the empty bottle.

“You haven’t been taking your medicine.”

The statement was muffled by the ringing in her ears and Kazi took a deep breath, focusing on the kitchen. Focusing on her open-mouthed, stunned sister.

“What the fuck is your problem?” She hissed the words in a spit of vitriol so pure Daria stumbled back a step. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

Flustered, Daria turned off the sink and patted her hands on a towel. A slight twitch in her eye belied the casual blasé she was trying to exude. “It’s none of your business, Kazi.”

“Like hell it isn’t—” 

“It’s not!” 

Shocked by her sister’s sudden change in demeanor, Kazi stiffened.

Daria glared at her. “What I do and do not do with my healer’s recommendations is not up for your judgment and criticism—”

“It fucking is!” Kazi snarled. “It’s all up to my fucking judgment because I’m the one who’s wasted money and time trying to ease your pain and prolong your fucking life!” 

Kazi slammed the empty bottle into the kitchen sink. The clatter of breaking glass further incensed her.

“Months of paying Healer Natasha to help you with your symptoms”—she fisted her hands at her sides—“and you haven’t been taking your fucking medicine. What the fuck is your problem?”

Rage, roiling like the sea in the midst of a hurricane, churned within her body. It dominated her thoughts, dominated the tautness in her muscles and the tightness in her lungs. 

After her father died, Kazi taught herself to control her emotions. Primarily her anger. Formerly quick-tempered, young Kazi could work herself into a conniption of such rage she would cry. 

Anger was her least favorite emotion. When she experienced it, she felt unbalanced, and her façade of perfect composure and unaffected apathy splintered beneath the emotion.

Her mother exploited her defensive anger. She used it to ridicule and humiliate her. To force her to obey. 

So young Kazi learned to shut down. The moment she felt her emotions rising, circling outside her control, she gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and told herself over and over that she didn’t care. 

She numbed herself to her mother’s scorn. Numbed herself to feeling.

Years of training herself to dominate her emotions rather than accept or acknowledge them created her cool, aloof personality. It was her shield against a world of change that constantly felt out of her control. 

And so this rage—receding and crashing inside her—unnerved her. 

The lack of control frightened her. But she didn’t care. 

She couldn’t care because her sister—the person she had pooled money, time, and effort into helping—decided to forego her daily medicine. Medicine designed to ease her suffering. Lessen the severity of her symptoms. Offer her more time to retain her mental sanity. 

“You have no right to be upset with me.” Daria glowered. “You don’t care what happens to me—you don’t care that this illness is killing me. You haven’t cared about me, or anything else, for that matter, in years.”

Kazi hardly processed the words. 

The roaring in her head was too loud and her thoughts too distorted by this revelation. 

She didn’t care about the hurt in Daria’s tone, and she didn’t care about Daria’s accusation. Especially since her sister’s accusation was partially true. She hadn’t cared about anyone or anything in a long time. 

There was a reason for that.

“It seems I’ve given you too much free reign,” Kazi said tightly.

Swallowing her anger, forcing it down and locking it away, she took a deep breath. 

Numbness returned and, with it, clarity. 

“It’s clear you’re a danger to yourself.” She stared at Daria, unfeeling. Flippant. “You don’t care about your health or trying to prolong your life. And since you’ve shown a lack of concern and maturity, I think the best option would be hospitalization.” 

Dismay widened Daria’s eyes and she retreated to the far counter. Her mouth opened and closed. The tremble in her lower lip worsened. 

When the silence lengthened between them, tight as a wound harpoon, Daria lifted her chin. “How could you do this to me?”

“You’re doing this to yourself.” Kazi chuckled, the noise acerbic and unrepentant. “Your lack of propriety to take care of your own health—”

“I’m your sister and you’re threatening me because I refused to take a dumb potion—” 

“The medicine is supposed to help—”

“The medicine takes them away!”

The brokenness in Daria’s voice forced Kazi to pause. 

Confused, she could only frown. “What?”

“It takes them away.” Daria pressed a hand to her mouth and choked. “Mama and Papa. I can’t see them when I take the medicine.”

Time stood still for a moment as Kazi considered her sister’s bewildering statement. 

And then it hit her.

The moments she noticed Daria staring off into space, smiling at nothing.

Hallucinations. Her sister was hallucinating their parents.

“When I see them,” Daria murmured, “I don’t feel so lonely.” 

Her sister’s gaze was deadened, lacking the vibrancy Kazi used to envy when they were younglings. A gaze so full of life and joy. Eager to explore, intrigued by stories. Loving.

“I miss them, Kazi,” Daria whispered hoarsely. 

Gritting her teeth, Kazi exhaled a slow breath. 

“It’s harder to remember them,” Daria said. “I can’t remember what they look like.” 

Daria stood before her pale and sick-looking, once-fresh features drawn and weary. The fullness of her cheeks had hollowed; even the plump pink of her lips were dull.

“I’m scared.” The words were defeated. Daria raised a shaky hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear. “I’m losing more of myself every day. I’m scared of forgetting everything, and the medicine only makes it worse. I don’t want to lose Mama and Papa. I don’t want to be alone.”

The fear in Daria’s voice, the unspoken plea, rendered Kazi speechless. Her sister—the woman she had loved more than anyone else in the galaxy—wasn’t preserving her life out of fear of being alone. As if companionship through hallucinations meant something.

It was selfish. Daria would die sometime in the near future and she would leave Kazi. Her sister didn’t understand the meaning of loneliness. 

Her sister didn’t understand the fear of being alone.

“Every morning I will watch you take your medicine,” Kazi said coldly. “And every night I will watch you drink that damned potion. Got it?”

Visible shock tightened Daria’s features and then darkened into hate. “I’m not a child for you to hover over.”

“It’s quite obvious that you are.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Daria corrected a wrinkle in her dress. “If you want to mother someone maybe you should start with the actual child in this house. Neyti lacks any sort of emotional care because you’re so unfeeling it’s borderline monstrous.” 

Kazi flinched at the harshness of the words. 

“What do you want me to do?” she demanded. “I am trying. I am trying to do what is best for this family, but you don’t care. Nothing I do is ever good enough for you. And now you mention Neyti?” 

Resentment bittered her mind and she laughed ruefully.  

“What do you want me to do with her? Give her away?” She threw up her hands. “Maybe I should because I don’t fucking know what else to do! I didn’t ask for this, Daria. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be responsible for either of you—”

A broken sob cut through her rant and Kazi froze. 

No.

No.

Kazi looked over her shoulder, to the little girl who was cowering on the stairs. The little girl who had been here this entire time, forgotten. 

Horrified, Kazi took a tentative step toward her. “Neyti—”

Neyti sprinted away. Up the stairs. 

Kazi stared at the abandoned space. 

Her lungs squeezed. Her stomach felt empty. Her blood ran cold.  

A numb sensation, cold and unfeeling, pooled in her toes and slowly rose. It entombed her body.

She’d fucked up. 

She’d fucked up even worse than forgetting the field trip. 

A brittle laugh drew her attention and she turned her gaze on her sister. To the sister who was staring at her like she truly was a monster. 

“Mother was always right about you.” Daria laughed again. The sound as broken as Neyti’s sob. “You’re too emotionless to care about anyone but yourself.”

The words repeated over and over as she climbed the stairs.

If only Daria knew how little she cared about herself. 

If only her little sister knew the depth of her self-hatred. 

If only her sister knew she brushed aside emotions because they were nothing but a liability. 

Kazi knocked on Neyti’s cracked-open door. 

The silence that followed was deliberate. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Over the years she promised herself she would never be like her mother. Critical comments, judgmental stares, constant disapproval. She promised she would always be better.

She should have known she would fall short. She should have known she would fail, and she would hurt those around her.

“I’m so sorry, Neyti. What I said”—her voice cracked and she gulped—“was wrong. I spoke out of anger and I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I’m so sorry.”

Unwavering silence resounded from the room.

Sliding to the floor, Kazi pressed her forehead against the door. “I made a promise to your mother.” 

The memory was stark in her mind.

Chaotic streets darkened by night.

Screams of terror. Children’s sobs.

A woman and daughter fleeing.

The crack of a blaster.

A child, bleeding and crying, shoved into her arms.

“I promised your mother that I would protect you,” Kazi said hoarsely. “I promised her that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. To give you a chance at a new life.” 

Vision blurring, she rubbed at her wettened cheeks.

“I’m going to give you that new life,” she whispered. The adoption application was finalized and the search for real parents could finally start—the search for a home where Neyti would never hurt again. “I promise.”

The door squeaked open a smidge. 

Sitting on the opposite side, her cheek pressed to her knees and tears in her eyes, Neyti played with the ear of a bunny. 

“I want to go home.” 

The words were soft and quiet, and Neyti speaking for the first time—those five specific words—flooded Kazi with shame.  

All she could do was nod. In understanding. In regret. 

Because Neyti knew they couldn’t return home. There was nothing left. 

For either of them.

Masterlist | Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

A/N: I know it’s probably frustrating to see Kazi constantly keep up her walls and not entirely trust Wolffe. My writing has always been a way to deal with real-life emotions in realistic ways. A woman who’s struggled a majority of her life with trust issues immediately trusting the love interest because he’s a nice guy is the most unrealistic and annoying thing for me to read in novels and fics. Kazi’s trust issues are a main part of this story, and they will not be going away any time soon.

Next chapter release – March 14th  

This is your friendly reminder to pay attention to the date and month of each chapter. There will be major time jumps between certain chapter groupings.

Star Wars Months:

Elona Kelona Selona Telona  Nelona Helona Melona Yelona  Relona Welona

Tag: @ulchabhangorm

#I Yearn and so I Fear #commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari #commander wolffe #oc: kazi ennari #commander wolffe x ofc #commander wolffe fanfiction #commander wolffe fan fiction #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfiction

[revelisms]

Excerpt: A Smart Little Fool

Sevika and Silco share a meal.

From 'both sides of the moon,' a oneshot exploring Silco and Sevika's relationship through a series of business ventures. Full story on AO3

She isn't a mistress to be toted at his arm, even in the weeks business demands them to walk stride-for-stride: their city's Eye and Teeth, dagger and shield, blood-peppered and glistening and crowds carved in their wake.

Other men may have tried. Worn her strength off the crooks of their elbows, like a weapon flashed in the face of more foolish eyes. Seen her companionship as a blessed respite from it all, and let their treatments of her unfold into gauzier territories.

She'd snap their wrists, before they even dared. 

There's nothing she so despises as pampering. Kindreds forbid any man get in her way, try to sweeten her up like some solstice water-pig, and dream of walking free with his head still attached.

As such, his versions come passively.

On a given day, it's in the form of extra coin—an unspoken gratitude for the disposals she ensures, the weaklings she delegates, the wreckage she suffers by the day under the brat he hasn't yet the nerve to call his own.

(His ward, his foundling, the youngest in his care—those titles, he throws about freely. Never daughter.)

She may have tried to pick through the layers of that—unravel the threads of his insistence on keeping all things at arm's length, even the girl he himself had carried back from the fires—had housed and clothed and armed and cared for, of his own will—if the sentiment, strangely, didn't seem to resonate. 

The little sprite can't string together any paternal words, in his company. Not Father, not Dad—not even Sir, as Sevika's own cracked cattleprod of a sire had insisted upon. But she gravitates to him, like a moth to a flame. Stays sewn at his hip, now, more days that not—even more than Sevika, herself.

A part of her will not chew on the threat that sits in that. In the reality of a child placed above her, in the seat of his succession. 

But the threat is there—and Silco knows it. 

He observes, as equally as he is observed by her.

The coin and speciality shipments and allowances for more evenings than she needs run deeper than gratitudes—a sign that he's routed every inch of her doubts, before she's even let herself crack open the lid of them; that he will squash them where they lay, before they grow four limbs and crawl.

The rarest of his privileges is a meal. 

Some nights, they're given in white-tableclothed businesses of his own, surrounded by up-and-coming Zaunite work-classes and dinners expensive enough to strip common-folk of their month's salary. Others, in the Drop's back kitchen, bowed about the heads of a hand-selected few.

The old pub had been a headquarters, before—and had since blossomed beneath his hand, to become one, again. History bled through the cracks in the walls: a place surrounded by myth. Revolutionaries had plotted war and reparation for two decades, in the Drop's mildewing cellars—revolutionaries and unionists and a Hound and a Bloodshark, freeing laborers and leading surges of protests, taking their city by the horns.

Times had changed. 

The Hound was dead, now; the Shark still living—standing at the head of his table, surrounded by the knights of his keep, in a long sweep of black and red and a cigarette at his fingers: pouring out short-glasses of whisky and gin and stories few could claim the privilege to hear.

Tonight, though, the meal isn't around the war table. 

They sit in one of their six main Sumpside fronts: a blue-walled, low-lit monstrosity of posters and portraits, clustered around a catacomb of varnish. It's the newest of his ventures. Among other social frivolities, the Siren boasts smuggled cross-river fare and live folk-players, and deals backhanded trades of shimmer from the storerooms. 

On a better day, Sevika may have been more mindful of the gesture—may have found herself more appreciative of the steaming plate slid before her—if that blue-headed spitfire wasn't ticking the silence to a metallurgy seminar.

At his side, Jinx sits in a self-sewn patchwork of purples and blacks: finger-sheared gloves and striped stockings and hacked off assortments of fabric, all cross-hatched together in bright thread. A fork jitters in her knobby fingers, the skin stained with soot. She prods at her food, like it's waiting to bite back at her.

Those storm-blue eyes leap across the table, catch Sevika's own, and glare. In tandem, the two of them make an educated choice to look elsewhere.

A glass of scotch lazes between long fingers.

Half-mindedly, Sevika follows the sharp cut of his ice as it clatters around the crystal. He's slouched back in his seat, one arm hooked over the cushion's spine. He favors corner booths like this one: clear vantage points across his constituents, tucked away from prying eyes. 

Subconsciously or not, she mirrors him. Plucks up her pint by the rim and swigs it. Sees the spearhead of his conversation coming, before it's thrown. 

"Your meeting with Ilanna." Order, more than inquiry.

Sevika scowls. "As we expected." The young heiress had made a mess of her evening, in no small part for her under-table dealings with Finn. They'd had an eye on her, for weeks—waiting, inevitably, for the ball to drop. "Has the worm wrapped around her little finger."

His eyes lift. Teal skewing blue, in the room's light: a scepter forged in jade and moonstone. The lamps play a trick on the ink-smear of his dead iris, as though the thing was still living—golden, instead of bloody tones. 

Silco sips down his liquor, clean as water. Mulls over the glass, "And what do you make of her?"

Sevika chews on that. Waits for him to reorient on her. He's wandering, again—plotting an unhurried assessment of the movement that unspools around the room. The lamplight cuts his profile to a hawkish point: turns the flick of his eye feline.

"She's like every damned heiress I've seen," she answers him. "Used to getting things at her beck and call." At his shoulder, the little runt fidgets with her plate. Sevika pulls her eyes away from her: cocks her brows at him, instead. "What do you?"

The scarred edge of his mouth thins. His breath portends a sermon.

"She's a smart little fool." He's fixed on the reflection that circles his liquor. The lowball finds an unhurried lay upon the varnish, tipped corner-to-corner: crystal prisming blue-gold light. "She knows what she wants—and what to play, to get it. I'll give her that."

Ire, in that admission.

For a man housed on the highest rung of their city's polluted circles, it puzzles her. 

She would have assumed that he, like most of the power-hungered blights she had spent her youth guarding, would drain their streets of every pretty, handsome thing in reach: would claim it all, devour it, with a vile entitlement. 

For reasons she does not understand, he won't.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #silco arcane #sevika arcane #jinx arcane #silco & sevika #still thinking about these two #they're just #*shakes fist* #augh #writing #both sides of the moon

[untilthenextencore]

Nights To Remember Pt. 1: Of Gods & Goddesses & Magick & Memories~...

Backstory: Summer 1973~. Jimmy & Dahlia had gotten married in the past year~. Some of the more territorial newer wannabe groupies are having a hard time coping with not just her continual presence on tour, but now Dahlia's new status as THE Mrs. Page~. Her & Robert's displaying their close friendship doesn't help~.

Their subsequent finding a friendly way to deal with their boredom amongst the goings on that the hangers on & wannabe groupies live for by escaping certainly doesn't help~.

Robert offers the escape~. He's always been a little in awe of Pagey's choice of girl both in general in the early days, but also in the form of his chosen one, Dahlia~. She is so familiar yet foreign to him it makes his head spin~. So worldly, yet down to earth~. A mix of city yet downhome that he might've chosen for himself if he had the chance~. But as far as he's known her she's been Pagey's~. Solidly, decidedly, faithfully Pagey's~.

Suffice to say, even in his happiest moments in the friendship he's conflicted~. Even though they're not cheating or going behind Pagey's back~.

But when he finds himself even moreso conflicted about the cloak & dagger aspect of their innocent little excursion, that he himself offered initially, he then finds the idea of Pagey finding out also somehow doesn't appeal to him~.

~

Ho hum. Another day. Another dollar. Another concert. Another party. Another night to remember. Until they forget it all in the morning. Or lose track of which night in the sea of "nights to remember" held the goings on their shattered minds remembered only fractures of at tour's end. Glittered & goggle eyed groupies frantically flipped over themselves to catch the eye of anyone who was anyone in King Robert's court. Or so it seemed.

True. Robert was holding court like he was king. One of four at least. But being in the middle of yet another tour - an American one at that - only meant one thing. Like the others he was left without a queen. Only one of their roundtable could however not lay claim to such a misfortune. The luckiest one among them. The wizard in his stars & moon suit himself. James Patrick Page.

No. Because as ever Jimmy had brought along his lady. Lady Dahlia-Maria Dominguez Page. The Lady who was a natural creative herself it seemed. She & her camera, while remaining discreet & unobtrusive, furnished some of the most intimate portraits of the band allowed. A few Peter even sold at the merch table, netting her a tidy sum of her own aside from being married to he of the led wallet and house of Tower.

Though she only released a few here and there. She too liked to maintain her own brand of privacy. Despite the wingding that was their wedding in Hampton Court Palace - of all bleeding places - in the past year, she really preferred a smaller do generally. Friends & family & neighborhood kin & no more. As was borne out by the smaller dos held in Mexico at her family's small yet palatial feeling compound in Jalisco that was something of an early childhood home for her & Pagey's place in England for family that could not swing airfare for a trip to the palace.

Which begged the question.

What the hell was she doin here?!

Not that he begrudged her presence itself. Not at all. Robert & Dahlia always seemed to get on rather well. Down home types lost in the Wonderland that was the entertainment business. Though even with her downhome partial Mexican upbringing Dahlia was decidedly still more of a city girl to this country boy.

Being an LA local, Dahlia knew it like the back of her prettily manicured hand. A hand she also often used in keeping much of the frivolity at arm's length. Even when in the middle of it all. She seemingly always sat apart. That was what Robert didn't understand about her presence in such madness.

Clearly the groupies agreed. Equally manicured hands being verily filed into a point, eager to tear at a tawny-skinned throat as their owner's gripped. "What is SHE doing here?!" Calling her everything but a child of God or what her father's own book termed their culture, "Children of the Sun".

No matter.

She seemingly stayed unaffected.

Toying with her engagement & wedding rings just so. Arranging the gold bangle bracelets or matching pendant. Her only flashes of vanity or pride being her only answer. Letting both that & her presence along with the 5000 other ways she was the "chosen one" of the Mr. James Patrick Page do the talking for her. Knowing her, if she were feeling cheeky she might whip out her instant camera & take a pic of the offending party, leaving some hanger on to deliver it & with it the picture proof / photo evidence of their bitterness as she & her beloved husband tangled fingers & held hands. They can have a pic. She had the real thing.

Guinevere was not giving up her throne.

Unbothered by the petty strife clawing at the door, begging to enter her beloved Camelot.

Rather, she looked bored, really.

Jimmy had disappeared with Bonzo. Off to take a powder likely. She had been chatting with Jonesy about books & things to get his girls & Mo back home, but now he too was off somewhere. Hangers on knew better than to try to ingratiate themselves with her. She had iced them out before. Now they well knew. There was no way in to the Page / Zeppelin inner sanctum with her.

As further proof, both of her seeming boredom & inaccessibility by groupie or hanger on, Robert saw her pull a small book out of her purse. That was Dahlia. Forever a bookworm. Sodom & Gomorrah at her feet. Head in the clouds. Nose in a book.

Before he knew it, Robert felt himself propelled towards her, stumbling a few times when a glittered & bejeweled fan flung & slung herself over him. Extricating himself deftly every time he uttered a soft, "Not this time, darlin'." "Maybe another night, doll." Or even "What will me missus, think?" Laughing his way out of harm's way as he bid them good night & left them to join the party. He caught more curses & sotto-voce snipes when they saw in what direction he was heading. But no matter. His course was set. Off he traveled to the "land of the people of the sun".

It was then that he allowed his six foot sun-people seeking self to cast a shadow over her in the midst of her reading. This had the intended effect of having the dim light she had been reading under all but disappear as he blocked it out. She whirled around to regard him with sharp eyes that were cut to him in momentary disgust. Her lips pursed as a similarly sharp tongue went about finding the right barb to fling before suddenly dropping its weapon. Her eyes widened before her gaze then softened in mirth as she lifted her arm in modified Roman salute, hand tilted upwards slightly. "Hail, Apollo. What brings the Sun God to these darkened shores?"

Sun God? He quite liked the sound of that. So he decided to play along, wracking his brain for his schoolboy Mythology.

"Hail, Aphrodite. I come in peace." He said, mimicking her salute with the hand that was not holding his beloved ale. "Or should it be Persephone, luv? By the way... Where is our beloved Hades?" Robert craved his neck around, looking for the dark-haired lord of the underworld that always seemed to be lurking around every corner when she was involved. "My stars." He gasped, putting a hand to his bared chest for affect. "I see no star suited one for miles. How is that possible?"

"I think he's off with your fellow northern friend right now. The one who plays either Dionysus or Ares if the bacchanalia goes too far." Dahlia quipped, her lips quirking into a wry grin as she pointed to Jonesy at the bar. "Hermes just left himself as well."

"Foolish ones they are." He tsked, shaking his head. "Leaving one so fair alone in the midst of such bacchanalia indeed."

Looking down he saw that where the glittered ones would have blushed or fluttered their eyelashes & twirled a curl of hair into a coil in flirtation, that was decidedly not Dahlia's - nor Aphrodite or Persephone's - way. Instead, she stayed looking up at him with the same wry grin & mirthful if still piercing stare along with a soft incredulous shake of the head. Her lips said nothing. But those eyes? Those eyes said EVERYTHING.

Clearing his throat & lubricating himself & his suddenly dry mouth with more ale, he jutted his chin at her book. "Whatcha readin' there, luv?"

"A mini collection of Harlem Renaissance poetry. Some classics. The usual." She marked her page & closed it to show him the cover art. Brown bodies arced & curved in exultation.

"Classics indeed. Your usual. A nice addition to your other usual Agatha Christies." He grinned. "What for?"

"Just because." She shrugged as she pocketed the book. "And because I figure if I'm to live in the aftermath of the Swinging Sixties... The Roaring Seventies some have termed... I better brush up on how the times used to Roar back in the day. Better brush up on my Cotton Club classic bacchanalia... Although..." She cast a suddenly weary look across all the goings on around them. Glittering, giggling, sharpened nails & tongues of hardened decidedly un flowerchild GTO like groupies & grubby fingered, coke jittery, tipsy-drunk, outstretched-handed hangers on included & heated a sigh. "Forgive me for saying but this pales in comparison to my childhood dreams of the Cotton Club."

"Indeed." He nodded with another sip of his ale. So she saw what he did that night. What he felt. She felt it too.

"I mean, not to be ungrateful or anything. Knowing how you like it & all. "Prince of Peace" that you are." There was that quirk of her lips again as she drawled the last part out.

Try as he might not to, he winced at the memory of those words leaving his lips unironically. Ah, so she had heard that story too. Of course she had. Was nothing a secret in this God forsaken place?!

His momentary embarrassment was compounded at the same time he was delightfully distracted by the sound of her sweet giggle. "I know how much fun you have typically. And I get how you dig the scene generally speaking. It just doesn't... It doesn't... It doesn't really do it for me... Not much... I mean all these people... They'd probably not spit on me if I were on fire if I wasn't with you guys. If I wasn't Mrs. Page. Hell, half of them would likely be the ones holding the match. Some of them still would now!" She cut her eyes in half dismissal half bemusement at the nail-filing bile-spitting groupies.

Naturally, she saw that too. Nothing escapes a goddess's eyes. A queen misses nothing.

"To clink glasses & break bread with them feels so false & disingenuous. Knowing all that, I mean. That's another reason I have this book." She tapped the book with a finger before closing her purse around it. "That way, I don't have to."

"Suffice to say, grateful though I am to be invited to these things, considering some of the company that find their way in... This ain't exactly my kinda party, Planty." She took her champagne glass from the table, clinking it with his bottle. "Cheers." Before downing the swallow or two that remained.

A moment passed in silent agreement. Robert having nodded at everything she said. The falsehoods of their lifestyle that were apparently hitting him hard that night, she had always seen. Hence her keeping it all at arm's length. Alice falling down a rabbit hole but landing on her own two feet. Dorothy traveling through Oz in a bubble of her own design. Pagey or not, his girl had her own magick. This he had always known. So had Pagey, he surmised, as evident by the rock on her finger as much as anything else.

"What is your type of party, luv? Missing Hampton Court?" He teased, though he knew her well enough to know better.

"No indeed." She laughed, nodding as he refilled her glass. "Thank you, kind sir." Then after a sip, she continued. "Even I know that night was a one in a million. A once in a lifetime event. Though that indeed was a night to remember as you well know."

There went that phrase again. At least this time it was worth it. That night truly was one to remember for all involved. Mariachis and Led Zeppelin acoustic jam at Hampton Court. Would wonders never cease? That had to be a first for all involved!

"But, c'mon blondie!" She nudged him, shaking him out of his reverie.

A reverie of her in her wedding whites with glittering mantilla veil coming down the aisle towards at the altar, seated next to Pagey, dancing with Pagey... And the dances he was able to share with her himself. Cor, was she a vision then. A lovelier bride he had hardly ever known.

Shaking out a wince at the thought of even thinking thar when he had his own missus at home... One who had a decidedly less ritzy do when her own turn came years earlier... He again silenced these demons with another swig of ale & turned his eyes back to the dusky goddess queen vision at hand.

"You know what it is. What my kind of party is. You know it about as well as Jimmy. Think about it."

"Jalisco?" Robert asked.

"Well, yeah." She nodded. "Yes, of course. But what about stateside? You remember. Though it's been awhile."

Robert instantly got hit with another blast from the past and he rattled off the vignettes as they came flashing back to him. "East LA. Whittier Boulevard. The Chuco." A quaint little chill hangout spot for local Chicano youth that played a mix of oldies, early rock'n'roll, Chicano groups, Latin jazz & Mexican or Latin music of all kinds.

Dahlia snapped her fingers & pointed at him. "Bingo. That's it. That's it exactly, Robert. That's my kind of party. All of it."

"Why don't we go back tonight then?" Robert offered with yet another swig from his bottle.

Dahlia paused mid thought. Mid answer. Her mouth falling open in a silent gasp & lack of immediate response. Try as she might, she couldn't really think of a reason not to. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she also really wanted to. Really wanted to. But still, she had to ask.

"Right now?" She whispered conspiratorially.

"Why not?" He shrugged. "S'gotta be better than this lot, yeah?"

Dahlia gave a quick look around & then went back to regarding Robert with a bemused smirk. "Don't you think they might miss you, your highness? I mean, how could they not miss their beloved Prince of Peace?"

He winced again at the little rib. (Dahlia was one of the rare very few whose barbs both landed & made him laugh.) But he did his best to play it off with a laugh & a wry grin of his own as he mused. "We'll be back."

Dahlia cast her eyes back over the bacchanalia, mulling things over. Another moment passed before she shot to her feet, tossing a soft voiced request over her shoulder. "Wait right here."

She then left the table & crossed over the room to Peter sitting at the bar with his ever present cigar, tapping him on the shoulder. She whispered something in his ear which had the cigar chomping bear of a man nearly dropping his cigar in shock as his jaw nearly slackened. He muttered something back, motioning to the goings on to which she shook her head, explaining further. She motioned across the room, lifting her hands in a quizzical shrug before pointing to the door, which was guarded shut. Then folding her hands together, she evidently pleads her case. And surprise surprise, wizened, hard negotiator Peter folds. He relents.

Peter motions to Magnet - of all people - pointing to her & motioning to a back entrance & hence exit. Dahlia squealed, leaping into Peter's arms & giving him a grateful squeeze. Peter grinned, hugging her back & patting her on the back with a meaty hand, making sure to keep his lit cigar away from her & keeping her safe from the ashes.

Upon breaking the hug, Dahlia turned to motion to Robert himself & tell Peter something else that nearly made him drop his cigar again. Peter's eyes widened & then narrowed. Clearly telling Peter that Robert too would be making his exit & taking his leave just then.

Peter's gaze sharpened... Not with malice... But with knowledge... He knew Robert... His types... His wonts... Or wants...

Robert knew this well...

And so it was that as Robert sidled up to both Magnet & Dahlia, he heard something above the whines & curses of the groupies. A few gruff words grunted in Cole's direction by his behemoth of a manager that cut through the din. "Get Pagey..."

Hustling himself along with her & Magnet out the door, Robert did his best to avoid Peter's gaze from then on out. Helping her into her jacket, which was really one of Pagey's more subtle, casual & less spangled boleros, Robert couldn't help but ask. "What was that about, luv?"

"Oh nothing..." She shrugged before thanking him & Magnet for opening her door & helping her into the car respectively. "Thank you. Such gentlemen." The tension Robert felt was broken by a shared giggle between the three before she continued. "I just told Peter I wanted to leave & hit up East LA for awhile before we head back to the Hyatt. He asked if Pagey was coming & I said he disappeared with Bonz for a bit & I couldn't find him. Besides, he was having fun last I knew, so I didn't want to pull him away from him being able to relax."

"I see..." He trotted over to his side of the car, slipping inside himself with Magnet shielding him from view of any lurking groupies as best as he could. "And the motioning to me & the party at hand, luv?"

"Simple." Dahlia explained, punctuating her words with the click of her belt. "I told him to tell Jimmy where I was, that I'd be back soon & not to worry. That not only would Magnet be with me but so would you & that you were leaving to tag along with me too. That you'd be there to protect me as well."

Robert felt a slight quickening of his pulse despite the innocence of it all. The innocence of her explanation. Of the situation. Yet the cloak & dagger feel of it all gave him a little heart flutter & frisson at once. He didn't quite know why. He couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Why was he so unnerved?...

It was his idea, after all...

They weren't doing anything wrong anyway...

It was then that Magnet got onto the road & pulled off. Now Robert knew... There was no turning back...

Though turn back he did...

Robert couldn't help it...

And so it was that as he craved his neck to glance back at the traffic behind him, Robert swore he saw a hint of a familiar tall, willowy, smoking, silver accented, black-haired figure hustling into the back seat of a car that roared to life & took off a few car's length behind them.

Only one word came to mind to describe the situation Robert found himself shoe-horning himself into now & his current state of mind.

"Shit..."

~

Hope you guys enjoy~!

As ever this is forever under construction~!

#untilthenextencore #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction #led zeppelin fan fic #led zeppelin fan fiction #robert plant fan fiction #robert plant fan fic #robert plant fanfic #robert plant fanfiction #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fan fiction #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fan fic #nights to remember fic

[trashcankitty12]

What similarities do the Trix share with the ancestral witches (both in appearance and personality)? Do the Trix look like their ancestors when they were younger? Also are you going to write about Sapphire in your upcoming story and if you do, does she share any similarities with her ancestor?

I'm not sure for the canon series of events, so I'm only going to answer as far as "my" version of canon.

Under cut because this is loooong.

Belladonna-Icy:

As far as similarities go, Icy could be a dead ringer for Belladonna (as the saying goes). When alive, Belladonna was considered a terrifying sort of beautiful, with ice-white hair and piercing blue eyes.

Icy definitely has the hair and the eyes. Unlike Belladonna though, her face shape is more like her mother's side of the family, and her height is more from her mother's side as well. (Belladonna was a dangerous but petite woman.)

As far as clothing style goes, Icy dresses a bit more 'provocative' than what Belladonna did. (Considering Belladonna is from a time when women typically wore long dresses and robes and many, many layers.) However Icy does have Belladonna's love for capes/crowned back cloaks.

They also share their core magic as Ice Magic. Icy hasn't quite reached the level Belladonna reached yet, but she's still young.

Personality wise, they are extremely similar. Belladonna was an ambitious witch who wanted to rule over all, and as we've seen, Icy is the same way. Ambitious, a natural leader.

She's also cruel and cunning like Belladonna was, willing to cut down anyone in her path.

However, she's a bit more emotional than Belladonna was. Yes, Belladonna had her moments of 'avalanche causing/blizzard bringing/hail storm' temper tantrums, but they were far and few between. (She tended to be more quiet in her anger, but no less dangerous. The tantrums only happened with major setbacks... Like Griffin escaping them alive and when they realized they may not survive the fight on Domino.)

Icy, on the other hand, has a tendency to lose her cool and get overwhelmed with her anger, flash freezing everyone nearby.

Icy also is more likely to allow herself moments of joy and enjoyment, whereas Belladonna was definitely not much for 'resting and relaxing'. (Such frivolous activities wouldn't help their cause at all.)

And unlike Belladonna, Icy has allowed herself to have genuine feelings for others outside of her 'sisters'. Its only happened a time or two, but Icy has felt her little heart flutter once in a while. (Darko was a great guy... But there was too much going on around them.)

She and Belladonna are both selfish and have great egos/inflated senses of grandeur.

Belladonna was willing to steal both forms of the Dragon Fire and all powerful magic in the realms for herself and her sisters so they could rule the Magical Dimension by ushering in a "New Era of Darkness", thinking it was her calling to create more for her life. Of course her methods weren't 'friendly' and it started a whole war. (And centuries of building up a Cult disguised as a Coven.)

As for the selfish part of her plans, she tended to hoard more of the magic for herself, as she was 'the eldest'. She also tended to pick the strongest members for her personal Inner Circle.

Icy is much the same way, willing to toss her sisters under the bus if it means she gets the prize at the end. And she sees herself as becoming the next Grand Mistress of the new generation of Coven members, the one to usher in the New Era.

Lysslis-Darcy:

(I'm using the version of Lysslis' name that was present when I first started WINX, I have no idea when they changed it or if it was just an error in translation.)

Physically speaking, Darcy and Lysslis do look alike. Same golden eyes, same dark hair kept nice and long. About the same body shape (when Lysslis was alive and young that is). However Darcy's face shape is more like her mother's side of the family.

Like Lysslis, Darcy is also considered the more alluring of the trio, often using her sexuality and her looks to get what's needed. (Along with a dose of hypnosis/mind control magic for those who are a little more difficult.)

Clothing style wise, Darcy does share some fashion traits with Lysslis; wearing clothing that would be considered easy to move in and airy while also 'inviting'. (Though the most Darcy ever looked like her ancestor was when she wore that disguise against Jared.)

Darcy is admittedly taller than her ancestor, but not by much.

Magically, Darcy is incredibly similar to Lysslis, however she doesn't quite use her full potential like she should.

Lysslis was known for her grand illusions, her mind manipulations, her control over the very shadows within souls. And once her powers grew, she could even bring in spirits and ghosts to do her bidding, as well as psychically and psychologically torture her opponents.

Darcy could, in theory, do all of this. In fact, she has done it before. Often. But she's not into capturing and tormenting her opponents or creating 'sleeper agents' like her ancestor. Nor is she interested in twisting someone's mind so badly they kill themselves.

Basically, she's just not into it. She doesn't mind fucking with people's minds or using her powers to get what she wants (free stuff, people not to question why she's somewhere she shouldn't be, etc.), and she's all for defending herself however she has too. But to actively seek out people to psychologically traumatize isn't her thing. Honestly, it's too much work and not enough reward if it's not personal enough.

She also doesn't summon creatures as much as Lysslis did for her dirty work. It's a lot of power to summon things and she just doesn't want to waste power she may need for a direct fight than summon creatures she may not need.)

Personality wise; Darcy is bit lazier than Lysslis is. The goal for her isn't 'realm wide domination', though she's okay with helping her sister reach that goal. She's just in it for the fun and chaos it brings.

Ruling, to her is fun, in theory, but it's not a deep-rooted need. But in reality, she'd rather be the one planning or plotting. Studying. Researching. (Even if she gets called a nerd in the process.) But hey, what are sisters for if not helping each other rule the entire Magical Dimension?

She's actually a little bit like Lysslis that way. Researching and studying on magic and it's effects were something Lysslis took great pride in. (Though her experiments tended to be more... Extreme than Darcy's.)

Like Lysslis, Darcy is drawn to animals and manages to create strong bonds with the creatures she meets. However, unlike Lysslis, Darcy actually has some feeling toward the animals she brings in, whereas they were a means to an end for Lysslis.

Also like Lysslis, Darcy has a bit of a romantic sense about her. She enjoys the idea of dating and sex and being close to people. Granted, she also likes to toy with them, but there's still some genuine feeling there... Some... (Riven.)

But she's loyal to her sisters and their cause and she refuses to let herself become too sidetracked when it comes to their mission. (Lysslis was loyal to her sisters too, but she was also prone to have her part of the Coven members go do missions for her and her alone that tended to... Blow up. Darcy seldom ever does such things.)

Where Lysslis wouldn't hesitate to call Tharma and Belladonna, Darcy tends to follow her sisters' lead until it goes poorly. (Though she will make an effort to point out flaws or ways things could go wrong. It's why Icy comes to her for planning purposes.)

Like Lysslis, Darcy is one who will search out those who have wronged her and exact her revenge. (Unlike Lysslis, her success rate isn't the best considering her main targets are the Winx and they're still happily prancing about.)

Tharma-Stormy

Like Tharma, Stormy has the curled/kind of frizzy storm cloud hair. She's also got Tharma's face shape. Her eye color, however, is the same as her father's side.

She's smaller than Tharma is, actually. Her body shape is more like her father's side as well. (She has freckles like Tharma though! And is great at doing the same wild smile she does.)

Clothing wise, Stormy is a bit more provocative than Tharma was in her youth. Tharma was more into robes and anything loose and flowy, but modest in her wear.

Stormy prefers clothes she can move in and look great in. So... Major differences. (Of course, that's also because of differences from the times they're from.)

Power wise, Stormy is definitely Tharma's descendant. Tharma could create massive thunderstorms, devastating tornadoes, ravaging tsunamis, blinding blizzards, and horrific lightning storms. Stormy is much the same way.

And just like Tharma, the more damage she does, the more excited she becomes. She loves wrecking havoc and causing mayhem. Loves the pain she can cause by localizing her powers.

(Unlike Tharma, she's not quite as refined with her skills yet. But give her time.)

Personality wise, she's even more like Tharma. In fact, out of the Trix sisters and their Ancestors, Tharma and Stormy are the most alike.

She's sadistic, cruel, temperamental, and quick to fight. Tharma was just like that. Sadistic in her torture, cruel in her actions, and quick to fight whenever she felt slighted, even with her own sisters.

Like Tharma, she's also quick to get into physical fights. (And is pretty decent at physical fights as well, considering she enjoys using her magic any chance she gets.)

Tharma wasn't much for romance in her day, though she did enjoy 'having fun' from time to time. (Though how long any of her 'partners' lived varied...) Stormy... Much like that.

Stormy doesn't care for romance. She sees it as an unnecessary headache and just boring. As for sex, she's not really into it either. Can it be fun? Sure. Is it necessary? No.

Unlike Tharma, Stormy can find ways of enjoying herself that don't necessarily regard harming people or killing them. Like dancing or gaming, or even silly little makeover nights with her sisters.

Stormy tends to be a bit more hostile than Tharma was, as she's more willing to reject outsiders into her and her sisters' bubbles, whereas Tharma was fine with having new people to... "Teach".

The Case For Sapphire:

She's going to make an appearance, but it's not going to be too major. It's going to be a moment though.

Sapphire has no idea that Icy is her biological sister, nor do their parents remember having Icy. (My tie-ins thing on AO3 will tell you why. But basically, Lysslis had a vision of them losing the war and had their three youngest and most magically in-sync descendants would be found and raised to be their new puppets. So Darcy, Icy, and Stormy were essentially baby-napped and raised by hidden/underground Coven members to be 'triplet sisters' and fly under the radar. Which is why Griffin didn't think anything too odd of them despite recognizing their heritage.)

But she does have some distant similarities with Belladonna, though thanks to her raising, she's not quite like Icy.

Sapphire has the icy white hair and pale blue eyes that her sister and ancestor do. She also has powers over ice and snow. However, unlike Icy, she's not a witch... She's a fairy. Which has honestly blown the minds of her people. Though she's not completely surprised. Her mother's family tree does have light magic in there.

As the daughter of the Governor of Dyamond, she is polite and well-behaved around others. She's also quiet, a bit reserved.

But don't let that fool you; she does have a slight temper, one that could rival her sister's. It just takes a lot to get her there as she's normally quite a jolly young woman.

(I hope this answers your questions! Sorry it took so long, I had to plan this out.)

#anonymous asks #anon asks #winx club #winx club asks #winx club trix #winx club trix asks #about my fanfic

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Greensleeves Chapter Two: Run, Rabbit, Run

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Killing and dressing of a rabbit. Blorbos gotta eat. Brain worm. Wordcount: 2.9k

Xaph and her new allies plan their next move and make camp

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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

“Now we’ve climbed up the blasted mountain, what’s the plan?” Astarion is proving to have a flair for the dramatics. They’ve hardly climbed a mountain, roughly forty feet further above sea level than they had been before on a mesa he can’t say isn’t pleasant. He’s taking up most of the available space, stretched out on his back with his hands behind his head. One hand still holds the dagger. He’s staring straight up into the sun, though he’s been directly told not to by two different people. Shadowheart sits quietly with her knees tucked under herself, watching the sticks Xaph had stuck into a crack in the rock about half an hour beforehand as though at any moment they could leap up and start dancing. Gale stands on a further outcropping of rock, slightly taller than the mesa and more uneven. He has his hands on his hips and his eyes trained on the spot where he last saw Xaph approximately ten minutes ago. Xaph has scaled halfway up a good silver maple, giving her at least an extra thirty feet of height and a much better vantage point.

“Are you alright up there?” the wizard calls, hands cupped around his mouth. Xaph’s bow sits at his feet, standing up against the trunk of the tree. Her face appears, surrounded by a crown of leaves that have somehow not gotten caught in her ramhorns.

“You’re scaring the birds.” She states. Her tail snakes down between the branches and wraps around the trunk for support.

“The birds?”

“I’m asking them where to go.” She explains. A bluejay wings down from where its nest must be several feet above the tiefling and lands on the dark green tip of one of her horns. It makes a loud mewing sound, not unlike a disgruntled cat. Xaph imitates the call perfectly. Then she makes the sound again, with an infinitesimal difference in inflection, then a high squeak. She is. She’s talking to the birds. Most magic users would still speak in Common after casting a spell to allow them to understand animals, but…oh. She’s a ranger. Of course. Rangers have a relationship with nature trumped only by druids

Xaph slides down the tree with ease, letting herself drop the last six feet and rolling over her shoulder. She groans as her knees bend, and she has to lean on the tree when she’s upright. Once she’s on the ground again, the bluejay returns to his spot on her horn.

“Everything hurts,” she twists her tails into a corkscrew and it cracks in several places, as does her elbow when she stretches her arms out, “It’s strange to move again.”

“I know the feeling,” Gale assures her, his own knees still creaking after his fall out of the portal. “What did the bird say?”

“There’s a druid grove almost two days travel north from here,” the bluejay interrupts her with a strangely gurgly noise, “North-east-ish. They take in refugees, and they’ve got good healers,” the bird interjects again, and Xaph side-eyes it with a frown, “Are you sure he’s a bear?” she reaches up and pulls out a few strands of her own red hair, “Here, take these. Thank you.” The bird hops down into her palm, inspects the hair with its head cocked to the side, then decides it makes for good payment and scoops the stuff up in his beak to fly back up to the nest with. 

“Two days?” Gale asks, to ensure he’d heard correctly. Doubt clouds Xaph’s eyes and her brow remains furrowed. 

“How long does ceremorphosis take?” The thing is moving around in her skull now as she asks, he can see the twitch in her eye and the disgust that pulls her lips to one side. 

“Maximum? Seven days.” Gale’s own worm swims leisurely up towards his crown.

“Minimum?” The joys of sunlight and movement and climbing trees seem frivolous now, childish. She hooks her bow with her foot and picks it up when it spins towards her.

“Three, maybe.” He answers, voice hushed. Resolve tightens Xaph’s features as she nods. She moves past him and hops down to the lower level of rock. Gale opts to sit on the edge and watch as she draws lines on the ground to match the shadows of her sticks. Xaph relays her information about the grove to their other travelling companions, pointing in the direction she has ascertained north-east to be,

“We should get as far away from the crash site as we can, rest when it gets dark and set out for the grove in the morning.” She proposes.

“In the morning? We don’t have that kind of time. We should push through the night.” Shadowheart argues. Xaph shakes her head, a leaf falling from her hair as she does so,

“This place is filthy with goblin tracks. Where there’s one, there’s ten and where there’s ten, there’s a horde.” She explains. Astarion props himself up on his elbows and drawls,

“And they do so like hunting at night.”

“They see exceptionally well in the dark,” Xaph agrees, “Better than elves.”

“Better than tieflings.” Astarion counters.

“And we all see better than humans.” Shadowheart adds. Gale pushes off from the edge of the rock to join them,

“Well, now you’ve all agreed I’m of an inferior species to your own, do we mind moving on? Who knows what other unsavoury scavengers might be looking to plunder the nautiloid.”

“Are your sentences always going to be so long?” Astarion asks.

“I assure you, I say precisely what I mean to say in exactly the manner-”

“That’s a no, then.”

It turns out, later, when it is finally admitted that none of them can bear to walk another dozen paces, that only Shadowheart and Xaph have tents in their packs. Furthermore, they’re the only ones who seem to know what to do with a tent, a scant fifteen minutes being spent putting them up before Shadowheart sets to marking the perimeter of the area she’s deemed their camp with rocks and sticks. Xaph ventures past the perimeter and prowls, barefoot, through knee-high grass until she’s caught two rabbits through the eyes with arrows. She returns to the campfire signifying the centre of their bubble and digs through her pack for a knife.

“Here,” Astarion, looming over her, dagger in hand. Not the one he’d held to her throat. Xaph takes it and holds the blade over the fire to sterilise it, “I thought rangers were supposed to revere nature. This hardly seems in-keeping”

“I thought city rogues were supposed to hate it, but there you were sunbathing.” He’s from Baldur’s Gate after all. A walled city. How much greenery can there possibly be in such a cage?

“Oh we do hate it, darling, we do.” Astarion assures her. He picks invisible dirt out from under his nails like he’s been doing all day.

“Nature is an infinitely delicate balance anyone would go mad trying to understand, and I’d rather be fed than mad, wouldn’t you?” Xaph withdraws the blade from the flames when she deems it clean and holds it out in the night air to cool before she slices a rabbit open.

“Isn’t that what druids do, try to understand nature?” he puts a mocking tone on the last two words, as though he can’t fathom the point of such an activity, which he probably can’t.

“And aren’t all druids a bit crackers?” Xaph asks. Astarion’s head bobs to one side, though she doesn’t see it. Her visual focus is solely on the rabbit and the still-warm blood now coating her fingers as she fishes out the entrails. When the elf doesn’t answer her question, she looks at him to find his eyes pinned on the intestines now caught in her claws. “Shit, sorry, you’re probably not used to this. Blood, I mean.”

“Oh, I’ve seen my share.”

“Like this?” Xaph asks, lifting her hand, “Suppose you did pull a knife on me, but…I know it can be different for some people when they see the thing they’re gonna eat being butchered.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“Sure you’re alright?” Xaph checks. He’s watching her hands as they move to collect the entrails and deposit them in a wooden bowl sitting by her knee, eyes sliding to follow the movements without so much as a stutter. Once, she had travelled with a halfling who had fainted when she tried to show him how to gut a pigeon. He’d written a limerick about it once he’d woken up, but he never ate pigeon again. Or any meat, for that matter. “Astarion?” He at least stirs at the sound of his name, eyes pulling from the viscera to the blood-stained hands to Xaph’s squinting green irises as though magnets are trying to pull him back to the carcasses. When he does meet her gaze, the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

“Quite alright. Simply tired.”

“We’re all tired, Astarion,” Shadowheart is satisfied with her efforts to make a border, and now has another mission in mind, “It won’t get you out of night watch.”

“Night watch?” Gale completes the group, kneeling by the fire with something green and spiky in one hand, an apple in the other. 

“We can’t be so naive as to think we can all sleep soundly at once,” Shadowheart says, “Two of us should be awake at all times.”

“Two of us?” Gale echoes, voice tinged with confusion.

“In case one of us turns,” Shadowheart’s words fall like bricks, as though Gale is being deliberately dense, “Whether that’s into a mind flayer or a murderer.”

“You don’t trust easily, do you?”

“A reasonable quality given our situation.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Gale admits, inclining his head in Shadowheart’s direction, “If I may, I myself would be willing to be a part of the first watch. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for several hours yet.”

“I’ll join you,” Shadowheart tells him, “I would like to stay up a while and look at the stars,” she addresses Xaph and Astarion, “You two can get some rest.” There’s a bucket of water by the fire in case it needs sudden dousing. Xaph dips her hands in it and wipes them with a rag to get the worst of the blood off.

“You can take my tent, city rat, it’ll be a bit warmer. I think I’d like to sleep under the stars myself.” She offers. The zing of fresh air hasn’t worn off yet, and she doesn’t want to distance herself from it. She would bathe in it if she could.

“Thank the gods, I was worried I’d have to curl up in the dirt with the rest of you.” He’s sneering again, directly at Xaph rather than in general disgust of their surroundings, but she doesn’t waste time trying to find any reason to take offence and lets it pass. There’s no use picking a fight and fracturing any tentative trust any of them have in each other. She chooses to smile instead, lop-sided as though she’s in on his joke, before hoisting the now fully-dressed rabbit up by its back legs,

“Does anyone have anything that’ll go better with rabbit than belladonna blooms?” She asks, holding her smile. All she has is belladonna and mergrass, one of which is of course poisonous and the other notoriously bitter when cooked.

“Juniper, if this is what I think it is.” Gale holds out the green thing he’d been clutching for inspection. Xaph plucks a blueish berry from the little branch and lifts it to eye level. Sure enough, she recognises it and happily pops it in her mouth to burst between pointed teeth.

“Perfect.”

***

Xaph wakes of her own accord when the parasite pushes into an unexpected crevice of her brain. The cold night breeze blows over her back and startles her further. She pushes herself up onto all fours and crawls to her pack to find a loosely woven blanket, rust-red and threadbare, to pull around her shoulders. The fire is near, and she wants to be closer to the warmth. The flames climb high again, no longer low and smouldering for cooking with. Gale stands by the fire, close enough to risk singing his shoes. Xaph lets her feet drag a little so he hears her approach.

“Go to Hell.” Gale says into the flames when she’s only a few paces away.

“Good evening to you too.” Xaph replies dryly, waiting until she hears the exhale of a laugh before she moves forwards.

“You’re a good sport,” he says, looking away from the flames to meet Xaph’s eyes, “‘Go to Hell.’ An everyday expression. So trivial it’s almost meaningless,” it’s not long before his gaze returns to the fire. Xaph joins him, watching the glowing wood disintegrate into ash, “But we’ve seen Hell. It’s real. And it isn’t trivial.” Xaph stays quiet, letting him work through his thoughts, “Devils, dragons, mind flayers - they used to be abstracts. Pictures on a piece of paper.” He pauses, and Xaph speaks her thoughts aloud. She knows they won’t be of any comfort to him, they wouldn’t be of any comfort to anyone, but she can’t let them fester in her head with the worm,

“Having encountered two of the three, I wouldn’t hesitate in saying mind flayers are the worst of them,” she feels eyes on her, two sets. Shadowheart must be somewhere in the…shadows. “What does a devil ask for but the same thing the gods demand? They can only take what you agree to give them, and there’s always a way to get your soul back, but your mind? To me, my mind is who I am. That can’t be recovered once plucked from your head and moulded to their design. At least with celestials and infernals you still have some semblance of free will.” But it’s even worse than that, worse because she knows she will be able to feel herself slipping away. Her memories, her knowledge being sucked from her the same way she sucks the marrow from a bone. Her chin wobbles and her eyes burn. She hasn’t cried yet, surprisingly, but she’s close to cracking.

“You don’t seem scared.” Gale’s voice pulls her from the spiral. It’s her turn to give a short, sharp laugh, to pull her gaze away from the flames and land on a specific silver strand of his hair.

“You’re kind. I know I’m a shit liar and I’m fucking terrified.”

“Me too,” Gale says softly, words almost but not quite caught by the breeze. His next sentence is clearer, “What a difference a day makes. Now we have tadpoles slithering through our heads like carnivorous foeti. That’s not abstract.” They return to their silent musing of the fire for several moments that hang lead-heavy in the air, until he turns bodily to her and says, “You need to eat.”

“I do.” Indeed, her stomach feels rather hollow. There’s no pain there, yet, but without food it won’t be long. Gale turns away from her and crouches, busying himself with something Xaph hadn’t taken notice of earlier. She settles cross-legged by the fire and holds a hand above the flames just to feel them lick at her palm.

“Here.” Gale hands her a tin plate that must have come from Shadowheart’s supplies before moving back to sit on a log three paces to Xaph’s right. Her hand warms the metal. He’s given her the front legs, the bony parts. He must be familiar with tiefling diets. A small pile of juniper berries sit to one side, cooked down to a sticky jam-like consistency, the green leaves of the branch sprinkled on the plate for flair. When Xaph bites into the meat, her eyes close and she sighs.

“The last thing I ate was a couple of raw snow-goose eggs I managed to filch from a nest up the Icespire,” she turns her head to make eye contact, “This is wonderful. Thank you,” the words are quiet but she hopes the weight of them is known, “Go, sleep. Switch with Astarion. I’ll relieve Shadowheart in a minute.” He smiles again, and it’s not the beaming introductory one from earlier, or even the wry regretful one from a few minutes ago. There’s something more genuine about this one. Once he has turned to make his way towards her tent, Xaph rises to go to Shadowheart with a rabbit leg between her teeth. She crunches happily on the bones.

“What were you two talking about?” Shadowheart asks when Xaph arrives at her tent.

“What do you mean?” Xaph asks after swallowing her food.

“You. And Gale.” Shadowheart says his name with the same contempt she’d used to summon fire.

“I was hungry. He gave me something to eat.”

“I’d be careful with him.”

“We were just talking, Shadowheart.”

“So am I,” Shadowheart counters infuriatingly, lifting her chin, “If we’re to survive we need to…trust each other,” Gale’s right, she doesn’t like the idea of trust at all, “You seem reliable. I think you know how important it is that we find someone who can cure us. Best if we focus on that.”

“I agree. The sooner we find someone to help us, the better, but you still need to rest.” Xaph says slowly, carefully. Shadowheart’s eyes narrow, just a little, trying to assess the nonexistent layers of Xaph’s speech. When she finds no underlying motives, she nods and disappears into her tent. Xaph returns to the fire with her tin plate, muttering, “It’s just a bloody rabbit.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #rae's writing #rae's ocs #xaph [tav] #bg3 tav #baldur's gate 3 tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #shadowheart #astarion #astarion ancunin #still no wyll </3

[zablife]

Pink Venom

Jack Nelson x Kathleen "Kit" (OC-Jack's fiancee) x Gina Gray

Summary: Newly engaged Jack and Kathleen seem like the perfect couple until Gina arrives and begins to make trouble. Will her plan to win Kathleen work?

Author's Note: Requested by a lovely anon who wanted to see a love triangle with Jack and Gina vying for the attention of the reader. I changed it to an OC. Please note there is NO INCEST!!

Warnings: language, drinking, cheating, fighting, mention of sex

Boston, March 15, 1933

The organ player began Ave Maria once more as the guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The old wooden pews creaked and a few coughs could be heard amongst the wedding guests, but no one dared utter a word as they witnessed Jack’s hands curl into fists at his sides, clenching tightly until his knuckles turned white. The wedding that should have begun an hour ago was woefully late, so much so that the priest leaned into the groom asking feebly, “Perhaps someone should check on your bride, Mr. Nelson?” 

Jack gritted his teeth as he thought, Goddamn right. Where the hell is she?

———————————————————

London, October 1932

“Michael? Michael!” Gina shouted as she tugged on her calfskin gloves. She swished down the hallway quickly searching the rooms until she came to his office, noting how he didn’t bother to look up at her from his ledgers. 

“Michael I was calling you!” she said as she tapped her foot impatiently.

Michael looked up slowly with an annoyed expression asking, “What is it, Gina? I’m busy.”

“I need my allowance,” she said giving him a doe eyed stare. 

“You’ve spent three times your allotted expenditures for the month already. Why do you need more?” he asked leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. Her demands were becoming relentless.

“I’m going shopping with Uncle Jack’s new fiancee and I don’t want to be embarrassed. Do you want me to look like a poverty stricken charity case in front of her?” she pouted at him.

Michael knew a temper tantrum was inevitable if he let her continue so he reached into his desk for the roll of bills he kept for emergencies and counted out the maximum he was willing to part with for her frivolous shopping spree. Handing it across the desk with a huff, he held her hand tightly as he warned, “Behave yourself, Gina.”

She slid her hand away smoothly and placed the money in her purse as she smiled sweetly at him. “Don’t I always, dear?” 

—————————————————————————

“You must be Kathleen,” Gina said, leaning in for an air kiss to the woman’s cheek.

“Please, we’re about to become family. Call me, Kit,” the young woman said with a kind smile. She was not at all what Gina had expected. Although she knew her uncle liked young, attractive women she had no idea he had chosen someone this young. They were practically the same age.

“Alright, then. Kit,” Gina said pronouncing the last syllable precisely as she sized up the woman who would become her aunt. She was breathtaking, that much was true.

“Jack has told me so much about you. He says you’re missing home as much as I am. I have to admit, I’m anxious to return to Boston. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the weather here!” she said gesturing toward the misting rain outside the shop window.

Gina mirrored her polite smile with a noticeable lack of sincerity. She hoped the conversation would improve throughout the day. She hated small talk because it usually signaled a complete lack of imagination and a woeful shortage of gossip. Still Gina knew how to make her own fun if none were readily available and she felt the need for mischief creep up on her before she could stop herself. Not that she would have wanted to.

“Shall we have a look?” Gina said removing her gloves and taking a stroll. Kit nodded in agreement and they walked on together.

As Gina listened to Kit discuss her privileged upbringing and well-connected parents, Gina understood why her uncle was so eager to marry her. However, she doubted Kit had any idea what she was getting herself into by marrying one of Boston’s most notorious gangsters.

After hearing all about the wedding planning, Gina couldn’t stay silent any longer. “And how are you getting on with the children? Are you ready to step in as their new mother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in Kit’s direction. 

Kit stopped short and held her breath for a moment. No one had asked her about this yet as most people thought it impolite to bring up anything regarding Jack’s status as a widower. She was glad no one had broached the topic before because she was nervous about the arrangement. The children were quite young and adorable, but no one would ever replace their own mother. 

“They’re precious children. I’m honored to become their step mother,” Kit said softly. “In time Jack and I hope to have children of our own as well,” she said looking down at the floor shyly. 

“Well, that is admirable. The children need stability after all that’s happened…watching as their mother was forced to leave them,” Gina said. Kit looked up at her with furrowed brow wondering why she’d used that wording.

“Wh- What do you mean by that?” she said.

Gina stepped closer and placed a hand on Kit’s forearm gently. “My uncle isn’t perfect, but I can see you’re going to be good for him,” she said, searching her eyes carefully. “Yes, loyal to him.” Then she broke away to walk ahead as she continued with a wave of her hand, “Aunt Maggie didn’t understand him at all. That’s why she ended up where she did.”

“Buried at St. Matthew’s?” Kit asked with a confused look.

“Is she? Well that’s a new one on me,” Gina replied, “Oh, Kit, perhaps we should have spoken sooner.”

————————————————————

Two weeks later…

“You happy to be home, doll?” Jack asked, stroking Kit’s cheek gently as he placed her suitcases inside her Boston apartment.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. She thought back to the unpleasantness of her last weeks in London and how upset she’d been after spending time with Jack’s niece. Her face fell at the thought and Jack was quick to notice her sudden change in demeanor. 

“You still thinking about Gina’s crazy lies, huh?” he said sadly. “God, I’m so sorry she scared you like that,” he said sympathetically pulling her into his arms for a kiss. She pressed her cheek to his chest feeling the beating of his heart and the warmth of his body, wanting to believe his numerous denials. However, there was something about the way Gina had spoken to her that made her seem like far more of an authority on the matter.

“Hey, you going to be alright for the New Years Eve party?” Jack asked hooking a finger under her chin. “We’re gonna be entertaining the most important people in the city, you know. I need you, Kitty Kat,”he said smoothly leaning in for a kiss.

Kit melted into him and when she pulled away, she smiled lovingly at him. “I’ll be better than alright so long as I have you.”

“That’s my girl,” Jack said with a broad smile. 

———————————————————-

New Years Eve 1933

Kit had made her rounds on Jack’s arm, greeting the endless stream of party guests. She’d chatted merrily with all of them until she spotted Gina enter the room. Pulling herself closer into Jack’s side she whispered, “Jack, darling, you didn’t tell me your niece would be here.”

“Michael had business in New York and Gina phoned yesterday to see if she’d be welcome for a visit. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no,” he said. “It’s not a problem is it?”

Not wanting to ruin the mood of the party, Kit replied, “Of course, she’s welcome.”

The night wore on without incident. Gina found plenty of people to entertain her and Kit soon found herself unaware she was even in attendance until a few minutes after midnight. Stepping out onto the balcony, she found a somber Gina smoking lazily. She appeared to have been crying, but she still looked as beautiful as ever, barely a hair out of place as she stood regally in her gold satin gown. 

“Gina, is something the matter?” Kit asked, approaching carefully. She couldn’t stand the sight of someone in tears, even if it was a person who had hurt her feelings not so long ago.

Gina shook her head softly, exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air.

“Please talk to me. Do you miss Michael?” Kit ventured again, unwillingly to leave when she feared something important may have happened.

Gina scoffed as she extinguished her cigarette beneath the heel of her shoe. “How can I miss a man who’s never around?”

“Jack said he had business in New York. I assume it must be urgent if he had to work over the holidays,” Kit said trying to be diplomatic.

“There’s always something more important. The business, his family, every fucking thing before me,” Gina said bitterly as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

Kit looked away unsure of how to comfort her. “Well, tonight you’re with Jack and me so we’ll look after you. We’re very glad you came,” Kit offered, trying to think of some way to cheer her up.

Gina looked at Kit hopefully and walked toward her, stumbling a bit as she made her way over. She must have had too much champagne, Kit thought. Gina grabbed onto Kit’s arm and Kit held her steady. 

“You can’t imagine how lonely I am, can you? No one to kiss on New Year’s Eve.” She looked up into Kit’s enormous blue eyes and asked “Will you kiss me?” 

Then she leaned in and placed a soft kiss to her lips, delicate at first and then lingering in its warmth as she pushed her chest into Kit’s arm. Kit’s breath caught in her throat as she felt her pulse race at the contact. Then she stood frozen as Gina broke away, smiling dreamily as she ambled back inside as though nothing had happened.

———————————————————

One week later…

Kit lingered outside Jack’s office, waiting for him to end an important call before venturing inside with the question that had been running through her mind since the party. When would she see Gina again? Pushing the heavy door aside, she crossed to Jack’s desk hesitantly.

“Jack, darling, I was wondering if you could tell me if Gina will be joining us for dinner this evening?” she asked trying to sound as casual as possible. 

Jack barely looked up from his desk, shaking his head. “Um…no, not tonight,” he replied, distracted by the note he was making on a pad by the phone.

“That’s a pity,” she said to herself, but loudly enough Jack heard.

Looking up at her quizzically, he knitted his brow asking, “Why is that, sweetheart? You best friends with Gina now?”

Her heart thundered in her chest, wondering if he’d seen their kiss on the balcony. Thinking quickly she stammered out an overzealous response. “You said we should be kind to her, that’s all. And I don’t want another surprise appearance. I have to have time to do the shopping you know!”

Jack broke into a wide grin as he stood and took her into his arms. He kissed her gently and tilted her chin up toward him. “Want to be the perfect little wife for me don’t you, doll?”

She nodded in silent agreement and straightened his tie dutifully. Stepping back toward his desk he searched through a stack of papers adding, “Don’t worry, Michael’s back in town and he’ll keep Gina out of our hair. I know you want to focus on planning the wedding.” He gave her a wink and she smiled back at him. 

“I have to get to a meeting. That guest list you wanted me to make is here somewhere in this mess. Can you find it for me, Kitty Kat?” he pleaded, looking down at his watch.

“Sure, Jack,” she said, returning the quick kiss he delivered on his way out the door. She sighed as she listened to his footsteps thudding down the stairs, her heart rate returning to normal with the diminishing sound.

Collapsing into his chair, she began her task of sorting through the mountain of paperwork in front of her. She chuckled at his disorganization wondering how he found anything in such disarray. It took nearly twenty minutes to find the list Jack had asked her to find, written in his elegant, but cramped handwriting. Just as she was tidying the last of his papers, an open ledger caught her eye and as she read, the contents made her eyes go wide.

—————————————————-

Two days later…

Gina waited patiently for the quiet sobs on the other end of the line to die down. “Kit? What’s happened?” she asked.

“He denied it, but it’s exactly as you said, Gina. I found the accounting books in his study,” Kit explained, twisting the telephone cord in her fingers until the wire cut the circulation painfully. She hadn’t been spying on Jack. It had been an honest mistake, looking through his papers to find the guest list for the wedding. He had invited her to do so. He must have left the book open thinking she wouldn’t understand the meaning of his notes, but she had connected the dots.

“It was all there. The money he’s been sending to Palm Beach to keep his wife Maggie away. I feel like a fool,” Kit said. 

Gina sat at her desk, pursing her lips. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Kit, but she deserved to know the truth and now she had it. However, she sensed there was more and she waited as Kit continued.

“He’s got other accounts as well for two more women. Did you know about them?” she said sniffling.

Gina bit her tongue, unsure how to answer. Her uncle had always been a womanizer so it didn’t surprise her to learn he had mistresses. It seemed unfair for him to be cheating on Kit already, especially because she was such a perfect bride. However, quality never mattered. It was quantity Jack was after. He had to be loved and admired by as many women as possible. His ego practically demanded it. 

“Kit, it’s not a good idea for you to be alone right now. You’ve had a shock. Why don’t you come over and we’ll talk,” Gina said tracing a pattern on her desk with her fingertip. 

————————————————————

February 1933

“You going out with Gina again today, sweetheart?” Jack asked, coming to stand behind Kit as she applied her makeup at the vanity. 

“Yes, she’s helping me at the final dress fitting,” Kit replied with a sweet, yet insincere smile.

Jack massaged her shoulders with his large hands, attempting to dislodge the visible tension she held in her neck. “You’re so tense, sweetheart,” he remarked. “You nervous about the wedding stuff?”

Kit’s eyes flicked up to meet Jack’s in the mirror and she simply hummed in agreement. 

“Well, don’t be. I’ve got plenty of people to help you out, ok? I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” he said placing a kiss to the spot below her ear where he knew she was ticklish. She reacted instantly, swatting him away with her freshly manicured hand. 

“Jack, I’ll be late,” she whispered, ducking here head. And he breathed a heavy sigh, frustrated by their lack of intimacy recently. He assumed it was the stress of their impending nuptials, but it was far more.

The thought of him touching her in that exact spot brought back memories of the day she had visited Gina. She’d been overwrought, accepting one too many drinks as they discussed what she should do about her fiance. Gina sat beside her on the sofa, listening sympathetically as Kit explained all the reasons why she couldn’t call off her wedding to Jack.

Gina leaned forward to emphasize her point, “You don’t have to do this, Kit.”

“Do what?”

“Make everyone happy when you’re miserable. Jack isn’t worth it. Think about what you want for a change.”

“I want someone to love me the way I love,” Kit said and her face was so hopeful and naive, Gina couldn’t help but stare.

Gina stroked Kit’s knee in slow, soothing circles. “That’s all I wanted when I married Michael, but he let me down too. Men aren’t capable of kindness or devotion.”

Kit’s hand began to shake as she placed it over Gina’s. It wasn’t fear, but anger that rose in her throat next. “Gina, how can they get away with treating us this way? How will we recover?”

The lamplight sparked the gold fleck’s in Gina’s hazel eyes as she replied with steely determination, “Because we’re stronger than they are. And what they’ve done is nothing compared to what we’re capable of,” she said clasping hands with Kit.

Kit looked confused, shaking her head she lamented, “I doubt anything I did would make Jack feel my pain.”

Gina smirked as she leaned toward Kit, placing her lips at the shell of her ear and whispering, “I’ll tell you a little secret, Kit. It’s not about pain, it’s about power. They’ve hurt us, but not like we’re going to hurt them,” placing a featherlight kiss just below Kit’s earlobe. 

Kit’s breath hitched at Gina’s words. They made her feel in control of her life again and she was intoxicated by the feeling. Turning her head toward Gina, she captured her lips in a desperate kiss, lacing a hand through her platinum bob and pulling her impossibly closer.

——————————————————

March 15, 1933

Jack stalked to the back of the church with all the guests watching and whispering behind him as he went. His ears burned in embarrassment as he attempted to hold his composure and failed.

Anxious to find the cause of the delay, he pushed the heavy doors at the back of the chapel harshly, squinting as they opened onto the brightness of the midday sun. He held a hand over his eyes, searching for his bride, but found the street in front of St. Stephen’s empty. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and paced as he thought.

At that moment the doors opened once more and Michael came barreling toward him, shaking a small piece of paper under his nose. “Thieving American bastard!” he hissed. “You and your niece planned this all along to take everything from me!” He threw a punch, but it didn’t connect as Jack ducked in the nick of time. As Jack stood to straighten himself, Michael pulled at his lapels and tried to push Jack into the brick facade of the church front, but Jack overpowered him, turning the tables and pinning him to the wall.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jack demanded to know, curling a hand over Michael’s throat.

Michael lifted the letter to Jack’s eye level, crushing the note with his fist and Jack snatched it away quickly. He threw Michael unceremoniously onto his ass in the church yard as he skimmed the contents, his breath coming in short gasps as he realized the gravity of the situation. 

Michael,

By the time you read this, I’ll be on board a luxurious ocean liner far away from you and your bullshit. There’s no point in looking for me or the fortune you’ll certainly find missing when the markets open on Monday. Don’t bother asking why, you know why. You’ve been a terrible husband to me and now it’s time for you to pay the price. If you’re thinking of revenge, which I’m sure you are, know that your cousin Tommy won’t be helping you. Now that your mother is gone, he holds no further loyalty to you. In fact, I’ve told him all about your dealings with the Billy Boys so I’d recommend going into hiding yourself.

P.S.-Tell the jilted groom to check his breast pocket. Then he'll know I stole his bride. By the way, we’re fucking.

“What the fuck?” Jack exclaimed through clenched teeth and dug into his jacket, producing another small note which had gone unnoticed until now. He read it with Michael looking over his shoulder at a distance.

Jack,

You’ve hurt me more than you could possibly know, lying to me and the children about your wife’s death and keeping whores behind my back. I don’t know how you could do that to someone you care for. Gina has taught me what it is to be truly loved and I’m going away to make a life with her. She warned me that you might try to threaten me. Well I won’t be bullied into submission any longer. If you try to find me, I’ll tell everyone the truth about Maggie's whereabouts and your attempted bigamy. You'll find the safe in the house is empty of all the cash and jewelry as a parting gift I feel I deserve and I’ve also taken the incriminating ledgers to keep you honest. Your business partners would likely agree that you have some trouble in that department. 

Yours unfaithfully,

Kit

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Did you put her up to this to make me a laughing stock?” Jack asked, feeling the bile rise in his throat.

“Your niece just stole an untold amount of money from me and threatened to have my own family execute me and you think this was my plan?” Michael asked, stumbling backwards to take a seat on the church step.

Jack ran a hand down his face, feeling the blood drain away. “I always knew Gina was rotten, but to go and do a thing like this,” he muttered to himself. Then he turned to Michael in anger, “You couldn’t control her for one goddamn minute and she goes and ruins both our lives?”

Michael pointed a finger at Jack spitefully, “If you hadn’t wanted to fuck everything that moves, your fiancée wouldn’t have come crying to my wife! You arrogant prick!” At that, Jack’s shoulders started to shake with involuntary laughter, a response to the stressful situation at hand. 

“Are you fucking laughing?” Michael asked, face contorted in disgust. 

“They really got us by the balls, huh?” Jack said in disbelief, shaking his head. He joined Michael on the step and dropped his head into his hands. The two men sat next to each other in stunned silence for some time, wondering how two dames had managed to steal their money and their reputations out from under them. Meanwhile, Gina and Kit stood on the deck of the SS Monroe, toasting their newfound happiness.

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

Tag list:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@tommydoesntpayforsuits

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60   

@easilyobessedbutflighty

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@peakyrogers

@christinasyellowflowers

@retromafia

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@raincoffeeandfandoms

@dreamlandcreations

@jackiekae

@daddyjack-nelson

@peaky-cillian

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@floraroselaughter

@renderedspeechless

@slytherisstuff

@watercolorskyy

@cillmequick

@l1-l4

@moral-terpitude

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Jack Nelson fanfic #Jack Nelson imagine #Jack Nelson x OC #Gina Gray x fanfic #Gina Gray x imagine #Gina Gray x OC

[adrianasunderworld]

🌈Dreary Crowley🌈

Dreary is the younger cousin of Dire Crowley. Her mother, Dreadful Crowley, and his father were siblings. Dreadful took over as head of the family after her brother died centuries ago.

Dreary is the youngest of three. She has two older brothers, Dour and Dismal. By the time she was born, the boys were long since grown and out the house. At that point, her father was tired of Dread, and left her. He tried to see Dreary as she grew up, but her mother made it difficult. Dreary has not seen her father or brothers in years, and it was just her and mother.

You've heard of Sad Beige Children, well Dreary was a Sad Gray Child. The house was mostly gray with very little color, and if there was, they dark and muted, and no it wasn't even in a gothic sense. The estate was devoid was any sense of personality or signs of life. Dreadful said bright colors would give headaches and were tacky and frivolous anyway. So Dreary was not allowed much in way of color or decoration, even in her own room.

Due to her mother's nature, Dreary became very shy and reserved. Her mother's silent shadow that was only seen and never heard.

The only reason Dreary never tried to leave the family estate was because, despite how difficult she made it, Dreary did love her mother. Dread had remarried a few times over the decades, but none stuck around, Dreary was the only constant, and if she left her mother would be alone.

Drearys only solace and sense of belonging was in the books she read. It was her escape from her home. Back when her brothers did visit, they would bring her more new novels, carefully slipping her the ones her mother would deem silly and frivolous. Novels of fantasy and romance and other things the their mother called improper.

Eventually though, even Dreary could take so much. She realized her mother maybe couldn't love her in the way she needed to be loved, so Dreary ran away from home. She ended up on the doorstep of Dreads least favorite nephew: Dire Crowley. Her mother would not look for her here.

Dire took his young cousin in, not really knowing what else to do. He despised his aunt, and didn't want to think of what would await Dreary if he sent her back. So he allowed her to attend Night Raven College, and Dreary took up residence in Ramshackle with Miss Yuu/Isabelle.

Now that Dreary was free of her mother's rules, she wanted as much color as she could get. She dressed in rainbows. Piled on accessories. Painted her room bright yellow. She was never going gray again.

Dreary joined the board game club. She liked finally having people to play with. They have a bin of random miscellaneous game pieces that got lost and found. Dreary raids it sometimes so she can DIY them into accessories.

Dreary collects fun stationery. Like notepads with Sanrio characters. Packs of pens in the color of the rainbow. And lots and lots of stickers and washi tape. She keeps journals and puts a lot of it to use.

Dreary is still very shy and isn't sure how to interact with others that is not based around the rigid rules of etiquette. So she can be overly polite at times and apologize for things that are not her fault.

Shes a first year.

Her and Riddle unsurprisingly understand one another.

Vil helped her get started on her style journey. The whole crazy rainbow look may not be his thing, but it is a style and he pointed her in the right direction and gave her tips on how to get the best results with colorful makeup.

Bonus: How Dreary mom dressed her vs how Dreary dresses herself.

Dreadful really adhered to what she thought was appropriate for a young lady to wear. High colors, nothing above her knee. Stockings always. No loud prints or bright colors. Any jewelry had to be simple. The outfits themselves were not objectively bad. They were nice quality and coordinated, just not what Dreary wanted to wear.

The second Dreary could, she sought out the exact opposite. Bright colors, loud prints, over the top accessories,short frilly skirts. She's always wanted these things, but was never allowed. Now that she isn't home, Dreary feels like she can finally be a teenage girl and enjoy frivolous things and not be a practical young lady for once.

#twisted wonderland #twst oc #miss yuu #dreary crowley #dire crowley

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I really want to do some character building for Camilla (because I love her and am sad about the relative lack of content for her). If you had to name her defining character traits, what would you say they are? Or any unique quirks?

Her full character will be revealed in version 2.0, but she already shows some character traits in my opinion:

Spoiled. In a interview with FlashShifter, when showing the Castle Village concept and mentioning Camilla's tower, he said that "naturally, her tower is in the best part of town". Camilla always gets what she wants, whether someone serves it to her on a silver platter or she takes it herself. The best fabric for her dresses imbued with magic, the best artifacts that are still accessories for her. This woman knows how to live luxuriously.

Powerful and determined. Even with great magical talent, it takes willpower and character building to be as successful as Camilla has been. I don't know for sure if she is the official (or unofficial) ruler of Castle Village, but the fact that she is the only one who has the power to decide who enters through her barrier speaks to the immense power and authority she has achieved through hard work.

Childish/frivolous. We'll definitely be shown more serious character traits of Camilla in the future, but she's controversial in most of the available cutscenes. When Magnus first mentioned Camilla as the sorceress with the strongest and biggest barrier, I envisioned a rather serious and reserved woman in her emotions. In events, on the other hand, she seems more like a young bitch witch who doesn't care much about what she says or does. This woman changed the ecosystem by adding a new species of fish to the Stardew Valley.... for fun. Etiquette rules? What is that - we'll just tease the unfamiliar Farmer the first time we meet them, or just steal them from the farmhouse!

Caring. Despite her malicious and capricious nature, Camilla genuinely cares for her friends and loved ones, as well as all the villagers. Perhaps her frivolous behavior is a shell under which she hides the kind and vulnerable part of herself. Maybe she's used to hiding that side behind jokes and a bit of vulgar behavior, because during her rise up the career ladder she had quite a few competitors who also wanted power and wouldn't hesitate to exploit Camilla's weakness. Or maybe they already had. And in the end Camilla had to show them all that mistaking her kindness for weakness was their biggest fuck up.

I also think one of her quirks could be her unpredictability and sudden change of character. She could be drinking tea and joking around with someone, and a minute later her interlocutor would be in jail or worse. She can dramatically change someone's life for better or worse with a snap of her fingers, and nothing will happen to her. Btw, impunity allows her to do whatever she wants. Of course, she does not go too far, but sometimes she can use her cunning and guile to achieve something. Especially if it's a matter of life or death for someone dear to her. I won't call her corrupt, but she clearly has quite a few minor infractions behind her.

#sve #stardew valley expanded #sve camilla #sorry if my writing a little messy dear anon #i just feel really sleepy #it's only 10pm tho #and still... #💤💤💤

[justplainwhump]

BBU Community Days | Showcasing: Owned

It's really not easy, picking one favorite here. So I cheated. You'll get two by others, one by me. And it's still SO hard. There’s always more recs waiting, just ask me :)

Showcasing piece one: "Porn with Plot". (Not as explicit as the name sounds, but still clearly nsfw) by @winedark-whump.

So she showered off, and got ready early. She likes to drink the water from the shower, pretending she is a hiker under some waterfall, even though she doesn’t know where the image comes from. Water fills her stomach, too - his new assistant refuses to bring her lunch, so her days teeter between each meal he remembers to bring. 

Stretching her legs out along the sofa, she turns on the television. 

Television is a waste of time, he says. He watches tutorials and TED talks instead, improving his mind. So instead of the frivolities of Netflix, she pulls up her own set of tutorials, the only content he allows her. 

It is the most exclusive porn streaming service in the world. 

This piece legit haunted me. Christie is an absolutely fantastic character, and the way she deals with being kept in her room and with just herself and a very limited entertainment choice, as company, bored and alone most of the time, with an owner who isn't even entirely evil, just, doesn't care much. 

I love her coping mechanism, and it breaks my heart at the same time. This piece resonated with me so hard, I still think about it months after first reading it. Thank you so much Isaac, for writing it!

Showcasing piece two is rather a series than one piece because I love the character development of the owner from caretaker to whumper: "Lost Cause Jude" by @whumpinggrounds

She’s waiting a few paces from the couch, glad she’s remembered the new, stricter rules. Sometimes Isabella forgets, because at first, she was supposed to sit on the couch. Mistakes like those always makes Miss Mara irritated, which makes Isabella scared, which makes Miss Mara more irritated – but tonight, Isabella remembers, and Miss Mara grins. Dipping her chin, she directs Isabella to kneel by her feet, and Isabella does it gracefully, neatly, tucking her legs under her and looking up at her owner with big, pretty eyes, the way she’s been taught. “Good girl,” Miss Mara praises, cupping Isabella’s chin, and the Box Babe feels the praise as a warm glow in her chest. 

There’s a package on the couch next to Miss Mara, but like a good pet, Isabella keeps her eyes on her owner’s face, even as Miss Mara focuses on opening the sealed plastic package. Grinning, her owner lifts something out – it’s green, and lacy, and not very big. Miss Mara dangles it in front of Isabella’s face, a few inches from her nose, and then the fabric shifts and makes a familiar shape and Isabella understands, face turning red. 

(This is from "For You", an explicit piece; but actually not many chapters are nsfw)

Mara is absolutely fascinating as a character. She goes through a wonderful corruption arc, grows into her role as the owner of her ex girlfriend in the meanest possible way. I love the way Isabella sees the world, the moments of clarity, the always underlying horror that she isn't entirely conscious of but still feels. And Mara, ugh, listen. She's just hot, okay? Intelligent, controlling, ambitious, she has it all, and her whole character just makes *sense*. My favorite owner in all of the BBU, I think. Just perfect.

And now, to my own piece. Another series. "Mark and Gemma get a Pet" (contains non explicit nsfw).

"I…" Ms Gemma swallowed thickly. "Ira?"

"I’m yours," the pet replied. "I’m yours, and I’m here for you."

Ms Gemma put her own hand on hers, guided her hand towards her lips, and the pet followed. 

Her owner’s lips were soft under her fingertips, trembling. Her grip around the pet’s hand tightened, and she pressed a tiny kiss to her fingertips. Then another. And another.

"Do you really love me, Ira?" She paused to look up at her. "Could they really make you love me?"

The pet - Ira, she was Ira again, and it made her both anxious and excited - cast her gaze down, looked up at Ms Gemma through her lashes. A little shy, very sincere. "Yes," she said quietly. "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, Ms Gemma."

(From "Comfort", a chapter rather far in the story)

I could forever talk about Mark and Gemma. I reread it today, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Another corruption arc for pet owners, however in a different setting. Mark is a dudebro and idiot, Gemma is his controlled, ambitious girlfriend. They'd clash at some point anyway, but it accelerates when they suddenly become owners of a second-hand pet. I love Gemma's desperate need to keep everything under control, to do everything right, and refusing to see how everything is just barely kept together. I love the heartbreaking trust Ira has, that everything will be alright, even though there's nothing under her control, and how these two dance around each other, somehow both the reason for the other's suffering - in very different ways.

#bbu #bbu community #showcasing #owned #recs #bbu recs #bbucommunity

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Please Try To Hear

8. Dream

From this list of gt prompts

AU: Zepheera's Origins

Note: This features a song that has come up before if you've kept up with the life and times of Zepheera. This particular version can be found here if you're curious.

~~~

Every once in a while, the human who lived in the house above the floorboards would put on a record in the evening. Usually after dinner, while they went about whatever quiet activities humans get up to with music on. Toffer in particular enjoyed the chance to listen in, and over the years developed quite the taste in music, albeit a limited one.

His partner, Ceillo, indulged him in a night of frivolity when this happened, allowing himself to get into the silly dances Toffer would pull him in for. Borrowers had to find their fun wherever they could, just like anything else in their lives.

Only tonight, they weren’t alone. They had a third partner in their dance. A lovely baby girl, only a few months old and promised to be theirs once her mother, their dear friend, ceded her to their care.

Zepheera sat placidly to the side watching them all. They were a colorful group, with her daughter’s bright red hair between Toffer’s blond and Ceillo’s brunet, and all their smiles and laughter. Now more than ever, she was confident in her decision to leave her as yet unnamed child with these two. They had been so kind in giving her a safe place to stay, taking care of her all throughout her pregnancy. Ceillo’s mother had acted as a midwife for the other borrower families in the house over the years, so she was in good hands with him.

The two men did their best to make Zepheera feel welcome, especially now that she’d promised to give them the gift of parenthood when such a thing would not be so easy for them ordinarily. She honestly couldn’t have asked for better people to raise her and Orrick’s daughter, with the option of Orrick himself well out of the picture. Not by his choice.

Looking at them now, they seemed like they would make a wonderful, loving family when Zepheera was gone.

She did plan to leave, eventually. She wouldn’t tell Toffer and Ceillo why, and they didn’t push her for explanations. It was just as well; she couldn’t begin to describe the way that she couldn't bear to keep the child herself. Perhaps the awful reality that she was too afraid of watching her and Orrick's baby grow and wither and die before her while she was left behind, could be cushioned by the gesture of giving her dear friends the gift of raising her themselves.

Zepheera had never heard of Doris Day. Apparently she was from a part of the world far, far away from here, and this particular album was called “I Have Dreamed” after one of the songs. She had a beautiful voice, which drifted down through the floorboards that night. Toffer adored her, it seemed, and was quite excited to hear that the human had put it on. So far, the album had consisted mostly of ballads about love, which put Zepheera in a contemplative mood to say the least.

It had been just about a year since she’d left Orrick behind. What would he think of her now? The woman who abandoned him out of the blue. What would he say if he knew she’d taken their child with her, no matter how unwitting it was?

Watching Toffer and Ceillo dance around with that happy, healthy baby did help distract her from such thoughts. She would live a good life here.

The baby began to fuss in Ceillo’s arms, just as one side of the record ran out and the human got up to turn it over. He did his best to shush her, but she had a need that needed expressing and no amount of rocking or back-patting could make it better.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Zepheera, getting wearily up from her seat. This was why she was sticking around the place, after all. 

Nodding in understanding, Ceillo gently handed the baby over. Her cries didn’t quite stop, but they settled down significantly once she was in Zepheera’s arms. She spent the walk to her bedroom convincing herself that it was because she recognized Zepheera as the one who could sate her hunger, and not because she recognized her mother.

By the time Zepheera sat down in a chair in her room, the human had begun playing the B side of the record. Focusing on that instead of the way she avoided eye contact with the baby, she noticed that the first song was a tad more whimsical than the previous ballads. Bouncy and flowery, yet still about love and all that fluff. It seemed she couldn’t quite escape the topic tonight, but the lighter tune at least put Zepheera and her child at ease for the moment.

Then the airy flute and strings faded away, replaced by a melancholy oboe and piano.

“When one is lonely,” Doris sang, “the days are long…”

Zepheera’s hand clapped over her mouth, barely containing a gasp.

“You seem so near…”

‘No! Not this song, please!’

“But never appear…”

Zepheera hadn’t heard this song in years, maybe decades, but she’d never forget it in all her life.

“Each night, I sing you a lover’s song…”

Their song. Hers and Orrick’s.

“Please try to hear, my dear… My dear…”

The next thing Zepheera knew, Ceillo was holding her in a tight hug while Toffer muffled the baby’s fussing in his shoulder as best as he could. Evidently, she slowly realized, she’d begun sobbing uncontrollably, loud enough that the other two heard and came to help. Given how hoarse her voice felt after only a few moments of such raw, turbulent emotion, it was a true miracle that the human hadn’t heard her through the floorboards.

In all the time Zepheera had been with them, she never allowed herself to break down like this, even when the dark thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. All the reminders of all the hurt she’d caused just by being alive, making the choices she’d made. They didn’t quite know what to do but hold her and assure her that it was alright, they were here for her, and she was safe.

If only they knew.

The song was still playing, Doris’ dulcet tones dragging out the chorus that Zepheera knew all too well.

“I’ll leave you never.... Love you forever... All our past sorrow redeeming…”

Zepheera did her best to pull herself together, pulling away from Ceillo. Catching her breath, she told them something that they didn’t quite expect after such an outburst.

“I think I know what to name her.”

They blinked at her in shock. Zepheera had always insisted that they name the baby, since they’re the ones who would raise her. They, in turn, insisted she should at least come up with a few ideas. It was only fair since she did all the work in carrying the child. So they’d reached an impasse, and the most Toffer and Ceillo would do was call the baby by a few pet names like ‘sweetie’ or ‘love’. A few more names were brought up in conversation, but Zepheera refused to give input.

“Make it all come true…”

“I… Do you think Day could be a good name for her?”

“Make me love you, too…”

Ceillo and Toffer exchanged looks, as though confirming for one another that Zepheera was actually offering a suggestion. They couldn’t begin to understand their friend, but the last thing they could do was deny her this.

“Someday I’ll find you…”

Taking one another by the hand, they nodded together and Toffer said, “Day is a lovely name for her.” He shifted the newly named baby in his arms so the three of them could finally put the name to her soft, round face. “Look at her. She shines like the sun.”

All three of them were misty-eyed at that point, and with the last of her strength, Zepheera reached out to wrap an arm around each of their necks. Their hug surrounded Day in a warm embrace.

“Someday I’ll find you…

Again…”

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #the borrowers #borrower OC #Zepheera #Toffer #Ceillo #Zepheera's Origins #tiny baby #giant #tiny #giant tiny #sfw gt #angst #my poor girl