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darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months

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Immortal Beloved - Chapter One.

Oh guys, when I tell you I was touched beyond words at how this was received by you all. I have been sitting here squeaking with joy at your lovely reviews! If I have missed anybody out in my thank you notes, please take my humble apology and know that I appreciate you so much for taking the time to both read and offer feedback.

Okay, so on with the first chapter, then. You'll notice here that my imagination weaves with canon to make some slight changes, such as giving the boy's (and Ada's) mother a name, also I wrote John only to have one child with his late wife. It made sense to me, not having to pull focus from the plot too much by having to characterise four little ones on top of everything else.

So yes, here we are, then. I think I'm going to choose Thursday as our update day and keep it to once a week posting. Those who know me of old know that I often like to throw in a little surprise update sometimes, though! Once again, thank you so much for the feedback, and I truly hope you continue to enjoy it :)

Previous chapters - Prologue

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,057

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“John?”

He was still in a daze as he entered the back room, seeing Polly lift her gaze from the paper she read in front of the crackling hearth, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re bloody white as a sheet. If you’re about to be sick, go back outside. I’ve neither the desire nor patience for mopping up the contents of your stomach.”

“Nah, I’m... I’m alright, Pol,” he began, his voice just as vacant as the expression upon his face, the toothpick between his lips practically dangling.

She wasn’t convinced by his statement, placing the paper upon the arm of the chair and rising to her feet. “John, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and you...” She sniffed his breath, her mouth down turning as she scoffed, “and you stink like a brewery floor. What did Tommy say, eh, about getting in this state. Look at you!”

Her admonishment barely even landed; John still in a state of shock at what he’d witnessed, his eyes flitting to the table. Whiskey. Yes.

Polly’s gaze followed. “No. There’ll be no more of that. You’ve had enough.”

Finally, he moved, side stepping his aunt as he reached for the bottle, uncorking it rapidly and drinking from it directly. “Believe me, Pol. After what I just saw, all the fucking whiskey in Ireland ain’t enough.”

She folded her arms, watching as he crashed down in the chair opposite the one she’d been comfortably sitting in. “Well, you don’t look hurt. Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad.”

“Not for me, but...” he began, taking another swig of the golden liquid within his grasp, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve as his eyes found hers, “for the fella outside missing his head, I can’t say the same.”

“You bloody what, John Shelby?” Her voice rose like a siren, Polly’s authoritative boom filling the space. “A Rasmussen, I take it? And since when have you been in the habit of lopping off heads and leaving the evidence all over the bloody street? Holy shit, you boys will be the death of me!”

She then studied him a little closer. No blood. He'd have been covered in more than just a fine misting of crimson, should he have removed somebody of their head. It also wasn’t John’s style, as far as despatching of an enemy went. He was a gangster, not a barbarian. She wouldn’t have even pegged his elder brothers for such acts, and their bloodlust far exceeded John’s. Her statement was about to be recanted when her nephew offered his reply.

“No, not me. I didn’t do fuck all!” he corrected, gulping back more whiskey, the shock starting to soften as his muscles began to unclench, one by one. “It weren’t me, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I’ve just seen out there.”

“Is that so?” she charged, moving swiftly to stand beside his chair. “Try me.”

He pointed his index finger towards the door, his eyes rounding once more as he relived it in his mind. “A woman, a fucking woman in a white dress, covered in blood, moving faster than I could see. She fucking... grabbed this fella, right, like he was a kiddie’s doll, bit into his neck, and then ripped his fucking head off. I ain’t lying to ya. I swear on my soul, that’s what I saw. She had these teeth, teeth like a fucking wolf.”

Polly lifted her chin, a wave of cold dread sloshing through her insides. She knew exactly what John had seen, but could scarcely believe it. They were back. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

His eyes narrowed, leaning forward in his seat. Her answer, it had been a little too swiftly delivered. “You believe me, don’t you? You know what she was.”

“I said go to bed.”

“I ain’t going nowhere until you tell me what the fuck that thing outside was.” Yes, Polly could be firm, but so could her nephew. It was a trait that ran strongly through the Shelby blood. She sighed, her shoulders dropping, striding to the cabinet and fetching two glasses.

“Pour.” John met her instruction wordlessly, tipping the whiskey into the glasses she held, taking the other from her. Polly sank into her seat, sipping her whiskey and pulling a cigarette from the case beside her, lighting up. “Your great-grandmother used to call them the shadow walkers, but it’s only since that Bram Stoker fellow wrote his novel that there’s been a commonly known name for them. That woman you saw, John, she wasn’t human. She was a vampire.”

John was baffled, and his face showed it. “But they ain’t real. I’ve heard of that book you’re on about, Dracula, isn’t it? They... they’re fiction.”

A light snort sounded from Polly’s nose, her cigarette glowing as she took a fierce drag upon it. “Most people think that they are. They think of them as nothing more than monsters of make-believe, dreamed into existence by the imagination of a brilliant novelist.” Pausing, she smirked darkly, sighing through her nose. “I wish to god above I was one of those people. They keep themselves very well hidden, the vampires. And who would believe it, that these blood sucking creatures of the night truly exist, eh? Seeing is believing, though, and by god, John. I wish you hadn’t seen her. Those things, they’re evil incarnate.”

“She saved me life,” he admitted, eyebrows rising a fraction. “That man, and apparently three mates of his, they were all waiting for me. The one missing his head was Samuel Rasmussen. She knew him by name.”

Polly cocked her head slightly. “What did she say to you?”

“Not much,” he sniffed, sipping his drink. “Said what I’ve just told you, then said my blood smelled like earth and fire, other things an’ all but I forget what. Oh, and that I was the most beautiful creature she’d seen in a long time.”

She smiled, nodding slightly. “Well, she got that part right. You take after your mother in that respect.” It never ceased to amaze her, just how much John resembled Thora, her late sister-in-law. His blue eyes, lily skin and auburn hair came straight from her. “I’m warning you now, though. What she did for you won’t have been out of sheer magnanimity, oh no. There’ll be a reason behind it, and whatever that reason is, I am telling you, John, you’ll want for no part in it.”

He smirked, feeling a little more himself. “What if the reason is that she just wants to fuck me?”

Immediately, he found his ear clipped. “Fucking hell, Pol!”

“Take something seriously for once in your fucking life!”

He rubbed the side of his head, chewing aggressively on his toothpick. “I bloody am.”

Her snort dripped in sarcasm “Like fuck, you are. You’d want throwing right into the loony bin if you even contemplated that, you bloody daft boy!” She remained forward in her seat, her dark eyes fixing him in an unbreakable stare. “Don’t trust her, not even for a second, or it’ll be your head ripped off your shoulders and left out for the coppers to find next. You hear me?”

“You make it sound like I’m going to see her again,” he mused, swirling the whiskey around within the glass tumbler before sinking it.

“You will,” she assured, her tone bitter. “You will see her again, because like I said, they don’t do anything without good reason to, those creatures. But you’ll be prepared. Carry a silver knife and get up to the church sharpish, fill a little bottle with holy water from the font. When weaponised, silver will kill her and the water will burn. And whatever you do, John, never, ever invite her into this house. She can’t get in unless she’s invited.”

He had to wonder how, exactly, Polly had such a wealth of knowledge over them. “Have you ever met one before? You talk like you know them of old.”

“No, thank god, but your great-grandmother Boswell, she had. Those campfire stories she told us as babes, we knew they weren’t fibs. We heeded her warnings. They’re drawn to gypsy blood, you see, something about it being palatable.”

“She didn’t bite me, though,” John reasoned, Polly scoffing lightly.

“If she’d just taken out four other fellas, she probably wasn’t hungry. That’s what they need to survive, the blood of the living. Trust me, she’ll be back, but you’ll be prepared. Stab her in her cold, dead heart and forget you ever met her. Don’t even think twice about it. We’ve got enough to be reckoning with, what with these fucking Rasmussen’s and the pile of shit they’re throwing our way. I don’t need the worry that you’re being stalked by the bloody undead on top of that.”

“Why didn’t you mention any of this to us before?”

Sinking her drink, she cleared her throat, reaching for the bottle. “And have you think I’d gone loopy?” Her snorted words brought a smile to John, Polly continuing. “We just don’t speak of them any longer. They’re rare, not an everyday threat. I’ve never heard hide nor hair of them since hearing nana’s stories, since I was just a young girl.”

As the lie fell from her lips, Polly felt conflicted. She had to protect him, though. Keep the details scant. Besides, he was too drunk to take on anything else. Indeed, there was more she could have explained. She decided against it, clamping her lips between her teeth for a moment.

“Hang on,” he spoke, frowning a little. “What did you mean, when you said undead?”

“They aren’t alive anymore, John.” She paused, picking a little fleck of tobacco from her lip. “They walk and talk, but they’re not really living. Something about how they’re made, I don’t know the details, but yes. Undead. An enchanted corpse, basically.”

“I dunno about enchanted, but she was enchanting,” he began, the corner of his mouth upturning. “She was bloody beautiful.” His face further softened as he remembered that feeling of magic lingering in the air between he and her, the pull to her, her essence shining like the brightest star within a pitch-black sky.

“John, no. Absolutely fucking not.” Her pointed finger only momentarily wiped the growing smirk from his handsome features. “I mean it, do not even consider a fucking dalliance with a bloody vampire!”

He shrugged slightly. “I’ve took worse to bed.”

“John!” Her acerbic bite of his name had him in soft fits, the whiskey seeming to do the trick in placating the fear he’d felt at the time, now he was no longer in peril. “Your fucking face when you walked in here not ten minutes ago, looking like you’d seen a ghost. I was surprised your trousers were still dry, you looked that afraid!”

“Bloody hell, Pol. I was only pulling your leg,” he laughed, rising from his seat. “Don’t worry, I ain’t stupid. I’m going to bed. Maybe all of this is just a drunken dream, I dunno.” Suddenly, her foot shot out, kicking him in the shin. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Did that feel like a dream to you?”

“No, it feels like it’s gonna be a whacking great bruise on me leg!”

She smirked, entertained at herself. “Good, might have knocked a bit of sense into you. Goodnight, love.”

“Yeah, night, Pol.”

He departed for the stairs, ambling up quietly so as not to wake Finn, entering his room and shivering upon the removal of his coat. His stripping of clothes into long johns and a vest was done at speed, diving under the bed covers and burrowing beneath the many woollen blankets. He hated that his room was the farthest from the chimney breast, meaning the heat didn’t ever reach the room where he could see his breath clouding through the darkness, it was so bitterly chilly.

The knocking through of the three houses that allowed for their once illegal bookmaking endeavours to be run from the Watery Lane properties meant one large communal home, Tommy and Arthur’s abodes flanking the three, John remaining within the house he’d been born in twenty-eight years previously. It was the home he and his late wife had lived in, before he’d sadly lost her four years previously.

Closing his eyes, he felt the pull of sleep tug at him, drifting off into dreamless slumber, awoken the following morning by the sound of the milkman’s cart doing the morning deliveries. Oh, his head. He needed tea and jam slathered toast, and quickly. Heading downstairs, he warmed enough water to have a wash and shave, combing his hair and returning to pull on a suit, opening the front door to take the milk in off the front step.

“Morning, Mr Shelby.”

“Morning, Jack,” he called back to the milkman, his cart paused, John turning to see a throng of people gathered a little further down the lane. “What’s all that about?”

“Some kids found a headless body down by number six, so I’ve been told. The bobbies are on their way. Shocking business for a Wednesday morning, I can tell you!”

John’s heart skipped on a beat as the night before rushed back over his neurons. He truly hadn’t been dreaming. “Blimey,” he began, feigning something as close to shock as he could, craning his neck a little further, able to make out the figures of his elder brother’s there surveying the scene, the local constabulary appearing right at the bottom of the lane. “Wonder how he ended up headless?”

Jack lit a cigarette, his chest tightening as he coughed. “Might be best not to know, eh?” He paused, John seeing it, the unspoken statement there upon the milkman’s face. Grim discoveries close to a Shelby dwelling. Of course, he suspected it had something to do with him or his brothers, but Jack was much too cautious to speak it. Their reputation preceded them, after all.

“I’ll be moving along now, Mr Shelby.” He flicked the reins, clicking his tongue. “C’mon, Beamish. Walk on.” The giant, bay shire horse snorted before continuing to the next house, Jack’s lad jumping off the back of the cart to lay the required bottles next to each door, both getting a good look at the grizzly scene as they passed it by, Tommy and Arthur having a brief chat with Sergeant Moss before walking back to meet John on the doorstep.

The former cocked his head back in the direction of the small crowd. “Know anything about that, John? How one of our adversaries came to be missing his head almost right outside our front doors?” He’d recognised Samuel’s face as it lay wide-eyed upon the cobbles ten feet from his body, remembering him from the race meet.

Tommy watched as his younger brother stepped back into the house, his mouth thinning. “I think we need a family meeting.” With the elders of the Shelby family assembled, cups of tea poured and cigarettes lit, John recounted the events of the night before to his brother’s, Polly interjecting with details that backed up his story. Tommy listened passively, but Arthur, well...

His gruff laughter sounded through the air, sweeping a hand through his hair. His laughter was not mocking, though. It carried with it all the hollowness of fear. “A bloody what?”

“Arthur, you know he’s telling the truth,” Polly stated defiantly, her eldest nephew still laughing, laughing to stop himself beginning to shake with fright.

“What a pile of old shit! A bloody vampire, eh? Fucking hell, you two have lost your faculties if you’re expecting us to believe that!” Turning to his brother, Arthur was surprised to see Tommy completely unmoved by the story, his face unflinching, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Come on, Arthur,” he spoke evenly, sipping his tea. “Nobody is having you on, and you know it.” Turning to John, he placed his tea down. “This woman, John. Long, dark hair with a tattooed throat and chest?”

He nodded a little dumbly. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tommy sat back again, flicking ash into the nearby ashtray with a sniff. “She’s been watching the house for a couple of weeks now.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention that to anyone?” Polly charged him with, a deep frown settling between her eyebrows.

“Speak not of the shadow walkers, lest ye bring them into the light. That’s what our dad used to say,” he revealed, Arthur scoffing immediately as he threw himself to his feet.

“I ain’t listening to this load of old cobblers! Fucking mad, the lot of ya!”

“Arthur, you know it’s true. You saw what I did on that night,” he reasoned softly, Arthur’s agitation winding tighter by the second as he paced the flagstones. “It’s time to face up to what happened.”

“What night?” John demanded lightly, looking between them. Silence followed. “One of you better give me a fucking answer.”

Tommy paused, bringing his cigarette to his lips once more. “I’ve thought about that night here and there over the years, but never mentioned it. Dad told us not to breathe a word to anyone,” he began, Arthur making a start for the door, almost throwing it off its hinges and slamming it behind him.

Jerking his head in his wake he raised his eyebrows a fraction. “Terrified the life out of Arthur, so much so that he pissed himself. He’s never come to terms with that he witnessed, refuses to acknowledge it ever happened at all. He can’t comprehend what he saw, what we saw on that night, when dad took us up to the Black Patch when we were nippers to visit family. Now, I don’t know how much Polly revealed to you, but they aren’t spoken about, the shadow walkers as our gypsy kin always referred to them as, but for centuries, they had a pact.

“Gypsy blood to a vampire is what a fine wine or whiskey is to us, so for hundreds of years, vampires would guard the camps in exchange for feeding upon that blood. That was, at least, until the pact was broken. I don’t know why, and neither did our dad, but one night they returned, to hand out the punishment they felt befitting of that broken pact.

“Our dad did perhaps the only honourable thing he ever has as a father, and got on a horse, riding us out of there to the nearest church where he hid us away until the dawn. Vampires cannot walk upon hallowed ground, nor can they stand in the daylight, lest they burn to ashes. The rest of the camp weren’t so lucky. People were attacked, only very few surviving, but in a state of dread that one day, they’d be back. I suppose that day was last night, for I highly doubt she’s acting alone.”

John immediately stared at Polly. “Did you know all of this?”

She nodded in confirmation. “I did.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me last night?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“Because you were drunk as a lord, John. What I said was enough explanation without going into the finer details, of which I wasn’t sure you’d be able to absorb. I’m fucking surprised you comprehended even half of what I told you, to be frank.”

John’s puzzlement was clear as it ghosted across his face, sighing as he rubbed his brow. “But it don’t make no sense. If she was here because she wanted us dead, some kind of further punishment for our kin breaking the pact, then why am I still alive? She could have had me head off, just the same as she did to Samuel fucking Rasmussen, but she didn’t.” He felt his heart flutter as he remembered how fondly she’d gazed upon him. God, she was such a beauty.

Tommy shrugged lightly. “At a guess, I’d say she wants to rekindle the blood pact. Why she’d choose us and not one of the other families out there, well, I can’t answer that.”

“Which means she probably wants something else from us, something greater,” a frowning Polly mused, the dread in her voice quite clear. It was a distinct change to her usual confident, self-assured tone.

“And we’re not about to give her the chance to even broach it.” Tommy then turned to John, his eyes wide. “You’ll carry a silver knife upon your person from now on, as we all will. Her kind are not to be trusted. Killing that man, I suspect was to lure you into a false sense of security. Vampires are immortal; they have all the fucking time in the world to exact a plan. She’s biding her time.”

“She didn’t only kill him,” John snorted, jerking his head to the right. “Coppers will find another three bodies somewhere out there soon enough.”

Tommy rose to his feet, keen to move to his office and begin the day. “All the more reason not to trust her when she returns. Mark my words, John boy. She’ll be back. She’ll be back, I tell you, and it won’t lead to anything good.”

All talk of vampires, blood pacts and a family history unknown to John meant that he could forget his pounding head for a short time. After his refuelling with toast and tea, he walked through to the offices, grasping the ledger and beginning to write, the space soon filling, the usual loud chaos abounding.

Hangovers and mysterious, vampiric women aside, John’s day ended certainly more favourably than the previous. The favourite at Epson, Shamrock Pride pulled up lame in the fifth race, just as he was intended to. This netted a very tidy profit for them, John finishing his day with a spring in his step because of it.

The Garrison for a whiskey or three? Whyever not.

“Daddy?”

The soft grasp of a tiny hand curled his little finger, John pausing from pulling on his overcoat to look down into the big, green eyes of his daughter, Katie carrying a book within her grasp.

“You should be in bed, pige.” Pige. Short for pigeon, the fond pet name for his only child from his short marriage to Martha, his wife taken from him by the cruel clutches of consumption when Katie was mere baby in arms.

Poking out her bottom lip, she proffered the book forth. The Velveteen Rabbit. It had to have been their fourth read through at that point, the book only published six months before. “Please?”

He sighed softly through his nose. “Go on,” he spoke to his brother, “I’ll catch up with you.”

Arthur nodded, leaving John to place his coat over the back of the fireside armchair there in the front room, adjusting his trousers as he sat, Katie scrambling onto his lap. “Right, where were we?”

Opening the book, the cloth binding soft and velvety against his fingers, John laid the well-worn leather bookmark across Katie’s legs, stroking her strawberry blonde curls as he began to read. Ten minutes, give or take, and she would nod off with her little rosy cheeked face nestled against his chest.

Eleven and a half minutes later, and the soft little piglet snorts of a babe in slumber filled the space, John smiling down at her. “Let’s get you up them stairs, eh, pige?” Once he’d placed her into her bed and covered her in blankets, he laid a kiss to her forehead, whispering his love before creeping out, overcoat thrown on and a cigarette lit before stepping out into the frigid night.

Snowflakes fluttered down over the streets of Small Heath, John feeling winter tingle as his cheeks, the flames of the blast furnaces offering a roar of warmth as he passed them by, the lights of The Garrison twinkling through the inky gloom.

“John.”

The whisper of his name echoed through his ears, John turning, his eyes scanning for the source. Nobody. On he walked.

“John.”

It was louder than before this time as once again he halted, turning, looking for the female to whom the voice belonged. He almost dived out of his skin when upon his turn back, there she was.

The vampire looked even more breathtaking to him than she had the night before.

#john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #john shelby x ofc #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic

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genshinimpactlife · 1 year

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Hello! Would it be okay to request headcanons about Kaveh, Albedo and Kazuha (the artsy three) having an s/o who's interested in their passion/hobby and tries to imitate it to the best of their ability? Like Kaveh is proud of you, but oh, is that not up to your liking? He will give you ideas on how to improve while holding your hand in his. Albedo is a bit astounded but glad that his s/o would like to learn how to draw/paint and so he teaches them with extreme patience. Kazuha blinking away his slight surprise before doing his best to make haiku with his s/o maybe even teaching them how to play on a leaf—

S/O imitating the artsy characters

Kaveh

Kaveh thought it was so precious that you wanted to be like him. He loved that you were so interested in his passions.

When you started drawing architecture designs, he supported you 100%. Sometimes he even worked alongside you.

But the designs you were creating were…. not ones that could be created in the real world. Instead, they were fantastical and would cost too much to make.

To Kaveh, it didn't matter, you weren't an actual architect, nor were you studying to be one. But you wanted to be like Kaveh, and you couldn't be if you weren't like him at art.

Having been a teacher at the academia, he knew just what to do.

He started giving you mini lessons on how to draw buildings correctly, guiding you through the steps to put you on the right path.

He started looking forward to these little study sessions with you. They would end up being the highlight of his day.

Albedo

Albedo hadn't expected the mess he came upon in his lab.

You had one of his blank canvases out and were attempting to paint. But during the entire process, you had managed to make a mess of his lab by spilling and splashing paint.

"I wanted to surprise you and make a painting… but I can't do it."

He wasn't sure what you were trying to paint on the canvas. It was some shape and creature he didn't recognize as far as he could tell.

He told you that he would help teach you, and next time just ask him for help.

You two would have painting dates where he guided you through the entire process with his own canvas.

Whenever you would fumble, he would come up behind you and put his hand over yours, guiding you through the correct way.

Kazuha

You and Kazhua had a date, and when he arrived, he noticed you standing outside, blowing on a leaf.

When he approached, however, there was no sound coming out, only your furious blows as you tried to make the sound from the leaf.

"Love, what are you doing?"

You were embarrassed that you had been caught trying to play the music on the leaf. However, you quickly explained that you loved how he did it and wanted to try too.

He was surprised but flattered that you wanted to be like him. He ended up trying to teach you for a few minutes but to no avail. You couldn't do it.

It took a few more attempts later in the week before you could make the first sound, Kazhua had to teach you the correct way to do it, and even that wasn't easy.

But soon enough, you were able to play the high-pitched melody along with Kazuha.

Tag List Here

@rainbowleo @okadahimeko @0-kuki-0 @cyberpandas-blog

#Genshin impact #Genshin impact x reader #Genshin impact imagine #Genshin impact headcanons #Kazuha x reader #Kazuha imagine #Kazuha headcanons #Albedo #Kazuha #Albedo x reader #Albedo headcanons #Albedo imagine #Kaveh #Kaveh x reader #Kaveh imagine #Kaveh headcanon

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sirenscriptures · 6 months

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hello there !! welcome to my little space dedicated to writing and indulging <3

please, before reading/interacting, take a moment to read some of the guidelines i have set in place for this space:

— first and foremost, i do not allow any blank, ageless or minor blogs to follow me. even though there will be some fluff and sfw content on here, i still do not want to have anyone under the age of 18 following this blog or interacting with me on a personal level.

however, if you are under 18, you are more than welcome to interact with my sfw pieces ONLY. that means you can like/reblog/comment my posts labeled with the “ ☼ — morning respite “ tag on them.

i am well aware that i cannot stop those who are underage from reading my content. all i ask is that you be a decent human and not interact with me or my mutuals who have the same rules in place, or else i will have to block you.

— please have an age indicator somewhere in your bio/pinned post before you follow/interact with me !!! it really helps me out in keeping my boundaries on this blog and helps to keep minors out of this space. even something simple as “adult, 20s, 30s” etc. works!

— i am not a writing blog that takes requests. however, i do like seeing what you lovely people come up with, so i will absolutely accept suggestions/thirsts anytime !! i love when you choose to indulge me in your best ideas, so don’t be afraid to send them to me through my inbox<3 i can’t guarantee i will get back to them all the time, but i always appreciate when you send them.

— this should go without saying, but please do not bring discourse into my inbox ! do not name drop, ask me why someone deactivated, ask me about other blogs’ business, etc. also, don’t use the anonymous feature to be an asshole. i will turn it off without announcement if i need to, and i don’t think anyone wants that.

— for writing, i write for female reader and gender neutral reader ! i do my best to make my reader as open to interpretation as i can so that everyone can enjoy, so please let me know if you see anything that looks off or is worded weird. i will gladly fix it :)

— if you have any questions on what i write for, it should be listed on my masterlist, which will hopefully be added to in the coming weeks. as for what i do/don’t write, feel free to ask me in my inbox, or take a look at my about me/byf page !

— don’t like, don’t read ! one of the golden rules really. everything i write i do my best to tag properly. and if you find that anything is missing, please correct me in a respectful manner. i am not a robot, nor am i perfect. so don’t treat me like i should be !

— lastly, just be patient with me ! be respectful ! be nice to everyone you encounter here !! i use this and my writing as an escape like many others on this site, and it would just be appreciative if we could all get along to some extent. i really have no patience for people who feel a need to be mean or nasty to others, and it will be an instant hardblock if i catch you being hateful in any way.

#v.navi

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middleearthpixie · 11 months

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Better Days ~ Chapter Seventeen

A/N: I wanted to apologize for the lack of updates, but I'm in the middle of working on two fics for the 2023 TRSB, so updates and the like might be a bit spaced out for the next few weeks. Thanks so much for your patience!

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it.

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings: Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison

Characters:Frerin, Elena, Dan

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

“Someone got lucky this weekend.”

Frerin looked up at the man now standing in the doorway of his office. “Do you ever knock, Mark?”

“The door was open and I didn't want to startle you.”

Frerin sat back in his chair. “What do you want?”

“Nice greeting.” Dr. Mark Edwards, head of Obstetrics and Gynecology, grinned as he came fully into Frerin’s office. “And I notice you did not correct me.”

“I’m not dignifying it with a response.”

“But you’re not denying it and that’s what counts. So, who is she?”

“Go away, Mark. I’m busy.” He gestured to the stack of charts that needed dictating. “I’m about two weeks behind and admin’s breathing down my neck about them.”

“I thought you were admin.”

“I’m as much admin as you are, and you know it.”

“Fair enough.” Mark beached his hands on the back of one of the two chairs opposite Frerin. “Just tell me if I’m right?”

Frerin sighed softly. “Okay. Yes, you’re right. I had a very nice Christmas and that’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh, you can not leave it at that, Frer. Have some mercy, already, won’t you? What do I have to do? Drag you off to the Dunraven and get you drunk to get you to give up any details on this mystery lady, like I had to do in med school?” Mark skirted one of the chairs and sank into it. “Just take five minutes and catch me up. I’ve been away, remember.”

Frerin sighed, setting down the microphone he’d been using in his attempt to get caught up on the charts that needed transcribing. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. I was down in the ER before on a consult and Carol Kingsley told me you brought a mystery woman into the ER with you when you were following up on an admit. All she said was this mystery woman was a cute brunette. So, spill… Besides, you have that look—tired but in the best way possible—which just screams that you got laid sometime in the last forty-eight hours. Most likely more than once, too, you lucky dog.”

Frerin couldn’t hold back his laugh. “I’m not gossiping with you. I tell you anything and by tonight, everyone in this building will know. Including the patients.”

“Just tell me her name.”

He sighed and he couldn't hold back his smile as he said, “Her name is Elena and she’s someone I’ve been seeing for a few weeks, more or less.”

“More or less?”

“We’ve only actually gone out twice. Dinner over the last few days.”

“Uh-huh. I’m listening. Is she cute?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, my God. You’re killing me, Durin. You know that, right? Absolutely killing me.”

“She’s a hot little brunette, with a thirteen year old daughter who’s in the same math class as Maura.”

“I’m liking her so far.”

“Makes the two of us.” Frerin sat forward. “So, how was Jackson Hole?”

“I was with my wife and four kids, Frer. You were holed up with a hot brunette for how long?”

“She spent Christmas with me.”

“Holidays already? Nice.”

“No. Toni had the kids—still has them—and her daughter is visiting her grandparents, so it started out as just a plan for neither one of us to spend this Christas alone.”

“And let me guess, she moved in.”

“Ha. Funny. No. But, it was a nice few days.”

“Damn… let me guess, hot sex in every room of your house.”

“Not every room, but enough, and that’s all I’m saying.”

“I knew it.” Mark sat back in his chair, his grin fading. “How are the kids taking your dating?”

“They haven’t met Elena yet. That’s next. But, they seem okay with the idea of Dad dating, so, I’m only a little nervous about introducing them.”

“Good luck. I don't know how sticky it might be.”

“Yeah. Me, neither. I mean, like I said, they seem okay with the idea of it. But I don't know about the actual practice of it. And I’m sure they don't even want to think about the old man having sex with anyone. Although, their mother lives with someone now, and they know why we split up. At least, the older two do.”

“And Jake?”

“He’s blissfully innocent of it and I want to keep it that way.”

“Which is totally understandable. If Maura and Flynn are okay with your girlfriend, he probably will be as well."

“I haven’t really thought of her as my girlfriend, you know.”

“Well, are you seeing anyone else?”

“No.”

“Is she?”

“I don't think so.”

“She’s your girlfriend.”

Frerin chuckled. “I guess she is and I think they’ll be okay with her. At least, I hope so. I know they don't like Tim. They call him the Skeeze.”

It was Mark’s turn to laugh. “The Skeeze?”

“Yeah. Maura describes him as being like a used car salesman and she’s… not wrong.”

“Ah… it makes sense now.”

“Dr. Durin? Katie rapped on the open door. “You’re needed in the nursery.”

He sighed softly. “Please tell me it’s not bad.”

“No. Newborn delivered in the ER just came up. You just need to make sure he’s as healthy as they claim down there.”

“Got it.” He closed the chart he’d been working on and stood, sweeping his lab coat from the back of his chair. “I’ll catch up with you later, Mark.”

“Yeah. I want to hear all the details about your merry Christmas.”

“You’ve heard them all.” Frerin shrugged into the coat. “And I have no more to share.”

“Damn, you’re cold, you know that.”

“I don't kiss and tell.” He clipped his ID badge to the coat’s lapel. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’m getting details if it kills me,” Mark said as they left his office, before he strode off in the opposite direction.

“Do we have gossip, Dr. D?” Katie asked as she came around the corner with a thin sheaf of papers in one hand.

“Not you, too.”

“I’m just as curious about your mystery woman.”

“Katie.”

“What? We all just want you to be happy, is all. Promise.”

“I am. And if anyone needs me, I’ll be in the nursery, checking on a hopefully heathy newborn.”

“And are we expecting anyone to need you?”

“Katie.”

“You seem happy, you know,” she told him as she skirted her desk to tug out her chair.

“I am happy.”

“Good. Whoever she is, she’s probably good for you.”

“Her name’s Elena and yes, she is. And if she happens to call me for any reason—”

“I’ll let you know, unless you’re in with a patient.”

“Thank you.” He smiled as she went back to whatever she was working on, and continued on his way down to the nursery.

Sidleberg Memorial Hospital had had an infant stolen from their nursery the year Frerin was finishing up his residency and ever since, it was a locked ward, controlled by a keypad. Every infant had a band about their ankle with what the staff called baby LoJack that would set off an alarm system if the code wasn't entered in before the baby or their bassinet was wheeled out of the ward. Each newborn also had a hospital ID anklet, and the number on the band matched the bracelet worn by the mother and, if applicable, the father. No baby was to be handed off to anyone without first double checking that the ID bands matched.

Frerin punched in his code and stepped into the nursery, where it was a rare quiet day. Only three infants were in residence and he smiled at the nurse at the desk. “I heard we have a newcomer to the group, Chelsea?”

“Hi, Dr. Durin.” Chelsea smiled as she looked up from the paperwork on the desk before her. “We do, indeed. Baby Girl Hillstrand came up from the ER a few minutes ago. Thirty-six weeks, without complications.”

“And where’s mom?”

“She is still in the ER. They were having a bit of trouble with her, but dad is right there.”

He looked over to see the lone man in civilian clothes standing at the bassinet in the corner, his clothes wrinkled and his expression a mix of awe and concern. Frerin turned back to Chelsea. “What sort of trouble?”

“Hemorrhage.”

“How badly?”

“I don’t know. Carol Kingsley brought dad and baby up and told dad to think good thoughts and stay with his daughter.”

“Do me a favor. Get me the ER, Kingsley if possible.”

She reached for the phone. “Will do.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he crossed over to the man at the bassinet. “Mr. Hillstrand?”

The man looked up. “Max, please.”

“Max, I’m Dr. Durin, Head of Pediatrics. I’m just going to take a look at your daughter, if that’s okay.”

He nodded. “Yeah… uh… it’s fine…. Um… do you know what’s going on with my wife? They said they were having trouble getting her bleeding to stop.”

“It happens sometimes,” Frerin told him as he eased his stethoscope from around his neck. “I’ve got Nurse Ross trying to get me an update on her. Try not to worry, okay? She’s got good people working on her.”

“We’re not even from here. We live in Poughkeepsie and just came down to spend the holiday with my in-laws. Dana wasn’t even due for another four weeks, but her OB thought it would be fine for her to come to Jersey. Is that why the baby came so early? Because she traveled?”

“Thirty-six weeks is considered full-term, not early, and probably not. Babies are weird like that—they come when they’re good and ready or they get impatient. I doubt it was anything you or your wife did.” Frerin eased in the earpieces and bent over to press the diaphragm to the tiny chest of the baby girl who just watched him with big, slate-blue eyes. She was calm, those eyes following him. “Good girl,” he murmured, moving the diaphragm across her chest. “You’re just fine, aren’t you? Just felt like showing up a little early, is all. Impatient to get into the world, right?”

“Her name is Jessica,” Max Hillstrand told him softly, his voice cracking. “But, the nurses said… they said that Dana has to give them permission to call her that.”

“It’s standard policy,” Frerin explained, straightening up as he pulled the earpieces free and slung the stethoscope about his neck once more. He smiled down at Jessica, who still watched him intently. “Her heart and lungs sound good. Let me just—”

“Dr. Durin,” Chelsea came over to them, “Nurse Kingsley said to tell you and Mr. Hillstrand that they’ve gotten the bleeding under control and Mrs. Hillstrand is on her way up.”

Mr. Hillstrand looked over at her. “She’s okay?”

Chelsea nodded. “She gave them a little bit of a scare, but she is going to be just fine, yes.”

He just stared at her for a long moment, then he grabbed a very surprised Frerin in a bear hug. “Thank you! Thank you both!”

“You’re welcome,” Frerin chuckled as Hillstrand just as quickly released him. “Chelsea, make sure Baby Girl Hillstrand gets her LoJack as soon as possible and then see if Mrs. Hillstrand would like to see her daughter as well.”

“Of course.”

He turned to Hillstrand. “Congratulations, Mr. Hillstrand. Enjoy it, it goes by a lot faster than you think it will.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Frerin’s cell rang then, and he slid it free and smiled, “You’re welcome. If you’ll excuse me then.”

He left the nursery and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, honey, you have perfect timing.”

“Do I? That’s a first,” Elena laughed.

He rounded the corner, stepping from pediatrics to Labor and Delivery and paused, leaning up against the wall. “What’re you doing up? It’s almost one in the morning.”

“I was thinking about you, that’s all. How’re you holding up?”

“After a weekend of nonstop sex? I’m beat, but apparently I look as if I’ve gotten some, so I guess that’s a good thing.”

She burst out laughing again. “What?”

“Yeah, one of the other docs pointed it out the moment he saw me. So, I look tired, but in a good way, I guess.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What on earth are you sorry for, Elena? This was probably the hottest Christmas I’ve ever had. You can screw my brains out any time.”

“I kind of like how that sounds.” Her voice lowered and the husky purr shot straight through him as she added, “And I’d like to try it again really soon.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. It was amazing, Frerin.”

“It was good.”

“Good? Dr. Durin, you have a gift and you know it. You made my damn eyes cross.”

“Seems fair enough. You did the same to me, so…”

“So, when is your next night off?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow night.”

“Good. I’ve got plans for you, Dr. Frerin.”

His groin tightened at the promise in her voice. “Such as?”

“If I told you, I’d spoil the surprise.” Her voice grew throatier still. “Let’s just say I think you’ll like them.”

“Lena… honey… you’re killing me.”

“How? I haven’t even said what I wanted to do to you.”

“It doesn’t matter. You just sound hot enough to make me hot.”

“Good. So, can I steal you for a few hours tomorrow?”

“I’d have to be crazy to say no.”

“So don't say no.”

“I’m not. What can I bring?”

“Just yourself. I’ve got the rest of it all taken care of.”

A soft tingle rippled through him at the sin in her voice. “I’m going to get spoiled by you, you know.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good. Although,” he switched the phone to his other ear, “I will return the favor, you know.”

“I expect no less from you. Okay, I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“What time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven it is.”

Elena let her phone hit the pillow next to her. “What the hell were you thinking? I’ve got plans for you? Christ, you’re an idiot. You have no plans. You’ll fall on your face if you try to be sexy and embarrass yourself silly if you try to be kinky and you’ll send him screaming for the hills if you do both.”

She clapped a hand to her forehead. The words had popped out before she could think them through and she didn't know why. Didn’t Dan tell her she was the most boring lay he’d ever had? That was why he cheated. He looked for more adventurous women. More exciting women.

Less boring, vanilla women.

She was vanilla. Boring. Non-adventurous.

And now, Frerin was expecting some hot, sultry temptress.

She was none of those things.

She chewed on the cuticle of her thumb. It was late, but she could certainly text someone at that hour, right?

She pulled up Heather Morgan’s number. Heather and her husband Chris lived next door to Elena and Dan on West Point Island in Lavallette and there was no one in the world Elena trusted the way she did her best friend.

Help! How do I do sexy for a guy without looking utterly stupid?

She hit send and set her phone on her nightstand. No sooner had she shut off the light, but her phone rang. “What are you doing up now?”

“I was going to ask you that,” Heather said with a laugh. “Is the guy there now? Who is he? What’s he like? Why didn't you tell me about him?”

“No, he’s not here now. I’m seeing him tomorrow. His name is Frerin Durin and I met him a few weeks ago.”

“Uh-huh… do tell.”

Elena smiled. “I had to take Lyss to the ER a few weeks ago and he was her doctor.”

“You bagged her doc! You slut!” Heather let out another laugh. “Oh my fucking god, Elena, how do you do it?”

“I didn’t bag him then. I just—he’s really nice, Heath. I bumped into him at the gym a couple days later and we got to talking and now—”

“You have to be sexy for him?”

“Oh, Christ, I called him a little while ago and I don't know what came over me, but yeah. I basically told him he’d be in for the time of his life tomorrow night and you know me… I’m so boring, it isn’t funny.”

“You’re not boring.”

“I’m vanilla.”

“There’s a reason why people love vanilla, you know.” Heather’s voice grew serious. “It’s not bad.”

“No, it’s just boring. And that’s why guys cheat on me.”

“Dan cheated on you because he’s a total dick and your doctor isn’t like that.”

“You don't even know him.”

“I don’t have to. He’s an ER doc. He’s already a better person than your prick ex.”

“He’s actually a pediatrician.”

“That’s even better.”

“Heather.”

“What? It is. Is he younger than you?”

“No. He’s the same age. In the midst of a divorce and he’s got custody of his three kids, one of which is in one of Alyssa’s classes.”

“Oh, I like this man, El. He sounds like he might be a keeper, if the divorce doesn’t ruin him.”

Elena couldn't help her smile. “And that’s why I want to keep my promise that he’s in for the time of his life.”

“No problem. You’re on break, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be up around ten with my bag of tricks and when I leave, you’ll be ready to treat your Dr. Durin to a night he will not forget any time soon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hell, yes! You’re back in the saddle and I want you to enjoy every minute you can with this man. You deserve it, hon. But… where’s Alyssa?”

“She’s in Florida with Don and Alice.”

“Nice. So you can fuck this guy right there on the living room floor if you want.”

“I can, but that dose’t sound comfortable at all.”

“Elena!”

“What?”

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“I know. That’s why I sent you an S.O.S.”

“And don’t worry. I’ll save your ass and you’ll knock his socks off, along with everything else he might be wearing.”

#Gerard Butler #Frerin Durin #Frerin x OC #AU #Frerin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Modern AU #ER AU #Hospital AU #Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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umbralrosa · 4 months

Text

15 Questions For The Writer

Tagged By: @uppermoonkoku

Tagging: @s-talking, @cursesavior, @brazenlystrong, @astra-stellaris, @casketdweller, and anyone who wishes to do so

are you named after anyone?

I'm named after the Elysian Fields in Greek mythology: Elysia.

when was the last time you cried?

When my old dog of 17 died in September '23. I ugly cried for 2 days straight. Talking about her or thinking too deeply of her is quick to make me emotional.

do you have kids?

No. I will never have kids – unless you count dogs or cats. I loathe children, and have no patience for them. Being the first of 7 in my house made that idea very quick to burn out.

do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not exactly, only when I'm mocking something for the sake of being funny. I'm usually just blunt and metaphorical about things with no need for sarcasm.

what’s the first thing you notice about people?

I'm like a sensitive animal – the living vibe check. I can notice how chill someone is, if they have underlying motives, or how they are feeling based on how they sound or behave. Probably because I am ever paranoid and trust nothing.

what’s your eye colour?

Blue-grey.

scary movies or happy endings?

I cannot for the life of me handle scary movies. I am far too paranoid inherently, and watching anything spooky can and will give me days worth of paranoia even though I am aware it isn't real (when I was on TikTok a few months back, a lot of cryptid content would come up with people's experiences, and it fucked me up one week regarding s***w******). Happy endings are too typical for me to enjoy unless it is well earned, such as Lord of The Rings or The Hobbit movies.

any special talents?

I have a correct-guess rate of 70% at all times. I have also been dubbed by friends that I am 'lucky' in all videogames I play, "Sold skill for luck".

where were you born?

United States of America, Virginia.

have you any pets?

I had a long-haired chihuahua ever since I was about 8 years old, until September '23, when she had to be put down due to her long life giving her complications. I plan to get a cat next, when I'm not swamped by school.

what sport do you play/have played?

I ran in elementary school, so much so I was elected twice in 4th and 5th grade to run for the baton pass. I dropped out of it thinking I wasn't ready yet in 4th grade, and won my school first place in 5th grade. I have done nothing sporty since, nor care for sports at all.

how tall are you?

5'1". Short gang.

favourite subject in school?

Art and english.

dream job?

Currently aiming for it right now. Studying graphic design and photography at my university until spring '25.

#玫out of roses [ooc]

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savage-rhi · 1 year

Text

Immortal Shield Chapter 43: Loss

**DM or comment if you want to be tagged in updates on tumblr

**To read previous chapters, hit this link

Tagging: @seradyn

Near the abandoned lighthouse at Cape Caem, Gladio, Prompto, Ignis and one of the Niflheim councilmen looked onward. The group stood several feet away from their respective vehicles; the Regalia and an airship. Everyone was positioned in silence from afar while Ardyn and Caelan were by the beach; offering the couple some reprieve before the next part of their respective plans would come to fruition.

A heaviness lingered between everyone present. The emotional mass was further amplified by the weather becoming darker. A storm was brewing up from the South and bringing with it an uneasy change. It was enough to make the Niflheim councilman feel the temptation of apprehension wanting to take root. So much rode on the backs of two people he had been keeping watch for over an hour. Patience and time were running thin. He knew much was at stake. His presence being here could jeopardize more than himself.

“How much more time do they need to air grievances?” The council member spoke up, breaking the long quiet. “For every minute the airship remains on Lucis grounds, we are at risk of being discovered. This plan of king Noctis’s could fall apart.”

“Give them a break,” Gladio sighed bitterly. He was met with surprised looks by both Ignis and Prompto. He ignored his friends' and the council members' stares. His eyes remained fixed on the couple he was in charge of protecting.

“They’re not going to see each other again for a long time.” Gladio breathed out.

“Gladio is correct,” Ignis remarked. He gestured towards Ardyn and Caelan for emphasis. “We can spare a few hours, they cannot. Let them have their peace.”

“You don’t know what all of us have been through. These past couple days have tested everyone.” Prompto couldn’t help but get his two cents in. “Please, don’t have a cold heart right now.”

With the words of the men in mind, the council member nodded. He yielded to the king's retainers, understanding the weight of what they were trying to convey.

“My apologies for lacking empathy.” The council member sighed. He could see from far off Ardyn and Caelan embrace. The older man remembered what that warmth was like from a loved one until the Lucians destroyed it. He held no ill will toward the current ruler of Lucis, nor was he one to hold a grudge for long. It was how a man such as himself found purpose serving as council until Niflheim could stand on its two feet once again.

“It’s a shame she cannot come with us. She’d be well received at Niflheim.” The councilmember said while his eyes lingered on Ardyn and Caelan. It didn’t take long for him to see how bonded the two were. His features gave away his guilt for having to be a catalyst in their separation.

The boys looked over at the council member. Each of them conveyed a form of curiosity. Gladio and Prompto didn’t feel right speaking up, not good with diplomacy, unlike Ignis. Naturally, Ignis decided to pry after debating with himself.

“Pardon my asking,” Ignis cleared his throat. “What are you insinuating with that statement?”

The council member smiled morosely. “Let’s just say your king and I had an interesting conversation. It was about a recent horror that took place on Lucis grounds. Many imperials were saved because of that woman's actions.”

“The Formouth Tragedy?” Gladio interjected. All eyes were on him. He once again ignored the looks Prompto and Ignis gave, watching the council member intently. If the boys wanted to ask him about where his sudden care came from, they could ask in private as far as Gladio was concerned.

“Perhaps.” The man smiled. He wasn’t at liberty to discuss anything further, given how the king of Lucis made it clear little to nothing must leave between their earlier engagements.

“Ignis, is there any way we can…y’know, turn the other cheek?” Prompto whispered to his friend. He nudged Gladio to drag him into it, earning a growl from his taller companion.

“I mean, Gladio and I didn’t see anybody else go onto the airship with Ardyn and the councilman. Cae was lost at sea while trying to escape Accordo. Right?”

Ignis furrowed his brows. He sighed, knowing his younger friend meant well, but alas they were all duty-bound to the king and his dictation.

“You know as well as I, that we can’t interfere like that. Noct had this all laid out in a specific path for a reason. Imagine if we broke his trust. We of all people should know what it’s like to be bound by fate and to tempt it. The butterfly effect of our actions could spell trouble. If we turned a blind eye, perhaps they’d suffer an unforeseen consequence. We don’t need that on our conscience. We must not allow our personal feelings to get in the way, and trust our king and his judgement.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Gladio said as a matter of fact. That didn’t stop the melancholy in his eyes from appearing. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, least of all to someone like Ardyn, but alas even Gladio fell prey to the situation at hand. He may have been brutish and more than ready to do terrible things on behalf of the king, but ripping people away from each other wasn’t his MO.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck any less.” He sighed aloud to himself.

The soft breeze from the oncoming storm at Cape Caem whispered through Caelan’s locks. She found solace from the cold in Ardyn’s arms. His hands wrapped protectively around her. She closed her eyes while the fingers on his right hand combed through her hair. His left hand remained secure around Caelan's waist. They felt at one with each other.

Home was a concept Caelan had long forgotten until meeting him. His body was her shelter, and his heart the hearth. Being held by Ardyn was the closest thing to home she could recall. She felt fortunate to be at his side again.

“I can already feel your strength returning,” Ardyn said softly. “Sleeping through the trip was well worth it.”

“I hate that I did,” Caelan admitted. For two days she slumbered on the ship. It felt like such a waste of time. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I wanted to make up for the time we’ve been apart.”

“We’re right where we need to be,” Ardyn reassured her. “You can’t see me if you’re dead. I’d rather you have your health than spare me a few moments of your sight.”

Ardyn’s heartbeat gently echoed against Caelan’s left ear. Words couldn’t describe the euphoria that rocked throughout her entire body hearing that sound again. It was as powerful as listening to Ardyn when he spoke.

“I missed you so much,” Caelan murmured. Her eyes couldn’t help but tear up when she felt the warmth of his lips press to her forehead.

“As did I for you,” Ardyn whispered. He nuzzled his nose against her hair, inhaling her scent. He could scarce believe he was holding Caelan again. That she was safe. It almost didn't feel real to him.

“What happened to Bahamut?” Caelan said against him. She had been curious about what had become of the Astral, and Ardyn’s fate. Caelan felt his embrace tighten around her. His face buried more into her hair for comfort.

“I destroyed him.” Ardyn’s voice was low and serious. “He will never be again.”

“And you?”

“What of me?” Ardyn teased.

“You’re still standing here, but something has changed. I can feel it. Besides your eyes giving it away. Though I’m wondering if they’re contacts. I kind of miss the daemon aesthetic.” Caelan grinned, feeling Ardyn’s chest rise and fall while he chuckled. She’d never get tired of his laugh. How rich and childlike it could be, especially when he had an ace up his sleeve.

“I assure you of no such falsification. I wouldn’t dare prank you like that either, knowing how much you found them appealing.” Ardyn smiled and sighed contently against Caelan. His fingers continued to stroke through her hair, threading carefully with a tender pull.

“It seemed the gods favored me in the end. They brought me back to destroy the draconian. That was my purpose for resurrection. I alone had lived with the scourge for so long, that I was needed to deliver the fatal blow. The Astrals are not as powerful as we all believed. I held their weakness in my body for thousands of years. I could’ve ended it a long time ago had I known otherwise.”

Caelan furrowed her brows. There was a lot she wanted to ask, unsure of where to begin with Ardyn’s statement. One question however kept repeating in mind to where she felt compelled to set it free.

“Are you still immortal?”

“No,” Ardyn felt so much relief leaving his body as he answered Caelan’s question. “I’m unburdened from that curse.”

“How did that come to pass?”

“Dear, you ask so many questions.” Ardyn grinned. He could feel Caelan growl while her grasp around his waist tightened playfully as a forewarning. Ardyn would’ve gladly turned to stone right then if it meant he'd remain with her.

“Just tell me.” Caelan pleaded. “Tell me what you can.”

“Very well,” Ardyn pressed his lips to Caelan’s forehead once more. He rested his chin atop her head. The warmth of her body shielded his from the bitter wind lurking upon the Cape.

“The Glacian offered me a blessing. I chose to live a mortal life. To get a second chance at what I was robbed of thousands of years ago. I’m running on borrowed time like everybody else. There’s no catch to be troubled with.”

“I feel like there’s more to this than what you’re saying.” Caelan remarked.

“There is,” Ardyn softly admitted. He envied how perceptive she could be--and at times loathed it--but Ardyn loved that aspect about Caelan very much. He knew he couldn’t keep secrets forever. It was a cycle he wanted to personally break coming into this new chapter of mortality. He felt lucky to have someone like Caelan to keep his path straight.

“It'll have to wait for another moment. There’s so much I wish to tell you, but--it’s not a good time.”

“If you say so, I trust you.” Caelan was disappointed but decided it was best not to pry. She respected Ardyn too much to pester him, at least in this case.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“Anything.” Ardyn closed his eyes, his left hand lowered to the small of her back, his thumb carded against her spine.

“It’s random but,” Caelan paused, wondering if it was ridiculous. However, she couldn’t let it go. “Did you happen to find out who gave me healing powers? Was it a gift from the Glacial, or was there a god trying to make a pact with me?”

There was a long pause on Ardyn’s end as he reflected on his final moments with Shiva. Since the goddess of ice and winter proclaimed he had chosen well, several conversations took place after the fact due to his interference. Not ready to return to Eos until all his terms and conditions had been met. It seemed like it passed centuries ago since Ardyn was last on the Astral Plane. Yet it had only been a short amount of time.

Ardyn smiled as he remembered a familiar touch to his heart while he transcended back to Eos. It was brief but the warmth was all too acquainted, sharply contrasting with Shiva’s cold aura. There was a part of Ardyn that felt stupid not putting two and two together right off the bat. She had been looking out for him--both of them--since day one of his unfinished life.

“No gods meddled in your affairs,” Ardyn finally spoke. He nuzzled his right cheek against Caelan’s forehead, wishing there was a way he could accomplish holding her closer than they were. “Let’s just say you and I have someone who loves us both elsewhere.”

“Aera.” Caelan whispered. She felt herself tearing up, feeling the name slip past her lips. Caelan smiled big, recalling the voice that had come to her when Serpo nearly snuffed out her life. The comforting presence which encouraged her to heal Ardyn when the Behemoth gored him. It made perfect sense that it was all her doing.

Caelan made a face though, remembering her attempt at trying to bring Ardyn back to life before her arrest. It dawned on her why the magic didn’t run its course. There was no need for Aera's aid. Ardyn was returning. Caelan didn’t need help with such a task because he was already in the process of coming home. She felt like an idiot for the concept not registering until now.

“That’s why you didn’t do it…son of a bitch.” Caelan murmured out loud to herself.

“What?” Ardyn was taken aback, letting out a nervous chortle. He felt Caelan laugh into his chest, shaking her head against him.

“Don’t worry about it! Trust me on this one.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Ardyn chuckled. Gods, it was going to be hard leaving her side. It would go down as one of the most gut-wrenching experiences he’d recall of late. It stabbed Ardyn to no end knowing this would be the last time they’d get to embrace the other, and talk like they were now. He had the strength for many things in life, brutal or otherwise, yet Ardyn felt like he was in the throes of being ripped apart.

Ardyn decided he couldn’t prolong either of their anxiety. He had to let the wound bleed before it could mend.

“Cahl,” Ardyn softly coaxed her away from his chest. His right hand went to her face, cupping her soft skin. He found himself getting lost in Caelan’s eyes. It was so hard not to drown in them.

“There’s a debt that must be repaid for what we’ve done.”

“I know,” Caelan nodded against his palm. Her left and right hand gently grasped his arm for relief. “Folks like you and me, we don’t get to ride off into the sunset and pretend nothing happened.”

Ardyn chuckled. He brought her close to him and their foreheads touched. “Prison didn’t break your humor I see. I’m proud of you for retaining it.”

“Never,” Caelan smiled. She watched his lips form into a grin. “I’m untouchable there.”

Caelan leaned back a little so she could look at Ardyn’s face. Her eyes carded over his features but always settled on his blue hues. That was something that would take getting used to. Caelan found herself missing his amber eyes, but the adoration Ardyn held for her remained in the new set of colors staring at her like she was the entirety of Eos. She was the land to his sea.

“What’s the catch?” Caelan sighed. There was no point in denying the inevitable. She knew given the risk everyone took to bring her back to Lucis, there would be a toll. Caelan just hoped she had the stomach for the price.

Ardyn sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t want to say it.”

“You can’t stop whatever it is. I know that for a fact.”

“How so?” Ardyn mused.

“There’d be no hesitation on your part. Even as you smile, you look so broken looking at me.” Caelan reached down with her left hand to grab a hold of Ardyn's right. Their fingers intertwined like two warm bodies, desperately trying to get as close as possible to each other. Caelan gently rubbed small circles into the rough texture of Ardyn’s hand, giving a squeeze. Reassuring him that she was here for him.

“Tell me. What do they want for all this?” Caelan murmured. Gesturing with her head toward the people who were waiting for them from a distance. The gang and the Niflheim airship looked like little specs from their vantage point.

Ardyn took in a deep breath. His eyes closed, and his head turned away. He watched the ocean tide begin to roll back and forth against the surf. The skies of Lucis were growing more stormy by the second. Petrichor began to permeate the sunless air. The atmosphere reminded him of Angelgard, and the first night he awoke after five years of being dead. Ardyn allowed himself a few more seconds of repose before the words began to leave his mouth.

“You will be going back to Insomnia for a trial. I will be taken to Niflheim to await my own.” Ardyn paused, allowing Caelan to register the gravity of his words before continuing.

“The plan was as follows,” Ardyn breathed out. “I was to attend your trial in Accordo and throw the officials off of the true nature of our relationship. Upon finishing testimony, I was supposed to break free of the crownsguard outside the courthouse and cause mayhem. I couldn’t fathom not taking action when I saw you, so I changed tactics to our benefit. To further make it believable I had no feelings toward you, I attacked you in front of every prominent figure of Accordo that day. Even with witnesses that may be able to say something to the contrary, the officials have their truth. Whatever has been seen post-attack will be accounted for as rumors. Nothing more. The people of Accordo will see your escape as having nothing to do with me, but you following an instinct to survive my assault. You won’t be faulted for my actions, and no one will know that I was attempting to aid you.”

"What of the Troopers we killed on our way to the yacht?" Caelan asked.

"Again, the fault lies with me. I'm taking the fall for everything." Ardyn’s hand squeezed Caelan’s a bit harder as he continued. “The story I imagine will play out like this: While you fled from me attempting to end your life, you came upon a boat and found your way back to Lucis. Officials will have found you and taken you back to Insomnia to await trial for your crownsguard killings. As for me, in my madness and determined not to fall under the custody of Lucis again, I try fleeing for Tenebrae. Unfortunately, I’m caught by a Niflheim airship. Both of us, the Homicida and Adagium, are to be dealt with at the whims of the respective countries that found them. Accordo will be seen as too incompetent for not handling me, thus any attempt to export you will be forfeited. Not to mention you should’ve never been taken by them in the first place. With all of this in mind, no one will know the wiser this was all a ploy to ensure you wouldn’t be slain.”

There was a brief smile that Ardyn allowed himself to have, a reassurance that this would be worth the stab to Caelan’s heart he set the seal on.

“Noctis promised me you would be well taken care of. You will not know of suffering like what you experienced in Accordo. An official investigation into your father’s wrongdoings will be launched. I have no doubt the truth will reveal itself to all, and you will never again know his burdens. His sins won’t be yours to carry any longer.”

Caelan was crying the whole time. She was silent while taking his words to heart. Already seeing the overall picture of what Ardyn was alluding to. There was also a cold truth that began to sink in as her mind repeated his earlier words, how they would be sent to opposite lands. The price for freedom meant the loss of another. It was too much.

“I’ll never see you again after today, will I?” Her voice croaked. It was enough to pull Ardyn’s gaze back to her. The sadness in his own eyes was deep and exhausting.

“No,” Ardyn shook his head. He brought both his hands to her face. His thumbs wasted no time in wiping away Caelan’s tears. His own was starting to spill, but he remained strong. He had to for her. She had done so for him as a shield, and it was high time he returned the favor.

“Can’t we just run away?” Caelan sniffled. Her fingertips reached for Ardyn’s face, tracing over his jawline, memorizing the texture of his flesh and the scruff he had. “We could hide. We could go anywhere. Tell me we’re going to run."

“Not this time,” Ardyn shook his head. He hated this. Having to tell her they couldn’t make their own rules. It went against many of Ardyn's principals. “Cahl, if we were to pull that off, we may have a few years of peace. I will always pose the grandest of dangers to you. All of Eos know I walk again. There are people who will seek their own vengeance upon me for what I've done in the past. Until I have been judged by the world, you need protection. I’m mortal now. I can’t guarantee your life as I am.”

“Ardyn, you can’t do this--” Caelan tried to finish her sentence, to do everything in her power to convince him not to go through with it, but he beat her to it as he interrupted.

“Even if we were not facing the courts, I would’ve needed time on my own to figure out how to best keep you safe. You’ve been through so much pain in your life. It wouldn’t be fair of me to plague you with more. Of all the many I’ve met on Eos, you deserve the peace that has been taken from you time and time again.”

“You’re going to move on,” Caelan shook her head. She was too distraught to take his words in full. All she could focus on was her own lack of strength. “I’m not worth all this. I’m not worth you losing everything.”

“No, don’t say such things my Cahl.” Ardyn leaned forward and firmly kissed her forehead and pulled back. His eyes held a seriousness that wasn’t present moments before. “I vow I will come back to Lucis and ensure you have my heart, and the world in the palm of your hands.”

“How?” Caelan sniffled. She closed her eyes leaning into his touch while Ardyn continued to caress stray tears away from her face.

“I promise this won’t be forever.” Ardyn didn’t have a plan for the time being, but he knew in his heart there was no way he would allow either of them to suffer longer than necessary. He knew this wasn’t enough for Caelan nonetheless. Her crying grew worse as did the horrible feeling in his chest.

“Look at me.”

The desirous in his voice had Caelan briefly depart from her own misery. Her eyes were captured in the recesses of an intense gaze. She saw her reflection treading in an ocean of blue eyes, taking her essence and making her a part of its journey. There was a determination in Ardyn’s stare that couldn’t be matched to anything in the past. She doubted the honey color of his daemonic eyes could ever hold a torch to something so profound.

“I will gladly burn down all of Eos if you will it so.” Ardyn’s voice was firm and full of purpose as he slowed down his voice, making his tone as soothing as possible all the while carrying the full force of his affections.

“Ardyn--”

“You’re everything to me. You’re my Cahl. My darling. Tamdents ansaa koreyy. Do you hear this, do you understand? You’ll always have me. aMdents jinahh maak shee syuth. I will see you again. You have my word. I promise.”

Caelan broke free of Ardyn’s grasp. He thought she was going to run away from him. Too overwhelmed and betrayed to be in his presence. Ardyn let out a deep breath as Caelan tackled his body into a tight embrace. He grasped onto her with the same force she gave, their bodies rocking back and forth much like the waves of the ocean encircling the unyielding rocks along the shore.

“You’re my best friend,” Caelan sobbed. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“And you haven’t lost him. I’m right here. Du evraaht, sweet girl.” Ardyn muttered.

“Mdents koreyy ji, Red.”

They held each other until both their bodies gave into the storm's bitter cold that caressed their bones. Ardyn and Caelan both took turns peppering the other with kisses. They sealed their adorations in whispers and sighs. Their hands locked as they ventured back to their respective parties closer inland. Time was up.

With great reluctance, Ardyn and Caelan stopped upon reaching the middle of their respective junction. The Lucians on the right and the imperials on the left awaited their individual captives. The couple offered their fingers one last squeeze, one last touch, and soon they both felt the loss. Equally and painfully vacant, they marched toward their fates. Never once did they look back, even as their hearts surrendered to the ache of the unknown.

Notes:

Tamdents ansaa koreyy= My deepest love

aMdents jinahh maak shee syuth= I'm yours until last breath

Du evraaht= Be brave

Mdents koreyy ji= I love you

#ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn izunia #ffxv #final fantasy xv #fanfic #story #ffxv ardyn #im prepared to get slaughtered #just gonna yeet this and run

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amarantine-amirite · 9 months

Text

The Frustration Trap

It started when we had to buy a new oven. We did our research before we purchased the range we wanted. At least, we thought we bought the range that we wanted.

I was 17 and my parents were away on business when they delivered the unit. We did not receive an oven. The local hardware store instead delivered what I maintain is the most useless cooktop in existence instead of the range we wanted.

Most importantly, there was no oven. We can't make do with just the stovetop. Some argue otherwise, but there are some foods you need to put in the oven. For example, sous-vide chicken wings just don't taste right.

I swung by the furniture store where we bought the range. I waited forever to talk to someone because the place was crawling with personal shoppers who soaked up the cashier's time and attention. I've never seen personal shoppers in a housewares store other than for people in wheelchairs, not even in a fancy housewares store.

Finally, someone came over to help. "Hi, can I help you?" said a sales associate with a bushy hairdo, mustache, and a name tag that read "Doug."

"Yes," I said, "we bought a range here and you delivered a totally useless cooktop"

Doug tilted his head to one side. "What was wrong with it?"

I pulled out the picture I took of the cooktop on my phone. "The piece of shit that called itself a cooktop had no dials and was made of window glass painted to look like quartz glass."

Doug had difficulty believing what I just said. He tipped his head to one side. "How would you work a cooktop with no dials?" he asked.

"By using the app that goes with it, which is also total shit," I huffed. It pisses me off that the manufacturer forces you to download a crappy app to restore functionality you expect to come standard.

"Oh, this?" Doug said as he pointed to the app on my phone, "Yeah, their app is super easy to use."

"Ya think?"

Doug began his bullshit-laden spiel. "well, it's free and -"

"No, it's not." I interrupted, "The app wasn't free and the subscription fee cost almost twice as much as our rent!"

"Well," Doug stammered, "you can control the cooktop from anywhere - "

I blinked at him. "Doesn't matter. This stupid app made you give it your social security number to set up two-factor authentication and your bank account to verify payment information. I have no idea how stupid people would be to use it," i said, "Worse, none of the materials online mentioned you'd need this to install the app."

"Why is it stupid?" Doug asked.

"I'm positive that this app harvests your data and sells it on the black market."

Doug still didn't get it. "What's your point?"

"My point is you didn't deliver the product you wanted and what you did deliver is useless." I said tensely.

Doug shrugged. "How is this my problem? I'm not responsible for what we sell."

"Yes, you are" I nodded, "You are a salesman. You are responsible for assisting the customer when the product fails to meet expectations." I can't believe I had to tell him his job.

Doug raised his hands. "Hey, it's not my fault your frustration tolerance is so bad," he said defensively. He did the human equivalent of a lazy pony that trots really fast when you ask him to canter and hopes you don't notice.

I started to lose my patience. I felt myself tense up and go up on my tiptoes. "I do not have bad frustration tolerance," I said. I struggled not to yell at him. "The same things that frustrate you also frustrate me. I'm just more vocal about what's bugging me than other people."

"Yes, but let me repeat myself here," Doug said to me, "I am not responsible for the manufacturer telling the truth, nor am I responsible for managing the customer expectations. My mandate is that I only get the thing out of the store."

"No," I corrected, "that's only half your mandate."

Doug nervously turned around. "I'm going to get my manager."

"Yes," I nodded, "please do, because you're clearly too stupid to handle this on your own."

The manager arrived but did nothing to help. "Is there a problem here?" she asked with a facial expression that suggested I pulled her away from playing League of Legends on company time.

I noticed her name tag read "Anna". "Yes, I bought a range and they delivered a cooktop that leaves loads to be desired and the salesman has done nothing to help me rectify why I've received a subpar product," I said.

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "Why should I deal with your frustration?"

"Because it's a question of customer service," I huffed. I tried not to yell at her because people who work in stores have shit jobs and it isn't fair to yell at people who are trying to help even though their pay and work environment is crap.

Anna shook her head and said, "No, you just can't cope with frustrations."

I could feel myself losing control. My mouth dried up and I started shaking and pointing indiscriminately. "I do not have any more of a problem coping with frustrations than the next person," I said unbelievably quickly, "What I have trouble coping with is Doug's inability to do his job!"

Anna leaned forward and talked down to me, "No, he does his job just fine, you're just a bitch with the frustration tolerance of a four-year-old."

There was no way I could get myself back down. I couldn't even leave the store. I just froze. While I stood there unable to calm myself down, she proceeded to record me on her phone

It slowly occurred to me that she egged me on in hopes she could get a good Karen video to post online and license the rights to the highest bidder. I tried to walk away before I could further humiliate myself, but my legs just wouldn't move. I know because I fell over just turning around.

In hindsight, I don't think it would have helped. "I'm putting that on YouTube!" Anna exclaimed triumphantly.

The video went viral. It spread like wildfire across social media platforms. It captured the attention of thousands, including my parents.

They came home from their business trip early so they could deal with me. Dad brought the suitcase in from the car. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what would come.

"We need to talk," Dad began as he slammed his large suitcase on the stairs.

"Lay it on me," I sighed as I sat down on the couch.

Dad walked into the living room, sat in front of me, and pulled up the video on his phone. "I saw this video of you giving the manager of the Karl Farbman Store a hard time about the range we bought," he sighed heavily in frustrated disappointment.

I didn't hesitate to defend myself. "Because it wasn't right, and they weren't doing their job," she retorted, her voice firm.

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose, a sign of mounting frustration. "Harriet, this is why you need to check before you accept the order," he reasoned, trying to get his point across.

"It's not my fault they brought it while you were away," I responded with a touch of exasperation, "They said they were bringing it the week before you left."

Dad looked at me incredulously. His frustration broke through. "Then whose fault is it? Charles DeGaulle's?!" he exclaimed sarcastically.

My eyes widened in disbelief. "You weren't there!" I shouted, "Those morons were the exact opposite of helpful!"

Dad waves his hands horizontally. "It doesn't matter, Harriet," he grimaced, "The problem isn't the customer service at Farbman, the problem is you wear your frustrations on your sleeve, and that attracts the wrong attention."

I crossed my arms. "Not all the time," I protested.

Dad shook his head. "Harriet, when you deal with people, they see you express what's bugging you, and unfortunately, they take advantage of you so they can get a Karen video that they hope will go viral," he explained, "They set a trap, and you walked right into it."

My eyes narrowed. "Well, then, avoid those people," I shot back.

Dad shook his head. "You're going to be avoiding everybody if you do that," he retorted. "Retail workers make next to nothing, so what would you do if you saw someone who was upset, and you knew that you'd make ten times your yearly salary from the video of their meltdown?"

"Start looking for a better job?" I asked. I wasn't wrong.

"No. You'd egg them on and hope you got something explosive enough that you could license it to a content aggregator," Dad shouted like this was something that I should know, "Anyone who works in retail will natter at customers until they explode, but for most people, it doesn't post a problem because they don't express frustration as visibly as you do."

I hesitated before I said anything. Nattering at people until they blow up so you can make money off the footage of their tantrums didn't seem normal, but maybe I had just gotten lucky. "So, you're saying it's my fault that someone tricked me into misbehaving?" I questioned. How can the actions of someone else be my fault?

"No, Harriet," Dad said sharply, "it's your fault for taking the bait."

I mentally checked out. Nothing Dad said made any sense, so I picked up the Rubik's cube and tried to solve it.

Grandpa gave me the Rubik's cube just before he died. He asked me to solve this ordinary-looking but very special cube. I received no instructions on how to solve it, only a note that read: There are two kinds of people in the world - people who can solve Rubik's cubes, and people who just move the stickers around to make it look like you solved it. The latter are cheaters.

It's been a month. I'm nowhere near solving it. The mechanism would jam if I turned in a certain way. Unfortunately, turning it that way seemed to be a requirement to solve the puzzle. I tried so many other ways to avoid turning at the way where it got jammed, but nothing worked. It'd feel like I got somewhere but then I'd make an even bigger mess and have to start over.

Dad caught me struggling to turn the Rubik's cube. "You see? You're doing it again, Harriet."

"No, I'm not!" I grunted as I turned it as hard as I could.

To everybody's shock, the Rubik's cube broke apart after I turned it. If you turned it past the point where it jammed, the cube itself would open up to reveal the mechanism inside. I looked at the mechanism and saw it contained an SD card. I picked it up and put it in the pocket of my jeans.

I haven't been able to sleep that night. At about 1 a.m. the next day, I got up and plugged the SD card into the computer. I noticed only one item: a wave file titled November-3-2002-Broadcast.

I clicked on the link, intrigued by the mysterious recording that awaited me. As the audio began to play, I realized it was a recording of an alien anthropologist calling into a podcast. The familiar voices of the podcast hosts greeted the extraterrestrial guest.

"Welcome to the show," the host chimed in. "What's up? You've reached our podcast."

The caller gave the people on the podcast the surprise of their lives. "Uh, yeah, my name is Jethré. I'm one of the many aliens studying your species, and I'm calling to lodge a complaint."

The host sat there with a confused look on his face, looking confused. "OK?" he responded casually. He thought it was a joke - people prank call podcasts all the time, especially in the fall.

Jethré quickly explained, "Your species needs to stop calling yourselves Homo sapiens. The term sapient means something specific: a sentient species. Many species of sentient aliens, ours included, do not consider humans sentient."

The host's disbelief turned into curiosity. "Why is that?" he asked. He seemed genuinely intrigued by the alien's perspective.

"Because you humans are unable to keeneetaa," Jethré responded.

While the host muttered "What the hell is keeneetaa?"; his co-host chimed in with a suggestion. "Is it the ability to evolve intelligence without destroying our environment?"

Jethré promptly dismissed the notion. "Nope, it's not that," xe replied.

The co-host's determination persisted. "How about the ability to power our big brains on a plant-only diet?"

I don't think any of those are right. It sounds like someone projecting their wishful thinking onto something they don't understand. It's more likely that keeneetaa is either a universal language understood by all members of a species, a connection to some psionic web of understanding, or some wacky dance with little kicks and thumbs.

Jethré finally told us what keeneetaa was supposed to be. "It's neither. Keeneetaa is the sound of something colliding with nothing." xe said.

It took me a while to figure out what something colliding with nothing was supposed to mean. "No Earth language has a word for the instantaneous realization that something magnificent doesn't exist."

The alien was right. No language on Earth has a word for that, not even German, and German has a word for everything. We do, however; have a story for it: the story of The Emperor's New Clothes.

I thought back to my debacle with the stove we bought from the Karl Farbman store. The salespeople went on and on about how fantastic the smart cooktop was, but I was the only one who saw it for what it was: nothing but garbage. I saw something everyone said was magnificent was really nothing.

Does this mean I am the only sentient human because I can keeneetaa? Only time will tell.

@sstrangeprompts

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #short story #short fiction #tales of retail

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late-to-the-fandom · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1: An Answer Key for All Occasions

In which Renathal meets Denathrius' newest student, unaffectionately known as the Maw Walker. Rated T for sexual tension. Full tags and triggers available on Ao3 here. All credit for this AU's original concept goes to @shipping-through-eternity and their incredible world-building skills.

Renathal had very few complaints about being Denathrius’ teaching assistant. It was a highly coveted position, and it came with excellent perks. The professor made sure his TA had amenities even tenured department heads would be jealous of: compensation on the highest end of the pay scale, a comprehensive benefits package, covered parking in the good garage (the one with security), and the better sort of on-campus housing (on the newly developed side, not the Maw). All in all, far cushier than he could hope for anywhere else, and Renathal did not take this for granted.

Of course, the greatest fringe benefit was access to Denathrius himself. The professor's reputation was the stuff of legend and not just at the University of the Shadowlands. He had built his department from the ground up, all while conducting his own innovative research in his particular niche field, and had magnanimously agreed to serve as Renathal’s thesis mentor in exchange for his services. Namely, handling the tedious administrative work Denathrius - a visionary - had little patience for.

None of which Renathal minded. He was happy to handle the day-to-day tedium of correcting papers and posting grades, fielding an endless stream of student questions (the answers to which were always covered in the syllabus), as well as overseeing the rest of Denathrius' staff and - most recently - fielding their concerns about the department's precarious financial situation. His naturally organized mind and charismatic nature lent itself easily to such tasks. Nor did he mind taking on Denathrius' office hours, providing students the extra assistance they ought to have received from their illustrious professor. The research Denathrius was embroiled in with his personal assistant, Inerva Darkvein, was groundbreaking; the key to ending the drought that had befallen the department's bank account, he insisted, and Renathal agreed his mentor’s time was better spent in its pursuit.

No, as he dragged himself from bed before dawn on the first morning of yet another fall semester, it was not his heavy workload weighing on Renathal's mind. It was how stuck he felt; trapped in this position, with no hope of rescue on the horizon. His career aspirations were dead on arrival, his dissertation on indefinite hiatus (Denathrius had been unable to meet with him to discuss his research proposal for... could it really be years?). Even the familiar strictures of his morning routine (his Earl Grey while perusing his digital paper; the violin concerto serenading his ablutions, avoiding the hair on his chin as he shaved) suffocated rather than comforted. The sight of his half-dozen identical worsted wool suits no longer felt decadent, but monotonous (why had he never indulged in any other colour scheme?).

Similarly, it felt more like duty than privilege to trudge the once-handsome cobblestone walkway with its ivy-covered awning (stone now cracked and vines long overgrown) that carried his feet to the main building's small side entrance where dingy limestone steps led into Denathrius' basement department of Revendreth.

He had no right to complain, Renathal reminded himself, as he wended a path through the cold, stone passages he could have navigated blind (and nearly did; the high, narrow windows permitted only the most rebellious rays of predawn light). Denathrius had been good to him, doting even; he treated Renathal like a son. And like a son, Renathal felt compelled to make his mentor proud. Throughout the years, he had sought to achieve this through hard work and unswerving loyalty to the department and its progenitor. But, rounding a final grim-stoned corner, Renathal wondered if perhaps Denathrius - a maverick himself - would be more impressed if his TA took his future into his own hands...

He stopped. The heavy oak double doors to the lecture hall barred his way. Renathal shifted his briefcase in his hand and reached for the tarnished copper handle. The fit was familiar, exactly the same as it had been for years... too many years. And the last flicker of Renathal's natural optimism sputtered out, replaced by an unfamiliar despair as dark as the tomb-like passage around him. Another year of this unbearable tedium and he would surely go mad, and he made a new semester resolution then and there.

This year, he would be different, Renathal decided. He would follow his mentor's example instead of merely his lead. He would make bolder choices, take more risks, let nothing stand in his way. This year, Renathal promised himself as he thrust the doors open, something was going to change.

He did not expect change to be waiting for him inside, or to be wearing such a striking shade of purple.

All the rooms in Revendreth were infamously ill lit, (Budget cuts, said Oribos, the administration office; blatant favouritism, Denathrius told his staff. When has the Bastion building ever had so much as a flickering light bulb?) and the lecture hall was no exception. The sanctuary-sized space was illuminated solely by a few red-tinted wall sconces that hit the long rows of tables at odd angles, creating deep pockets of shadow.

She was hidden in one of these, at the very back of the windowless room. Her face had an odd, almost purple glow: the light from her phone screen reflecting off her sweatshirt's lavender hood. She did not look up at Renathal’s entrance or at any point during his long, startled pause. She stared at the bright screen through all his pointed throat-clearing and his unnecessarily heavy setting-down-of-briefcase-on-lectern. It was not until he noisily unclasped the case and drew out a folder of printed syllabi with many a papery rustle that she glanced his way.

Their eyes met across the hall. She blinked, and gave him a small, bland smile. Then she returned to her phone, dismissing him from reality. Renathal found the brief exchange rather galling.

She continued to scroll through her phone one-handed as Renathal slowly strolled the aisles. Instead of setting stacks of syllabi at the edges of the tables, he made a point of placing one in front of every chair, giving him an excuse to get a closer look at the early arrival. He was certain he had never seen her on campus before. That, and showing up to class a quarter-hour early screamed freshman, but nothing else about her quite fit that label. She looked older than the average co-ed, for one thing; and for another, freshmen (in his experience) did not sign up for 6:45am classes. She didn't seem especially nervous either, though even up close, her wide, smooth face was admittedly hard to read.

Something about her did not conform to the department’s typical student mold. Which meant, Renathal realised glumly, she must be here to gawk.

While Denathrius' coursework was famously rigorous - practically a punishment - there were always a few students each semester who signed up for a class just to sit and stare at him. Denathrius was brilliant and looked like the prettier kind of body builder; and, what’s more, he knew it and constantly played it up to full advantage. His fan club was sizable, though they didn't usually choose such an early or advanced class to audit. This one must be particularly dedicated, thought Renathal bitterly, and briskly returned to the lectern.

Tugging down the projector screen, preparing the room for Denathrius' arrival, he kept his eyes from returning to the occupied back corner, though awareness of her presence made him shift in his tailored suit jacket self-consciously. Renathal was nothing to sneer at himself (a little on the thinner side of muscular, maybe; his hair longer than currently fashionable, but so was Denathrius' and he pulled it off) but for all his careful efforts, he was constantly eclipsed by the naturally superior professor. Most students forgot Denathrius even had a TA, and those who came ostensibly for office hour tutoring and found Renathal always left disappointed.

Even now, as students began trickling in, not one spared a passing greeting for him. Heads turned hopefully to the lectern, then quickly away when Denathrius wasn’t there; shuffling to seats, yawning and grumbling as they plunked down thermoses of coffee and pulled laptops out of bags. The tables filled quickly, with more students than any pre-noon class had a right to. And when the professor himself finally deigned to arrive - ducking his head to avoid the doorframe, sweeping down the aisle like he owned it - the heads turned as one and the murmur of voices ceased.

“My children,” announced Denathrius, rich voice full of melodrama, “I know the suffering you have endured. This is truly an unholy hour for a class."

The hall echoed with appreciative laughter. Denathrius opened all his classes with a bit of disarming charm that, combined with his voice and god-like build, never ceased to rouse even the sleepiest student. Every face in the room was on him, enraptured, as he recited his speech about the sacrifices required to succeed in his class. He made a point of introducing Renathal (My hardworking TA has been with me since the beginning; the firstborn of my department, as it were), but only a few students bothered to glance his way.

Who could blame them? Denathrius was the master of every room he entered. And that, more than anything, was Renathal's greatest complaint about his privileged position. The ignominy, the frustration, the inherent loneliness of always standing in the professor's extensive shadow. How could anyone be expected to notice him, personally or professionally, when Denathrius captured all eyes?

Except … Renathal blinked … those of the student in purple.

He squinted at her from his place by the door. Her head was propped against the wall, cushioned by her purple hood, and … he couldn't be sure what with students in the way and the dismal lighting, but ... could she possibly be asleep? Renathal's jaw went slack in surprise. Not a fan then (and why did the knowledge make him feel inexplicably smug?). Even so, such a thing was unheard of in Denathrius' class.

Nor had it escaped the Professor’s notice.

He did not miss a beat, but many times throughout the lesson Renathal watched Denathrius cast curious glances at the student in the shrouded corner. Her expression changed little, and she did not move until the professor dismissed the class, when she sprang up, tucking her phone in a pocket, and managed to be the first out the door. She spared a nod and another bland sort of smile for Renathal as she passed, and Renathal, taken aback by the acknowledgement, could think of nothing to say. She was tall, he noticed, nearly as tall as himself; and he towered over everyone, except Denathrius of course.

"The young woman in purple," were the professor’s first words when the final student departed and his TA closed the door. “I did not recognise her. Do you happen to know her name?”

"No," admitted Renathal. He kicked himself for not printing out a roster and fumbled for his phone. "But I should be able to pull it up." Always assuming his outdated device would connect to the basement department's spotty WiFi.

“Oh, don't put yourself to any trouble, Renathal, it is hardly urgent," said Denathrius magnanimously. "Just, get it to me whenever you have the time."

Then he added, “Sometime today,” in a voice that encouraged Renathal to immediately adjust his to-do list to prioritize the professor's ostensible request.

Instead of picking up a coffee from the campus cafe as was his wont, Renathal used his break to rush back to his cramped cage of an office (Denathrius assured him every year a better one was forthcoming) to check the morning lecture's student registration list. His brain made a whirring sound similar to his ancient computer (also promised an upgrade) as he considered how to guess which name belonged to the purple-hooded student. Surely the roster could not conveniently contain a name as out of place as her person?

There was one.

Renathal raised an eyebrow at the monitor's tired glow. A name he did not recognize - and had not the first idea how to say - appeared at the very bottom of the registration list. A likely candidate, though it wouldn't do to assume. He checked the rest of the rosters for Denathrius' classes, but the name did not appear again. On a whim, he pulled out his phone and typed it into several of the more popular social media sites. No hits. Which didn’t mean much; perhaps she didn’t use her full name on anything. But, not wanting to disappoint Denathrius, Renathal decided to consult his own much more reliable database.

“Oh, you must mean our resident Maw Walker!" exclaimed Theotar at Renathal's description when he came round in the afternoon to bring the staff tea.

The short, jovial man enjoyed a reputation that outshone his stature: for knowing everything about everyone in the department, and for his unparalleled brew.

Renathal raised an eyebrow.

”A Maw Walker?”

It was the less-than-affectionate nickname given to students banished to the old campus housing. The tall, decrepit buildings loomed out of the concrete like jagged teeth around the desolate, natureless chasm lurking in the middle that was the old quad. The Maw, they called it.

The new campus had warm tunnels and brightly lit covered walkways to ferry students to all the important school buildings without having to brave the elements. But those relegated to the older campus were forced to walk across the unprotected, ever-shadowed Maw to get anywhere they needed to go. It was the housing given to students and staff who couldn't afford anything else, and precious few of either came through Denathrius' department.

"How did she get stuck in the Maw?"

"Well, she is new, and presumably not well off," explained Theotar as he prepared Renathal's cuppa. "An exchange student from one of those foreign places.” He gestured vaguely in no particular direction. "On a student visa, you know, so the only work she can get is with the school and I believe they put her up there at a reduced fee. She has helped in the kitchens several times, and I confess, I've grown most fond of her. She’s quite the tea aficionado, we can chat about it for ages, and she does bamboozle with that sense of humour!”

Renathal wondered if they were talking about the same person after all.

“And how do you say her name?"

“Oh, no one knows that,” Theotar tittered, tapping the spoon against the side of the cup with three delicate clinks. “She tried once to explain how to pronounce it, but … I’m afraid no one could quite grasp all its subtle nuances. So, the Maw Walker moniker stuck!”

He slid the steaming cup to Renathal, said his farewell, and backed himself, his two assistants, and his rolling tea cart out of the tiny room. Renathal sipped the sweet liquid, contemplating the name highlighted in yellow on the now-printed roster. Probably, he could look up how to say it online, but Denathrius was surely learned enough to know. He would ask his mentor to teach him, mused Renathal, smirking around the rim of his teacup, and use that as a segue into scheduling a dissertation check-in.

But, “A maw walker? How interesting..." was all Denathrius said when his TA handed him the paper with the highlighted name a short time later.

Renathal hesitated, straightening his cuff links, waiting. But when the professor made no attempt at the name, he said, "Apparently," disgruntled at this wrench in his plan. “She is new to the university, I gather," he continued. "An exchange student. Probably, she signed up for this class without anyone warning her how demanding your coursework would be."

"Perhaps."

Renathal frowned.

"You think otherwise?"

"Well…” Denathrius adjusted the rakish angle of his collar (no matter how well-tailored, his shirts never seemed to fit properly across his broad chest). “What with all those unfortunate accusations of late, the main office has been asking questions.”

The Revendreth department had fallen into mal odeur recently after a few ex-students started posting social media exposés. Something about Denathrius’ and Inerva's unethical research practices, but Renathal didn’t know the details; he refused to pay attention to such rumours. His mentor could be strict, and admittedly hands-off in his style of teaching, and perhaps he did prioritise his own private work over his duties in the department; but, it was for the greater good, Denathrius assured them, and Renathal trusted his mentor completely.

"So...” Renathal’s mind followed the path of Denathrius’ implication. “You think Oribos might have sent someone to the department to spy?”

"It is possible," Denathrius admitted, though it didn't sound like the idea troubled him. “But it would be imprudent to make any assumptions. After all, I am nothing if not unbiased and fair." He paused, as if expecting Renathal, or the stone passage around them, to echo back his praise. "However, you might keep an eye on her for me, find out what you can. Always remembering, of course, how important it is for every student, even a maw walker, to have a positive experience in Revendreth. If she is here for information, that is the information I would prefer her have. I assume you are up to the task?"

"Of course," agreed Renathal, on instinct; then hesitated, wondering if he ought to press the issue of his dissertation now, segue be damned.

Before he could come up with a tactful opening, however, the professor was gushing, "Thank you, Renathal," and warmly shaking his TA's hand. “I must say, it is a privilege to have someone at my side on whom I can so thoroughly rely. Once this little matter is concluded, we really must find time to discuss your research proposal. It sounds promising. I have many questions.”

With that, Denathrius turned and vanished (he could move very quickly for a man his size). And in spite of this evasive answer, his TA let him go uncontested.

Compliments were Renathal's weakness. He could subsist off the thrill of one for days - one from Denathrius for longer - and the urgency of the morning's resolution felt suddenly far away. Surely, he could put his own wants aside and ensure this Maw Walker had nothing bad to say about Denathrius or his department? After all, Denathrius' relied on him ... thought working with him was a privilege. He would trust his mentor's appreciation to show itself concretely in due time.

The particular class in which the Maw Walker was enrolled met only twice a week, but Renathal had plenty of occasion to watch her outside lectures as well.

Theotar’s information had, of course, been accurate; the Maw Walker did many odd jobs around campus: manning security desks, escorting students and guests, dispatching vermin, cleaning mess, always the more menial, unpopular tasks. None of which bothered her, as far as Renathal could tell. Whatever she did, it was with the same small smile she'd given him in class, as if the whole world were a subject in which she had only the politest interest.

It was this face she fixed on Denathrius each lesson, so flat and impassive Renathal wondered if she could sleep with her eyes open. She took no notes, ventured no questions, completed quizzes and in-class coursework with the same exquisite boredom. All of which supported the hypothesis she was here for something other than a credit, but it still bothered Renathal's sense of professional pride that she wasn’t even pretending to take the class seriously.

So it was with some satisfaction that he slapped her failed quiz down in front of her one early morning in the third week of the semester. The Maw Walker's brow furrowed - the first hint of any real emotion - and her eyes wandered from the number circled in red at the top to the many crossings-out and corrections marring the paper like spattered blood.

"You might consider paying a bit more attention to the professor," Renathal chided smugly. "Assuming, of course, it is your intention to pass this class."

She looked irritably from the massacred quiz to its murderer.

"And what makes you think I’m not paying attention to the professor?"

It was the first time Renathal had heard the Maw Walker speak. He noted her pronounced accent and felt abruptly abashed.

"Of course," he said less acerbically, busying himself with his cufflinks,"if you are having any trouble ... understanding the lessons..." He kept his gaze on the miniature gold bat, ensuring its fangs faced the proper direction. "You are always welcome to drop by during office hours for assistance."

This time the Maw Walker appraised Renathal exactly as she had the paper; gaze spanning the length of his person, from his tidy loose hair to his wingtip shoes, in a way that made his heart beat faster for some inexplicable reason. Her eyes were unusually pale for her complexion, but before he could decide on their exact shade, she blinked and looked away.

"I'll be just fine, thank you," she said, settling back in her chair, once more supremely unconcerned with anything so clearly inconsequential as Denathrius' class.

Incensed at the dismissal, Renathal turned on his heel.

Fine. Let her fail then. That was entirely her affair. She could fail the whole bloody course if she liked. Which would hardly be considered a "positive Revendreth experience", which would mean Renathal had disappointed Denathrius, which would certainly not encourage his mentor to prioritize his dissertation. Frustration burned in Renathal's eyes, turning their unique amber-hazel into something distinctly fiery. He was halfway down the aisle when the Maw Walker called after him:

"Is this your handwriting?"

He turned. She was examining the crimson miniscule in the margins of her paper.

“Yes, it is," said Renathal defensively. "Is there a problem?"

“Not at all. I like it. It's lovely."

These words took a moment to register. No one had ever complimented the elegant and entirely legible script which Renathal had spent long hours practicing and of which he was extremely proud. It was several seconds before he realised he was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the aisle.

"Thank you," he managed, and - uncharacteristically lost for anything else to say - resumed his walk to the lectern, the glow in his eyes now one of ebullient pride.

The rest of the day found Renathal prone to spontaneous outburts of unwonted smiling, and the rest of the week found him pouring over the Maw Walker's papers with a great deal more patience, attempting to understand her erroneous method. The more he studied her work, the more obvious it became she was missing important foundational knowledge. How did she get into this class at all? Renathal wondered. Even as a transfer student, there were prerequisites for this course.

"Are you accusing me of something?" asked Harriet - Revendreth's dean of admissions - when he swung by her office to ask about this later.

Renathal stood stiffly in the doorway, unwilling to venture into the dean's small domain, every inch of which was decorated in the most violent, eye-gouging red (earning her the irreverent department nickname, "The Crimson Shade").

"Of course not," he demurred, eyeing the red stapler clutched in Harriet's hand. "But it is obvious this student is not prepared for this advanced level of coursework."

"Well, I don't know what to say." She forced the stapler through a ream of papers and filed them primly in a red folder, refusing to meet his eyes. "She had all the necessary prerequisites from her former institution."

"May I see her transcript?"

"No, Renathal," said Harriet, pronouncing his name like it soured her crimson lips. "You are a teaching assistant. That information is outside your purview. If Denathrius has concerns, he may register them with me himself."

Each stared at the other with identical looks of dislike. Harriet was much older, but Renathal had department seniority; a fact she had never taken to and frequently ignored. Renathal considered invoking Denathrius, but she would undoubtedly call his bluff. The department head relied on Renathal to handle internal staff squabbles, and the last thing Renathal needed at the moment was for Denathrius to lose confidence in him. And, although they rarely saw eye to eye on anything (including interior design), he could not deny Harriet's code of ethics had always been unimpeachable. He conceded her victory with a gracious nod and departed with a last wince at her bloodbath of an office.

Which left Renathal to assume - for the present, at least - the Maw Walker was simply bad at the subject, and all his spare time the next week was spent doing what he could to assist her. Each wrong answer and faulty argument, he corrected to the minutest degree (smiling absently to himself as he penned each carefully handwritten note). He went so far as to send her emails with links to further reading and explanatory videos. But her responses, while polite, held undertones of her same in-class insouciance, and the next quiz he returned, though higher scoring, was still technically a failing grade.

"It is better," said Renathal tactfully as he handed it back the next morning; as usual, they were the first two to arrive in the lecture hall. "But I fear you are still not grasping some of the basics. I really think you would benefit from coming by during office hours for further instruction."

The Maw Walker spoke over the top of the red pockmarked quiz she was now perusing.

"Why? Is Denathrius any better privately than he is in class?"

This was such a very unexpected commentary on the popular professor, Renathal was not immediately sure how to answer. He finally decided on facts.

"I handle the professor's office hours."

The Maw Walker looked up. She gave Renathal one of her rare, focused stares, as if his face were a foreign language she was trying to decipher.

"You do quite a bit of the work around this department."

"Yes, I do," confirmed Renathal, though it had been a statement not a question. "Denathrius relies on me for a variety of tasks one might not traditionally expect from a teaching assistant."

"I see," said the Maw Walker, still regarding him intently.

Being the center of someone's undivided attention was a rare pleasure for Renathal. That, in combination with her large pale eyes and not unattractive face kindled the sort of fire to life in Renathal's core that had not warmed him for an embarrassingly long time. He shifted his weight, folding his hands in front of himself in what he hoped was a casual manner.

"I may not be the professor, but I assure you I am well-versed in the subject matter and fully qualified to assist you in mastering it."

"Oh, I'm sure you are." And something in the way she said it made Renathal shiver. "But I can't make the office hours in the syllabus. I have ... work."

Her mouth twisted a little around the word; the first sign Renathal had seen that she might find her assigned drudgery taxing. He felt a little ache of empathy.

"What times are you available?"

The Maw Walker blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Those are merely the set office hours. Exceptions can be made if necessary."

She raised a dark eyebrow.

"Do you make a lot of exceptions?"

"Only if the student is particularly promising," he said wryly.

In fact, it was not Renathal's habit to make exceptions (work/life boundaries were an important sticking point with Denathrius), nor was it at all his habit to openly flirt with the professor's students. But the words were out of his mouth before he could think twice about them, and, to his immense surprise, they made the Maw Walker laugh.

"I highly doubt I'm anything close to promising," she said around laughter so bright Renathal would not have thought her capable of the sound. "But ... I appreciate your efforts to reform me. I work the dinner shift, but I suppose I could come by after, if that's not too late?"

It was most definitely too late.

"No, not at all."

He had chicken defrosting in the sink specifically to make chicken piccata tonight, and it would be far too late to do so if he didn't return to his flat until after the student's dinner hours had ended.

"I will wait for you in my office. Simply come by after your shift."

The Maw Walker smiled at him again, a warmer version of her small, inscrutable expression, and all the upended details of Renathal's evening routine no longer seemed the least important.

And why? Why was he taking such pains to keep her from failing when she so obviously did not care? Was it really because of Denathrius' request, or because the thought of seeing her outside of class sent an unfathomable thrill up his spine? This was a dangerous question, and Renathal decided to simply ignore it and its bedfellows (why her off-hand compliment on his penmanship still made him smile ... why her disinterest in Denathrius was such a point of pride).

Once classes were complete for the day, he set up camp in his office; suit jacket hung on its cedar hanger, shirtsleeves carefully rolled to the elbow, sipping thoughtlessly at the tea Theotar had brought by and wondering if the Maw Walker would really come. She did. Late, and wafting kitchen smells into his cramped cage.

Over the years, Renathal had done his best to make it as aesthetically inspiring as possible (a tasteful picture hung across the hole in the plaster here, his handsome framed degrees covering the wilt in the wallpaper there, a carpet paid for with his own stipend to cover the uneven lilt to the cold, stone floor), but the Maw Walker still swiveled her head in obvious surprise as she took in the dilapidated space.

"This is your office?" she asked, setting her bag down on the floor. "Are you being punished for something?"

Joke as it was, such a remark would usually reopen the office-shaped wound in Renathal's ego (his pathetic excuse for department workspace was a point of unending shame), but at present his brain was busy processing the unexpected change in the Maw Walker's appearance as she settled into the room's only other chair. She dropped the jacket and hooded sweatshirt combination Renathal had never seen her without on top of her bag. Underneath, she wore a black ribbed camisole that left a vast expanse of midriff, chest, and arms entirely bare.

"And wow!" She had spotted his ancient computer, a hint of the same laugh he'd admired that morning colouring her words. "I don't think I've seen one of these since high school. Does it really work?"

She leaned her whole, largely unclothed torso across the desk for a closer inspection, and Renathal's self-control was a thing of iron, but even he had limits.

"It is due an upgrade soon. The whole department is," he rambled, his mouth as dry as the crumbling wallpaper. "And you are welcome to drag the chair around to this side of the desk to see better, if you wish."

She blinked at this, but withdrew from the cheap painted plywood and obeyed without comment. Renathal released the breath he had not realized he was holding. The scent of fried food and dishwashing liquid was stronger with the Maw Walker beside him (and it was a testament to how long it had been since he was this close to so much bare skin that the smell was not remotely bothersome) but as long as he fixed his eyes forward, Renathal thought he would survive the evening, dignity mostly intact.

"Okay..." The Maw Walker expelled the word in a slow exhale, near enough to flutter strands of his long, pale hair. "Go."

Fortunately, Renathal had spent the time before her arrival preparing this private lesson, allowing notes and muscle memory to compensate for the blood currently missing from his brain. And the next hour brought two revelations about the Maw Walker interesting enough to turn his thoughts from their current wayward path.

The first was that, regardless of any accent, her grasp on his language was as good as his. Enough to betray more of the dry humour Theotar had mentioned and which Renathal also shared. And the second was, whatever her classwork might indicate, the Maw Walker was not unintelligent. Her face (as seen in the quick glances Renathal stole over his shoulder) remained as impassive as in class, but here she asked questions, managed insightful responses, even plugged a few notes into an app on her phone. And by the end of his crash course, Renathal was confident she had picked up quite a bit.

Although, in spite of her intelligence - or possibly because of it - another fact was inescapable as well.

"Your usual area of study," he said, swiveling in his chair to face her, keeping his eyes carefully north of her neck. "It has nothing to do with this department, does it?"

The Maw Walker was gathering her hair into a haphazard bun. Renathal noticed dark blue lowlights hidden at the back of the inky strands.

"What gave me away?"

He attempted to imitate her small, inscrutable smile, but dread at the possibilities of her next answer contorted it into more of a grimace.

"So... why register for such a difficult course unnecessarily, then?"

The Maw Walker shrugged a bare shoulder.

"I needed a credit from this department," she explained, her gaze wandering the wall of framed papers behind Renathal's head. "This class certainly wasn't my first choice, but it was the only one offered at a time I could manage."

"You are sure your choice of throwaway credit had nothing to do with the course's professor?"

Renathal was not usually a masochist, but he could not stop himself making absolutely sure. The Maw Walker returned her attention to him, face again blank.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, there are always a few students each semester who sign up just to see Denathrius," he said, trying very hard to both look and sound off-hand.

"Why?"

Renathal narrowed his eyes. Was that supposed to be a joke?

"Well, he is exceptionally brilliant, for one thing. It is a privilege to hear him speak. And, of course, he is also a ... very beautiful orator."

This time, the Maw Walker's laugh was a snort. Renathal abandoned all pretense of nonchalance in favour of an open, inelegant stare.

"Do you think so?" she said, choking on huffs of disdainful laughter. "I think he's exceptionally pretentious. No offense," she added quickly, mirth fading at Renathal's raised eyebrows. "I mean, yes I understand he's brilliant or whatever, but ... he does talk around everything, doesn't he?" She leaned in closer- unconsciously, Renathal was sure - illustrating her argument abstractly with both hands. "He can't ever just ... get to the point, you know? Everything is always a dramatic monologue, it's hard to pick out the actual lesson. I think that's probably why I have a hard time following. You've done a better job explaining in an hour than the actual professor's done in weeks. " She peered curiously into Renathal's face. "Why don't you teach anything?"

"I'm..." It took Renathal's punch-drunk brain a few seconds to locate words. "I am ... not a professor. I'm ...I am still working on my Ph.D."

"Really? What's your defense?"

It was a throwaway question, probably, a polite sort of nothing; but Renathal had not had an opportunity to talk about his dissertation work for more years than he could count off-hand. He found the words spilling out of him before he could decide if it was appropriate, or if she really wanted to hear them. The Maw Walker listened, expression still perfectly impassive, but Renathal was beginning to think that was just what her face looked like. She asked as many questions as when he'd been teaching and managed to sound genuinely interested, whether or not she was merely being polite. And she only stopped him when a half-glance at his computer made her gasp.

"That can't really be the time, can it?"

Renathal broke off mid-word and jerked his head around (hair whipping the Maw Walker's shoulder; when had their chairs slid so close together?) to survey the screensaver's revolving digital clock. Then, in equal disbelief, tapped the smartwatch on his wrist. Its glowing analog hands innocently reflected the same remarkable numbers. Was it possible they really had been sitting here for hours?

"I've kept you so late, I'm so sorry!"

She stood quickly. Too quickly. Her legs caught in the metal legs of her chair, and she fell; first against the desk - hard enough to knock its organized contents askew - then against Renathal as she attempted to right herself at the exact time he stood to assist. A chaotic jumble of long limbs and furniture fought for supremacy in the narrow space, until finally the Maw Walker abandoned all dignity and clung to Renathal's shoulders for balance as she disentangled her feet from the capsized chair.

"I'm sorry," she said again, amid peals of high-pitched, self-deprecating laughter. "For keeping you, and for, you know, wrecking your office."

"Think nothing of it." Renathal's voice, in contrast, was lower than usual. Low enough to make the Maw Walker glance up and her laughter abruptly fade. "In spite of the inauspicious circumstances, this has been ... exceptionally pleasant."

The sconces in his office were as dingy and red as every other room in Revendreth, but Renathal did not think it was a fault of the light that tinted the Maw Walker's eyes a noticeably darker shade.

"I ... think so, too," she said slowly. Her hands still rested lightly on his shoulders. Renathal fancied he could feel the warmth of her bare skin, and his shirt, the only barrier between them, felt suddenly thin and flimsy. "I have to admit I've never cared much for this particular subject, but ... the way you talk about it ... you make it seem fascinating. You're a much better teacher than Denathrius, you know."

No, he did not know. No one had ever thought Renathal was better than Denathrius at anything before. And though he knew it could not possibly be true, that did not stop him swelling with sanguine pride. And something else. He suddenly realised how very close her face was to his. Close enough to count each of her dark eyelashes. Close enough he could have tucked the loose hair from her bun behind her ear if he dared. Close enough to -

"I really appreciate your help," she said, releasing his shirt and stepping carefully over the upturned chair. "I am sorry to have taken up your whole evening though."

"Not at all," Renathal said earnestly, watching as she righted the chair and set it back in its proper place. He meant it. The disappointment now flooding him had nothing to do with his abandoned solitary dinner. "It was good you came in. I ... think it has made a marked improvement. Although, I do apologize if this impromptu meeting interfered with your own plans."

"Oh, don't worry, I had no plans."

She bent over to pick up the various items knocked from his desk in the struggle. Renathal stooped to assist, wondering if she was always so fastidious or if she, too, was reluctant to end the evening.

"Really? On a Friday night?"

Their eyes met under the desk. The Maw Walker flashed him a threadbare sort of smile.

"I don't get out much, I'm afraid." She straightened, clutching several red pens in one hand, Theotar's blessedly intact teacup in the other. "To be honest, I think this is the longest I've spoken to anyone since I got here. A bit hard to make friends when you're a maw walker, apparently. Most people can't even say my name."

Renathal winced, but the Maw Walker missed it, making rather a production of arranging the pens in their proper place on his leather desk tray. Had he called her that to her face at any point? He hoped not. But he couldn't very well prove it. He wished he had looked up how to pronounce her name (a desperate urge to impress her further was making his insides writhe), but he had forgotten all about it since Denathrius failed to teach him. These last few weeks, the Maw Walker was how he had thought of her in his mind.

But the young woman taking such care with his things was a person - perhaps, a person as discontent as he. After all, it must be equally as frustrating and ignominious and lonely to have your whole identity reduced to a nickname as it was to be forever thought of as simply Denathrius' TA.

Inspiration struck Renathal. It was a bold move ... a gamble ... very much something Denathrius would do...

"Perhaps," he said smoothly, reaching out to pluck the teacup from the Maw Walker's hand, "you might teach me to say your name properly next time."

The Maw Walker blinked at him.

"Next time?"

"Next time." He gave her his widest, most charming smile. "Oh, you have certainly made strides in the right direction, but ... I think you could benefit from a bit more private instruction. In fact, we might make it a regular affair. Arrangement," he amended. His smile grew by several sharp teeth. "I have enjoyed your company. Immensely. I should ... like to enjoy it more. "

A fuchsia flush crept up the Maw Walker's high cheekbones, and there was no mistaking the way her pale eyes went oddly dark. But she held Renathal's gaze with a supremely self-assured smile as she said, "I would be amenable to that."

#A Shadow UNIverse #Renathal x Maw Walker #prince renathal #fanfiction #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #alternate universe #university au #romance #slow burn #sire denathrius #the accuser #duke theotar #the maw walker

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correcttravel · 4 months

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Unveiling the Secrets: How to Find Affordable Flights to Thailand

Thailand, a land of vibrant culture, breathtaking landscapes, and warm hospitality, beckons travellers from across the globe. Exploring this enchanting Southeast Asian destination is a dream for many, but the cost of flights can often be a hurdle. Fear not! Here's your comprehensive guide on how to snag those elusive cheap flights to Thailand.

Flexibility is Key Embrace flexibility in your travel plans. Being open to various dates, times, and even nearby airports can significantly impact flight prices. Use fare comparison websites and apps that offer flexible date options to find the best deals. Sometimes, flying mid-week or during off-peak hours can lead to substantial savings.

Set Price Alerts Harness the power of technology by setting up price alerts through various travel websites and apps. These alerts notify you when there's a drop in prices for your chosen route. By being vigilant and quick to, book when prices plummet can be the key to securing those budget-friendly tickets.

Explore Multiple Airlines and Routes Don't limit yourself to a single airline or route while you are searching for cheap flights to Vietnam. Consider connecting flights or alternate airports for potential savings. Sometimes, opting for a layover or choosing less popular routes can significantly reduce your travel expenses. While direct flights might be convenient, they often come with a heftier price tag.

Leverage Frequent Flyer Programs and Mileage Points If you're a frequent traveller or hold credit cards affiliated with airlines, capitalize on your accumulated miles or points. These can sometimes be used to offset flight costs or even score free tickets, making your journey to Thailand much more affordable.

Book in Advance Timing is crucial when it comes to booking flights. Generally, booking well in advance can secure better deals. However, there's a sweet spot; booking neither too early nor too late is advisable. Research suggests that booking 6-8 weeks before your travel date can often yield the best prices.

Consider Alternate Routes and Airlines Exploring different routes and airlines can sometimes lead to unexpected savings. For instance, flying to a neighbouring country and then taking a budget airline or a regional carrier to Thailand might be more cost-effective. Be sure to calculate the overall expenses, including transit, to ensure it's a viable option.

Hunt for Promotions and Deals Keep your eyes peeled for promotions and deals offered by airlines or travel agencies. These can range from flash sales to seasonal discounts. Joining mailing lists or following airlines on social media can provide access to exclusive offers, helping you snag those elusive cheap tickets.

Be Ready to Act Fast When you stumble upon a fantastic deal, don't hesitate! Cheap flights tend to get snapped up quickly. Be prepared to make your decision swiftly and have your payment details ready to secure your booking before the prices surge again.

Finding affordable flights to Thailand or Vietnam requires patience, flexibility, and a dash of strategic planning. By being with Correct Travel, you can increase your chances of discovering those coveted budget-friendly tickets, turning your dream of exploring Thailand into an exciting and wallet-friendly reality. Cheers to embarking on an unforgettable adventure without breaking the bank! Call them at 0800 151 2393 to book your tickets.

#booking flights #flight book #flights #Flights to Thailand #Flights to Vietnam #holiday adventure #tour #Travel #travel agency

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system-contact · 8 months

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Rules

Below is the basic rules of interaction for this blog. There's no password or anything to prove you read it, we're working on the honor system, but hey, if you want something fun to do, you can send me your favorite color! Just for fun!

This is a semi-selective 18+ blog. I will only write para with mutuals for the time being! However, OoC interactions (questions/asks/memes) don’t require being mutuals. You (the mun) must be 18+ to follow/interact. No NSFW or suggestive interactions will be permitted or accepted with underage characters. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, this is a hard line. Roleplay in the form of chat, asks, short-form, and long-form (para and multi-paragraph) are all welcome.

I am a singlet. While I am going to be doing my best to research and treat Fei’s DID with gentle hands (as the game unarguably botched in many part), I will inevitably fuck up. Please feel free to call me on any singlet bullshit that slips through the cracks, my aim is to treat DID with care and respect that it very much deserves, and I am always open to learning, being corrected, and listening first and foremost to the voices of those who experience it.

Canon characters, OCs, or crossover characters are entirely welcome! (I will try and look into your fandom as best I can for the latter!) Verses/interactions/AUs will be tagged accordingly so you (& I) can keep track. Excessively long posts will be hidden behind read mores or otherwise trimmed down.

Bigots begone. If you (the mun) are a TERF, SWERF, racist, transphobe, homophobe, fascist or neo-nazi, antisemite or otherwise religiously bigoted, or any other purveyor of hateful beliefs, you will get a big fat block-on-sight. You are on the wrong blog.

Mun =/= Muse. I am NOT my character, and my character is NOT me. I’m just a goblin on the internet writing for a character I don’t own. Assume all posts are in-character unless otherwise stated with the associated #ooc tag or with indicated OOC text. My characters actions and beliefs do not reflect my own.

Please be polite and courteous. Don’t be rude/hateful/harassing to me OoC. That’s not cool. You can be rude to the character, though, go for it. Give them a noogie and shove them in a dumpster. ALSO, please be aware that I have a day job and do commission work. I may be a little slow to reply sometimes. You are free to politely poke me if it’s been a little while, but I am definitely going to have my slower moments. I thank you very much for your patience. ♡

Don’t metagame or godmode. C'mon, friendo, be cool. That will not fly here, I am way too old to have patience with that stuff. Respect is key. I control my character, you control yours, unless we have mutually negotiated otherwise for any reason.

Tagging/Trigger Warnings: I will do my very best to tag and TW all content that I can for the comfort of partners and readers alike. This blog, however, will concern dark concepts, and WILL contain mentions of said dark topics. All threads containing sensitive topics will be hidden behind read mores. But, if you need anything specific tagged, please do not hesitate to shoot me a message! I will absolutely make sure to tag them for you. I highly encourage discussing and agreeing on boundaries and limits prior if you are interested in RP, and I will happily adjust my writing to meet them! Consent is absolutely critical and to be respected.

I don’t have exclusives, nor do I have plans for that at this time. I may have mains, however, still deciding.

And finally, three strikes, you’re out. I will always do my best to talk through any issues, I much prefer to solve problems amicably. However, I have my limits. If the behaviour continues past the initial addressing, I will end all current interactions immediately. If you persist in the behaviour, you will be permanently blocked.

#ooc ;; lizard mecha

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manjiroscum · 2 years

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blood, guts, and angel cake

— “The pretty lies, the ugly truth.”

Character/s: Bonten!Ran Haitani and Rindou Haitani.

Warnings: f!reader, dubcon (consent was given in the end tho), yandere themes, manipulation, curse words, sexual themes, spit roasting, cheating, forced restraining (reader receiving), murder, violence, stalking, kidnapping, gore, a lot of pet names. Caution, the reader has yandere tendencies as well. Minors don't interact.

Note: I don't condone any heinous acts committed below. It is all for fictional purposes. If you don't like what it contains, feel free to skip it.

Synopsis: The saying that birds of the same feather flock together ring with truth. You weren't so different from them as you initially thought.

✃WC: 3.8k

Part 1 | Part 2

Sweet and one who never talks back, it was no surprise that several women in your department would lust after your boyfriend. Who wouldn't when he was kind, compassionate and the perfect gentleman? Certainly, you won't pass up the opportunity to date him. You weren't stupid. So when he asked you out—not letting you exert much effort to capture his attention—your answer was an instant "yes".

Dating for three months, it has been quite peaceful, to say the least. No one dared to come between you and your cute boyfriend—those who did meet fates worse than death. Yet, it was justified. He often bends his own will to keep you happy. Men like him were a rare catch to find in this concrete jungle where a quick fuck would suffice.

You were complacent—sure that the love between you two won't fade away soon even as you refuse to have sex with him to test his patience. What good was his title of being the company's renowned gentleman if he kept urging you, correct? And you always reminded him of your love, explicitly or by secret.

He loved the little sandwiches or cookies you make, eating them without hesitation nor curiosity on what they possibly contained. And by that, you knew it was a match made in heaven.

If he were indeed to pass your test with flying colors, a great reward was waiting for him at the end—teasing and dangling it above his head to keep him interested.

And once this week ends—after the dinner date he proposed this Saturday—you were going to give yourself to him.

"Do you see yourself marrying him, [Y/N]?"

Smiling softly at your co-worker, you shrugged. "Maybe, I don't know. We're taking things slow right now. Plus, we're all average employees... Getting married costs a lot you know." Sipping the iced coffee in your hand, you went quiet as your co-worker continued to ramble about weddings so grand and everything that a fairytale would seem like. Unaware of the stolen stares from a certain man in the corner, eyeing you up and down.

It was when your friend pointed out the creepy action that you caught amethyst irises staring at you intently. His slicked-back hair matched his eyes and the suit he wore was pressed meticulously, not a single wrinkle in sight. He was a handsome man indeed, but the tattoo peeking out of his neck made you go rigid. Quickly, you averted your gaze away and whispered to your friend that it was time to go.

Such an encounter with a dangerous man in a quaint diner—one from the notorious criminal organization called Bonten—was enough to make you shiver as you rode the elevator, getting ready for work. However, you knew those kinds of individuals rarely show themselves in public and often worked under the veil of night. Figuring you won't see him again, the day went on normally. Your sweet boyfriend keeps you occupied from recalling vivid images of the handsome stranger and his striking purple eyes.

You never thought you would see him again, though—especially the next day during lunch break. He was sitting in the exact same spot, a mug of coffee in his hand. Except this time, someone tagged along.

Both of them were wearing suits, giving anyone the impression that they were your average businessmen working in the area if it weren't for the matching ink on their necks. The same violet irises that followed your every move.

They weren't even trying to hide it. And the way that their gaze bore holes into your back made you squirm on your seat each time.

Perhaps it was high time to find another place to have lunch, right?

"Is this seat taken?"

You paused on your thoughts, palms as cold as ice as you glanced up from your phone to stare back at the same purple hues you dreaded to come into eye contact with. The two of them were standing next to you. The tallest gesturing to the two empty seats on your table. Your friend was nowhere as she had to finish her paperwork over break. Your boyfriend? Based on the tracking device you placed on his bag, the map on your phone displayed that he was still in his own office.

In short, you had no one to ask for help if things went south.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head at his question. The grins on their faces grew as they sat, eyes staring and observing. It was awfully awkward for you, unable to speak or voice out your inquiry as to why they were doing this until the shorter one in stature broke the silence with a smirk on his equally good-looking face.

"You were right, Ran. She is indeed a beauty."

"Of course, I'm right." Ran leaned closer, diminishing the space you kept in check as you inched away. "With a beautiful little lady such as her, you won't have to visit the whore house again."

"I have a boyfriend," you bluntly stated. Brows pinched at his smug expression. "And I have no interest in becoming a replacement for your... whores? I wonder how your mother would feel if she heard that."

The other whose hair was styled in a mullet whistled lowly, pointing at his companion. "She's got a bite, too. Are you sure you could handle this one, brother? Why don't you give her to me?"

So, they are brothers...

Ran rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Rindou. You know there is nothing more exhilarating to me than to tame a brat." Gaze flickering back to you, he chuckled, "I'm always up for a challenge."

You made a face.

Handsome, they were, but their mouths were as dirty as their minds.

"And if she turns out to be good, I have no qualms of sharing her," Ran added, which made his brother shake his head. "What do you say, darling? Wanna come with us and have a good time? Maybe you'll prefer us over your boring boyfriend."

Heaving a sigh, you propped your chin on your hand with narrowed eyes.

"The fact that you two are talking about me as if I'm not sitting next to you—as if I'm just an object—is enough reason for me to avoid your advances." Clicking your tongue, you continued as if your fear flew out the window. Forgetting for a moment, that these men were a part of the nefarious Bonten gang. "Besides, there is no way you could offer me a good time—most men who say that do the opposite all the time. All bark but no bite. How would I know what you're telling me is true?"

Instead of answering you, Ran fished for something in the pockets of his suit jacket. A business card was given to you. All black with only the address and a logo of an angel in a seductive pose printed on the front. You took it hesitantly, confused.

"Go to that address and meet us there this coming Saturday," Ran purred, leaning close to blow into your ear. Goosebumps littered the skin of your nape and arms. "If you go, you'll know we mean business." Taking a few strands of your hair, he pressed it against his nose and inhaled the scent of your shampoo. It was enough to intoxicate him—more potent than the strongest liquor. You were a piece of heaven he was more than willing to keep—sweeter than cake.

He wanted more, but he knew better than to scare off his prey.

He had to lure you into their den first. But if you weren't willing, then relying on force was the answer.

"It's best that you do, angel," Rindou added lowly, gaze lingering on your neck as he licked his front teeth at the thought of marking it. "Don't keep us waiting. I like you so it would be such a shame if you pass up this opportunity while we're being nice."

"You heard him." Leaning back, Ran winked at your wide-eyed expression. "See you there, princess."

Of course, you wouldn't. Who'd be stupid and go to a sketchy address to meet suspicious people you only just met? Could you even consider this a proper meeting when they barged into your private space without warning?

All you did was stare at their backs as they walked out of the diner, finally leaving you alone with your jumbled thoughts. The thumping of your heart slows down to its normal rhythm, lungs expelling the air you were holding in.

Would it be a sin to say, though, that despite their crass words and shameless flirting, they do have the talent to make any woman's heart flutter?

You didn't show up, putting the request at the back of your mind as you waited for your boyfriend to pick you up from your apartment. But at the last minute, he had to bail.

Frustration ran through the course of your veins as you yanked the pearl necklace off of your neck. The shiny circular objects flew across the room as you huffed in annoyance.

What could possibly be more important than you? Surely he could turn down a meeting, correct? Wasn't he looking forward to this day?

All the while, as you waited for the dinner date to come, Ran and Rindou's form of showing affection materialized as gifts since that day, reminding you of them despite your efforts in forgetting that fateful encounter. Ranging from mountains of roses to designer clothes.

And today, after spending the entire evening and Sunday brooding about your boyfriend's no-show act, your co-workers gushed at the gift sitting on your desk—one that came without fail every morning.

They were curious as to who was your secret admirer—admirers, you correct to yourself—and how you met them. One even thought it was your sweet naive boyfriend until they laid eyes on the baby pink Birkin bag. There was no way he could afford it even if he were to save up for three years and they knew that.

"Who is it, [Y/N]? Do you know who it is?"

"Silly, there isn't even a card or anything to reveal their identity. That's why it's a secret admirer!"

"How I wish someone could give me a Birkin too!"

Palms growing sweaty, you hid the gift under your desk as numerous questions raced through your mind as to how they figured out where you were working, where your desk was... How they managed to enter the company without arousing suspicion. Do they even know your full name at this point? They must know—how else would they know what company you worked in and where your work desk was located?

Terrifying. It terrified your wits at how easy it was for them to obtain your information. At this time, you were too scared to ask yourself what they do not know about you.

"Babe, are you okay?"

For once, your boyfriend wasn't swamped with paperwork. Using this chance to make amends for his absence last Friday. He joined you for lunch at a restaurant further away from the company in fear of catching Ran and Rindou's attention. You never went back to the diner and you had no plans to.

"Yeah, I'm good." Shooting him a reassuring grin, you stood up and pointed in the direction of the restrooms. "Let me go and freshen up for a bit before the food arrives."

However, before you could reach the doorknob, an overwhelming smell was forced into your nostrils. Handkerchief laced with Chloroform was pressed against your nose, muffling your screams. It didn't take too long for you to blackout and fall into the waiting arms of Rindou Haitani.

Waking up in an unknown room has never been scarier, what more after you recalled how you were brought here. Hands and legs tied by a rope, you found yourself on what seemed to be a bed. A whine escaped your lips at the stinging pain around your wrists as well as your back after having been lying down for god knows how long.

"Shh... what's wrong, angel?" Rindou cooed, emerging from the shadows, and was instantly by your side, and gently massaged your wrist after seeing the red marks marring the supple flesh. Eyes wide at the sight of him, your curse under your breath as you try and wiggle your wrists. Rindou shook his head at your attempt to release yourself.

"Tsk, as much as I want to remove those, you might run away from us. Catching and bringing you here was already a pain in the fucking ass, so..." Breath fanning your quivering lips, he smiled sadistically. "If you promise to be a good girl, I'll remove those restraints. What do you say, hm?"

Figuring it to be better than the current humiliating position you were in, you gave him a small nod. "P-please... Don't hurt me. I'll do anything, just don't kill me—"

"Kill you?" Joining his brother, Ran stood a few feet away from the bed, smoking a cigarette, you were laying on as Rindou started untying the rope around your wrists. "Why on earth would we do that, darling? Because you didn't show up when we told you to? Don't paint us like those monsters, [Y/N]..." Bending down, he grabbed you by your jaw, blowing the smoke to your face, and smirked. "We're much scarier."

"I thought we wouldn't do anything yet?" Rindou questioned, brow perked at his older brother's statement. "Shouldn't we let her decide first? Show her why we are better than her bastard of a boyfriend in the other room."

"W-what have you done to him?" Seeing concern flood through your eyes made both of them click their tongues in disapproval. "You won't hurt him, would you? He hasn't done anything!"

Throwing the ropes that bound you to the side, Rindou chuckled at how distraught you were. What did you see in your boyfriend to have you reacting this way? Still, it was entertaining to see you all helpless.

"Angel, you won't be worrying about scumbags like him once you see the photos we have."

"P-photos?"

Sitting up straight, you took the photos which Ran held out like free candy. Fingers trembling at what it may contain, you inhaled sharply at the colorful shots of your boyfriend and a woman walking in the streets of Tokyo. And that wasn't all.

They were kissing—hugging like they were newlyweds who couldn't stray afar from each other. Laughing the night away as if you never existed in your boyfriend's life.

"Are you sure you still want to date this motherfucker?" Rindou whispered; his index finger gliding on the expanse of your back and gripping the zipper of your top. A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his cool lips kiss the sensitive flesh there, trailing down with his tongue tasting you. Unclasping your black bra, he bit back a moan as he pushed it away to resume his descent. He then stopped at the cloth of your pencil skirt. "Not only does he cheat behind your back with one woman—he has been sleeping with multiple women even before you two were dating officially. A real fucker who doesn't deserve you nor your little heart."

"B-but I love him... I always try to remind him that every single day..." you mumbled more to yourself. Rindou laughed, fingers now hovering on the zipper of your pencil skirt before pulling it down. Ran stepped up in front of you to remove your shirt, but halfway through it, you pulled back and cover your breasts that were about to be exposed to their hungry violet hues.

Steadfast on the belief that your boyfriend wouldn't commit the sort of treason they were accusing him of, you felt your whole world shatter at their words. After everything you did to keep competition away and have him focus solely on you—after planting a tracking device and monitoring him without his knowledge—there was no way he was seeing another woman. No way!

"T-these are photoshopped... right? Tell me these aren't real!" you almost screamed, throwing away the photos as tears start to stream down your cheeks at the image of your boyfriend with other women. Clasping the hem of Ran's suit jacket, you shook your head in denial, uncaring of how your tits bounced at the action. The movement did not go unnoticed to the elder brother, the image now ingrained into his mind and went straight to his hardening cock. "If you really do care about me, tell me the truth... Tell me!"

"Darling, why would we ever lie to you?" Palm cupping your cheek, he leaned down to kiss your forehead with a coo. "There's no way to photoshop his traitorous actions. If you still don't believe it... perhaps you want to see a video of him entering a love motel with one of his women?"

"Be rational, angel," Rindou muttered, successfully peeling the shirt off of you along with your black bra. Your nipples grew stiff after it was exposed to the cold atmosphere of the room. With a yelp, you tried to cover them up but Ran was faster than you—gripping your hands to keep you from hiding your beautiful tits.

"Darling, just accept the truth that he cheated on you," Ran urged, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. Squirming at his tight hold on you, a muffled groan was all you could make as you tried to pull back from the dizzying kiss and Ran's warm tongue invaded your mouth. The taste of liquor and cigars was strong in his mouth, it made your head spin. All the while, Rindou pinched your hard nipples, earning a squeak from you.

"Now that you know... what do you intend to do, princess?" Rindou mumbled into the crook of your neck as he planted a few kisses there. "Do you still want him? Or would you rather be with us? I promise we will treat you so much better than any man could." Licking the flesh under your ear, he then bit your earlobe. Hands pulled down your pencil skirt until it pooled around your hips, enough for his slender digits to dip into your lace panties where your damp cunt was waiting. Rubbing your clit, Rindou hummed at your arousal despite how you attempted to fight off their advancements. Your body was definitely betraying you. He let out a hiss at how warm it was inside you, pushing in a finger as he marveled at how tight you were.

"Just say the word, angel, and you will be ours as we will be yours—forever. You'd want that, won't you? To be fucked like a slut by two men? He wouldn't be able to spoil you as we can. Fuck you like we can."

And if you didn't like that, they would make you like it. If they couldn't have you, no one will.

"Darling..." Ran moaned into your mouth, lapping up the droll at the corner of your lips. He longed for this day to come and here you were, finally within his grasp. If he could plunge his aching cock into your velvet walls right now, he'll die a happy man.

Speechless, your whole body went still as you processed the new information. In the eyes of the brothers, you were vulnerable and pliable under their heavy gaze. As much as you wanted to run, you couldn't deny your little dark heart of the feeling of having two dangerous men wrapped around your thumb. What was your boyfriend good for anyway? He has been cheating behind your back, fucking other women despite saying you were the only one he has ever loved. If anything, you should hate his fucking guts. Paint a pretty picture with his blood and guts and give it to one of his whores as a present. Probably even pluck out an eyeball and use it as a golf ball during the company trip scheduled next week.

They were right.

Your boyfriend was a bastard who doesn't deserve you or your twisted heart filled with love that rivaled the depth of the ocean.

"Then... do as you please," you whispered after you pulled away from Ran's kiss, pulling on his necktie to bring him closer as you stared at him with lust-filled eyes. How long has it been since you had a cock in your pussy? You had been abstaining ever since you fell for your cheating boyfriend and now? All that effort has been put to waste. Right now, you wanted to quell the desire between your legs and just have the brothers rail you until tomorrow. Denying these devilishly handsome men seemed like a sin now. And you would rather have them than your traitorous boyfriend in the other room. "I don't care about him anymore. Kill him if you must, but I'd rather bathe in shit than accept his pathetic excuses."

Ran and Rindou practically beamed at your words, wasting no time to undress you fully and take their turns in pounding your needy cunt that was dripping with slick. You didn't bother to cover your moans, almost screaming for more—hoping for your boyfriend to hear you getting fucked by Ran as Rindou shoved his dick down your throat, thrusting hard as he fisted your hair.

"God, she's taking me like a trained slut!"

"Her cunt is so fucking tight, too. Almost like a virgin's!" Ran groaned, pinching your clit that made you almost cream around his cock. "Bet you would want to be stuffed full, huh? No worries, princess. We will do just that—every day if we must—a testimony of our love!"

Pussy clenching around Ran's cock, your eyes rolled back at the delicious high you were close to reaching. Almost braindead due to the brothers' fat cocks abusing your holes, you missed the firing of a gunshot in the other room and the muffled screams of your boyfriend until the light of life left his eyes—unable to tell you that the Haitani brothers blackmailed him. Unable to tell you how those photos were staged and how their obsession for you was borderline insane. That you had to get out of their web of deceit.

But of course, dead men tell no tales.

And you, with your cunt still leaking of Ran and Rindou's cum all mixed together, blissfully sleeping in their bed while the eldest brother scanned the apps on your phone.

The smirk on his lips grew wide as he found the tracking app you installed—the same app he and Rindou had on their phones that they used to track you. The red dot still pulsing on the screen, signaling where your boyfriend's abandoned bag was.

"I knew it. She's one of us, after all."

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

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Flufftober - Day 23

23 - Hold Me in Your Arms

Pairing: Loki x gn!reader

Word count: 850

Written for @flufftober2021 's event.

Tags: just Loki being insecure and delirious. Who wouldn't love him?? Please. A tiiiny bit of angst, but... nah.

A/N: Boy my mind has been only Thomas Sharpe for DAYS, what's wrong with me?

“What did I do to ever deserve you?”, was the thing Loki definitely did not want to say, not out loud, not at that moment of his life. And it wasn’t either the first time of the day, nor it was going to be the last one, he was sure.

If just Thor hadn’t filled his mind with the idea of having to confess his love towards you, then he wouldn’t be so influenced to say those things.

Surely, this was Thor's fault. Of course.

This wasn’t his silvertongue betraying him by underspeaking; this was his silvertongue unleashed —like a dog running towards a park on fucking fire. He sighed and hoped you hadn’t heard him.

“What?”, you asked over a mouthful of spaghetti, and he let out another sigh —this time of relief. “Loki, this pasta is uuuuhhhmmm”, you rolled your eyes and moaned in pleasure. He chuckled, his mind still not conceiving the fact that you were there, still with him. Norns, if he stays any longer in there with you, he might even end up confessing his feelings towards you. “I didn’t think you could…”, you said, and he interrupted you by getting up.

“Sorry, I… I think I need to get some fresh air”, he said suddenly, and you looked at him in concern.

“Are you alright? You look pale”.

“I’m quite alright, love, don’t…”, and he stopped on his tracks. Oh, damn. “No, I didn’t mean to call you that. Sorry”.

“You didn’t? But you did”, you said with a smirk that went unnoticed to him.

“No, I… I didn’t mean to”.

“It’s okay, you can call me that”.

“No, I can’t”, he raised his voice, and you flinched out of habit.

He stood in silence.

There it was. It didn’t even start, and he was already hurting you, wasn’t he?

He couldn’t stand this any longer. He teleported away, giving you no time to follow him, leaving behind him the faint echo of an apology and a sad smile.

You knew where he was. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to him when he so clearly wanted to be away from you, but you wanted to help.

He was your friend, after all, right?

“Loki?”, you called through his bedroom door. He was there, you could even smell the scented candles you had gifted him for when he was feeling depressed. “What’s going on, Lokes?”.

“Do not call me such endearing names”, he gruntled from the other side of the door. You could hear his voice muffled against a pillow.

“What’s got you so worked up? I can help you out of it, I’m sure”.

“You can’t. Please, leave me”, he said, and you were ready to go away and leave him be alone —sometimes all we need is a little bit of space. But he followed with a “in fact, leave me alone forever. I do not wish to continue here”.

“What? Wait, hold on a second”, you said, sticking your hands against the doorknob and pushing hard to open up. “What are you doing? Let me in!”.

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that”, he corrected himself quickly. “I didn’t mean… you know. No”, he sighed.

“Well, what do you mean?”.

“I don’t want to be friends with you anymore”.

For a moment you didn’t say anything. Silence filled both the room and the corridor, and you sat on the floor for a moment.

“Why? Did I upset you in some way? Did I do something…?”, you stuttered, feeling the tears starting to roll off your cheeks.

“You didn’t, no”, he sighed, walking towards the door and sitting on the floor from his side. “I just can’t be by your side any longer”.

“Why? We are great together”.

“Just for that reason. We’re too good”, he said carefully. Maybe Thor was right. Maybe he had to confess his feelings, so that he’d finally push you away. Enough for you to leave him forever.

“What do you mean?”.

“Don’t you get it?”, he lost his patience, his own eyes crystallizing too. “I want to stop being your friend because you do that funny face when you eat something you like, and I want to stop being your friend because you keep on smiling every time you’re around me, and because you insist on watching kid’s movies like your life depends on it —and I actually end up enjoying them because it’s with you that I watch them with”, he said in one breath, and you found yourself lost in words.

“You… what are you saying?”.

“I’m saying I’m in love with you”, he sighed. “And I’m saying I want to be more than friends, even though I’m no good for you. And I’m saying I want to kiss your face and —Hel, every part of you, and I want to hold you in my arms forever. But I can’t”.

“Loki…”, you smiled. He sensed it. You were smiling. “Loki, I want you to hold me in your arms forever, too”.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @theonewiththenerds , @vicmc624 , @spiderlaufeyson @theaudacitytowrite @bi-andready-tocry @alorev @justasmisunderstoodasloki @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @theetoastyghosty @lokiprompts

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zodiyack · 3 years

Text

A Work Proposition

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Nothing really

Words: 1,370

Summary: The female detective Lestrade has introduced is compelling, and upon seeing her and Sherlock interact, Enola’s cupid skills subtly kick in.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @maan24, @beck07990

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

The woman often hired to work with Lestrade, who was a common friend with Sherlock, had been at her job for a few years now. Lestrade thought highly of his new detective friend, so much so that he introduced her to the well known, Sherlock. His plan was to have them crack some cases they’d been stuck on, two mighty detectives better than one, but he had to get them to agree without scaring them off with the idea of meeting and working with a complete stranger.

Y/n agreed quickly, Sherlock taking some convincing, but the thing was, he didn’t tell either of them that they’d be working with another person. Both, however, showed up with mild confusion. It was his fault, he admitted. Confusion had to have been expected with his letters. The letters he’d sent out for his plea of summoning them went as this;

“Dear Detective,

You’re receiving this letter because I am of urgent need. I would like to request your assistance in a case that has us rather stumped. If it isn’t too much trouble, of course.

Though I will not explain too much of the case at hand, I will give you some convincing, hopefully, reassurance. Fear not for your life nor safety, you will be far from death’s doorstep on this mission.

The rest of the details of the case will be provided upon your arrival. Once informed, you may still have the choice of rejecting or accepting my beseechment. I ask you to at least hear out what I would like to solve before any denial of this matter.

Nothing is required except you and a healthy amount of sleep, for both you and your extraordinary intelligence. Bring your tools, or supplies if you prefer that name more, if you wish.

We shall supply you with any and all information you need, as well as a meal in apology for dragging you away from your personal life. I do hope you take my imploration into consideration.

Sincerely, Inspector G. Lestrade.”

It wasn’t the most specific of information, nor the longest letter he could write, but it would do. He sent it off in the mail then went home and slept peacefully. Early the next morning, Y/n was at his door, up and ready without a trace of sleep lingering on her face, whereas Lestrade had bags under his eyes and was yawning ever few seconds.

“Sorry to disturb your sleep, Inspector. Your letter lacked any instructions for when I do indeed accept...which would be now.” She waited by the door politely as Lestrade walked to his kitchen.

“Come in, Y/n, I would hate to make you stand outside.” He called from the other room. Y/n obliged happily, stepping in and closing the door behind her. A few seconds later and Lestrade was scurrying back to her with another piece of parchment. “My apologies, I knew something felt left out.” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, it’s no worries, Inspector!” She put the note in her satchel, then faced him again. “I hope you get some rest. Again, I’m ever so sorry to have woken you-”

He held out a hand, quieting her instantly. “Y/n, you’ve done no wrong, there’s no need to be distressed.”

Y/n nodded, approaching the door again but stopping with her hand upon the handle, “Perhaps you should go back to sleep whilst you still can. I’ll see you then, Inspector.” A warm smile was thrown his way before she carefully opened the door and left.

They awaited Y/n’s arrival. Enola had tagged along with her older brother, hoping to be granted permission by both men, more hopeful with Lestrade’s words of guaranteed safety. Both Holmes siblings and Lestrade were sat patiently in his office. Well, in truth, only Lestrade dawned patience.

“Excuse my impoliteness, Lestrade, but why exactly are we yet to begin?” His brows were knitted, blue eyes holding great confusion.

“It’ll be only a few more minutes now.” He commented rather casually as he fished out his pocket watch, inspecting it for a second before placing it back in his waistcoat pocket. “My sincerest apologies for the hold up.”

Like he had promised, a few minutes went by and then- Just as Enola and Sherlock were about to rise, thank Lestrade for the job offer, turn it down and then return home for a quiet reading in the library, knocks sounded from the glass of the door.

Y/n stood on the other side, rapping her knuckles against the door, her eyes trained on Lestrade. He rose from his seat, her hand dropping and the knocking ceasing. Enola and Sherlock looked over, suddenly intrigued with the surprise guest as she stepped into the office.

“Please, detective, have a seat.” He smiled and gestured his hand to the large leather couch against the wall.

Enola scooted to the end, resting her palm and the arm of the sofa, Sherlock scooting slightly to make room for the detective despite there are already being enough that no one would be forced to move. It was only polite, plus, they were still strangers.

“I’m very sorry for my lateness, I got rather sidetracked with the anticipation for this case.” Y/n explained with a sheepish chuckle, sitting down and turning to face the others on the leather seating. She extended her hand to Sherlock, “I know you. You’re Detective Sherlock Holmes...and that must be your sister, Enola, I’ve read fantastic things of you two, marvelous work by the way. I’m Y/n L/n.”

“Detective Y/n L/n.” Lestrade corrected before either Holmes could respond.

“Ah, yes. I am indeed a detective, as Lestrade has mentioned, however, I see no need for either of you two to reference me with such formalities. My work pales in comparison to the Holmes cases.”

“I’m honored you think that, but you mustn’t put yourself down,” Sherlock drawled, a small grin upon his lips.

This peculiar, new woman aroused his curiosity just as much as he did hers. If she were a case, he’d be at work on her for hours at a time and still have towers to unravel. A mystery, complex but something he was determined to solve, shrouded her.

Sherlock had his eyes trained on her, the world becoming silent around him as he took in her face, mind creating a mental photograph he could hold onto as long as he pleased. The details of her features were like a rare piece of art, but not one he could find in the museum. No, she was far too unique, far too rare to be held up in a marble building with works nowhere near as beautiful, as desired as her.

“Now that you’ve made acquaintances, we shall speak about the case! I called you both here without knowledge of each other’s appearances, and I am deeply sorry for tricking you, but I wanted to introduce the two...” his eyes drifted to Enola, “three greatest detectives I’ve ever met. I originally intended on having Y/n and Sherlock work on the case, but I assume Enola would enjoy helping out?”

The older Holmes opened his mouth, ready to confirm his sister would be joining the two, but Enola was much faster. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll be the one to decline your invitation for this case. Nonetheless, I don’t doubt that my brother, or detective L/n, would be up for the task.”

She stood up and left the office. Lestrade was ready to begin his explanation on the case before Sherlock rose suddenly and started after his little sister. He pushed past the people working at the station until he reached her, grabbing ahold of her arm and giving her a perplexed look.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“I thought you said you wanted to help?”

She smiled softly at her brother, “I saw the way you looked at detective L/n the second she walked in. You should work with her, get to know her. Worry not, brother, she isn’t here to usurp your name, only provide whatever assistance she can.” Then, she left the station, her words racing through Sherlock’s conscious the entirety of the day.

Maybe Y/n really would usurp his name...without the illegality of it obviously.

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thefirstknife · 2 years

Note

You have the exact same narcissistic personality as my step parent. I’m disappointed in you honestly, I’ve been following you for some time and I’ve always enjoyed your posts…but this seems to far. The person apologized and admitted they were wrong, you’re not helping anyone by continuing this cycle of unneeded hatred. I know you’re a nice person but please, couldn’t you have correctly them they same way you’ve corrected me and others in the past that weren’t fully aware of the lore?

Goodbye Bel and followers, I enjoyed my time here but I don’t wish to be part of a community that directs such hatred towards people who don’t deserve it.

I couldn't have corrected them directly because they have me blocked. I wrote a post about their post to inform my followers and people in the tag in general because this specific topic has been a recurring problem in the Destiny fandom for well over a year now and I wanted people to get correct information. My post about them was not in any way hateful. Nor was it directed at that person, nor have they seen it, presumably, because they only thanked one person who explained the issue "politely" well after I did it already.

I say "politely" because I've done my post as politely as possible, despite the OP being continuously vitriolic towards anyone who attempted to correct them until they received what they viewed as "polite." And I'm not into tone policing.

I'm also tired of people posting the most outrageous crap knowing that they lack the necessary information. OP admitted to not having the patience or the time to read all lore books. Why are they then making a statement about a complicated lore relationship that has been constantly misinterpreted by the fandom? Literally the original post should've been "Hey can someone fill me in on the details about o14" and OP would've received 20 replies with people quoting lore books from memory about their blorbos.

Also thanks for starting the post with an insult and then saying we shouldn't insult people! Top notch. Also goodbye? I'm not directing any hatred, believe it or not, other people can act independently and have their own reasons to be annoyed at OP, but okay. Goodbye then.

I got another related anon which I'll reply to here before the read more section:

You can see the drama, if we're gonna call it that, here in this post, including previous drama. I won't police whose content you're following and if you enjoy Ceo's content, I won't really tell you to stop or to leave. That's a choice for you to make. But definitely check things for inaccuracies, even if it's just fanon, because fanon can heavily influence how people think of and engage with the media. Most fanon is harmless, but sometimes it's not and this whole thing with o14 is an example of fanon that can lead to people being actively homophobic and racist (not necessarily Ceo, talking just in general because it has happened before).

For full timeline of events:

Original post (I didn't look for it, it appeared in the tag. I don't have people blocked because I'm the only bitch in this space willing to engage with people posting blatant lies so I bear the burden of seeing all of the shit takes).

The first comment on the post is from a friend of mine, which is how I know it was the first comment:

This comment explains the lore as succintly as possible in the space of a reply. I guess it says the argument is dumb so that's too rude? OP's reply:

Dismissing the correction because my friend said the argument used in the post is dumb. Not looking into the lore, not asking for proof for the correction, random praising of one's "relationship skills" and dismissing everything as "an opinion."

My friend decided to take back the "dumb" thing and posted:

OP:

Still nothing. It's just an opinion.

Two of my other friends also caught up with the post and commented:

At that point I made my post and then a few other people also commented on OPs post about how they are wrong. At this point OP has still not asked anyone for clarification and hasn't gone to check things by themselves. They also made another post in which they tried to absolve themselves of being wrong by saying we just don't understand what it means to criticise media which is a fairly rude assumption to make about 10 people telling you you're wrong. When another friend commented on that post, the reply was extremely childish and dismissive:

This friend of mine was blocked after this so he couldn't have made a reply or offer any substantial corrections. I guess OP unblocked my friend later to reblog his art. It's quite rude to block someone telling you about being wrong and then reblog their art as if you don't care about the artist's opinions or them being a human being, you're just here for the art. It's just a really weird vibe that other artist friends I have confirmed about being a pattern.

This reply was also mocked by an anon and OP which is fairly shitty as these three words were not the focus of the reply. The point was that if you don't know, then find out before you post. If you don't think lore is easily accessible, you can ask someone directly.

It's not until someone else took the time to reblog the post and correct them by posting pretty much exactly the same thing I did (with the exception about being wrong when it comes to Savathun controlling Osiris' body) that they decided to acknowledge corrections.

You're right, my entire blog is about helping people understand lore, but some people don't want to understand and are quick to be rude, dismissive and aggressive when corrected even once. Not the first nor the last time here. OP reblogging this post is especially funny because it's made by a friend who also initially commented on the original post and was dismissed. My friend also had a visceral reaction to the tags because the only reason my friend had to post this is because of OP. So that's basically 15 people trying to reach OP through different means and attempts to correct them until they finally budged after being spoonfed the lore directly .

Strange for someone who has this in their bio:

Speaking of, this comes from another discourse where my friend politely asked if OP could tag NSFW content as "NSFW" because it's showing up in the main tag unfiltered. OP insulted my friend and refused to do so until I made this post and I guess the issue started making rounds so they finally buckled and said they'll use the standard tags. I consider this discourse done and over with, but I still absolutely detest OP's willingness to die on the hill of them not being anyone's "babysitter" and not being responsible for making sure minors aren't stumbling on untagged NSFW. OP has also reblogged a hateful and aggressive post full of misinformation about me from almost a year ago which was, I suppose, sent to them because there's no way to find it unless you look for it specifically. In this reblog they also continued to claim it's not anyone's job to protect minors so I am very put off by OP, to say the least.

This isn't helped by the anons they're getting where OP is bonding with random anons whose idea of a good time is insulting me and reporting to OP about my posts which is extremely funny considering they're bonding over how *I* apparently have a fanclub. Pot, kettle? I assure you, I do not.

Actually, I can read, unlike OP who admitted to not reading lore but having enough confidence to post about it. At least when I post things, I check my information. I also don't post about shit I know nothing about.

OP has always been rude and dismissive first and while yes, I have the patience to reply to people nicely, my patience is also not infinite. I am also obviously not going to chase after people who don't want to be corrected. I made a separate post detailing why the OP was wrong and left it at that. I received an anon who was equally frustrated with OP so I replied. It's apparently a quite widespread sentiment. I'm sure people feel the same about me too, btw, which is understandable.

And while OP has since decided to change their mind and learn after half the fandom was dismissed at first and we had to drag the corpse of this lore discourse to their doorstep, I've not yet seen any indication that they will apologise for the "Titans are dumb" take.

I also tend to get hate anons for "posting drama" so let's be clear: I made this blog in order to try and clear out the cesspool that was Destiny tumblr. I lurked in the tag for a year and I finally buckled when I could no longer stand the absolute shit takes going unchallenged and rampant homophobia and racism and other bigotry being completely unchecked. My first post here is replying to someone being homophobic about o14 being official. This blog exists because the straw that broke the camel's back was virulent homophobia against o14. So while my wider "brand" is posting lore essays, my original brand was and will remain to be tapping into fandom discourse and drama. So whoever is not into that, I will not be offended if you leave. I also tag these posts as "discourse" so they can be filtered out and if anyone wants me to tag them with additional tags, feel free to let me know.

#destiny 2 #discourse #ask #long post

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gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

Text

Time to rest your weary head: Part 13!

IT TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH, but it is here!!! As I explained before, I was facing the last weeks of my semester, delivering final papers and such, but now I'm freee!!!! I thank you all for your patience and eternal support, really <3 hope you like this one! :)))

Also tagging some of my beautiful readers <3 @madie2200 @katiebellf @starbornsinger

Last thing: I wanna leave here my praise to all fic writers and fanfiction and headcanons I had the pleasure of reading on this website; you all inspire me so much, and I’m glad to say I am a part of such a beautiful net of sharing and reading other’s stories :) you are awesome and you inspire me to keep on writing! Thank you :)

Check out the Chapter List and Part 12 if you haven't read it yet!

It was late, but Azriel didn’t mind. He felt like he could explode: like all of a sudden, all his life made much more sense.

He had a mate.

That mate was Gwyn.

And Gwyn had kissed him.

As he jumped off the balcony at the House of Wind, diving fast before soaring, he couldn’t contain his grin. His heart hadn’t stopped thundering in his chest ever since he got to her door. They kissed, and he sensed her affection and desire as sure as she had felt his. He held her in his arms, just like he had that night all those weeks ago. And he had missed so badly doing so, he realized the second he felt her hand on his cheek, caressing him in a way no one ever had, before she enlaced her arms behind his neck.

He felt like a teenager, his Ilyrian hormones pumping through his body, making him restless and euphoric. He wanted so bad to go back, to just stay with her, to make up any excuse to see her, to wake her up, to lay down with her. To spend every second he had right next to her, learning all the different ways he could make her glow.

For so long, he deemed himself worthless; tainted and scarred and damaged. But now he could see that perhaps that wasn’t true. He was hurt, but he could heal; everyone had a past, and it shouldn’t prevent them from living their present. And Gwyn… She was the reason he started believing that. That he had hope left, and that maybe…. Maybe he could care about himself just like others cared about him.

It took a second to realize he was crying. Alone, just him and his shadows, as he soared and spun across the night sky, he was crying. Sobbing and laughing uncontrollably at the same time. He breathed in and out, trying to calm his racing heart, but he still let the tears flow; he still kept smiling, the image of Gwyn’s face never fading from his mind.

Feeling the cold wind across his face, he landed on the pathway to the River House. It was all dark, but he could see a dim light from one of the windows. Rhys’s study.

Rhys. He lowered his mental shields enough so he could voice his brother’s name. Are you there?

Silence, before Rhys’s voice sounded. Yes. Are you alright?

I need to talk to you. May I come in?

He heard footsteps approaching the front door, and then Rhysand was staring at him, violet eyes dark in the dim light. “Come in, brother.”

He was greeted by the image of Nesta facing him, that huge portrait that Feyre had painted some time ago, after The Blood Rite. The house was silent, and all he could hear was his steps as he followed Rhysand to his study.

When he closed the door, Rhysand had just sat down at his armchair.

“Are Feyre and Nyx asleep?”

“Fortunately. The kid’s been having some trouble sleeping these last few months, therefore so have we.” He snorted, but smiled fondly at the thought of his family. “Sit down, Az.”

He obliged, and felt the way Rhys sized him up, trying to decipher what was going on with him. And although Azriel’s expression yielded nothing, he didn’t make an effort to wipe away his tears from before; so his brother was probably putting up the pieces together by now.

Azriel didn’t leave enough time for him to do so, as he again talked to him mentally.

Gwyn is my mate. But I reckon you already know that.

I do. I suppose it didn’t go well, then.

And Cauldron-damn him if he didn’t start laughing at that. And not a bitter one, but a true, genuine chuckle that made Rhys’s brows shot up and a bemused smile appeared on his face.

“It went more than well, actually.” Azriel corrected, shaking his head as he looked to the ground, still smiling. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” His brother shifted in his seat, resting his elbows in his knees and interlocking his fingers.

So Azriel explained what Rhys needed to do for them. He honestly didn’t care if his family knew or not about their mating bond, but was well aware Gwyn might need some time to adjust – and the required privacy to do so. And that was fine with him; as long as he was able to spend time with her, he’d be happy. In any way she wanted.

When he was finished, they stood in silence for a couple of seconds.

“So, I see you have your shot at happiness in your hands at last, brother.” Rhysand stated, with a knowing smile on his face.

“I do.”

“She was very good at refraining from telling you. Of course, I didn’t mean to pry when I found out. But do you know why I read her thoughts that night?”

Azriel shook his head, and watched as his brother declared with a low tone.

“She was just sitting there, in a midst of people whom she didn’t have familiarity with, and you were by your usual spot, talking to Mor. And she was just staring at you, eyes full of an emotion I couldn’t decipher, but I knew what that gesture meant. She couldn’t keep herself from looking at you, just as you couldn’t stop from glancing at her time and time again during the evening: like you were drawn to each other. I was going to ask her if she needed to talk about it, though I knew it was none of my business and she was unlikely to do so, but then I read her thoughts about you being mates.”

“That’s why I didn’t meddle in. I was witnessing something way bigger than me, and I think you know what I mean.” He finished, and completed “That’s why I - and Feyre - kept quiet about it.”

All Azriel could do was laugh quietly again at the mention of his High Lady. “Of course she’d know.”

“My dear brother, I learned by experience you shouldn’t keep things from your mate, even if it is to protect them. You're supposed to walk through it together.” Regret crossed Rhysand’s face at that confession.

Azriel knew that although his brother claimed to hide the details of Feyre’s pregnancy from her not to worry her, it wasn’t exactly fair all the same.

“But I’m certain you’ll learn that with time.” He completed, leaning over to pat Azriel on his knee. “So, don’t worry. I will do as you ask.”

Azriel nodded his thanks and stood up, meaning to leave. But, just as he was reaching the door, a thought occurred and he turned again to his High Lord.

“Rhys” He kept sitting on his chair, staring at him expectantly “It took me long enough to realize, but I’m glad you stopped me that Solstice night.”

Rhysand let out a soft chuckle at that, and bowed his head slightly, raising his glass. Knowing well what Azriel had meant with that.

****

His shadows were restless. He barely slept during the rest of the evening, his mind too awake to give in to slumber. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was slightly nervous to see Gwyn again – and to see if they’re new acknowledged bond would stand out or if Rhysand’s spell would work. He wouldn’t doubt of his High Lord and brother, but still. He wanted to see it for himself.

He stood in the training ring ever since sunrise. Gwyn had gone to her usual morning service and he hadn’t seen her, only felt her absence in the House, both an effect from the mating bond and his shadows, since they were so eager to be around her. So he sparred for hours, waiting for the moment training began and he would see her again.

The priestesses started to arrive right about the time Cassian showed up.

“Morning, brother”

Azriel nodded back, and turned to arrange the practice swords and shields into place, preparing the room.

“How was last night?”

He could sense Cassian’s presence behind him, and the innuendo in his sly tone. Gwyn’s image appeared in his mind once again, her burgundy dress complimenting her body’s every feature. He could feel her in his arms, their proximity and heat, the way he kissed her with all need and tenderness he ever felt towards her, the small sound she made when he pulled her close, pressing their bodies together… He was cut short from his thoughts when Cassian cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh.

“I can scent everything went well, then.”

Fuck.

He started thinking about other things, anything at all, to cover his desiring scent. It wasn’t professional nor respectful to appear that way in front of the Priestesses, even though Cassian and Nesta didn’t seem to mind covering their own arousal multiple times during all these months.

It was right at that moment Cassian’s mate and Gwyn arrived, their voices filling up the air. Azriel was still with his back to the door, and counted a total of five seconds before turning around and facing the deep teal ocean that were Gwyn’s eyes.

Like the seas in Reyna.

His shadows whispered one of Summer Court’s many beaches, the quietest, most isolated and beautiful one. Azriel felt a subtle need to take her there someday, to travel around Prythian with her, to watch her explore and discover the continent, her face lighting up with each new sight.

He casually approached the two females, who were still talking while they began their stretching on the mats.

“Good morning.” He let out, dipping his head a bit.

“Hello.” Gwyn greeted back, meeting his eyes. He watched as she breathed, noticing every detail of her exposed neck and freckled cheeks before meeting her eyes. It was a monumental effort to not scan her entire body and take in all of her curves. She seemed to notice that, and with a thrilling sensation he watched her face blush.

“Good morning to you too, Azriel” Nesta mocked, interrupting their charged silence. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

She directed this particular question to both of them. Gwyn finally tore her eyes away from Azriel, doing nothing to conceal her flushed cheeks.

“Yes.” She nodded a bit timidly, biting down her lip to keep her from smiling further, and met her friend’s inquisitive stare with a sparkle that almost sent Azriel to his knees.

Damn. That female would be the death of him.

“We did indeed.” Azriel found himself agreeing, his voice rough all of a sudden. His shadows reached towards Gwyn, desperately trying to turn her attention to him, to them. He wanted to be lost in those teal eyes again, to be alone with her.

“I’m glad to hear that, Gwyn.” Nesta smiled kindly to Gwyn, honesty and pride in her tone. “Although you’re aware you’ll have to give me more details later.”

Gwyn rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, continuing her warm-up exercises while Nesta stood up. As she went on to stretch her thigh, holding it behind her back, she leaned on Azriel, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and taking advantage of the situation by voicing quietly:

“You hurt my sister and I’ll make you regret it, Spymaster.”

His shadows protectively wrapped around his shoulders, but he was well accustomed to Nesta and they had developed a great friendship after all those months. He could always understand and read through her pain and aggressiveness, even when others didn’t. He did believe her words, though. She, pretty much like him, would do anything to protect the ones she loved.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He nodded once, staring into her piercing eyes, and she patted his shoulder once, seeming satisfied with his answer, before pushing back and striding towards Cassian.

Gwyn kept stretching on the floor, but he could see she heard everything they said by her amused smile as she watched her friend walking away. Azriel reached his hand towards her, and she faced him again and grabbed it, helping herself up.

They were standing face to face now, hands still intertwined. He could hear Cassian and Nesta organizing the Priestesses in the background, the rustle of robes and training leathers as they moved across the training ring. But he couldn’t care less, not when he was holding his mate’s hand, face mere inches from hers.

“It seems you just got intimated by Nesta, huh?” She teased.

He shrugged: “It’s nothing to which I’m not used to by now.”

She chuckled, her eyes crinkling and her voice a sweet melody to his ears. He couldn’t stop but join her, with a quiet laugh. He could feel both Cassian and Nesta’s stare on them, observing their every move. It didn’t seem like the couple caught up on the scent of their mating bond, even though that faint chill mist mixed with water lilies, the combination of him and her, was currently inebriating his senses.

“Could we see each other later today?” Gwyn surprised him by asking, her big bright eyes waiting expectantly for him to answer.

She took a sudden breath, like she was trying to capture the new scent they shared as well, and Azriel found his lips blooming into a smile, both at the thought and at the request:

“I’d love to.”

She beamed “You can meet me at the library, if you are free.”

Gods, she was stunning. He couldn’t stop counting her freckles, observing the way her ponytail twirled behind her back, marveling at how warm her hand felt against his. What a strange and powerful feeling, he thought; to miss someone with that intensity, to desire more than anything to be close to them at all times.

And Azriel wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll be there.”

***

And so he went. After successfully ignoring most of Cassian and Nesta’s teasing remarks through training and lunch, none of them, however, related to the mating bond, Azriel found himself heading towards the library.

He was greeted by Clotho as soon as he entered the space, her magic pen already moving.

Good afternoon, Azriel. What can I do for you?

“I’m looking for Gwyn.” He cordially bowed his head to the Priestess.

Do you want me to call her?

“Thank you, but there is no need. If you could just tell me in which section she is I’ll meet her there, if that’s ok.”

“Ancient hymns and rituals”, third floor down to the right. You’ll find her.

He swore something about the way that magic pen swirled at the last sentence had a tinge of cheekiness, mischief even. So he gave Clotho a soft smile and went into the depths of the library, descending the stars and carefully avoiding staring directly at any Priestess that walked by, only greeting quietly the ones he knew from training.

As usual, his shadows kept swirling faster and faster with each step closer to Gwyn, excited at the prospect of being alone with her. Well, not alone entirely, but Azriel didn’t particularly care at the moment. He knew the curious eyes directed at them would be much more discreet than the ones at training – or anywhere else, for a matter of fact.

He could hear her before he saw her, humming softly as she labeled and stored a few books back on their spots. His heart thrummed against his chest, and he leaned on a shelf across from where she stood, still absorbed in her task, humming the same sweet melody over and over again.

Before he managed to say anything, one of his shadows darted to touch her hand, and her eyes lifted from the book she was holding and met his, her mouth quirked to the side.

“How long have you been there?” She put down the book and crossed her arms in front of her chest, lifting an eyebrow.

His shadows had encapsulated her shoulders and hair now, in a way that she seemed to be the Shadowsinger, and not him. He commanded them to get back to their places, but in vain. He honestly didn’t know why he even tried anymore.

“Not long.” He finally pushed away from his place by the shelf and stepped towards her, while she did the same.

He grabbed her hand, his thumb feeling her soft skin. His shadows encircled them both now, creating a dark cloud in an already dim-lit room. Gwyn laughed at them; curiously following their patterns with her eyes, hand still intertwined with his.

“They never did that before, with anyone.” Azriel observed the way his shadows expanded and darkened around and above them.

“Well, as you said before, they like me. If I were you, I’d be worried they might run away and come to me. I wouldn’t mind at all. Curious little things.”

When he faced her again she was staring at him with such intent he drew a ragged breath, mind focusing only on the female before him. The poor lighting of this particular hallway made her eyes darken, her pupils dilate, mouth slightly parted. Her copper hair now a shade of deep red, like molten fire. He just wanted to kiss each and every one of her freckles, from her face to her neck and below.

The thought made his body ache for her, his pants growing uncomfortably tight. He breathed deep, once, twice, in order to calm his mind and thoughts, but was cut short when her lips met his.

His arms instantly found their way to her hips, gripping her gently. She tugged her hands in his hair, pressing herself against him as the kiss deepened, her lips parting wider to give him access. He enlaced one arm around her, keeping her close and placing his other hand in the back of her neck. He could hear a song, an ancient melody spreading from them, an array of strings and choirs.

When they parted at last, her eyes were wide.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered as they breathed in each other’s scent. Her hands were still on his hair, and he couldn’t take his hands off her just yet, placing them steadily on her hips once again.

He nodded, smiling, and she laughed silently before continuing: “It was magical.”

He leaned to kiss her once again, stopping for a brief second and silently asking for her permission to continue. She closed her eyes, lifting her face, and a soft sigh escaped her lips when they met his for the second time. It was softer this time, tender. Azriel didn’t know if something could ever feel better than this, than having his mate in his arms; than having Gwyn in his arms.

When they parted, he rested his forehead on hers, their breaths mingling. The scent of their mating bond stronger this time, only enough for them to sense it.

“Do you think they could feel it today?” Gwyn seemed to read his mind. “Our scent.”

He met her ocean eyes and shook his head: “Well, Nesta has a sharp mind, and Cassian knows me my entire life. They definitely suspect something.” He huffed a laugh “But not relating to the bond. They probably think is a crush thing.”

She laughed at him, teasingly: “Is it, Shadowsinger? A crush thing?”

“It’s so much more and you know it, Berdara.” He answered in the same tone, but he knew by the way she swallowed once that she heard the husk in his voice, sensing the promise in his words.

Someone is near. Priestesses.

His shadows curled around his ear and he retreated a step, just enough to allow a casual distance between them. Gwyn turned her head to the sound of robes shuffling by, and looked at him again. “Care to join me?” She offered, nodding towards the cart with a loving smile.

“Gladly.”

They fell into a comfortable routine after Gwyn taught him how to shelve the books she cataloged and labeled; sometimes she hummed or sang something to herself, and it was usually at those times when he paused what he was doing, bewitched by her voice. Even the movements of the other Priestesses seemed to still when Gwyn sang, the whole world going quiet. Usually, though, she noticed the subtle halt in his movements after a few moments, and interrupted herself by laughing at his reaction.

If Azriel could exchange the work he did as a Spymaster to just label and store books with Gwyn the whole afternoon, he would. Even if he knew the importance of his work, he would trade everything in a heartbeat just to be with her. Or perhaps he really needed a break.

There was a time in which he thought his spying to be the only thing that he was meant to do. And there was so much in it that he disliked: the torture, the gore. But maybe… Maybe it was time for him to start making some changes. For his sake, and the ones he loved.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her quiet voice distracted him from his thoughts. He shook his head, shelving another book, and turned to her, finding her kind eyes staring straight back at him. “It’s nothing.”

“Az.” Gwyn reached for him, holding his hand in hers “You know you can tell me.”

“It’s just” He gazed at their joint hands and sighed “I did such bad things in the past, and have been doing it for so long… I'm tired of it.”

She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers against his skin, meeting his stare. “You did a lot of great things too, Azriel. Like helping your friends, your family, your people… And me.” She smiled, reassuringly. “You were the one who saved me that night all those nights ago, and then helped me stand up back on my feet every morning after it. You helped me become who I am today.”

Her tenderness broke him, touched a place inside him he was just starting to realize he had, and he took a deep breath before he took her hands in his, lifting them to meet his lips. The only possible reaction he could have to all that gentleness without allowing tears to fall; and he prayed to the Mother it could convey everything he felt.

The way Gwyn smiled and leaned in to softly kiss his cheek gave him his answer.

#awwwwwww #sorry it took me so long #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel and gwyn #post acosf #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fics #i live for gwynriel

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