#the archive gathering hall

[the-archive-bitties]

You come across a large tree like building in the forest. It apppears to be a gathering hall.

A young elf woman opens the large oak doors of The Archive, beconing you in. "Welcome, Traveler! Feel free to come in. Take your time and rest from your journey. I make my home avaliable to those who need it. Feel free to partake in refreshments and to restock your travel pack. If you'll follow me I will show you to the main den," she explains as she lead you into The Archive, a large gathering hall that is, surprizingly, empty. It doesn't seem she gets guests often. Hopefully that will change soon in the future. She leads you to den which has a giant curved brown swede couch placed around a massive fire pit which is currently softly crackling. The pale wood of the floor and the pale green of the walls pairs quite nicely. She sits with you as you take your time.

#gathering hall #roleplay #travelers #traveler #elf #night elf #guild hall(?) #introduction #where is everyone #Alex Nightlit #welcome traveler #the archive #the archive gathering hall #a break from reality #take time #replenish your traveling pack #Spotify

[fukmeintheassandcallmecastiel]

I've completely forgotten how to make friends online and would like to start again after a years long tumblr hiatus.

In an attempt, I am going to try and list every one of my favorite shows, games and so on and have my DMs open for people to say hi if they'd like. No pressure to message, of course. You can also comment on or reblog this post if you're more comfortable with that!

-J

Shows: Hannibal, Moral Orel, Loki, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Sherlock, Good Omens, The Boys, Invincible, Legend of Vox Machina, Gravity Falls, Inside Job, Bojack Horseman, Futurama, Over the Garden Wall, Cowboy Bebop, Shameless

Games: Baldur's Gate 3, Disco Elysium, Cult of the Lamb, Hollow Knight, Detroit: Become Human, Rimworld, Scarlet Hollow, the Stanley Parable (and sequel), Terraria, Transistor, Vampire Survivors, Hades, Oxenfree 1+2, Slay the Spire, Little Misfortune, Detention, Legend of Zelda, Geometry Dash, Norco

Podcasts: Malevolent, The Magnus Archives, Old Gods of Appalachia, the Silt Verses

Hobbies/interests: Magic the Gathering, Dungeons and Dragons (and PF2e), hiking, walks in nature, music, podcasts, Norse mythology, eldritch horror, writing, reading, pirates, the Salem witch trials, birds and plants

Music: MGMT, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Tame Impala, Ween, Pink Floyd, AC/DC, Marina, The Amazing Devil, Fish in a Birdcage, Half Alive, AJR, Will Wood, Tally Hall, Cosmo Sheldrake, I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME, SEATBELTS, SKÁLD

#moral orel #loki #superwholock #good omens #malevolent #bojack horseman #invincible #cowboy bebop #over the garden wall #dnd #old gods of appalachia #inside job #eldrich horror #cult of the lamb #scarlet hollow #legend of vox machina #the silt verses #sherlock holmes #hannibal #mr robot

[fallenangelics]

The Taste of Your Lips All Over Mine

PAIRING | Angel Dust/Husk

WORD COUNT | 2632

SUMMARY | Invited to the annual Overlord ball, Angel has big plans for the night. With his father and brother overlooking his every move as the family business is put in jeopardy, there isn't much room for mistakes. Good thing Angel's target for the night willingly walks straight into his trap.

RATING | Mature

WARNING/TAG(S) | Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

A/N | @rubra-wav created the beautiful banner below so go check out their content since they have some amazing stuff.

EVENTS | @eclipsingbingo | First Kiss | Whispering Sweet Nothings | @fandombingo | Repeatedly Checking Their Pulse To Assure Yourself Their Still Alive | @multifandom-flash | Drugged Lipstick | How Many Fingers | Have I Mentioned I Am Sexually Active Today? | @fandom-free-bingo | Curiosity Killed The Cat | @character-a-character-b | Primal Encounters

AO3 LINK | Read Here

The dress that Angel wore hugged every curve of his body, keeping him snug within the black and pink fabrics. As he walked through the Overlord gathering he held himself with poise, playing the part he needed to for tonight. 

It wasn’t often that a gathering such as this was held. The monthly meetings were a bore of politics that Angel never bothered showing up for, sending his brother in his place so he could hear the conversation later on, but this was different. This was an event that only happened once a year, a gathering of everyone important with even the chance of one of the Deadly’s making an appearance.

Angel had a mission though, one he couldn’t afford to mess up while his father and brother were mingling in the crowd keeping Sinner’s occupied. Recently a chunk of their territory had been stolen, and with it vanished some of their profit all due to a certain Gambling Demon earning more confidence and attempting to reach further across the pentagram.

Though Angel hadn’t cared personally for the loss, his family had taken it as a personal attack, sending him to deal with the problem and what better place than the annual gala that he would attend? That’s why he was walking around the large hall looking out for the short demon while in the best dress he could find, hoping to catch his attention one way or another. 

It was a shame it was Angel who had to complete this mission since he would much rather spend the night getting drinks and mingling with some of the crowd but he couldn’t blame his family for being picked as he was the best choice for this job. No one could seduce an Overlord like he could, it was how he first started getting his family some recognition before they began climbing the ranks of Hell.

A quick and seamless job is all he could hope for but he wouldn’t mind if it got a little bit messy; That just came with the territory.

It wasn’t Angel who found the Overlord, instead, Arackniss came towards him, his pace slow as to now raise any alarm bells, simply making it look as if he had something to say to his brother that didn’t involve singling out an attending Overlord. Having to end his current conversation with one of the Vees who were trying to strike a fashion deal with him, Angel made room for his brother, waiting to hear the new intel.

“You’re boy is over by the bar,” Arackniss started, tossing the drink in his hand in a circle as he stared into it, subtly flaunting the liquor that Angel wasn’t currently allowed to drink. 

Though Angel knew better than to look over at the bar immediately, Angel couldn’t help but take a glance at who may be seated over there. Upon seeing the workers attending the event, he also caught sight of an overly red Overlord sitting beside his short but well-groomed target.

Beginning the short journey over to the bar while doing his best not to spark any unwanted conversation on the way over, Arackniss snorted from behind him, “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m not goin’ to,” Angel hissed over his shoulder, shooting his older brother a glare before he focused back in on his target. 

Making sure to rid himself of any prior annoyance, Angel sauntered his way over to the bar, situating himself on the other side of his small target before feigning as if he hadn’t noticed him, instead making a show of pondering what he might get from the drink menu provided.

The ditzy dress may have made him look clueless, or the fact that he was almost unrecognisable as an Overlord since he almost never attended meetings, but the golden eyes of his target turned to his, Alastor turning to shadows as the attention left him. Angel continued to ignore him, waiting for the Overlord to speak up before letting him fall into his trap.

“If you need help I can see if they’ll let me whip something up for you,” His gruff voice pierced through Angel’s ears, making him slowly turn his gaze towards him. Schooling a drink of his own that was almost empty, the Gambling Demon stared up at him, half a smirk lacing his features. “Of course, I’m sure anything on their menu will do.”

“I bet you’d be able to make me somethin’ perfect if you’re offerin’,” Angel took him up, taking a slow seat as he watched the Overlord shoot one of the workers a look, gaining approval which the Sinner would’ve been foolish to deny before he was rounding the counter and taking a look over the stock that the bar had. 

Using the time it took the Overlord to place a martini glass in front of him and begin throwing different alcohols in a mixer, Angel took in his appearance. He wore clean black dress pants paired with some slacks, a slightly lighter suit jacket lined with gold covering a simple white shirt, all of it being topped off with a golden bow. Angel couldn’t help but admire how his hair was slicked back or how the red of his wings almost glowed in the lighting.

“So, what brings a guy like you to one of these parties?” The Overlord questioned as he slid the drink over to Angel, not a drop of it spilling as he came to a stop. Bringing the drink to his lips and taking a slow test sip, making sure the glass or the liquid didn’t actually touch his lips, Angel felt the eyes of the Overlord on him as he swallowed. “I don’t think I’ve seen your face at one of these things before.”

“Oh, my brother invited me. He’s recently started workin’ for one of the Overlords and is apparently ranked high enough for the both of us to turn up here,” Attempting to act as if it were no big deal Angel flapped one of his free hands around, waving off the status he held to lower the Overlords guard. “But what about you mista? What’s a fancy little kitty like yourself doin’ up here?”

“I’m one of the Overlords that’s meant to be trying to bargain for more territory or some sort of deal,” He acted as if the title was a pain in his ass as if it was more hassle than it was worth as his eyes quickly skittered around the room, easily tracking the other Overlords that were doing just that. Pushing one of his hands forward, he offered it to Angel, waiting for him to take it before bringing it softly to his lips where he placed a delicate kiss on the back of his hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Husk, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Throughout the whole interaction, Husk kept his golden eyes locked with Angel’s two-toned ones, both an intimidating aura surrounding him that radiated power as well as a comforting glow that wanted to reach out to him. It was almost as intoxicating as the drink Husk had made for him. “Angel, it’s nice meetin’ you.”

“Hm, fitting,” Husk hummed, his smirk growing if that was possible. Remaining on the opposite side of the bar, Husk leaned forward, resting his forearms on the countertop as he stared up at Angel through lidded eyes. “Who did you say your brother worked for, again?”

“I didn’t,” Angel muses, finishing his drink before he sets it down and leans into one of his hands, resting his head there as he matches Husk’s expression. Doing what he did best, Angel propped his chest fluff up as his dress opened up, one of his fingers toying with the stem of his drink as his lashes fluttered. A quickly raised brow from the Overlord pulled a chuckle out of him, adding, “But he works for the Mafia Demon I think. I tend to tune him out when he rants about work.”

“Maybe you should start paying attention,” Husk spoke slowly, his deep voice gruff around the edges as the words were almost purred to him. Angel couldn’t help but wonder if there was an underlying meaning to Husk’s words. “You never know when he might say something important.”

“I’ll start payin’ attention when he starts talking about somethin’ interestin’,” Angel responded in a purr of his own, bringing a finger up to trace down the fur that lined Husk’s cheek. It wasn’t often an Overlord allowed him to get this close and personal, especially not when they knew who he was. “I ain’t got time to worry about which goon he chased after or whose debt he’s out collectin’. This however is quite interestin’ and seems worthy of my time.”

A huff of laughter snorted its way out of Husk, glee lining his golden eyes as Angel stared into them. He couldn’t help but work his charm; If the old sucker fell for it then that was on him. 

“Say, why don’t we get out of here?” Husk offered, one of the corners of his lips ticking up in a smirk. Staring up at Angel with hooded eyes, mischief poorly concealed behind them, Angel knew he had the Overlord right where he wanted him. The way Husk leaned forward before speaking as if sharing a secret, told Angel everything he had to know. “Away from prying eyes. Somewhere it can be just the two of us.”

“I think… that’s a brilliant idea,” Angel paused deliberately, taking a second to think over his next words as if this had all been a spontaneous encounter. Taking a look around the large hall that they were currently in, Angel’s eyes landed on his father's and Arackniss’s, both of them watching him and Husk’s every movement. It hardly did anything to light Angel’s nerves on fire, instead turning back to stare into the warm glow of the Overlord turned bartended in front of him. “Too bad I don’t know any places nearby. I wouldn’t want to keep a pretty thing like you waitin’.”

“I’m sure I can figure out something for the two of us,” Husk shrugged off Angel’s feigned worries, his posture remaining confident as he stared up at Angel from where he leaned. “I do after all own the building we’re hosting this in.”

That piece of information had been something Angel missed. He wasn’t certain if he wasn’t listening close enough when he was being debriefed on the mission or if it had been something his whole family had missed. Regardless, Angel hadn’t a clue he was standing on enemy territory until a few seconds, nothing having given away since the building was located on what could be considered neutral turf. “Why don’t you leade the way then, Handsome?”

As Angel spoke to him, a challenging glimmer sparked to life in Husk’s eyes. Chancing a glance over Angel’s shoulders for a few seconds, locking onto something before they flicked back to Angel’s. Leaning up for a kiss, pulling Angel down slightly so he could reach Husk’s elevated height from where he was leaning across the bar counter. Husk made a show of licking his lips, savouring the taste of Angel on them. All Angel could think about was how he had just taken a dose of the poison that laced his lips, the reason he had avoided anything touching his lips all night.

“Shall we?” Husk offered Angel his hand as he rounded the bar once more, standing as tall as his short frame would allow. Angel placed one of the hands from his top set of arms in Husk’s, slowly raising himself from the stool. With the additional height of his heels, Angel stood at almost double Husk’s height, towering over him. That however did little to deter Husk as the shorter Overlord began leading the way through the large hall, weaving their way to one of the many exits. 

As Angel trailed behind them, his eyes locked onto Arackniss’s, giving his brother a clear nod as they passed by one another even if Angel was sure he had witnessed Husk planting a kiss on his lips. The job was done. Whatever happened after this wasn’t up to Angel. 

Husk had led him to a hidden door that blended with the hall's walls. He easily pressed a concealed pressure plate as two doors slid open, revealing an elevator. Holding the door open for Angel, Husk allowed Angel to walk in first before he stepped in moments later, the door shutting behind him. As soon as Angel was sure the two of them were alone, his hands were immediately on Husk’s, trying to smear his lipstick from the Overlord’s lips.

“You idiot,” Angel hissed. Husk stood stock still as Angel fretted over him, wiping his thumbs over his lips and trying to eliminate any of the remaining pinkish colour. His efforts didn’t matter too much as Husk had already tasted the lipstick, making that clear right after they had kissed. “Why would you kiss me? You knew the lipstick was poisoned.”

“To make sure your family got off your back,” Husk’s hands fumbled for Angel’s, putting a stop to his frantic attempts to clean his lips. Husk didn’t take into account Angel’s other set of arms or even the third set that were kept hidden most of the time. A new pair of hands were instantly on Husk’s face, attempting to do the same thing that the first pair had failed to do. “We had to make sure they saw you give me the poison so they couldn’t blame you for me not dying.” 

“You didn’t have to go lickin’ your lips to rub it in their faces though,” Angel almost shouted, panic seeping into his words. Husk stared up at him with a small smile on his face despite it all, only pushing Angel further on edge as he turned frantic. “Now you’ve consumed it. Quick, how many fingers am I holdin’ up?”

“Stop with that bullshit,” Husk had to drag another one of Angel’s hands away as he attempted to check his pulse to make sure it was still beating smoothly. Rolling his eyes at the low squeak that erupted from Angel as he was dragged around, being pulled out of the elevator doors once they opened as sat on a plush bed after they walked through a long hallway. “I’m the one who gave you that drugged lipstick, don’t you think I’d make sure I’m immune to it first?”

“Oh,” Angel came to a slow end, sitting on the edge of one of Husk’s beds, his two sets of arms being held by Husk, a soothing thumb running over the back of both of them. Angel guesses he should have thought of that. Husk hadn’t become an Overlord off of pure luck, even if that was his trademark. Though, now that the worry had fled from Angel’s being, a firey annoyance filled it instead as he glared at Husk. “Why’d you scare me then? You could’ve said somethin’ sooner so I didn’t freak out.”

“I’m sorry Legs,” Husk murmured, finally releasing Angel’s hands so he could use one of his own to cup the spider’s chin. His hand alone almost dwarfed Angel’s face, just like most things in comparison did–other than his height, of course. “Didn’t think you’d work yourself up so much over it. But since we’re up here… we might as well put this room to good use.”

A large grin split across Angel’s face as he wound a hand up Husk’s suit, tangling the Gambling Overlord’s tie within his fingers before tugging him forward, bringing their faces within inches of one another. “I like the sound of that Whiskers.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #huskerdust #angel dust x husk #husker #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #arackniss hazbin hotel #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3fic #fanfic #fanfiction #eclipsing bingo #eclipsingbingo #fandom free bingo: wbn edition #fandom bingo #character a character b #characterAcharacterB #multifandom flash #overlord husk #overlord angel dust

[tranakin-skywalker]

The padawans found out about it first, as padawans are wont to do. Getting into trouble without realizing the full extent of it, stumbling right into something so much larger than they could understand. In any other scenario it would have been fodder for their masters to tease their apprentices over and -later- rib one another with. But not with something like this.

Jedi, as a whole, didn’t tend to concern themselves with things such as the holonet. When there was a crisis somewhere out in the galaxy, they were typically brought into the know before even the news outlets were told, their response being what led the rest of the Republic forward.

There were of course those who would tune in to certain channels to watch their favorite soap operas, or catch up on the goings on in the parts of the galaxy outside of the Jedi’s jurisdiction, but it was really the younger generation who had any sort of presence on the ‘net.

So really, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise when a crowd of junior padawans and older initiates had gone running in search of Master Nu during their recreational time in the archives (or the several dozen senior padawans with their own personal access to the holonet who’d screamed across their quarters for their masters to come and see). 

It did not take long for the news to reach the Council members, who immediately called an impromptu session to watch and review. There were many angry holocalls sent out inquiring why the Jedi hadn’t been informed of this development sooner, mostly by Adi Gallia. There were also many headaches developed, also by Adi Gallia who both dealt and received.

Mace Windu also had one such headache, brought on by watching the recording for the fifth time- or was it the sixth now?

The image was grainy, implying poor equipment, but the shot held remarkably steady throughout which spoke to some level of familiarity with filming. The grandiose excess of a Hutt residence decorated the space, covering over hard packed adobe walls and tiled floors covered in a thin layer of sand. It was apparent that this was no Nal Hutta, but the exile planet of Tatooine. This was the domain of Jabba Desilijic Tiure and- to a lesser extent- Gardulla Besadii the Elder. 

Or it used to be.

The holo paned slowly over the large interior of the palace, lingering on the forms of a number of sentients, many of them scantily dressed, some of them no more than children, all of them with heavy collars around their necks. Some looked healthy, deceptively so, but there are others- thin with protruding bones, or open gaping wounds leaking out bodily fluids, and those missing whole limbs. The first few minutes were nothing but the camera moving through the inside of the palace, taking in the misery and the horror, from up in the audience hall all the way down to slave quarters deep below the palace.

There were other figures too- those dressed in dark desert weave and wearing a wide collection of masks over their faces. Some of them had what looked suspiciously like lightsaber hilts hanging from their belts.

They worked to remove the chains from the slaves while a voice spoke over the recording in Huttese. Mace wasn’t much familiar with the language, only understood a handful of words spoken. They were still working on getting the poor audio translated, but from what they were able to gather it was a rallying cry for other enslaved worlds to fight back.

The holo lingered a long moment on an opened metal collar, dried blood and bits of flesh stuck to the inside where it had rubbed skin raw. Then it cut suddenly, the screen black for a fraction of a second before suddenly illuminated with the blinding light of two suns.

The new perspective showed a town center of some sort, huge crowds of people gathered in streets and on the roofs of buildings, the camera panning down to capture the thousands of faces looking up toward the platform.

A slave auction block, they found out later.

The camera turned from the crowd to instead film the group standing atop the platform. There were more figures in black and brown, but unlike when they were within the palace, these had brightly colored cloth thrown over the rest of their attire, ponchos and scarves and wraps. Mace assumed there was some sort of cultural significance to it, but he didn’t know enough about the planet’s people to know for certain.

These, too, wore metal masks.

Beneath the desert suns it was easier to make out that most were fashioned into abstract animal faces, with fangs and horns and sweeping pieces that might have been feathers. All of them carried metal cylinders at their hips.

In the middle of the platform, surrounded by more masked guards with lit sabers in hand- colors a wash of oranges and yellows and greens and even one that looked pink- was Jabba the Hutt. Large gashes and lesions covered the expanse of his body, a heavy chain wrapped several times around his neck. It didn’t seem to be connected to anything- seemingly more of a humiliation rather than something to keep the Hutt confined.

The lightsabers pointed at him likely did well enough a job of that.

Standing between Jabba and the crowd was a lone figure in all black. If they were sweltering in the heat, they gave no indication of it, their long layers and heavy helmet seemingly inconsequential. It was a tall figure, humanoid and seemingly male in stature- though that was hard to tell beneath the dark clothing that seemed almost a parody of Jedi robes. The helmet they wore was dog-like, or at least that of a canine skull, with jaws that looked less like jaws and more like a muzzle. There was something altogether disquieting about the figure.

Tilting its head like a curious predator, the figure turned to look the camera lens dead on. It didn’t feel like someone looking into a camera, but like something looking straight through and into the view beyond.

Each time Mace had watched the recording, that single look managed to make hair prickle up on the back of his neck. An animal response.

The figure in black spoke in Basic, addressing the holo’s audience and not the crowd actually present. The voice that came out was distorted through a vocoder into something that was more hard and mechanical than organic, it was still distinctly male, and distinctly authoritative. The rest of the video would prove that this was likely the leader of the whole affair, but even in the opening minutes, it was easy to tell here stood the catalyst for all that would crumble down after.

“You say that slavery is illegal in your Republic,” the voice growled from behind the melted teeth of the dog’s jaw. “And you say that Tatooine is part of your Republic. Then what is this we stand on? What is it that the Hutt empire has made its fortunes off of? What your own halls hide and Senators pedal behind closed doors. Look at what you have turned your blind eyes away from.”

With a gloved hand, he reached to his belt and unclipped a black and gray hilt. “We will not let you look away.” He then turned to the crowd and raised the saber hilt high over his head, calling out something in a language that sounded nothing like Huttese. The crowd thundered back in unison.

The saber lit with a wash of red as violent as a wildfire.

Lowering his arm slowly, the man turned to finally face Jabba, his blade hungry and crackling at his side. He spoke again- softer this time- but still loud enough for the gathered populace to hear. Huttese again, Mace was pretty certain, something about punishment- or maybe it was justice.

For a split second on Jabba’s face there was a look of pure unfiltered terror- the sudden fear in falling with the knowledge that the ground was coming and coming up fast. 

Then that hungry blade slid easily into thick Hutt skin that couldn’t be cut by any other means, sinking into the hilt, fat bubbling and cooking with the heat of it.

Jabba made a noise that Mace never, ever wanted to hear again.

The man dragged the blade down- slowly- guts spilling out from where the Hutt was being unzipped like a field-dressed carcass, still wriggling. Jabba moved a lot less than someone being methodically disemboweled should, but that might have something to do with the dog-skulled man’s left hand being raised up like an open claw. Like he was pinning the crime lord in place with sheer will or- more concerningly- with the Force.

That obsidian black mask seemed to give a jackal grin as the red blade was pulled from the Hutt’s body and Jabba Desilijic Tiure was unceremoniously dropped to slowly die on the same platform where thousands of people had been bought and sold.

Stepping away from the smoking body, the Sith- for what else could this monster be but a Sith?- flicked his blade to the side as if trying to rid it of gore. A useless endeavor for a plasma blade, but there was something almost poignant about the move.

He stood facing the screaming, cheering crowd, but his head was tilted sideways just slight enough to look back at the camera from the inky black socket of the dog’s eye.

“You’ve spent long enough ignoring us. I suggest you start paying attention now.”

The feed cut to black.

#my writing #fic: groundwater #fic excerpt #ignore any spelling mistakes it's 2:30 am and i have not edited any of this

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

He could be quiet, Oliver reasons, glancing at the charcoal smudge of Elio’s lashes where they lie upon his Bottichelli cheekbones. The rhythmic rise of his shoulders as he breathes deep and even. Just knock one out into a tissue - or whichever item of clothing he finds on the hardwood floor - then settle in for a few more hours of sleep.

THE ESSENCE OF PLEASURE (IS SPONTANEITY)

The ethereal glow of moonlight still swathes their Manhattan apartment when Oliver jerks awake at some ungodly hour, hard and disorientated from a particularly vivid dream. Elio’s sprawled on his stomach beside him. Slender arms secreted under his mountainous pillows. Nose buried so thoroughly in the striped material that his occasional snuffling snores are barely audible over the yowling tomcat in the communal courtyard, below.

Ever the perfectionist, his exhausted boyfriend has been burning the candle at both ends: taking full advantage of Juilliard's sound-proof practice rooms to cram for his upcoming assessments. Keeping him fed and functional is an uphill battle - Pro and Annella’s sage advice notwithstanding - so Oliver hopes he’ll rest for a good while longer, yet. In all honesty, he wishes the same for himself, but his erection shows no sign of flagging, and the pressure of the sheets alone is a marked distraction at his aching groin. 

He should get up, really. 

Satisfy his carnal urges in the bathroom across the hall. 

But the bed is comfortable, despite its age, the ill-fitting window lets in a draft, and for his sins, the familiar musk of Elio’s skin - the underlying hints of Marlboro cigarettes, bergamot shower gel, and Oliver’s own Drakkar Noir - throws a fierce accelerant on the molten core of his arousal.  

Discretion might be the better part of valour, but where there’s a will, there’s most certainly a way: as evidenced by his maestro’s miraculous presence at all. And he could be quiet, Oliver reasons, glancing at the charcoal smudge of Elio’s lashes where they lie upon his Bottichelli cheekbones. The rhythmic rise of his shoulders as he breathes deep and even. Just knock one out into a tissue - or whichever item of clothing he finds on the hardwood floor - then settle in for a few more hours of sleep. 

The lingering aroma of spent passion hangs enticingly in the air, and flicking his left nipple between thumb and forefinger, Oliver’s thoughts wander to the frenzied smacks of their bodies the night before. The whispered words of encouragement as he thrust inside him. Harder. Faster. Più profondo! The eventual pleas for mercy when it was Elio’s nipples he took between his teeth; working the sensitive peaks until they were red and puffy.

He can hear them still - those phantom cries ringing out like a tefillah - and Oliver’s heart trips over itself as he throws caution to the wind. 

Eases the rumpled bedding from his bobbing manhood. 

Gathers the slippery beads of excitement to ease his way.

A vehicle pauses on the street outside. A muffled rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird rising from its tinny speakers. Oliver closes his eyes on the guitar solo - wriggles to make himself comfortable - and focusing on his sensitive tip, pretends it’s Elio’s whip-smart mouth stretching to accommodate his glans. Unsurprisingly, the mental picture zips a molten trail up his spine, so Oliver proceeds to jerk his cock in earnest; swallowing the raspy groans that choke his tinder-dry throat. 

Imagination turns to need - already, this bears the hallmarks of his fastest orgasm in years - and fumbling blindly over the side of the mattress, he forces his fretful hips immobile as he snags a pair of cotton boxers from amidst tomorrow’s discarded laundry. Elio’s, he discovers, thanks to a surreptitious sniff; the unadulterated scent a powerful aphrodisiac as he brings it to his face.

Just like clockwork, his strokes grow frenetic. The tightness of his scrotum building exponentially as a blazing fire rages at the centre of his being. Beyond his control, the tense muscles of his thighs tremble with urgency - no less violent than the stuttering of his lungs - and the garbled syllables trapped beneath his ribs emerge via stifled whimpers until -

A pointy chin digs into his shoulder.

Blunt nails skim the fading scar on his side.

A second, unabashed palm encloses his fist.

He didn’t hear the tell-tale signs of Elio stirring: the unsubtle creak of their worn-out box springs as he shuffled to close the scant distance between them. Or maybe he did, Oliver debates, while Elio presses a soft, barely-there kiss to his jaw. Airy and teasing, and nowhere near enough. Maybe he’d simply deemed it part of the fantasy. But the shock - the livewire sensation of Elio pulling rank on his pleasure - strikes a deliberate chord, and with a strangled whimper Oliver’s shoved past the thin grey line labelled just about there to right fucking now; his climax exploding like a supernova as bright white orbs dance behind his eyelids. 

It’s devastating in its intensity, yet Elio giggles with clear delight as liquid heat coats their still-moving knuckles. “Better now?” he asks, voice gravelly over his thundering pulse, and Oliver barely has the wherewithal to nod when the other man wriggles southwards, seemingly intent on licking the pearly streaks from his heaving midsection. 

***

Happy Valentine's Day, Peaches... remember when I went through that phase of shameless Oliver wank fics? Well, I figured these two idiots deserved a happy ending ❤️

#cmbyn fanfic #call me by your name #elio x oliver

[thewallsaretalking-again]

“HAHAHA! look at his audial finals! Theyre taller than his fraggin' head!"

“Forget the finals length, look at his legs! He’s got SKYSCRAPERS for stabilizing servos!”

The young bots continued to hurl childish insults at Orion, who could do nothing but sit and watch as the loud voices of his peers rang through the hallway, bringing even more attention to the spat. The students had begun to gather around, some of them starting to snicker at the faces Orion made.

It was one of the few days where Orion was outside of the achives; a school day. It was the end of his second week at [REDACTED]. Like many new sparklings, Orion was having a bit of a hard time adjusting to his new environment and schedule: But he had a very different cause for it. Orion was, in human terms, around seven or eight, but he was only now being put into school for the first time. He knew practically nothing compared to other other bitlets his age. This, Again, was common for many sparklings, especially those of the lower castes; But this again brings up many other problems. Orion had spent half of his life tucked away from civilization in the cybertronian wilds, where food was scarce and life was scarcer. Being taken into Iacon city so suddenly had jolted his senses to an overwhelming point, and randomly being taught to talk and how and have manners was almost a breaking point for the young mech.

Now, Orion was facing a new and very real threat; socialization. Alpha Trion had hoped seeing bots his age would relax Orion some; possibly make his feel more at ease; but the opposite had happened. And, unfortunately. this as just the first of many, MANY rough encounters that Orion would have

“Haha…ew, EW! Look at his denta! They’re so sharp! What’s wrong with him?"

"Sweet Solus Prime! His servos are so sharp! Those things could rip a scraplet apart!”

“EEK! He’s looking at me! Get those creepy eyes off me you freak!”

Orion backed up even further as the crowd got closer and closer to him. Hearing himself clang into the corner of the hallway, Orion reached around the wall for something to grab onto. When he found nothing, he clutched his clawed servos to his chest and tried to make himself as small as possible, letting out an animalistic whimper.

The crowd roared with laughter at the strange sound he made, and only continuer to point out the things that were "wrong" with him: His long arms, his thin stature, his lack of armor; on and on the bitlets went, no sympathy running though their systems.

Just as Orion felt the farmiliar prick of tears in his optics, the bell rang, telling the botlings that they could now leave for the day. As the other botlings ran out the door, Orion blinked and lubricant steamed down his face. He stood there thinking of everything his peers had said about him, feeling something twist inside him as he gingerly grabbed his denta. Alpha Trion has always told him that wrongs could be righted… could he right this? This… none of this made sense…

“Hey! Get out of here you little rust stain! Schools out!”

Orion jumped at the obnoxious sound of his teachers voice. He scurried out of the hallway, head spinning, his metaphorical tail between his legs.

(BONUS)

Alpha trions heels clicked as he walked through the hall of records, looking for Orion. He noticed that Orion had been running off with increasing frequency since he bagan school half a cycle ago. Alpha Trion had begun to grow worried; Orion only talked about the things he learned at school and not about his peers or teachers. Not to mention, when he talked about the things that he learned he sounded… somewhat passionless about it. He always came home looking tired and defeated, and Alpha Trion was becoming more and more worried.

He quickly stopped and adjusted his audio receptors. Listening as well as he could, he faintly heard a sound resembling sudden puffs of air. Following the sound, it led him to an old storage room in the back of the archives. Everything back here was dark and musty, probably rusty and broken too, he thought to himself as he stared at an old toolbox left lying open in the middle of the hallway. Hearing the sound he was following again, he listened closely. It sounded almost like… Alpha Trion immediately perked up, running to a storage room a few rooms down and swiftly opening the door.

Alpha Trions spark sank as he stared at the scene before him. Orion was sitting in front of a dusty, broken mirror with a pair of rusty pliers in his servo; they were clamped onto one of his sharpest teeth, and were being tugged at viciously. Poor Orion was sobbing uncontrollably as he continued to make himself bleed. Alpha Trion rushed over, putting his servo over Orions, making him stop in his tracks. Orion glanced at him with a face full of sadness. Nothing was said as Orion dropped the rusty pliers and fell into Alpha Trions open arms. Alpha Trion sighed; he had a sneaking suspicion as to why Orion was so vague about his life outside of the Archives… And he had a horrible feeling about it…

————————————————————————

Heheh terrible oneshot(s) go brrrr

No but seriously I had this idea late yesterday and I wanted to post it today but I ended up having stuff to do so I posted it tonight instead. This is less of feral Orion, but more post-feral Orion and the some of the struggles he faces in his everyday life (As well as giving some hints as to why Optimus ended up the way he is now). This ended up being a bit more serious than I intended it to be in all actuality, but you can’t really tell why from this part of the story alone. I’ll probably post that tommorow.

Also just for the record this thing was written on the fly, wasnt proof read, or just generally didn’t get any of that nice professional stuff, so that’s probably why is 1. Sucks 2. Has some gramatical or punctuation errors.

#ah yes my favorite hobby: traumatizing children #fiction children not real ones #just making that clear don’t call the police #oh look It’s just one more horrible thing I’ve done to tfp Optimus wow #poor baby #he needs a break #and a nap #and a hug probably #but he’ll get that later… #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers exodus #tfp orion pax #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus #feral orion pax #feral optimus friday #art #my art #oneshot #shitty story #optimus prime #kids SUCK MAN #THEYRE SO MEAN

[ddejavvu]

ok but mei how do you feel about dbf!obi wan

bc honestly if he was my dad’s best friend sheeeesh, i would be so bad about purposely touching him or bumping him or making any contact

this post is 18+, minors dni.

okay yk i have to put this into sw context and do master + padawan dynamics BUT because masters and their padawans typically spend a lot of their time together when their padawan is underage i don't really like the concept of a master being with their own padawan, even though they'd be of legal age when the relationship takes place. it's just not my thing. that being said, if i were a 20+ year old padawan in the jedi temple and (not-my-)master kenobi strolled by, i'd be on my fucking knees.

i truly do think obi-wan is the crush of the temple. all the padawans gather together for sleepovers with their friends and the topic of crushes comes up and they giggle and squeal and freak over the way master kenobi's growing a beard!!! or did you see the way master kenobi brushed his hair back today <3333 everyone in sw just seems to be absolutely obsessed with the guy and i can't blame them.

anyways, on to the meat of the ask.

dbf!obi-wan in sw context -> your master's friend. i won't lock in a master for you even though i def have my own preferences, but basically whoever's apprentice you are, it's someone who most likely grew up with obi-wan and was friends with him for a while. it means you've had him over for dinner a thousand times, and he can be found chatting with your master when you return from your afternoon classes. you're pretty sure they've spiked their tea, but you will never get a straight answer from either of them even though you yourself are old enough to drink.

he's always very kind and warm with you, always takes the time to ask about your studies and your saberwork and congratulate you on whatever gleaming reputations you've acquired.

if your master ever has to take a solo mission, you'll be welcome to stay at the kenobi-skywalker residence. you're more than old enough to stay alone, or in the dorms, but you're rarely strong enough to refuse the offer of sleeping on obi-wan's couch.

you... might manipulate the situation a little. you might play up your struggles with your coursework, putting an emphasis on how terribly you're doing with a class that you know obi-wan excels at the contents of. instantly you're offered a tutor, or a sparring partner if you choose to bemoan your simply awful saberwork. purposefully letting obi-wan corner you and knock you to the mat and stand above you sweaty and panting is not what you should be doing, but you do not have the restraint to stop yourself.

anytime anakin is feeling a little understimulated at the temple and needs to run wild through the streets of coruscant obi-wan will invite you to come with, if only to have someone to stroll leisurely along beside while anakin is bouncing off the walls and diving into dumpsters to see if he can scavenge a part for a droid he's working on. you're friends with anakin, sure, but his master's company is exhilarating. you're also partial to letting anakin pilot any speeders the three of you take together, and cowering in the back with obi-wan about how fast and recklessly anakin is driving. once or twice you've even grabbed his hand when anakin has taken a sharp turn, or drops down a few lanes just to fuck with the two of you, and he's let you squeeze as hard as you want while he uses his other hand to rub comforting circles into your back.

if he sees you in the halls he'll pull you aside for conversation, or he'll share your table in the archives if you're both reading something, or he'll seat himself next to you in the refectory if he sees you're dining alone. sometimes, if you're with your friends, he'll catch your eye and smile at you from across the refectory as he sits down somewhere so as not to 'dull the potential for fun' as you sit with your friends

overall, your crush on him is probably some sort of do-i-love-this-man-or-is-he-just-nice-to-me sheltered-childhood sort of thing, but that doesn't mean the feelings aren't real.

--

best friend's dad as a bonus because i think abt it a lot: becoming partners with anakin through a project for one of your classes, and you head to his quarters to do it, and... and his master is there, and he smiles at you and offers you tea, and you're sitting there trying not to blush because dammit you're a grown adult and you're perfectly capable of being civil and normal around people you find attractive; you've been raised and trained to be a jedi knight, you will not let yourself get wrapped up and distracted with a crush.

anakin's a nice dude though, funny in his own weird way, so you end up hanging out more. everyone kind of thinks you're smitten with him, and you can understand why he's the heartthrob of his own generation, but you're looking over his shoulder at his master <333

i can't tell if i think anakin would know or not. i think that he's very gifted with the force but i'm not sure if i think his specialty would be perception. if you did happen to be a bit too obvious anakin won't ever shut up about it, but he will spare you from teasing in front of his master. behind closed doors though, he's ping-ponging between calling you gross for liking a man over a decade older than you; for liking his master, and telling you he'll have to fake some terrible injury to get you and obi-wan alone in the secluded waiting rooms of the halls of healing sometime soon.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi fluff #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi one-shot #obi-wan kenobi one shot #obi-wan kenobi headcanon #obi-wan kenobi headcanons #obi-wan kenobi hcs #obi-wan kenobi hc #obi-wan kenobi fan fiction #obi-wan kenobi fanfic #obi-wan kenobi blurb #obi-wan kenobi drabble #obi-wan kenobi dialogue #obi-wan kenobi x y/n #obi-wan kenobi x you

[edith-hyde]

Norman Osborn X Female Reader

I Forgot My Umbrella - Part 44

Word Count: 1548

Summary: When trouble appears, an unlikely savior comes to the rescue. But at what cost?

Warnings: Age gap. PG/PG-13.

A/N: The end of last year was certainly... something. I cannot promise a proper schedule, but I will do my best. If you want to be tagged for the next chapter, let me know!

Tagging: @druigswh0ree @digital-demise @maskmare931 @b1ueoff1ine @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @wtfhasmy-lifecometo @ghnaim24 @sitkafay @itsflowertrashsselfshipblog @that--thing @winterinhimring @goodnightboi @moonsienoonsie @madzillo 

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Norman awoke early in the morning, unable to sleep soundly due to his worries. The fear he felt for you twisted in his mind. And that fear was a portal for an unwanted guest. 

‘We should go now. Be there before the little twerp even shows up.’

Norman groaned, rolling over to check the time. It was only 7am. He still had another 3 hours before he promised to arrive. 

“She will be alright,” Norman promised himself and the Goblin. 

‘Don’t be so sure, Norman. Anything could happen between then and now. You cannot leave our precious Y/N alone. She’s ours to protect.’

Norman rolled his eyes. 

“From what she describes, this Dan miscreant is a pathetic waste of space. There is very little chance that he actually poses a threat of any kind.”

‘Are you willing to take that risk?’

No. 

Norman was not. 

Throwing his covers to the side, Norman got in the shower. He hoped that you wouldn’t mind him coming early. He’d probably just wait in his car outside. 

Yes. 

That would suffice. 

——

You were awoken by the sound of banging. Bolting upright from your bed, you scurried into the front room to find Tracy hiding by the phone as someone knocked angrily on the door. You barely had time to process what was happening before an venomous shout reached your ears. 

“I know you’re in there Tracy! Come on! You called me!”

Dan was here. 

Tracy looked at you with fear, too frightened to say a word. You snuck across the room to her, afraid that Dan might hear you. 

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, “I am never drinking again so long as I live!”

“Shhh. If we wait him out, he’ll probably leave.”

The two of you stayed against the wall, eyes on the door. Dan shouted a few more times before you heard his footsteps leave off down the hall. After waiting for a long moment, you smiled. 

“See? He can’t do anything-”

CRASH!

Glass showered into the room as a brick smashed through your window. Tracy screamed, grabbing onto you as Dan climbed in off the fire escape. 

“This is ridiculous!” He snapped, “Why didn’t you answer the door?”

“What has gotten into you?!” You demanded, “Are you crazy?!”

Dan fixed you with a glare and in that moment you realized a horrific truth- you had never really known him. Right now, looking into those eyes, it was clear that he was capable of anything. 

You stood between Dan and Tracy, slowly moving towards the door. Dan picked up the brick and pointed it at you. 

“I am sick and tired of you messing everything up.”

“Me?” You squawked. 

“Yes, you. You messed up the whole dynamic. First you turned Kevin against me, and then you took Tracy!”

“You did that to yourself,” you snapped, “Don’t blame me for your own stupid behavior.”

“I won’t let you take her from me,” Dan snarled. 

Then he charged. 

“Go!”

You shoved Tracy ahead of you toward the door. Dan swung down at you with the brick, but you rolled out of the way. Frantically, you kicked upward between his legs causing him to double over. Tracy had gotten the door open and was standing there, hand outstretched to you. 

“Come on!”

You scrambled to your feet, desperate to reach her. But the brick came sailing past your head. You were quick and dodged it.

Tracy was not so lucky. 

The edge of the brick clipped her temple and she fell back into the hallway on her knees. You screamed in horror, trying to gather her in your arms to see if she was okay. But Dan came up behind you and grabbed a fist full of your hair. He yanked you back and then did the unthinkable. 

He hefted Tracy up and threw her down the stairs. 

You stared in horror at Tracy’s seemingly lifeless body laying broken on the floor. She had to be breathing… Please God let her still be breathing. 

“Now look what you made me do,” Dan growled, “This is your fault.”

He yanked you back into the apartment by your hair and slammed your head into the wall. It wasn’t hard enough to knock you out immediately, but your vision blurred as your thoughts ran together. You wanted to scream again, try to alert your neighbors. But you couldn’t form words. 

“You always acted like you were so much better than me,” Dan said, “Like you couldn’t even give me the time of day. Ya know, the only reason I went out with Tracy was because you were too much of an arrogant bit-”

Dan’s rant was cut short by a hand grabbing his throat. He released you, allowing you to fall to the ground. Looking up, you smiled at your savior and finally managed to whisper something before you passed out. 

“Norman.”

——

Norman was on sabbatical. 

The sight of you held in Dan’s grasp was enough for him to relinquish control to someone actually capable of protecting you. 

“Are you prepared for the kind of death you’ve earned, little man?”

Dan’s eyes bugged out of his head as The Goblin’s grip got even tighter. Raising him up into the air, Goblin slowly walked him towards the window. 

“What… what are you… gah!”

The Goblin stepped out onto the fire escape and pinned his prey up against the banister. 

“Any last words?”

“Please! Please don’t kill me! This is all a misunderstanding!!”

The Goblin leaned forward into Dan’s face, teeth bared. 

“You never should’ve touched her.”

Then Goblin smiled wickedly. 

“Have a nice trip!”

And with that, he flipped him over the railing. 

Dan screamed the whole way down and the Goblin waited for the satisfying wet SPLAT of his corpse hitting the concrete. His brains sprayed the ground in an almost artistic way. 

“Beautiful,” the Goblin mused.

“Nor-Norman?”

The Goblin shuttered at the sound of your voice. Thankfully, his back was to you, so you couldn’t see his face. This gave him time to compose himself, loosen his tie and shirt, and turn to you looking properly disheveled. As if Dan had actually put up a fight. 

He had to play his part after all. 

“Y/N?!” He said in an almost perfect imitation of Norman, “Are you alright?!”

He ran to your side, hands running over you under the guise of checking for injuries. Touching you brought him great joy. He had begged Norman to let him out just so he could know every inch of you. However, when he touched the bruise that was forming on your head, he felt the rage that had caused Norman to relinquish control in the first place. If Dan wasn’t already dead, The Goblin would’ve killed him again.  

“Tracy… is she-?!”

“She’s not my concern,” the Goblin answered honestly, “All that matters is you.”

The look in your eyes let him know that he had made a mistake. You pulled out of his grasp and ran out into the hall. He followed after you, watching as you checked the young woman’s pulse. You smiled through your tears, happy that she was alive. But the Goblin did not share in your joy. Jealousy spiked within him and he wanted to jerk you away from her. After all, this entire situation was Tracy’s fault to begin with. 

“Norman! Call for an ambulance! Please.”

The pleading look in your eyes caused the real Norman to start rising to the surface. 

But the Goblin wasn’t about to give up his control. 

Knowing he had to play along, Goblin did as you asked of him. He waited in jealous silence for the authorities to come. You had wanted to ride with Tracy to the hospital, but instead you stayed and gave your statement. And then the police turned their attention to “Norman”. 

He could see the recognition in their eyes- they knew who he was. 

“So what exactly happened here?” The officer questioned. 

“I was outside when I heard the shouting. By the time I got inside, Miss Lombard was already unconscious. He didn’t give me much choice. I had to defend myself and Miss Y/N. It all happened so fast…. The next thing I knew he was going over the railing. I… I didn’t mean for that to happen. I tried to grab him….”

The Goblin had to fight to keep from laughing. So instead he tried his best to look distraught, turning his stifled laughter into a fake sob. 

“And you just so happened to be in the area?”

The Goblin glanced at you, as he answered. 

“No… I was coming over here to discuss work with Miss Y/N. She is my secretary.”

The officer nodded, accepting the answer. 

“You did a good thing here today, Mr. Osborn.”

With a nod, the Goblin smiled. 

“If we’re done here, I’d like to take Y/N to the hospital.”

“I’m fine I don’t need-”

The Goblin gave you a stern look and you fell silent. You looked confused, no doubt noticing the subtle differences in your boyfriend. That was to be expected- you were quite clever. 

“You’re free to go,” the officer said, “We’ll clean up here. You go get that head looked at. You could have a concussion.”

#i forgot my umbrella #norman osborn #norman osborn x reader #sam raimi spider man #green goblin #fanfic #fanfiction

[nildespirandum]

Thank you to everyone who has been patient during dry spell, and who has continued to send well wishes and kind thoughts. I cannot tell what it has meant to me.

Story is 18+ only

Tags found on AO3.

The cold hallways of Skadi’s great fortress, where it stood as guardian between the realms of the living and the dead, were predictably stark and massive, all hewn from meteoric rock by a combination of the crude strength of giants and draugr and the magicks of Hel. While nothing to the splendor of Asgard’s palace, or outhouses if it came to that, Loki silently admitted that there was a rough grandeur to both its scale and the gleaming texture of the stone which, along with a few floating orbs of glowing ice to give light, were as close as there came to anything hinting at decor.

No doubt Skadi considered interior design beneath contempt, which was just as well for Loki was certain her taste would leave everything to be desired.

Leaving his cell had been insultingly easy. No guards stood outside of it nor was any elaborate spell or clever cantrip used to keep him within. Loki had touched the blank side of the lock’s hasp on the interior with the tip of a black claw, scraping it in circles to cause the lock to pick itself. The spell was one that he had created in his youth when he and Thor were oft times sent to their rooms to ruminate on their misbehaviors.

As if Loki were ever inclined to guilt or Thor to thought.

Loki peeked out, as did Nora. She no longer even came to his shoulder, so she stood under his arm.  They each looked up the hall and back, and then at each other.  With her head tipped back, Nora’s throat was rather appealingly displayed to him, making him wonder how hard he could bite the side of it with his fangs before it would cause her the unpleasant sort of pain…  And could he make her enjoy even that….? 

And could he…?

Closing his eyes to take a moment to gather his thoughts from where they had sunk, Loki realized that not only had the transformation to this primitive Frost Giant form done wonders for his poor, wounded cock, additionally it had woken in him the Jotun enthusiasm for mortal flesh.  Combined with his own - and here he beat back the word that wanted to come to the forefront of his mind - fascination with Nora, it would make for a dangerous distraction.

“Are we going to go for it or…?”  Nora was still looking at him, brows raised, soft mouth wet and ever so slightly open.

“I don’t know that this is the time or the place,” Loki said, trying to sound unwilling though he knew his tone was more smarmy than disinterested.

“I mean, should we go, you big weirdo.  I know some people are turned on by dungeons but they probably aren’t literal dungeons.”  She frowned slightly.  “Though it wouldn’t be an option for most people back home, even if they were into literal, actual dungeons.  In which case I’m not sure-”

He could tell that her nerves were getting to her and that she would go on like that indefinitely if not stopped.  Carefully, he did not quite touch her lips with one of his newly grown black talons, since he was unsure how sharp they were, and nodded.  

“Right, yes.  We should get on with it, then.” 

Also, wrong. For in his case, literal dungeons seemed to be a turn-on, presuming Loki was interpreting that human expression correctly.  He’d certainly spent enough time in them to develop not a fetish or rather, at least a lack of squeamishness about what was appropriate or even enticing to do within one.  

He held the cell door open, allowing Nora to slip under his arm, and then carefully shut it.  Despite that care, the metal on metal on wood of it seemed to ring out like a carillon in the still and silence. 

Peering within each cell as they passed proved that they all were as empty as the hallway.  At its end nearest to the metal gate that separated them from the stairway up and out there was a massive lock-up that looked as if it were designed to hold dozens.  

Within was the only other prisoner they had seen, who seemed to be asleep or unconscious beneath a pile of furs in a back corner.

Nora pointed towards the pile, then made a gesture towards the lock on the cell door.  

Absolutely not, Loki thought, walking on.

Her now so tiny hand hooked around his wrist, as her fingers could no longer come close to closing on it, and pulled.  Where before her touch had been warm now it burned.  Burned through tough, blue skin, through muscle, to bone, where it seemed to ignite his marrow, lashing him with fire on the deepest level possible.  

He was wonderstruck how much he craved the pain, the ache.  Wanted to know how if her cold little hand caused that much fire what might her mouth do?  Or Bor help him, the sure venomous wet between her lips, between her legs. 

Turn him into a pile of tumescent ash, Loki rather suspected.  

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” Nora whispered.  

“As someone with far more enemies than is the average, I can assure you otherwise,” he whispered back, leaning down close to her ear, trying not to sniff her skin.  Even when blue and bedecked with horns a prince should keep a little of his dignity.  

“Still, Skadi is… her people are…” Nora stopped and looked down at her dress and frowned.  “They aren’t very respectful of their prisoner’s persons.  It would feel shitty to leave someone here.”

Her voice was less than steady, less than Nora.

Not liking to consider what that might mean, Loki tucked her tone away for later questions when they were free. “That may be so, but she wards the borderlands between the living and the dead and trust me, there are plenty of true criminals, necromancers, graverobbers, and multiple fashions of the ambulatory dead that she has good reason to hold imprisoned.  Also,” he added, “this is not a prison break, it is more in line of espionage, which means the fewer involved the safer.”

“If someone is being held here at least it would be more of a distraction for the guards to be chasing them and us,” she countered, sounding more like herself.

“That never really works the way one thinks it will.  Besides which, don’t think I don’t know that you simply want to release whoever it is for a bit of revenge on Skadi and her hamfisted chambermaids.”

“And you, of all people, have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary, in more typical circumstances I would be all for it, but we are on a mission, as you might recall.”

“Normal circumstances?  What normal circumstances would… never mind, I just remembered who I am talking to, which considering the current state of both of us doesn’t say good things about my sense of reality.”

That was, Loki thought, feeling the weight of his horned brow and again noting her sartorially created cleavage, an understatement.

“Plus, I’m not sure I wish to be rescued by such noisy people,” came a voice that most kindly might be described as sepulchral from the pile of furs, which shifted about and then fell off the figure that rose from beneath them, stretching tall enough that skeletal fingers scraped the ceiling. “What good would come of it, if I were to then be talked to incessantly?”  Dark, blue-skinned, and of a size of an Asgardian, with glowing green eyes, and a decidedly undead thinness draped in a shroud rather than a shift, it took Loki a moment to recognise the woman for what she was.  

“Disir…” he let the word trail away, sliding his foot to the right and shifting his shoulders so his vast body was between her and Nora, though he trusted Skadi would not hold such a creature in her fortress were she not sure of being able to keep it contained.

“One of,” she nodded, “Hlökk.”  She moved towards the front of the cell, her motions quick yet stiff, as if from the cold.  Rather, he knew, it was from her muscles being desiccated, her sinews dust, her entire self animated by will and spite rather than life.  With a final, swift jerking motion she stood all but resting against the cold iron bars.  Close enough that her papery blue flesh began to wither from its influence.  Standing effortlessly on the tips of her toes, she peered into his face, a smile of cracked teeth and parched lips flashed, and then retreated.  

“I have not seen a Jotun of your type since I was a young girl newly in the service of Bor, and they were ancient and few then.  Those last died upon my sister’s spears, or so was thought.  But you,” she, without Loki’s scruples, took a deep, sniffing breath, leaning her head back and opening the corrupt cavern of her mouth like a cat to taste the smell of them upon the air.  

“You look of Jotunheim yet smell of Asgard, giant.  Or is that her?”  Quicker than he could see Hlökk stepped twice to the right so she could aim her nose towards Nora.  “No,” the Disir dismissed.  “Mortal. Full of death and decay. But you, you are-”

The Aesir had few enemies that they feared, for to die in battle against a worthy foe was their greatest good.  The cannibalistic, ever-dying, never-dead Disir, cursed by Bor to crave the flesh of those they formerly served, were at the top of a very short list.  Though only a handful in number, stories of their enormities and disgusting habits had been used to keep naughty Asgardian children from creeping from bed late at night for eons.

Naughty Asgardian children other than himself, of course.  The boogeyman or haint had not been born that could have kept young Loki from wandering the halls and secret rooms of the palace under cover of friendly dark.    

“Keep your nose to yourself, Disir, this is one god you will not gorge upon.  Come along,” he then said to Nora, gesturing towards the stairwell.  She frowned and seemed inclined to argue when the Disir ran her long, dehydrated tongue over her lips.

A sound like dried leaves being blown across stone.

“Aesir and Jotun flesh as one.  A delicacy untried by me or any sister of mine….”

“Right,” Loki knew there were bars and his magic between the Disir and his becoming her supper and he did not care.  Lifting Nora’s little self into his arms, he ignored her protests and took three long strides when behind them the Cursed One whispered.

“The Bók Lífs og Dauða .”

“Wait,” Nora said.

Loki took another step.

“What else might Odin’s Trickster changeling want in the hall of his most implacable enemy?”  The words were spoke soft and thoughtful as were, “How helpful might it be for one to know just where the Giantess kept such a treasure.”

Loki whirled about, stalked back to the cell, realized he was still holding Nora who was now within reach of the Disir should it choose to reach its spindly, iron-muscled arm through the bars, and quickly put her down and placed himself back between them.  He realized it was a false gallantry since he was what the nasty thing was interested in getting her teeth into.

“Let me guess, you know where the Book is, and in return for your freedom you will tell me where to find it?”

Nodding, glowing green eyes managing to look amused, the Disir said, “And you give me one of your toes.  I am well past starved.”

“Absolutely not!”

“What the fuck?”

Loki and Nora’s protests tangled together.

The Disir leaned against the bars of the cell, picking at her gray and broken nails, “Ragnarok is coming early season.  I would think one little piggy would be small enough payment to put the Twilight of the Gods off by a few hundred millennia or more, Odinson.  Your father’s favor would be the least of your rewards for such an act.”

He looked down at Nora, who spoke in a quick whisper.  “Do you know who she is?  What is she talking about?  Why does she want one of your toes?  What the hell is wrong with everyone in space?”

It was a good question.

He had a better one, for the Disir, “Why should I trust you?”

The Disir spoke, this time in Ancient Asgardian rather than the All-tongue, so Nora could not understand.

“Trust is for naifs and babes, I shall give you my Word of Bond upon mine and my sister's unlives.  Take it, Trickster, or walk your little mortal through the endless halls of Elvidner until she freezes or you are caught and she is dragged to Skadi’s bed to die serving there, and you back to the witless brutality of this pit, that shall end in your skinned body being hung from the battlements.”

With a sigh, Loki answered back in the same language, “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose I’ll still have nine more.”  He reached towards the lock and then halted, “I choose which one I give up.”

The Disir inclined her head.  Graciously.

Please let me know if you want to be added or pruned from my taglist!

@caffiend-queen​ @myoxisbroken​ @dianamolloy​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @toozmanykids​ @someillplanetreigns​ @piggledy-higgledy​ @catsladen​ @lokislastlove​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @is-it-madness​ @ransoms-sweater-holes​ @mischiefmaker76​ @evieplease​ @clove-pinks​ @nerdygirl8203​ @perksofeatingbacon​ @ladyacrasia​ @hopelessromanticspoonie​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @myelfroot​ @sylviefromneptune​ @wrathkitty​ @winterisakiller​ @latent-thoughts​ @redfoxwritesstuff​ @emeraldrosequartz​ @servent-alearika​ @frostbitten-written​ @wine-and-whines​ @joyfullymassivewhispers​ @shiningloki​ @lokiperfection​ @incurablyromanticsblog​ @mariwild​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rauko-art​ @reileth​ @lokiestorch​ @pigilene​ @mdemontespan1667​ @colorfulfreakstudentpizza​ @oddlymurderousplant @gigglingtigger​ @lokisgoodgirl

@caffiend-queen @myoxisbroken @dianamolloy @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids @someillplanetreigns @piggledy-higgledy @catsladen @lokislastlove @yespolkadotkitty @is-it-madness @ransoms-sweater-holes @mischiefmaker76 @evieplease @clove-pinks @nerdygirl8203 @perksofeatingbacon @ladyacrasia @hopelessromanticspoonie @death-unbecomes-you @myelfroot @sylviefromneptune @wrathkitty @winterisakiller @latent-thoughts @redfoxwritesstuff @emeraldrosequartz @servent-alearika @frostbitten-written @wine-and-whines @joyfullymassivewhispers @shiningloki @lokiperfection @incurablyromanticsblog @alexakeyloveloki @rauko-art @reileth @lokiestorch @mdemontespan1667 @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @talklokitome @sweetsigyn @nonsensicalobsessions @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @merak-dubhe

#loki fanfic #loki au #tags on ao3 #loki #love is hel #loki fic #tom hiddleston

[vampiricgaz]

Denial | Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Transmale!Reader Oneshot

Warnings/Tags : Brief mentions of sex, internalized transphobia, anxiety, vomiting, angst and fluff

A/N : This would be my second one shot that I’ve posted, I hope y’all like it :3

AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/55254895

The footsteps in the living room echoed throughout the hall—a sound you’ve memorised so much it’s ingrained in your head. The steps get louder and louder, and when they stop, you then hear a sudden knock on the door of your room. The door opens slightly, the light from outside shining into the darkness of your room. You see his shadow cast on the walls, the outline of his handsome features, and his body highlighted by the soft light of the hallway.

“I’m going out now; I'm probably going to buy a few snacks from the 7-11 nearby. You want anything, mate?”

There it was the familiar voice of the one who made your heart race—the one that made your feet turn cold and made the butterflies flutter around in your stomach. Kyle Garrick, your college roommate, the one you were lucky enough to have instead of any other roommate.

“Maybe a bag of crisps and some chocolate, thanks.” You answer with a warm smile, trying to hide the fact that your heart is about to pump itself out of your chest.

He was the perfect man, you thought. He was smart and sweet, a gentleman when he needed to be, and dammit, the tiny fangs of his teeth peek out when he smiles cheekily at you, making you feel giddy and lovestruck. He’s taken care of you when you were ill, and he’s always been by your side, platonically.

You were mere friends with him, something that always hit you hard and shattered whatever fantasies you had about him. Everything you had done together has been platonic—something roommates do for each other—and that it meant nothing more than just being good friends. Whether it be the cuddling sessions you both would have on the couch while the television was on, sleeping together on the same bed when you both needed the comfort, cooking each other food when the other was in a bad mood, kissing each other everywhere on the face except the lips, or borrowing each other's clothes. All of it was platonic, or so you thought.

You sat there on your bed as you thought about your crush on Kyle, the dark room hiding your flushed expression before you plopped back down on the bed. You squeal into your pillow at the small interaction, your cheeks turning warm when you remember his mellow voice. You’ve fallen for the man hard, and it was only time until you confessed to him. But you couldn't—not when you’re a girl to him.

Kyle was gay, something he’d known for a long time. He came out to you, and he trusted you fully to tell you that. It took a lot for him to gather up the courage to tell you, and tears were shed the day he did. You hugged him tightly and let him cry on your shoulder. The poor guy feared you were going to hate him for it, but you accepted him with open arms. You reassured him that you were supportive, that you liked him regardless, and that him being gay was not going to ruin your friendship. And things have been alright since then, with the two of you being closer than ever and having a great friendship overall.

That was until you had to sleep through countless nights hearing loud bed creaks and various noises of Kyle getting fucked by other men every other night, and it haunts you knowing Kyle was having fun with other men and not you. Sometimes you met the men in the mornings, seeing Kyle be all lovey-dovey and affectionate with them while you simply tried to get a bowl of cereal. You would catch a glimpse of Kyle smiling softly as he laid his chin on the other man’s shoulder, hugging the man from behind while pressing kisses to his neck. And at first, you coped by knowing Kyle was finally happy after years of hiding his true self and that his happiness mattered more than your desires. But it soon turned into resentment and jealousy, wishing that those men were you and that Kyle loved you as much as them.

Soon you snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the front door open, and you rushed out with your hoodie and smiled when you saw Kyle’s presence.

“What’cha got there? Got me the crisps and chocolate that I wanted?” You asked cheekily before you went rummaging in the plastic bag for what you wanted.

“Of course, I got your favourite ones too.” He pulled you out by the scruff of your neck like you were a cat before handing you the stuff he bought. “I figured you were hungry and bought you more stuff; you're welcome.” He smiled as he also gave you a cup of noodles and a hotdog, kissing you on the temple before he went back to his room.

Your heart raced again, the familiar thumping of your heart as the kiss lingered on your temple. It was a platonic kiss; that was all that it was, and you knew that better than anyone. He was affectionate with you, but it wasn’t the same; those small cheek or temple kisses weren’t the same as the ones he gave to his flings or ex’s; it was all platonic.

You couldn’t blame him at all; it was your fault that you’re like this. Maybe you could’ve had a chance if you wore masculine clothes and tried to ‘look like’ a man, but no, you were feminine and wore feminine clothes to cope with the fact that you’ll never be the boy you want to be, especially not a boy Kyle would ever love. Makeup and girly clothes were all you’ve known, never having the guts to come out to anyone, so you remain the girl that everyone knows and loves—except Kyle would never love you.

For a while, things were normal, and you barely cared about Kyle and your problems since you were drowning in a pile of assignments and projects that needed to be done. But then it happened again; it was another one of those off days where nothing went right and those thoughts came back. You couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without having to see the person you’ve become; you couldn’t recognise yourself under all those frilly clothes and pinky makeup. You hear laughter out the door; it was Kyle and probably another one of his flings again. “Great.” You mumbled, knowing what kind of night this would be. It didn’t help that you were spiralling as it is, your dysphoria and anxiety spiking the more you thought about Kyle and yourself. You were on the brink of tears, your body didn't feel right and you wished to tear your skin right off. This wasn't you, or well a version of you that you despised.

Wanting to get some fresh air you tried to leave your room, only to be met with the sight of Kyle kissing another man with a smile on his face before waving him off as the stranger left the apartment. Jealousy surged through your veins, and then the sudden realisation hit you hard. You're never going to get this, not when you're like this. Your stomach churned, and you suddenly felt sick. Of all things, this wasn’t what you needed for tonight. And without even acknowledging Kyle, you rushed back into your room and straight to the toilet, where you retched everything into the bowl. Kyle ran to you immediately out of concern, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back as you emptied out your stomach.

“What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad? Are you sick?” Kyle asked frantically, panicking while he helped wipe your mouth and walking you to your bed. You sat there, faint and weak, leaning against Kyle’s body. You couldn’t get the images of Kyle’s flings out of your mind—the man you’ve loved for so long, knowing the love would never be reciprocated. The jealousy was eating you inside, and it wasn't just jealousy that Kyle had eyes for other people, but the people Kyle liked were attractive looking. You could never look like them.

“M'fine…” You mumble inaudibly, trying your best not to show Kyle that you were having almost going to have an anxiety attack. Kyle looked down at you, placing a hand on your forehead to check for a fever.

“You’re warm; are you sure you’re fine?” Kyle frowned as he saw your weak state, keeping you comfortable on his body as you weakly lean on him, head beside his shoulders. You nod your head, but Kyle didn’t believe that you were fine.

The way Kyle held you, his soft and mellow voice comforting you at your worst. You couldn’t help but fall for him even more. You hated yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him. You mumble to him, “Would you ever like me?” Kyle blinked in confusion at the question, an awkward silence taking over the room.

“I do like you, though.”

“Not in that way; you know what I mean.”

Silence filled the room again, and Kyle shifted nervously.

“You know I’m gay, right? I’m not into women.”

“And I'm not a woman!”

.

.

.

“Forget it. Just leave.” You groan and push yourself away from Kyle, lying on the bed while turning away from him. Kyle didn’t say anything; he simply stood up and left the room like you asked him to.

Weeks went by, and you both haven’t spoken to each other since you’ve avoided him even when he wished to speak to you. Locking yourself in your room all the time, only ever coming out when you had classes. You noticed that Kyle hadn’t brought anyone over, but you didn’t think much of it. You were rotting in your bed and barely eating these days, but as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock on the door.

“Mate, please let me in.” Kyle pleaded, and you could hear the desperation in his voice as he continued to knock on your door. And for whatever reason, you lazily woke up and opened the door.

Kyle’s face held a worried expression, frowning when he saw your dishevelled appearance and your messy room. He knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. Your eyebags grew deeper and darker, face paler and duller than before, Kyle could tell you weren't alright. There was a plate of food in his hand—something he cooked up just for you.

“You can’t keep avoiding me, love.” He said this as he barged into your room, sitting on the edge of your bed with the plate set down on the bedside table. “I care about you; please talk to me. I can’t stand not talking to you.” His eyes pleaded with yours, begging you to take care of yourself even with just a simple plate of food. He took your hand into his, his thumb gently tracing circles at the back of your hand. You missed the feeling of his soft hands touching you affectionately, or maybe you just missed him.

“I ruined it, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship.” You spoke, and Kyle’s expression softened when he heard your faint voice speaking to him.

“You didn’t ruin anything; it wasn’t your fault.” He smiled softly as he sneaked his arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You looked up at him in confusion.

“I shouldn’t have confessed. I’m sorry.” Kyle laughed as you said that, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He looked at you and smiled widely—the kind of smile that makes your heart flutter. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing on your arm as a way to reassure you.

“You know, when I say I care about you, I mean it. I care about you way more than I should, and I think you know what I mean. So there's nothing to be sorry about lovey, I'm glad you confessed. ” Kyle’s words made you freeze, your mouth agape as you wanted to speak, but no words were coming out.

“You don’t have to say anything; just believe my words, yeah?”

“But I’m a woman to you, aren’t I? You don’t like women.”

“You’re not a woman to me; you don’t have to keep pretending that you are one from now on.”

"Kyle-"

“You’re a man; you always have been and always will be, especially to me. You got that?”

For the first time, you felt comfortable in your own skin, as if the mask you've worn for so long had just broke and fallen from your face and you'd been laid bare in front of Kyle, and he loved you regardless. Tears brim your eyes, a small pout forming on your lips before you plant your face against the fabric of Kyle’s shirt to absorb the tears. He chuckles at the sight and hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m a bit sad you didn’t tell me sooner; you didn’t have to hide it from me. I trusted you with my secret; now it's your turn to trust me.” He said as his hand cupped your cheek, a gentle look in his eyes as he made you look at him. Your glassy eyes stared at Kyle’s, and he gently wiped away the tears that stained your now-warm cheeks.

“I don’t look like a man; I feel ashamed to even call myself one when I wear dresses and put on makeup. How can you call me a man?” You replied as you rubbed your eyes, leaning comfortably on Kyle as you spoke.

“You’re still a man even when you wear dresses and make-up. You've seen me wear skirts and put on some make-up before, didn't make me less of a man, did it?”

"That's different, Kyle. I look like a woman; I just don’t understand why you like me.” You said it bluntly, and he could only giggle at how blunt you were being.

“Maybe I’ve always liked you; I just thought it was platonic.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

You whacked him on the arm while he continued to laugh, in turn making you crack a small smile at him.

“Look, maybe there was a part of me that denied my attraction to you when I thought you were a woman. Now that I know you’re not, I feel more comfortable liking you. Does that make sense?”

He explained while you continued laying against him, your smile widening the more Kyle spoke. Your cheeks were red, and your body became warmer. The thought that Kyle had always liked you made you happy.

“What about those men?”

“You mean when I bring people over? I knew I was gay for way too long, so when I started liking you, I thought I was wrong about my sexuality. I started sleeping with more guys to distract myself, I guess. But rest assured, I’m still gay, and I like you.”

You fell into silence, thoughts swirling in your head while you listened to Kyle. Kyle knew you were deep in thought; he could see how much you were struggling to believe him. You still had doubts and insecurities yelling at you that 'this was all some big prank. Or that Kyle was actually bi and he sees you as a woman. He couldn’t have liked you. How could he have liked you? You look nothing like a man, and Kyle liked you. Does he like women too, then? Maybe this is all a big joke, and Kyle is just playing with you. What if he pities you and he’s just pretending to like you? Are you just trapping him in a false queer relationship? Maybe-'

You felt a sudden warmth on your lips, snapping you out of your thoughts as you felt Kyle’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face lovingly, tilting it up so he could kiss you. His lips were soft and warm on yours; it was addicting. You closed your eyes and savoured the moment, reciprocating the kiss with the same gentleness he had.

“You think too much, lovey.” Kyle mumbled cheekily as he pulled away from you, smiling before gently kissing your forehead. But this time it didn’t feel platonic; no, the kiss was romantic and one you’ve longed for since you met him.

“I love you.”

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x trans reader #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick #trans reader #trans mlm

[willuzpilled]

Til Death Do Us Part (A Dalvlo/Corn Yaoi fanfic)

As part vampire, Dalv naturally has a lifespan much longer than any average monster or human. As he celebrates his 96th anniversary with Starlo, he reflects on the long life they had together.

(Also available on Archive of Our Own)

Dalv laid down a picnic blanket, and started placing down supplies. He brought a basket of freshly grilled corn cobs, a bottle of Adult Soda, and some golden flowers in a vase full of water.

After settling down and placing a cob on his plate, he began talking.

"So uh, it's been a while, hasn't it?" He stared at his cob, struggling to think of what to say next. "96 years we've been married. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. Me stepping out, seeing you in that suit, the smile beaming on your face... holding your hands as we spoke our vows..."

---

Dalv wiped his palms on his dress. He almost didn't even wear the dress, but Starlo was able to convince him last minute. He was nervous, but excited. Today was the big day.

He stepped out and looked across the long wedding hall. Starlo was standing on the other side, in that incredibly handsome suit, a smile beaming across his face. Next to him stood Clover, his person of honor.

Dalv walked calmly across the hall (it took all the strength in him to not immediately sprint into Starlo's arms) and took his place on the altar.

At once, the officiant began speaking. "I, EL BAILADOR, HAVE TASKED MYSELF WITH OFFICIATING THIS MARRIAGE."

Starlo shot Dalv a look. Dalv shot him a look back of 'Hey buddy, this was your idea'.

"We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of the Sheriff of this town, Starlo North Star, and his husband Dalv of the Dark Ruins." El Bailador posed dramatically between every phrase. Dalv was going to correct him, as he had been living in Snowdin for some time at that point, but he decided he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Two great members of the community, joined together in holy matrimony. Joined by PASSION, passion for each other, for the arts, for cowboy movies and organ music alike. Truly a match made in heaven. You may now speak your vows."

Starlo held his hands in Dalv's, and spoke first. "When I met you, I thought I already knew who I was. I was North Star, the sheriff, the lone wolf, among the willows, who don't need nobody to keep his bed warm. But... you filled a hole in my heart this ol' cowboy didn't even know he had. Thank you."

Dalv spoke next. "My starlight... When you met me, I was at my lowest. Alone, friendless, filled with regret over past mistakes... you helped me see past that. You pulled me out of the hole I was in, and helped me find myself again. That is to say, I'm lucky to have you. I will love you forever, until death do us part."

Until death do us part.

Til death do us part

...

---

Dalv grabbed out a handkerchief and dabbed it over his eyes. "Sorry... I told myself I wasn't going to..." He took some deep breaths to ground himself, before he resumed talking. "That was the happiest day of my life. And since then, my life's only gotten better. Sure, we had our rocky moments, our arguments, the multiple run-ins with the law I had to get you out of... but I like to think you changed me for the better. And I hope I was able to help you out too, while you were still around."

Dalv placed the vase of golden flowers at the foot of the grave.

Starlo "North Star"

2084 - 2179

The best Sheriff this side of the Underground.

Dalv stared at the cob in his hand, silently, in reflection.

"I finally cleaned up that room you kept your cowboy memorabilia in. I decided to give most of it to charity. I cried. I cried a lot. But... it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulder. I turned that room into a room for my organ practice. I didn't want to get rusty, and I like to imagine you're still there with me, listening along..."

Dalv dug around in the picnic basket. "I kept these. I felt that you would kill me if I ever gave them away, and I don't think I could ever convince myself to anyways."

Dalv placed a rusty, beat-up six-piece revolver at the foot of the grave. He grabbed a worn cowboy hat and placed it on top.

He paused for a few moments.

"People keep telling me to stop coming here," he eventually spoke. "And in fairness, it has been a while. But... I start to feel bad if I don't keep you company. I think I worry that... I'll move on. That I'll forget about you. That you'll become just another 'blip' to me. I don't want that to happen."

Another pause.

"I started seeing someone recently. She seems nice. We both share a passion for childrens entertainment! Though her taste in children's media is more Amphibiland whereas mine is more Dr. Moose. She plays the violin too. Her playing is lovely..." Dalv cut himself off. He was blushing. "Sorry, I was rambling again... It's nice to have found someone else I like."

"I remember on the day that... the day that I lost you." Dalv placed the cob down on his plate. "As I was standing next to your bed, holding your hand, you told me with your last breaths that... people move on. And that it's scary, and it hurts, but it's important to grow as people. I think often about those words."

"You were the last friend that I had left. After Ed, after Moray, after Mooch and Ace, and Martlet, and... Clover... I went against your word. I vowed myself to never get attached again. I couldn't afford to forget you. I couldn't afford to replace your memory with another friend, who I will have to lose all over again. Not in this long life I live."

"But recently I've been thinking about what Martlet said, on the day we sent Clover off. She mentioned how the short 'blips' in life can leave the biggest impacts. I suppose in the scale of my own life, you were a 'blip' too. I will continue to live for... as long as I do. And even though I won't be able to spend the rest of it with you, I'll still have the impact you left on me. So, thank you."

Dalv's phone began buzzing.

"Oh, I should probably get going soon, I don't wanna be late for our meetup..." Dalv got up and began packing the picnic supplies back into the basket.

Before leaving, Dalv turned around to look at the grave one last time. "See you around, space cowboy." He shot a finger gun before finally turning to leave.

#undertale yellow #undertale #corn yaoi #fanfic #art #uty dalv #uty starlo #fanart #shoutouts to corn nation

[megsiepoo]

            Baalzebub had been defeated. The news had not come as a surprise to Kallamar, but the loss of his final disciple came far sooner than he had hoped. Dread weighed heavy upon his shoulders, his body feeling stiff and cold as a corpse. As his acolytes gathered amongst him within his temple, as he awaited the arrival of the Lamb, Kallamar contemplated the actions that had brought him here.             His death was imminent, that much was clear, the Red Crown's swift return to Anchordeep heralding his doom. He did not propose the chaining of the Red Crown and its bearer, but he had not stopped his siblings either. And while he truly had argued on behalf of sheepkind, he too had slaughtered countless lambs; their blood stained his hands as much as it did any of his siblings. His bid for mercy had failed him; he could only pray that Shamura would never hear of his weakness and that the Lamb's blade cut swift and true.             As hoofsteps echoed throughout the outer halls, Kallamar tensed in anticipation. His acolytes, too, took their final places, daggers gripped tightly in their hands, ready to offer their devotion to their god. The door to the chamber swung open, and the Lamb stepped forth into the room, sword already in hand. They wore the same expression from before that Kallamar had not recognized, but as the Lamb's gaze bore into him, he recognized it now. Pity. Kallamar gnashed his teeth and drew himself to his full height, snarling down at the beast.

AAAAAAAAH new series up!

Previously known as the Salty B AU, I finally got around to renaming it! Curious what you guys think.

I started working on this months ago but kept getting distracted by other projects. I'm so thrilled to finally be working on it! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Thank you for all of the support, and feedback appreciated as always! Happy reading!

Also, content warning on this one for descriptions of gore and death.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cult of the lamb fanfic #cotl fanfic #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #kallamar #cotl kallamar #kallamar cotl #cult of the lamb kallamar #bishop kallamar #heket #cotl heket #cult of the lamb heket #bishop heket #shamura #cotl shamura #cult of the lamb shamura #bishop shamura #the lamb #the lamb cotl #Conspiracies of a Coward AU #CoaC AU #coac #conspiracies of a coward #character death #major character death

[thebluemoonjune]

The Sounds Of A Black Dahlia- Chapter 2

Family Affairs

Summary:

Michonne and Shane have a 'heart to heart'. Confessions and truths come out. Secrets everywhere. Things in the family are being set in motion.

The whole building was closed off as the police gathered everyone who wasn’t in the vestibule or main hall to take questions. Anyone who’d been seen slipping out during that time. She had made sure to let them know that he was with her on the second-floor balcony attached to the lounge before they segregated Rick, who’d been Holly’s date. Michonne had heard him whisper, ‘They killed her’ as the corpse rolled out. She was confused. How could he have known she was murdered? What was it that he was hiding? Who did he think was responsible for the young woman’s death? Why would they kill her? The more questions that plagued her, the more suspicious she grew of Rick. The longer she thought about what happened, the harder it became holding onto the fleeting illusion of security. Standing outside the dark 1:00 a.m. sky, the wind brushed against her exposed skin. A faint sound rang out in her clouded mind; each toll of the bell caused her heart to stammer, all while her body remained impossibly, unnaturally, and agonisingly rooted. It was almost as if she'd fallen into a catatonic state. Her silver heels and the hem of her red dress were the only objects in her sight. It was when a warm suit jacket dropped on her chilled, exposed shoulders that she’d freed herself from the cage she called her mind.

“Rick… Are they done?”

“For now, I guess…” Rick placed his hands in his pocket, staring at where Holly fell. “From what I can tell, they don’t got much to go on. This is tryna find a needle in a haystack.”

“You think someone killed her? You said it yourself; I heard you.” Michonne stepped closer, her brown pools stirring.

“I ain’t denying it. I know someone did.” He stepped closer as well, leaving no gap between the two. Unlike her jittery persona, Rick mimicked a predator on the prowl. “Gonna have to go to the station tomorrow. This is probably gonna be ruled a suicide. I’m sure that’d make you happy to know.”

“What do you take me for?”

“A liar for one.”

“You got some nerve! Let me make this absolutely clear—”

“Michonne!”

“Shane…”

“I heard what happened. You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m not the one who’s dead.” He places his hand on her back. In an attempt to comfort her. “Rick, I’m sorry, man. Would’ve come sooner if they ain’t have us hauled up in there.”

“No worries. I got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I’ll leave you two to it.” He pranced away, not giving them a heads-up as he waved them bye.

“Just like that?”

“Your brother’s date just died; he has to go to the station in the morning. Don’t be insensitive.”

“I ain’t tryna. He just left in a hurry; ain’t even take his jacket… You wanna talk?”

“Not right now. I’m ready to go.”

Shane got the driver ready whilst she waited. They bid goodnight to her in-laws and left, discreetly, unaccompanied by the media, clamouring for a spectacle on their backs. People rushed past each other on the sidewalks, cars honked and screeched on the streets, and sirens wailed in the distance. 

The car ride was silent for the first half, with the couple’s breath being the one indication of people in the back seat. Shane studied the way Michonne tilted her head towards the window. The lack of sound was overwhelming, so he went against his instinct and asked,

“Chonne, mind telling me what happened? Why you weren’t in the hall?”

The way her eye twitched was enough to tell him to stop pressing for an answer. He was thankful to know she was here, her heart still beating, body bumping with blood. He wouldn’t press on.

“You ain’t gotta answer… It must be hard.” He inched closed and interweaved their fingers.

“I’m sorry. I’m being unfair.”

“Nah. Like you said, I’m being insensitive.” As he diverted his gaze, Michonne spun her body to find a middle ground.

“Shane, I have something to tell you… Your father isn’t giving you control like you thought.”

“What? Where’d you get this from?” His brows progressively lifted in anticipation of clarification.

“I— Shane… I overheard your parents talking about it. Well, fighting if I’m being real here… Eleanor didn’t know; she let him have it in the second-floor lounge. He never intended to give you control, He hasn’t decided on a successor yet… I’m sorry.”

“No, no… No. Nah. You fucking with me? Is this about the same shit earlier?” His eyes squinted at the confused tangle of facts in front of him, irritation and disbelief visible in his expression. He didn't want it to be true. He needed it not to be.

“I am not that petty… It’s true. You can ask Eleanor. She’ll confirm it… I’m sorry.”

Shane sat there, licking his lips uncomfortably, indicating his inability to find the perfect words to communicate his perplexity. Not uttering a single word, the rest of the ride. His face turned blank, a sharp contrast to the resentment that had been present only moments before. After they made their way through the outer security gate, the Guard at the front of their horseshoe driveway ushered them in. Shane didn’t wait for her; hopping out of the car, his footsteps echoed from the granite walkway and steps, making heavy strides to their home. She grabbed her purse in hot pursuit.

“Shane!”

“I need to think!” He unlocked the front door and stormed down the hall to the living room, where he dawdled around, as if he couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go. 

“You still have your 3%.”

“And what the fuck am I gonna do with 3%?”

“You still have a say. You bide time till you’re in a position to fight back. Shane… He wants you to fight back. We’ll talk to K; you do your part. We need Eleanor too; she’s not going to accept this… Shane, do you really want this?”

“What?”

“Briton. You don’t have to…” drawing nearer and cupping his face to continue, “Is it worth it?”

“Yes, it’s worth it. I'm doing this for us, for them! It’s ours!”

“Alright, tomorrow, I’ll go to my mother. You remember my aunt, right?”

“The one married to Sean Monroe?”

“Yeah, I’ll get my mother to help facilitate a meeting. If we can win her, she can help us win over Deanna Monroe.”

“That’s…good.”

“When Morgan Jones comes back from the Bahamas, you’ll have a meeting. He thinks you’re taking over, we need to see if he’ll still take your side.”

“We’ll follow your idea.” His gaze held a warm intensity that whispered of deep affection. With her plan coming together at the last minute, she fell onto the couch with a pleased sigh.

…

Michonne gazed at Andre and Maliyah sleeping soundly in her bed. Sometimes when their dad wasn’t home, or ran late, they would sneak into her bedroom while she was in the shower, only to fall asleep before she had the chance to catch and send them back. If she was being honest, she didn’t mind these little antics at all. She would lengthen her bath sometimes just so they’d fall asleep waiting for her. Maliyah was a messy sleeper, often contorting her double-jointed body all over the place, making it hard to share a bed. Her big toe, currently in her brother’s nose. Michonne crackled to herself, fixing her distorted body. Admiring her three-year-old, her mind unexpectedly ran to Rick’s words on the balcony the night before.

“And what if I said Lori was part of it?”

“So you admit there are other reasons.”

“I admit that you’re gonna be crying soon. John made it so.”

He obviously intends to fuck everything up! How did he know about Lori? Did she say anything? What else does he know?

“I expect a visit from you soon. I’ll text my number.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Shane. Specifically, the children…”

“Is this a threat?”

“No, darling… But you need an offer from me. I don’t wanna be an enemy to you of all people.”

So Michonne… What’s the play… How do you deal with this… What does he even want from me? Fucking bastard!

Michonne ran to her dresser, picking up the rose-coloured diary Lori had entrusted her with. Shane never went through her stuff, except the night he rummaged through the house in a fiery rage four years ago, so he didn’t know about this. If Rick started whispering in her husband’s ear, she’d have to guard against it, for everyone’s sake. It was a can of worms that no one needed. He was already in the running for COO from what she gathered from Shane’s call before he went to the office. 

The kids’ room—that's where I’ll hide it for now.

And so it was. Michonne placed it in the kids’ shared walk-in closet, far from the children's reach. She was the only adult who entered here, not even the housekeeper, Mary, as Michonne preferred to clean the bedrooms herself. Leaving her kids to sleep upstairs for a while, she went downstairs for a glass of wine. She needed it. To her surprise, passing the living room to go to the kitchen and the wine cellar, she met her husband sprawled out on their U-shaped, navy blue corner sofa, tie loose on his neck, suit jacket on the side, brown eyes stuck on her in the dimly lit room. Michonne held her chest in momentary fright.

“I didn’t know you came in.”

“I thought you were sleeping… Ain’t wanna disturb you… The kids?”

“Asleep… In my bed.” Even standing a couple feet away, even in the dim room, she could see the tiredness and frustration in his eyes as they were motionless and far away. Not from her, but outside. Regardless of it, he still snickered at the news.

“Can’t catch a break… Can I get a drink?”

“Why? There is no reason to.”

“Ain’t you heading for a drink yourself?” His lips curled into a tired sneer.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Why else are you headed towards the kitchen? Why not?” Michonne sighed.

“I was but you know why. When you’re stressed, which you obviously are, you tend to not know when to stop.” She folded her arms.

“Just one glass… Just one.” They stared at each other for an entire minute before she gave in.

“All right. Just one then…”

She strolled over to her original destination, grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir from the cellar,  went to the kitchen to Shane’s rum cabinet and took an almost finished bottle of bourbon. Holding the bottles with one hand, she grabbed a wine and a rum glass with the other before returning to the living room. Shane cast his gaze on his wife’s every move. From her placing the two glasses on the large, rustic, handmade, blackwood coffee table Rick and he had made after their son was born. She sat, opened both bottles, poured each into their respective places, rested them back on the table, and got up, passing through the gold bead curtain, where she began setting ablaze the sandalwood incense on the corner table. Shane looked around the room, from the marble flooring and the family portrait to the abstract black, navy and gold mural, completely covering the wall behind him, that Michonne painted five years prior. They had made this home together for their family. When he spun back around, she was standing four feet away. He took in his wife. He thought her a peculiar person. Always prim and proper, only allowing a flaw within her bedroom. 

“Want me to play something?”

“Nah… come sit.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Shane raised his head gently, trying to calm his eyes. He didn’t kiss her, but instead gripped her chin, forcing her to look back at him. He drew her in closer, taking her on his lap and placing his left hand on her waist, his right hand on her jaw. They remained in that posture for a minute, just breathing each other in. On his breath, she could smell whisky. He hadn't drunk from the glass she poured yet, so it became obvious that he was drinking prior to returning home.

“This is good… It’s good”

“How much alcohol did you have before this?”

“I passed by a club with a few buddies of mine.”

“Why?”

“Destress, have fun... Don’t worry, I ain’t cheated on you. We both done had enough of the behind the back stuff, right?”

“Shane.”

“No need to pretend like it ain’t happened... It’s in the past… We’re grown enough to talk about it. At the time, I wanted to snap that pretty neck of yours, but, in hindsight, that’s quite the lick back. To think you almost had another man's baby.”

“I don’t want to talk about this—”

“I should’ve been at the hospital…” He tugged her back after she tried leaving. “When you got home and I saw her, I knew our little girl was a Walsh, that she had my blood.”

Shane kissed Michonne after she gulped. He didn’t stop, repeatedly capturing her lips so that when she breathed, he was the one she was taking in. She pushed his chest two times to distract herself from the sensations he was instilling in her, and he followed, grabbing her around the waist once more. Michonne put her arms around his neck, and they both felt as if they were about to fall. Michonne grabbed at the back of his shirt, wanting it off, as he raised her body to slide her panties down in a frenzy and she unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock. He was distracted by nibbling her, especially as he kissed down her jaw and began on her neck. 

Sex was a drug for both of them. It was how they solved their problems, regardless of what the problem was. They didn’t waste time with foreplay and she was already wet so she lifted her hips and lowered onto him. He grunted and air caught her throat. He held her tight as he slid his body down and she rested her head on his shoulder as the husband and wife went to work. They pounded till her shrieks entered a crescendo while both their climax drowned them. Shane felt his dick quiver and the warm dripping of his come painting his cock and her insides white. Descending from their highs, they clung to each other for a while, their chests heaving heavily and their noses buried in the creeks of the other’s neck.

“You still on your birth control?”

“Why?”

“Ain’t seen you take it recently.”

“My mind’s been hectic. I’ll take a pill in the morning.”

“Don’t bother. I think it’s time we had another kid… Lia’s three; I’m sure she won’t mind another sibling.”

“Is that something you want?” She lifted her head to see his face while he was still inside her.

“Of course… I’d have a hundred babies with you if possible. I never wanted you on birth control anyways… We weren’t in the best place at the time, so I never said nothing.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She turned away from him.

“Why can’t it be? We’ve hurt each other enough. A baby can mean so much. It can mean we forgave each other.”

“I thought we did.”

“Have we really?” His lips pulled into a half-formed, smile. “Every time we get into a scrabble or fight, you bring up the d-word. I know you don’t mean it; hell, you been saying it since forever, but it ain’t never made it easier; even if I’d never give you a divorce. You, the kids, y’all are the most constant thing that I care about in my life…”

“I’m not going to just up and leave. I promise you that, but what about her?”

“I told you—”

“You told me a lot of things. You told me that it was complicated, that the two of you had kids together, that she was in the picture before me, that it wasn’t her fault... that you loved her.”

“Michonne—”

Michonne carefully lifted herself from her husband, still very tender from their tumble, and rose from the sofa. She put on her panties, turning away from him. Michonne moved to the kitchen, grabbing the empty rum glass without looking back at him. 

A cruel man is what you are.

7 years 7 months prior

Michonne's delight shines through the windows of her eyes more brightly in the dawn.  There is a deeper sweetness in the morning that resonates within and finds a way to express itself. Michonne had that. Her first pregnancy was, on some days, an epic voyage of vomiting and sickness that lasted all day; other days, none at all, not even a smidgeon. She'd gotten up late that day yet miraculously managed to kiss her spouse goodbye, nausea and all. She wrangled her will, snatched a book from her unread collection, and marched downstairs, reluctant to spend the day in bed. Her nutritionist, whom Eleanor had 'given' to the couple after her pregnancy was revealed, prepared her a well-portioned and balanced meal that she could eat and that she much loved. In the group chat, she texted Sasha and Maggie, beckoning them to come visit and keep her company. She was reading 'The Paris Wife' by Paula McLain while waiting for her friends when the house phone rang. Michonne got up, fully expecting it to be her mother-in-law, but was met with the unfamiliar voice of a woman, a young woman.

“Hello. You must be Michonne.” The woman giggled on her end.

“This is her. Who is this? Do I know you?”

“Yes! I know you—very very well, but you don’t know me, not yet at least.” There was a sing-song pitch to her voice.

“Look, I don’t have time for nonsense—”

“I have news about your husband. You’ll want to hear it.”

“Who is this?”

“I’m Jessie. Jessie Anderson… Shane and I have been together for over four years, now.” Michonne held still, attempting to digest what she had just been told. “We have a son together; he’s three. And I’m currently pregnant again—almost seven months. I was wondering if we could meet up. You know… talk?”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Jessie. Jessie Anderson. I understand it’s a lot to take in but—”

“Jessie, don’t call this house again, or I’ll have you served.” She disconnected the phone and hurled it across the living room with unexpected strength. Her demeanor soon grew misleadingly serene, her astonishment confirmed by a vain popping grip on the living room bookcase next to her.

That woman just wanted to stir up trouble! How dare she say something like that? It’s not true true; I know it’s not…

Present

Shane sprang up, hurriedly adjusting his clothing and striding after her. She had already rinsed the glass. He noticed her standing in the center with a dish towel, but her eyes hadn’t risen from the icy grey tiles. He couldn’t help running his fingers through his black hair with shaking hands. It was unclear how long they remained at a stand-still, but his gaze never left her, not once. He quietly walked over and embraced her from behind, resting his chin atop her head.

“Can you give me some time?”

She heard him. She heard the begging and the worry in his voice, though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to answer his question. His grip tightened.

…

Walking through the stone garden, full of Saucer Magnolia trees, the bustling sound of murmurs greeted the four of them. Sasha agreed to accompany her and the kids back to her maiden home, given Michonne had long ceased to have the mental fortitude to deal with her maiden family, especially that of her mother and older sister. It was understood that there’d be a clash for blowing them off at the party, though she’d hoped they’d let it go given the unfortunate catastrophe that took place, it nevertheless became apparent when her mother didn’t come out to greet her and the butler had been rather ‘formal’ even to her children. Two could play that game. Just because she wanted something didn’t mean she’d become the begging dog; they’d do well to remember they needed something from her too. They sat at one of the woodland stone tables where guests gathered.

“Andre, sweety.”

“Mama?”

“I won’t keep you here to bore you. Go play, but you know the rules.”

“Sweet!” 

He dug deep into his mother’s Birkin bag with level speed in search of his case holding his marbles. The little fox didn’t even wait for any other words from his mother or his aunt Sasha, simply taking off with a wide, mischievous grin on his face.

“That little brat!” Sasha let out all her playful shock, fixing little Lia in her hand. “AJ didn’t even wait! Who in God’s green heaven does that little twerp take after?”

“Well, at least he’s not craving your attention today.”

“Does that mean he’s growing up?” She pouted. “Our baby’s growing up!”

“More like he’s acting his age.” Michonne giggled at her best friend’s overreaction while she reached over to stroke her daughter’s chubby, dimpled cheek.

“Mama? Can I go?”

“Oh, baby girl… No, you can’t.” Michonne wouldn’t let her run freely with all these people present. Maliyah was smart, but small for her age. “Hang out with me and your aunt Sash then later, we’ll get that bike I promised you, I’d even get you a doll. It’s that okay?”

“You prowmise!”

“I promise, baby! I promise.”

“Can we go see Daddy?”

“Uhm, I don’t know, babygirl. Daddy’s really, really busy with work.”

“Oh.”

“How about after we leave, we call your dad and ask? If he’s too busy, let’s go to the playground and have fun.” Sasha kissed her cheek and patted her curly, dark hair, and she in turn smothered her petite face in her aunt’s neck.

The children missed their father. He’d been coming home late for months and with the recent transition of CEO, they barely saw him anymore. Andre, being the ‘big boy’, pretended it didn’t affect him; Lia, on the other hand, being a daddy’s girl, didn’t take it well. Michonne and Sasha stared at each other, not knowing how to respond.

“Michonne! Sasha!”

“Jocelyn! Hey!”

“Jocelyn…” Sasha couldn’t pretend to have Michonne’s enthusiasm for the woman who stood before them nor did she care to.

“I didn’t expect to see you both here, especially you, Michonne, since everything happened to that girl. It must’ve been hard for your family; I mean, it’s not the first time something like that has happened. Bad luck, I guess.” This caught the attention of the nearby women. Sasha rolled her eyes; Michonne, however, graced her with a smile.

“Ah yes, it’s been hard for my family; no one likes to witness death; I’m sure it’s harder on the victim’s family. It would be insensitive and tone-deaf to the ones truly affected by this tragedy. As for my attendance today, I should take the time to visit my maiden home when I have the chance, shouldn’t I?” Michonne sat in anticipation of a response, while Sasha smirked, eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

“Your right. Well, I should leave you to it.” They watched her walk away when Sasha spat out all her disgust.

“That fucking bitch… This is why I hate coming to these dumb things. How you have the patience, I’ll never know.” Maliyah perked up, reminding her aunt of her presence.

“You said naughty words!”

“Those aren’t words for you to repeat. If I catch you saying it, I’ll beat your bum. Don’t say that word; that’s a bad word.”

Michonne was about to add to the discussion when a young man, probably a worker on the estate, whispered a message intended for her ears only. It was from her, a childhood friend who happened to be the daughter of her old nanny, who worked here like her mother did. The more she heard, the more her chilling stare drilled into an unseeable foe, making it difficult for the other ladies to ignore the shift in aura. As she leapt up from her seat, her mouth pinched shut, as if keeping back what she truly was tempted to say, although her tensing jaw, expanding chest, and toned shoulders pushed back made her tiny body appear larger and more formidable, indicating her deep ire.

“Michonne? What is it?” Sasha, knowing her friend, asked in an effort to help.

“You stay with Lia I have a bit of family issues to address. I’ll be back.” And with that, she marched off, not spearing a second thought.

When Michonne arrived, her eyes met with her son’s, who was bleeding from a slash on his face, kneeling on the floor. He was teary as he bit his lip, trying not to cry in front of these irreverent people. Not only did John despise it, but her boy was as proud as she was and would never allow outsiders to see him that way, even though he was just a six-year-old boy. Her blood began to boil but she kept her face and tone neutral and almost lifeless as she addressed the adult, ignoring Macie’s son and the maid who stood with them. Her family was very ‘ traditional ’. Michonne knew they were going to beat him. She cast her head straight ahead at the woman she called mother.

“What is this and why is my son bleeding?” She walked to her child.

“Before you come in guns blazing, Mrs. Pompous, he did it to himself! It’s my Kyle you should be showing concern about! We had to pull that animal off him! On top of that, he broke the jade vase that Mom just won at the auction last week and called my child illegitimate and me a prostitute!”

“I didn’t; they’re lying!”

“Did you?” She made sure to watch his every movement, though she already knew the truth. Just in case.

“I called them names because he hit me first! I didn’t do the other stuff! They’re lying! Mom, I’m telling the truth.” She stroked his curly black hair and pulled him closer.

“I know, baby. I know.” She whispered, giving him comfort that she was on his side.

“Kyle said you did so you did! Plus, the maid saw it.”

“Is that so?”

“Instead of antagonising everyone, you should do your duties as a mother; he should be punished and apologise for his action. He behaves like this because he sees how you act.”

So this is what it’s about...  The party? Trying to embarrass me, trying to punish me by using my child, okay…

Michonne stared coldly at her mother and felt sick to her stomach. Even at her own all-white party, Michelle Marie Hawthorne stood in a dark green knee-length Chanel dress with cream-coloured pearls on her neck and hair in a neat side part bob cut, right hand placed gracefully over her left right above her belly as overseer, all her close friends watching. She wanted her to stoop to her, but she would not, nor would her baby boy.

“Sweetheart, say your piece.” He looked up at her and she nodded in approval.

“We were playing marbles and I won all of ‘em!”

“No, you didn’t! You cheated!” Kyle finally came out from behind his mother, showing his black eye.

“Yes, I did! He didn’t wanna pay up so I took ‘em myself! And then, he hit me and we started fighting, and then the vase broke! When I was on top of him, he cut my face! So I beat him up some more and called him names!”

“He’s a liar! He cut himself!”

“Just because you got caught doesn’t mean you get to blame my son! The maid saw it!”

“And what exactly did your maid see? How did my son cut his face? What’s your name?”

“Vivian…”

“Well, go on, Vivian; let’s hear and don’t stall!”

“You! This is not your place; you don’t get to come to my house and disrespect the individuals here! Including your older sister.”

“I’m just trying to find out what happened, mother. Vivian.”

“Well, uh… He wanted the young master’s marbles and when he wouldn’t give them to him, she started attacking the young master verbally and physically, so much so that I had to pull him off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. He was acting like an animal.” The young woman took a stance similar to that of the matriarch standing at the front. Macie was going to add but Michelle raised her palm to cease.

“Michonne.”

“Mother.”

“Since the truth is out and there’s a witness, no need for this wild display any longer. And since you cannot discipline him well, I’ll do it as his grandmother. Vivian, get the stick.”

“My son is many things but a liar isn’t one of them. My son never lies. Look at the other one. Have him open his hands.”

“Why are you blaming him?” Her sister snapped in annoyance.

Michonne didn’t even look at her sister and mother. She walked over to her nephew, prying his hands open, revealing a piece of the broken antique jade vase. She took it and tossed it on the floor for the room to see. Strolling back to her son, who gazed at her with soft eyes and a grin, he held her hand and gave a teasing gaze to Kyle. Vivian got quiet as she bowed her head, not daring to add more.

“Malicious woman!”

“I am deeply sorry! I—” She turned to Michelle, then to Macie. Neither gave attention.

“Kyle should not have raised his hand first and Andre should not have called him names or tried to take what wasn’t his; it led to this mess. But still, it was squabbles of children. It was just a vase. No real harm done. Let us leave this here.”

Michonne’s giggle was soft and tinged with fascination at the situation. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tried to take her breath in response to the criticism directed at her kid.

“AJ, baby?”

“Yes, mom?”

“Do you know where you went wrong?”

“Mhmm…” His voice was hushed. “I shouldn’t have called him bad names and fought him—”

“Wrong! I taught you to defend yourself. If someone hits you first, then by all means you have the right to hit them back, but I also thought you should come to me when I’m there.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You shouldn’t have called him names but that’s not your fault; it’s mine.” She said it louder so everyone could hear it. “It’s my fault for speaking such things as the child’s birth around him.”

“You shouldn’t have said it in the first place!”

“Why not?” She covered her son’s ears. “Is it not the truth? Did you not go after your best friend’s married father and destroy a home? Is your child not a product of your behaviour? You go after any wealthy man you can get your hands on, regardless of who they belong to. You’re a high-class prostitute, a courtesan if we’re being classy.” Michonne brushed her locs back nonchalantly.

“How dare you; you bitch?”

“The responsibility of André’s discipline falls to me and his father. Touch my child again and see…”

“You should clear this up, Mother, lest others think my son is going around bullying his cousin because he believes himself better, an opinion you and Macie seem to share.”

“Are you going against me?”

If I don’t put a stop to this today, there is sure to be a next time. I’ve gone through it enough with these people, but it ends today. I won’t put my children through it again, bridges be damned!

“My child was accused of things he didn’t do; an adult lied on his name and you and Macie even intended to beat him without so much of a hesitation! His face was even cut in the process. Do you think what Kyle and the maid did was right? If he’s right, André will have to bear the fallout. Think about it carefully. If they are wrong, then there should be some punishment, like what you wanted to inflict on my son. Tell me.”

“You disrespectful—”

“Would you rather I lie? Would that feed your ego better? Would that make you feel better and finally give my son some justice?”

“How dare you!”

“Mother, you should do the right thing.” Michonne only knew her brother had entered the fray when he stepped next to her, backing her up. “The maid should be fired. As for him, give him the stick.”

“How can you just choose her side? Am I not your sister too? Is he not your nephew too?”

“It’s not about sides! It’s about principles! He actively lied to get someone else in trouble. What kind of vindictive shit is that?”

“Michael, don’t play favourites! They are both your sisters. I decided to let it go so that, as cousins, they should not hold grudges against each other. I will deal with Vivian.”

“You talk to Mike about favouritism? You’ve been playing favourites my whole life.”

“Chonne… Don’t.” She ignored her brother’s plea.

“No. I have never been able to get away with any of the shit that both Mike and Macie have done. Not once! I didn’t understand then, but I’m not a kid anymore. I did everything I was supposed to do. The two friends I have are a result of my knowing my place.”

“Ungrateful! After everything Mom and Dad have done for you, to stand there and make it sound like you’re some victim! But what was I expecting? You’ve always been a pompous, self-absorbed, attention-seeking bitch who always got what she wanted. You had your whole life planned out for you and it still isn’t enough. You fucking bitch.”

“It just irks you that I’m better than you in every single way, doesn’t it? Whether it’s grades, the arts, or just any attention I got from others at all. You are such a jealous—”

“So you admit your father and I treated you fairly.”

“Fairly? There was a point in my life when I wasn’t allowed friends mother, when Mike and Macie were. They were allowed that and going out and make mistakes. Mike could kill someone and he’ll still be your sweet boy. Any affection I got was tangent on my behaviour and how I reflected on our family. Macie is so jealous of my marriage that she should’ve had. And we all know even your friends watching us know why.”

“What are you talking about, bitch?”

“Shhh, Mace, I’m getting to that. I wasn’t supposed to marry Shane… You were. But because of your love for married men, you got knocked up and Mom and Dad couldn’t give you the life you wanted because of your actions. In our oh-so-traditional family, you got knocked up and nothing from them! Nope, nothing! They just quietly moved on to me. So you see, dear sister, I’m not the one they planned for.”

“The life that you have now is because your father and I gave it to you.”

“Yes, I can’t dispute that… However, I remember Dad’s words, I’m a Walsh; my responsibility is to my current family, so my children have nothing to do with you nor do I. This is the last time I’ll come here.”

“Disrespectful child!”

Michonne gripped her son tight and bypassed every single person, not spearing a glance. She was dead serious. Both she and Sasha decided to make good on their commitment. When they arrived, Sasha took the kids inside so Michonne made a call. No one would hurt or use her children and she’d never let this incident go, waiting for the right time for a home run. The first step in this was to let her spouse know. Shane, however, was currently on the necks of his board of directors.

“What are we? Answer. That’s a real question.”

“Our business model is scalable: Our brand fuels many value propositions and generates diverse revenue streams. Briton's business isn’t just about making movies and selling news; it’s also about creating and sustaining brands.” The short, curly-haired man named Aaron stated it matter-of-factly.

“Exactly!”

“That being said, we are an all-American multinational mass media and entertainment conglomerate that people want to see fail... Becoming a monopoly is not the best move.” Aaron surmised, knowing it was not what Shane wanted to hear. Soon after, an Asian woman chimed in.

“He right. Maybe we should slow down and focus on our current situation. Stabilising is the most important thing. Let me say, may that girl rest in peace, but the bad press is hurting us and we have the issue with the bank.”

“We’re already a fucking monopoly. Bad press; what a fucking joke. We’re a fucking multi-media company. Who’s fucking us, huh? Who, just who’s gonna tell my old man no? Yumiko, I get it… I do.” Her shrewd decisions were why the company survived the last depression without any major damage, he’d still fight. “It still don’t mean shit. If we privatise, it helps?”

“Well, yes but that is not—” A phone rang.

“Hold on…” Shane hurried out, putting his phone in his ear.

“Babe. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“You can’t rely on my family... I kind of disowned them... about fifteen minutes ago.”

“What happened? The phone went quiet. “Chonne, talk to me.”

“They slashed your son’s face.”

“You serious? You being real right now?

“Yeah, I’m being dead serious!”

“You did the right thing. I deal with this when I get home. Where are you now?”

“With Sash, at a fun house, trying to lift the kids’ spirit…”

“That’s good. They need it… Babe, I gotta go—”

“Shane, wait!” She sucked in heavily. “Can we come by… Babe, the kids miss you.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t. I’m swamped. I gotta important meeting. I only took a break to take this call.”

“I get it; I do. Can you at least come home early?”

“I don't—I don’t know, but I’ll try.”

“You have to go to Ronan today. You can’t miss it.”

“Ah shit. I forgot… I’ll be there, but I gotta go. I’ll see you later. Love you.”

…

The lush emerald leaves fluttered in the air, their faces gleaming in the sun. The falling leaves seemed to be having a constant, quiet conversation, their murmurs and whispers filling the air and rustling as the wind blew across them. With the garden in full bloom, the air was filled with the scent of early May. Michonne didn’t care for the mansion, but for the large, peaceful gardens she stood in and for the azure blue sea that sprawled far and wide and blended with the sky on the distant horizon concealed behind the frigid white mansion's walls. Her eyes were unfaltering yet soft while she focused on the sounds. At times, raging waves slammed against the cliffs, and the ocean’s voice turned into a chorus of screaming giants. At times, the ocean’s rhythm was like a soothing pulse, a continual reminder of nature's presence, as it is now. She closed her huge brown eyes, absorbing everything, until the sound of a heavy, uneasy footstep jolted her out of her reverie. Magna stared at Michonne as though she were studying a paper. From her grey, satin, dolman-sleeve knee-length dress to her black T-strap heels. Michonne stared back at her, calm and composed. Not a ripple in sight.

“May I help you?”

“Oh, no. Mind any company?”

“Make yourself at home. Any guest of ‘my good brother’ is a guest of me.”

“Thank you.” Magna took a deep breath and rubbed her chest.

“Your first pregnancy?”

“How—”

“Try ginger. It’s old-fashioned, but it works. Until then, have a mint; it’ll help.”

“Thank you…” She stared cautiously at the mint as Michonne smiled with a stretched hand.

“You are very welcome. Walk with me?”

“Oh, alright.” Michonne hooked their arms together at Magna’s confirmation, strolling through the garden.

“So how did you meet, Monty?”

“A mutual friend introduced us.”

“And did this mutual friend happen to introduce you at one of his ‘special’ parties?” A momentary look of discomfort crossed Magna’s pretty face. “I’m not judging you, but a word from the wise, don’t let anyone know. Even if Kendall is friendly, don’t trust her. What’s your sexuality?”

“I’m bi… Monty already told me about his grandfather; he’s—”

“Traditional… He doesn’t care who you fuck; certain family ‘associates’ might... Don’t bring up politics; speak less, listen more. You need to change how you dress; you’re trying too hard.” Michonne stared her up and down. Processing the white and pink, long-sleeved floral dress, yellow straw sun hat, and pink pumps.

“What makes you say that?” Her lips grew thin and firm, breaking from Michonne, like she’d touched something hot.

“The men might not notice but the women definitely will. Let me take a guess about you… An aspiring actress or model. You were raised poor. You’re the oldest of three, maybe four, girls. Your mother wasn’t in the picture, that’s for sure. Probably dead… No, probably left when you were young, leaving your dad to raise you. Anger issues and Juvie?” Michonne saw her muscles stiffen. “Should I go on?” Spasms of irritation ran laps across her face. Just as she was ready to lash out, Michonne switched gears. “Do you like flowers?”

“What? Uh, I guess?”

“I love flowers... I love their beauty, I love watching them grow and I love the different meanings they hold… Do you know this one?” Michonne reached out to touch one of the deep, dark crimson flowers in front of them.

“No, they’re pretty.”

“Hmm, these are called black dahlias. They represent death, betrayal and anguish and should not be given carelessly.”

“Why the hell would they grow them here?” Michonne tilted her head to the side inquisitively at her question and chuckled.

“Ronan’s third wife gifted him this flower the day before she was murdered, so he plants them.”

“Wow…”

“Yes, and yet I can’t think of a place more fitting for it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Michonne’s face never once fluctuated throughout this entire conversation. Magna took a clear look at her and came to the realisation that, though she still had that polite smile on her face, her eyes gave away nothing; they were empty. Those brown pools of hers read her like a book yet revealed nothing unless it willed it. Monty had made it clear that she should get closer to her. But she didn’t understand why. The woman next to her was dangerous. 

This is a bad idea, Monty! I don’t think—

“Monty sent you to me, didn’t he?”

“How—” Michonne began to circle her like she was a cornered rabbit.

“You know the difference between Monty and a condom? Condoms have evolved; they’re not so thick and insensitive anymore…I may not like him, but I admit he’s insensitive and ignorant, not stupid. He understands there are certain things he won’t be adept at dealing with. We women fight differently; we’re more calculated, and quiet. Even so, just as ruthless and important. Women underestimate the power they hold…”

“Can I trust you?” Magna decided it best to just come straight out and ask. “Can I?” Michonne stopped moving and bore deep into her before letting out a booming laugh at her silly question.

“No! You can’t… Monty miscalculated… Now that you shared this thought, I hope it made room for something smart?”

“Excuse me?”

“A piece of advice... I would hide my pregnancy for as long as possible and after that, watch what I ate and drank and my back. If I could figure it out, so could Eleanor, Andrea, and others... I’ll leave you to it then.”

Walking back to the mansion, Michonne could sense someone’s attention on her. Certain it wasn’t Magna, she came to an absolute standstill. Her lips opened, but she uttered nothing. She immediately clenched her jaw, gnawing on her bottom lip as an innate response to the jumbled mix of ideas in her head, and turned to confront his commanding gaze. They stood there in their silent battle until Michonne broke eye contact and went on her way. Entering the gathering room on the ground floor, she joined her mother-in-law on the white, vintage velvet settee, where she was having a glass of red wine. Her legs lapped as she watched Andre and Maliyah torment each other. Eleanor wore a white lantern-sleeve, button-up silk shirt with red, high-waisted trousers and a lip to match. Her jet-black hair wasn’t slick back today; she wore it in a wavy retro bob and white Mary Jane platform pumps on her feet. It didn’t matter where she was or who she was with; Eleanor had to look good. Michonne couldn’t help but sigh.

“You look lovely.”

“Naturally.”

“Did those two knuckleheads give any trouble while I was out?”

“Other than harass each other? Nah… What happened to his face?”

“My nephew… It’s a clean cut. It won’t scar. It won’t happen again.”

“Say away from those people… That thing with John, I’ll talk to Ronan about it later.” Michonne nodded in acceptance, at the same time she saw Magna enter with Monty, gaining Eleanor’s attention. “What’s that boy thinking?”

“He brought her... He’s definitely serious…”

“Is she pregnant? Is that why he’s doing it?”

“I don’t… think so... I spoke to her in the gardens earlier; she even asked for a cigarette before I told her I don’t smoke… You dislike her?”

“Well, look at her. She dresses like she’s playing doll house and she’s the fucking doll. She’s so fucking easy to read; her intentions here aren’t pure… at all.”

“Are anyone’s intentions pure?”

“No, but she’s too obvious, and not in an endearing way. Sometimes I wonder if Monty is right in the fucking head. She can’t help him; she’s not like you, me, or even the blonde hussy in the other room; she has nothing to offer, and she doesn’t know our ways. She’s green. Far too green.” Michonne leaned in a hushed voice to retort,

“I didn’t know anything either and look, I made it. I think she has something there. Look at you. You came from nothing and did well for yourself. I don’t think you should write her off just yet. Monty seems to actually love her.”

“It’s not the same thing. You may’ve been sheltered but learned quickly, you were a part of this life. And I… I did whatever necessary. Not judging her because she’s poor… She just doesn’t have it… She relying on Monty, is the dumbest fucking shit I have ever bore witness to. Relying on a man? I’ll trust a thief with my money before I do that! I learned long before I got married that John wasn’t shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know it; you’ve seen it... Two months before I married, a woman contacted me. Jacqui, that was her name… Told me she was pregnant and John was the father. Part didn’t want to accept it. Believe it or not, there was a time when I’d been in love—with him. I made it clear to her not to contact me again—I ignored it for a whole month! That was until I saw ‘em—saw how he looked at her. He’d never looked at me that way and I had to know why. So, I found out where she worked and showed up at her job… I understood exactly why. She had it—that thing that men loved. Do you know what I’m talking about?” Eleanor replenished her wine glass.

“No.” Michonne swallowed the saliva stuck in her throat. Her entire body felt cold, though there was no draft. Eleanor’s eyes made the hair on her body perk up. Her mother-in-law downed her glass, refilling it.

“Yes, yes you do... She was pretty, but she had nothing on me. However, she had it. All the things that aroused feelings of love and affection in men. She even had this air of innocence that could trick you… There, I stood in front of a woman my fiancé was in love with, who was also carrying his baby… I told her to get rid of it, but she wouldn’t so I warned her and left... I wonder how it felt for him not being able to marry her… Jacqui was black, you see… I may’ve been poor, but to those he was doing business with at the time—those he aligned himself with when he was digging his way to power—she held no benefit. You know those ‘ conservatives ’. Different time, I guess... “

“And you? What happened after?”

“I remember the face he had when she lost that baby. Remember well. He still married me though, because he knew right then what he needed by his side. I would never get his love, and I lost whatever affection he had for me as time went on. It didn’t matter to me. That man is so much worse than I’d ever be. The things he could think of, my mind could never conceive... I might be going to hell, but John sure is coming with me. Shane and Monty—they’re too much like their father to have just anyone by their side. The girl’s too green. Her eyes are bigger than her stomach. She’s going to cause problems sooner or later.” Michonne didn’t know how to respond and her chest felt heavy. Luckily, Maliyah came running in her lap, mouth pouting far, while her blue pools filled with tears as if the world had wronged her.

“Mama!”

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

“AJ pulled my hair!” Michonne grabbed her closer and began to soothe her brown, shaggy curls, kissing her dimpled cheeks.

“Andre,” Michonne called with a critical squint.

“Nuh-uh! No, it’s her fault! She wanted my iPad and got her hair tangled in my chain. That’s not my fault! I never told her to fight me.”

“My… Why are you fighting your sister?”

“I wasn’t fighting! I just don’t wanna give her my iPad. It’s mine!”

“Can’t you two share?”

“Why? it’s mine… I don’t touch her dolls…” He turned his face away, scrunching his nose to high heaven with a pointed chin. Eleanor, watching this, grinned, completely letting it envelop her face. She rubbed freshly trimmed curly black hair.

“He’s right. What his, is his. I get it, but you and Shane spoil her too much. She can’t have everything.” Hearing her grandmother’s words, Lia buried her face in her mother’s bosom. Andre calmed and settled between Eleanor and his mother.

“I know… I’m trying; I am... Shane doesn’t help. He makes it hard being the stern parent when he lets her get away with murder.”

“Of course it’s him.” She sighed. 

“Lia?”

“Mama?”

“You do know I have to comb your hair in time for dinner now, right?”

“No…” Her bottom lip protruded.

“Yes…”

“Eleanor?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m taking Lia up stairs.”

“Go. I’ll watch Mr. Man here.”

…

Michonne quickened her pace to try catching up to her energetic daughter when she saw a familiar but unwelcome person holding her. His gaze was gentle, complimented by a comely smile—a smile she was once fond of. She saw Maliyah tug on his beard and a strong, joyful laugh fell from his mouth. Michonne paused her steps at the sight that befell her and her chest tightened and her entire body became impossibly still. Nausea swept over her in a wave. The sound of her heartbeat was overwhelming in the silence as she gathered the mental fortitude to confront him. She stood firm, ready to take back her child, but he made no sudden movements, simply kissing Lia on her temple. After what felt like forever, his piercing blue eyes glanced up at her, beating a rush of excitement in her chest, only to bring his gaze back to her child.

“She’s just perfect, ain’t she?”

“She is; I think I’ll keep her.” Michonne stretched her hands to take her; however, Rick pulled back.

“Hey, Mal… You don’t mind getting to know me a bit, right? I’m sure if you say yes, your mama will agree.”

“Mama? Can I play with Uncle Rick? Pwease?” She knew her child better than herself. The little brat didn’t want to comb her hair. She knew when to be cute to get her way—when to get her needed attention.

“Lia, please, let’s not—” She knew it was pointless, so she simply asked, “Where’s Carl?”

“Keeping the old man company. Where’s your husband? With the mistress?”

“You are not doing this with my daughter here. Give her to me.” Rick looked back and forth between the two.

“You’re right. She didn’t need to hear this, but we ain’t done talking.” He kisses Lia once on her crown as he sees a maid leave Ronan’s bedroom and flag her over. “Sweetpea, I need to say a few things to your mama for a bit. Can you go with Miss Carla so she can take you to Grandma? Just for a little while.”

“Okay…”

“Good girl.” He handed her over. His eyes were still and he never left her until she was out of sight. That’s when he decided to grace her with his gaze again. “Look at her... Perfect.” He opened the door to Ronan’s study so they could talk without prying eyes.

“What is it? What do you want from me?”

“I told you to expect a call from me.”

“I got no such call.”

“I never said you did. I had to settle Carl first… I talked to Shane; he helped me get Carl into the same school as your boy.”

“What are you doing here, Rick?”

“I’m back with my family... Am I not allowed?”

“Cut the bullshit! We both know damn well that you’re not here for them. And what’s this about you being COO? How did you even push Cophe out when John was set on him? Your brother loves you, so whatever you’re planning, leave him out of it. I don’t know what you think happened to Lori but it was suicide.”

“You and Lori were close leading up to her death; don’t try bullshitting me, she told me herself… I’m gonna ask you some questions and you will answer me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, you better. A lot is dependent on how you behave, darling.”

“Rick.”

“Was Lori pregnant when she passed?”

“Ye—Yes.”

“Who was the father?”

“I think I—I don’t know—”

“Who do you think? Be honest.”

“John… I saw them once, just once…”

“You saw ‘em… Who else? Did she mention anything suspicious? Like name or—”

“Rick. I can’t; I made a promise. Please.” A momentary look of discomfort crossed her face as she glanced around, not focusing on anything; she didn’t meet his eyes. Rick took her arm.

“Think about Carl.”

“I am thinking about him. It’s why I can’t say anything. If you care about your son, don’t. Just don’t. You are not the one that matters here.” He released her but kept the gap closed and bent his face to her ear.

“And your family ain’t got nothing to do with this? You’re still so selfish, even after all this time… Let me ask you this. Who is Maliyah’s real father?” Her eyes flicked for a millisecond; however, she managed to rope it back in and kept her tone deceptive even as she gave a mocking crackle.

“What the hell are you on about? I’m not doing this; you’re crazy!” As she walked away, he pulled her back.

“I told you Lori was one of the reasons I came back. I’m giving you another one… You let another man raise my child all this time… Fucking me over once ain’t enough?”

“You’re insane!”

“You’re a fucking liar!” He grabbed her face. “All you do is lie! Can you tell the truth for a goddamn change? Or is that beyond you? You’re such a piece of fucking work. God, you drive me crazy! You take me for a fool; you always have... Tell me the truth.” Michonne’s lips were wide, hanging loosely in a forlorn mental state.

“I had my reasons. You know I did…” Her eyes were scarcely open, yet he noted how they glistened with unshed tears. They fell when she whispered, “I’m sorry…” He nodded in rapid motion in acceptance. His slight smile gave way that he was trying to overcome. “I’m sorry…”

“How long… how long did you know? Was it before I left or—”

“Rick…”

“Just tell me.”

“Before… Rick. I had my reasons.”

“Why? After a whole other woman, two miscarriages, two outside children, the drugs… Do you love him that much?”

“It’s not that simple... I do love my husband… He and I have hurt each other so much so, I’ve lost count. It’s unfair for me to expect more from him when he’s just not built to be a good person. He’s not like you, and he never will be. I didn’t stay with him because I loved him. That may sound like a contradiction to you, but it’s the truth.”

“So why? Are you in love with him?”

“I—I honestly couldn’t say... I don’t know... As for why, there are many reasons.”

“Like what? You gonna stand here and tell me you destroyed everything that I worked for—that we did, you gave a man my child and you ain’t even sure of your goddamn feelings for him. Nah, you better start talking.”

“It’s so easy for you. You can call me selfish, but you’re the most selfish person I know! You want to know... Well, for one, I had my son to think about!” She yelled, banging her chest, locking in a heated glare with her former lover. “I’m a piece of work? Well, you make me sick!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah?”

Rick snatched her by the waist and they stared as though hypnotised. His eyes conveyed vulnerability that she saw only when he was with her all that time ago, and before she could say a thing, he had covered her full lips with his own. As the kiss deepened, his right hand was caressing her all over, soon finding its way under her dress. She was like the opposite of Shame plant, wrapping his arms around his neck unconsciously. When his finger made way to enter her, Michonne ceased his hand, snapping away from his lips, thwarting any movement from either of them till her hands jerked back like she’d touched fire. She covered her mouth and adrenaline jolted through her veins, signaling her to leave.

“So much for making you sick.”

Anger rushed in the moment the shock faded at his arrogance, and she pushed past him, not willing to face her partner in crime and bolted down the staircase. Magna watched Michonne from across the room. She seemed different from their encounter. Frazzled, on edge. Her arms were wrapped around herself while she tiptoed over to her kids.

What’s her deal? Where did she come from?

“I don’t like her.”

“Come on, Magna.”

“I thought you said she’d help?”

“I told you to try and get her on your side. You didn't; that’s on you.”

“Screw you.”

“You’re already doing that, Blondie.” Monty sipped on his glass of gin and cast a gaze on his sister-in-law. “You may not like what she said, and you sure ain’t gotta; however, she’s danced this song longer than you can dream. If she says your fucking trash, that’s what the hell you are.”

“Wow, what good moral support.”

“I ain’t here to hold your hand; it’d do you more harm than good if I did hold your hand.”

“She told me to hide my pregnancy for as long as possible.”

“She did? She knows?” Monty’s hand was only a few inches away from the glass’s stem when his eyes dilated, his usual conciseness replaced with foggy scepticism.

“She said that if she could tell, so would others, like your mom could find out as well, and that when it does finally come out, to be careful.”

“I see. I don’t think she’s told Mom anything yet. You should’ve told me this first… She says she won’t help but she kept it, huh?” His face brightens like a glowing sign, and he forfeits his body to the revelry, tracking Michonne’s every move. “She ain’t change a bit; still so soft.”

“But she said she won’t help.”

“She won’t go out of her way, but unlike the others, she won’t actively hurt you. She’s just washing her hands of what happens in the future.”

“So, what do I do?”

“Stick to her. Beat her down. I’d tell you to seduce her, but I don’t think she’s into that.”

“So cheating is not the problem? But the fact that she doesn’t swing my way.” Her brow rose with his smile.

“No, that too, though unlike you, she’s actually wife material. Nothing like the both of us, baby.”

“Oh, kiss my ass.”

…

Joseph Walsh, his heavily pregnant common-law wife Mortica Pines, his three children, Ethan and his wife Reya, Emmanuella and Evan, and his three grandchildren, Rachel, Lena, and Luke, had just arrived in time to kick off the dinner leading into the family weekend. Shane and Kendall weren’t here, much to Eleanor’s disgust. Michonne made her way to Ronan’s bedroom at her mother-in-law’s behest to let it be known that dinner was ready and everyone else present was gathered in the dining room. She reached to turn the knob and paused when the whispering Ronan and Rick enticed her ears to eavesdrop. Not much was learned considering only bits and pieces survived the muffled travel. Words like ‘Company’, ‘Dept’, ‘Shares’ and ‘Son’ induced small hair to rise on her body. Her cheeks blew out with a heavy breath meant to steady her and a smile was forced in an effort to conceal her worry and doubt, a skill she fostered for years. The bells were ringing once more, and she didn’t know why. She was frozen until the voice of a young child shook her sane, causing her to finally open the door and greet them.

“Ah, I forgot to knock. Sorry, hope I’m not disturbing.”

“No, no, my dear! Come, let me see you!” Michonne sprints and kneels next to Ronan’s wheelchair, taking his hardened palm. Coldness from his six mammoth sized rings invading her. 

“Aunt Michonne!” He dashed, hugging her.

“You remember me? You were so young when you left!”

“Of course I do! I still got a picture of you and Dad!”

“A picture…Oh.” She immediately fixed her faltering smile. “Dad’s had you lock up all day with great gramps?”

“Yeah, Dad’s been busy, but grandpa fun!”

“Yes, he is, but I sure it wouldn’t have hurt to have someone around your age to play with.”

“There’s nobody like that here.”

“Not true! There’s my son Andre, and uncle Joseph just got here with his family. He’s got grandchildren around your age.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Tomorrow, I expect to see you out and about!”

“Joe's here…” Ronan mumbled to himself.

“That’s part of the reason I came up. Dinner is ready. Shall we go?”

…

Rick kept his gaze fixed on Michonne as she strode across the room. Michonne had been a slender woman with unexpectedly generous curves for as long as Rick had known her. She created an outstanding figure with her full lips, breasts, and round hips. Michonne's most attractive features were her rich chocolate-brown complexion, big brown eyes to match and the long black butterfly locs that she seldom allowed falling below her waist when she wasn't wearing them in a tidy styled bun. A prideful woman, never a hair or speck out of place. She made sure Andre was properly seated and went on her own, placing Maliyah on her lap. Lia sneakily reached out to the table to steal a piece of meat. Unbeknownst to her, Rick was surveilling her every movement. Rick tried to suppress his chuckling but delved into low laughter at her little antics. This earned the attention of the family, who spun in their chairs to see the commotion. Michonne had sensed his gaze on her and Lia the entire time. She delivered a warning glare, cautioning him about his shameless behaviour.

I shouldn’t’ve admitted shit! Can’t he have some decorum?

Not catching a reason for his outburst, everyone went back to eating. Michonne adjusted Lia and decided not to pay any more attention to the immoral clown on her left.

“So, Carl, are you liking being back home in America?”

“Michonne, you should have gotten a high chair for her.” Reya implored.

“This one is a picky eater; she makes a mess everywhere; better not.” She implored.

“Oh, nonsense! She three! It’s her job to be those things. Besides, what are the servants here for?”

“Why the hell are you telling her what to do with her child? Don’t you got your own demons to micro-manage. Look at that jackass at the end with the damn lamb sauce.” Rick chin point towards Luke.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” Ethan and Rick became locked in an intense staredown.

“What was that, you stupid cunt?” Eleanor turned, blue eyes cold and proud, same as Rick’s.

The whole table grew stagnant, and gazes bounced out off each other. Even Andrea had nothing to add. Ronan placed his utensils down on the table, picked up a serviette and wiped his mouth. Making all cease movement. The tensing of his jaw informed the room that it would end now. Logan partially raised Rick. He gave him all the fine things in life and never let him perceive himself as less, as much as possible, among his remaining grandchildren. When Rick made the choice to leave, Ronan used all tactics in his book to keep him from going. Rick wasn’t a Walsh, but it didn’t matter. Many saw him as an outsider and a bastard, but none vocalised it. For Ethan to utter such a foolhardy question, one wondered if he was indeed a cunt.

“I hear the media’s on your asses… That girl?” Everyone’s face went slack at the twist. “What is this?”

“It’s still being investigated; no harm done. I’ll be over soon enough." John said. "Don’t worry about the media. We are the media. Don’t think too hard, Dad. Shane will deal with it; he’s dealing with it now.”

“All this mess; I’m getting too old to make the big decisions.”

“Your still young, Rone! Don’t sell yourself short.” Eleanor smiles, softening him up a bit.

“Always the silver tongue with you... Still, I think it’s time.”

“Time for what, Rone?”

“I’m giving Richard my stocks in the company!”

If a person's goal was to create World War III, Ronan’s words were the perfect catalyst. Michonne lifted her head, fiddled with her daughter’s hand, and surveyed the members of her esteemed ‘Royal’ family. For the first time this evening, Monty looked rattled. Ethan, Emmanuella and Evan sat unblinking, processing the new devastating blow. Reya kept looking back and forth at Ronan and Ethan’s faces, hazy with uncertainty. Eleanor’s brow slid up, though she hid a slight smirk on her pretty, red lips with her wine class. Joseph clearly wanted to add something but held his tongue, seeing John not say a word. Out of everyone here, John was the most contradictory in terms of reactions. He did not move a muscle, didn’t even seek out his father, and continued eating.

Would he really allow another man’s child to hold so much power in his company? Did he love Rick that much? A man like him?

Given Rick was now the second most influential person to the company, with the second most stakes only behind John and to be the knew COO, She could understand ‘The Plight Of Man’ she bore witness to. A pity that Kendall and her husband weren’t present to receive this gift. She couldn’t help but ponder whether her husband would still trust his most beloved brother. She knew the man causing all this smoke was waiting for her attention, nonetheless Michonne didn’t meet his gaze and bluntly declared,

“Congratulations.”

“Grandfather, you're not serious, are you?” Emmanuella didn’t care, this was ridiculous to her.

“And why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“What’s she tryna say is, this is a family business, and though Rick is family, I’m sure everyone agrees with that.” He spun he neck everywhere as if trying to get others to join in his ‘sacrifice’. “It’s not really the same as actual blood.”

“What you name again boy?” Ronan stroked his chin.

“Uhh, Granddad… it’s Ethan...”

“Listen here, Ethan… It’s mine… and I get to decide what the fuck I do with ‘em. Fuck off… I tired… Help me Richard.”

“Sure, old man.”

And that is how dinner concluded.

…

Shane gazed out the window, momentarily confused as to why it was so dark. His wonder ended when a lithe voice bombarded him. A voice he was familiar with all his life.

“I heard Dad’s fucking you.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You of all people? You gonna sit here and play Kumbayah with little ol me?”

“Oh, cut that shit out... I shouldn’t’ve asked. Ugh!”

“Come on, K.” He grabbed her hand before she stomped away in annoyance.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Let's talk.”

“About?”

“I don’t know... life? Dad? Why we’re both late?

“I’m… I’m thinking about selling... We’re at risk of getting eaten anyways.”

“K… you serious? If you need help, just ask.”

“I’m not giving Dad any leverage... If I ask, it means I failed.”

“You and your ego; it’s fucking horseshit. You gonna throw away everything you worked for for pride?”

“Yeah… If I sell, I’ll make the decision. I’d ended it on my terms. So yeah.”

“Alright, sell… Come work for me. No, work with me.”

“Shane…”

“I know you said you ain’t wanted nothing to do with Briton, but we both know that’s bullshit. Dad ain’t never wanted you to get involved and—”

“He’s a parochial cunt!” She snapped, “And still don’t trust that I can do this.”

"K..."

“Why me? Why not Monty? He could be a better help.”

“I don’t trust Monty. I trust you and I trust Rick… What do you say?” He put out his right hand, waiting for her to accept. Kendall stared at him, then down at his hand, a motion she repeated about five times till she took it.

“Okay… Okay, but I have to get a real say. A real seat at the table.”

“Alright!” Shane boldly affirmed his stance towards her.

“Alright…By the way,” she remembered a thought that nags her. “Philip Blake? What the fuck? What happened to Lance Hornsby?”

“Hornsby is running for his final term. It’s simply replenishing the stock. You know better, K.”

“With Philip Blake?”

“Dad and Grandpa likes him. Little matters. You know that. Besides, it ain’t our concern.”

“Not our concern? If he’s anything like Hornsby, it's definitely yours.”

“I ain’t had a one-on-one with the guy yet. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shane… You gotta a black wife and biracial children. Come on.”

“My family was fine before; they’re gonna be fine after.”

“Okay.” Kendall threw up her hands in defeat. “We are late, so we should head in.”

Dinner was long concluded. Light from the patio shone through the small window, a scented candle aiding in the welcoming shadows of the. At 11:00 p.m., only the estate guards were active. Kendall went upstairs first, leaving Shane sitting on the bottom stairs. He washed his face with his hands as if attempting to wake himself up by wiping away the fatigue and puffiness. Getting up, he considered it to require more work than it was worth. When he and his wife slept at his grandfather’s, the corridor to their shared bedroom seemed four times longer than usual. Walking in, he noticed her sitting up in the bed with her back against the headboard, reading 'Anna Karenina' by Leo Tolstoy. She didn’t raise her gaze at him, nor did she welcome him as she always did. He dragged out a fresh bathrobe and went to the bathroom. The water from the shower was relaxing, and when he came out, he wondered if he should have stayed since his darling wife had now decided he was worth her time.

“Nothing to say, huh?”

“Michonne… not tonight. I’m fucking tired.”

“Okay!” Head nodding up and down like a bobblehead, she bent the tip of the page she was reading and put her book on the nightstand. “You’re… tired! Shane is tired! Should I buy a cake? Should I invite Beyoncé to sing for you? Should I go outside naked and scream it at the top of my lungs?”

“You gonna overreact?”

“Overreact… That’s what I’m doing, huh? Overreacting?”

“Imma break this down for you to understand, babe. I got work!”

“Oh, my fucking gosh—”

“I gotta work, to provide, for my kids, So that your ass can enjoy all the fancy shit you love—”

“You’re full of shit!”

“That fancy wine, that fancy clothes and shoes, The nice houses and nice cars—”

“Cut the bullshit! You are a billionaire! You don’t have to work a day in your life because unlike most, you were born lucky! And you will inherit billions more when Ronan and John croaks, throw your mother in there! This isn’t about me or the kids! It’s not about us, It’s about you!”

“Me! You're so damn vindictive…”

“I don’t get your need to have your daddy’s attention... You are his favourite. Does that make you feel better? You’re his favourite, which means you’re his favourite toy.”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“What is with this need—this desperate need for recognition and affection from a man who doesn’t deserve it? If it weren’t for the monthly family weekends, which you’ve been ducking for how long now, your kids wouldn’t have even gotten a glimpse of you! When was the last time you saw them awake, Shane? Do you even remember?”

“Everything I do, I do for my kids! I ain’t like you making it sound like I’m out here abandoning my kids. You been telling ‘em this shit? It ends now! I ain’t having it!”

“Keep your voice down or so help me, God! The fact that you think I’d even do something like that... Go sleep in another room. I don’t want to see your face right now.”

“People will see us.”

“They’ve already fucking heard us, Shane! Your voice, it tends to carry.”

“Imma give you your space… Gosh, you’re fucking crazy.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not a piece of shit like you. Get out Bill Clinton. I need my beauty sleep.”

Shane stood unmoving, examining his wife’s back as she prepared for bed, not paying him any mind. He rubbed his hand over his face, through his hair and bit his lip before storming out, slamming the bedroom door behind him shut. It was only when he was out of the room that Michonne let her locs down and looked at where he left. She slipped into her silk nightgown and went to bed. At the same time, a young man with ocean-blue eyes, walked under the starry night sky, thinking back to a simpler time.

7 years, 7 months prior

The sky was illuminated with stars like embers. It was the promise of life in the dark, a feeling of warmth emerging from the cold. It should've been a vastness to offer humility and an unending expanse to inspire thankfulness for the comfort of home. Rick considered each night’s sky a new gift, no matter how many years passed. It made him feel better. And he hopes it will now. As he walked through the starry night, he met the figure of a woman’s back. She didn’t move a muscle and uncharitably gazed at what he sorted out. He recognised her immediately, and as he stepped unwittingly towards her, he noticed her tear-drained face. Each drop is like a shard of glass or a diamond.

“Michonne?” She didn’t answer. It was almost like she was lost in her mind. “Michonne?” It was the second call on which she turned to him. She stared at him, then ran her fingers over her wedding ring.

“Did you know?” It was uttered so minutely, he didn’t know if he missed some of her question.

“What?”

“Did you know about her?” They both understood exactly who she was referring to.

“I’m sorry…”

“Who else? Who else knew?” He couldn’t answer her obvious, but tragic question. “So everyone knew? I was just a fool to laugh at.” Rick could tell she'd sobbed extensively and for a long time since her eyes were swollen and most likely red. Her lips formed a half-formed, lifeless smile, and she tightened her crossed arms until she was more or less cradling herself.

“Shhh, it’s not worth it.” He rushed to her and gave her the warmest embrace he could muster. “I’m sorry.”

“I lost my baby… I lost my baby…”

He wrapped her more tightly, unsure how to react. She rocked softly back and forth, her voice devolving into an inconsolable whine, gasping between wails, hardly able to gather her breath for the next, unaware she even was doing it. He gave her a soothing hug and offered compassion without words, whilst he placed a hand on her lower back and gently guided her to sit down. They didn't say anymore and held her chilled hand, enabling her to let it all out.

Present

If Rick could mark the day their relationship changed, it’d be then. He stopped being the distant brother-in-law and became a friend. He became a friend for her to cry on and he never minded. He reached in his pocket for a smoke, making his way through the graceful garden, when he saw a woman smoking by herself.

“I didn’t expect you here. Come to your mother.”

“It's quiet out here… It’s nice…”

“As opposed to?”

“Your son and his wife are fighting…”

“Hmm… Is it about that woman?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Your brother needs to let that woman go, for his own sake.”

“Mmm… Mom… I—I’m probably gonna break your heart. I just hope you can go on loving me like you been… I know it may be a selfish thing to want, but I want it nonetheless…”

“You were premature when I had you… So small—so frail yet perfect. I spent six months up and down with you in a hospital because I could not lose you… Shane, Monty, Kendall... They’ve never been mine, but their father’s. You—you’re mine. You’re my boy, my sweet boy and you’ll always be my boy.” Eleanor held his cheek. “You got as much right as they do to fight. I love you, and I always will.”

…

…

…

Keynotes-

Sandalwood is a proven relaxant, decreasing anxiety, calming the nervous system, and assisting with better quality sleep. Its benefits are realised upon inhalation of the sweet, woody fragrance or when absorbed through the skin.

The Paris Wife is a fictional account of the relationship between Ernest Hemingway and his first wife, Hadley Richardson. The book follows the doomed relationship from its inception up until its dissolution several years later.

Black dahlias symbolise betrayal and sadness. They aren’t actually black but a really dark crimson that can sometimes give the illusion of them being black. Most notably, they're associated with the infamous murder of Elizabeth Short in 1947 in Los Angeles. This case became known as “The Black Dahlia” murder, and it remains unsolved to this day. Can you see where I’m going with this ;D

Mimosa pudica, or shame plant, is a creeping annual or perennial flowering plant. It is often grown for its curiosity value. The sensitive compound leaves fold inward, droop when touched or shaken and re-open a few minutes later. Mimosa pudica is not a carnivorous plant.

Anna Karenina is a novel by the Russian author Leo Tolstoy, first published in book form in 1878. The narrative centers on the adulterous affair between Anna, wife of Aleksey Karenin, and Count Vronsky, a young bachelor. Karenin's discovery of the liaison arouses only his concern for his public image. Anna promises discretion for the sake of her husband and young son but eventually becomes pregnant by Vronsky. The story tells about the dangers of idealising a partner, the pitfalls of Romanticism, the difficulty of marriage and the importance of communication.

The plight of man is a biblical reference. It means to be under the control of someone else or something else or it means that the human race is under the domination of sin. We are all part of the dominion of sin. Man outside of Christ is under the control of sin and he is helpless to escape from it.

Prologue

Chapter-1

#richonne fandom #michonne grimes #alternate universe #oc #family #richonne #richonne fic #richonne fanfiction #rick x michonne #Rick Grimes #Michonne

[enigmatist17]

@slenderboo @vivaislenska

"You know, I bet he had a poster or two."

"Eh?" Rex pauses from the root he's chopping up for dinner, glancing over at Gregor. The former commando has his feet kicked up on the cargo container that serves as a makeshift table for the rebels mess hall, twirling a knife around his hands as he watches the other.

"The new kid! He's been starin' at us, and I peg him as uh, what the natborns call it, teenager before the ol' Order? Were we teenagers, or did we skip that part?" Gregor laughed to himself, and Rex rolled his eyes as he finished the prep work and dumped his work into a simmering stew.

"Skipped it mostly." Wolffe grumbled as he entered the far side of the mess hall, carrying a few crates. "Thanks for the help Gregor."

"Welcome!" The commando laughed, watching Wolffe join Rex with something that made the other hum in delight. "Anything good?"

"Some proper meat for once." Silence descends on the hall for a few minutes, before Gregor clicks his tongue.

"Wolffe, we were talkin' about the new kid! He's a good fit for the rebels eh?" Wolffe raised an eyebrow, and Rex just rolled his eyes.

"Wouldn't call him a kid, but yea. He was watching me grab all this grub, like I was doing something interesting....why?"

"Gregor thinks he had posters, back when they did some of us early on." Rex chuckled, and Wolffe placed his hand on his chin in thought.

"Hm...does strike me as the type. He knew both our designations and names, and who knows those these days? Plus, the Y-Bombers? He knew how to fix one of the bomber release attachments, and again, who learns that these days? I'd say posters and one of those little clone trooper dolls...maybe."

"Really?" Rex glanced over as Gregor cackled. "I don't think teenagers had those things...I think." Wolffe shrugged, knowing about natborns as much as the other two did. "...I'll say the posters for sure."

"Knew you'd agree!" Gregor clapped his hands together, and finally sat upright. "So which is it kid? We on the money?"

There's a faint thud coming from behind one of the doorways, and after a moment of silence, Kallus slowly poked his head into view with a sheepish look.

"I...had posters." He speaks once he edges his way closer to the clones, eyes pointed at an interesting table. "Never did get ones for the 104th, they were hard to get ahold of."

"Aw poor Wolffe." Rex pat his friends shoulder, and the other grumbled as Gregor motioned for Kallus to join him. The former Imperial joins the trio, a faint smirk on his lips as he listens to the teasing.

"So, did you have any favorites? If so, did you meet any?"

"I..." Kallus blinked, feeling very much like he was part of one of the rumor mills he knew gathered in the mess hall at times, Empire or not. "I met Commander Ponds once, my parents brought he and his men homecooked meals as thanks for helping us against a Separatist raiding party. He'd been very kind, and I never saw him again."

"Depending when that was, probably not." Rex sighed, and Kallus can see the grief on the shoulders of each clone for just a moment.

"I am sorry..." The tale of the clones had been only one of tragedy, and Kallus hated how it had been buried to hide how truly rigged the entire Clone Wars had been from the start. "If...Some of what I know, I learned from old archives I saved, or was able to dig up over the years. Tactics, negotiations, medical expertise, I learned whatever I could because you were..."

"Sounds like someone is a nerd!" Gregor laughed, delighted at the blush that's thoroughly colored in the former Imperial's face. "I tease I tease, glad someone was interested in us ol' timers."

"If the Empire had bothered to keep any of what you all were taught, they...well..." He grimaces, and the others shrug. "Incompetent, the lot of them."

"That's the hard plastoid of it eh?" Wolffe grumbled, taking a seat beside the younger man while Rex sat across from him beside Gregor. "We have a good hour until dinner is ready, so what say you ask whatever you'd like?"

"Seriously?" Kallus blinked, and the curiosity he'd had to suppress the entire time he's served the Empire shines through as he looks over at Wolffe. "Anything?"

"Anything." He gives a short nod, and the officer looks around as if suspecting someone of watching them.

"Well..."

The three hadn't expected to almost forget they were on cooking duty due to all the questions Kallus seemed to nearly burst with, but no one had ever seen them so happy to answer. Even Wolffe is smiling at times, regaling him with a tale of a long fought battle as the mess hall slowly begins to fill. Kallus is at the edge of his seat, looking for all the world an eager student as he listens to every word, and for once isn't flinching as people file by in amusement.

It was nice to have someone be in awe again.

#personal #rebels #star wars rebels #aleksandr kallus #rebels gregor #rebels wolffe #rebels rex #100% believe Kallus was a clone fanboy

[ladyveravincent]

A Court of Bones in Bloom

Excerpt from Chapter 1

~

Good Gods.

He was still the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

The handsome Shadowsinger wore black pants and a tailored top showing off his magnificent wings. Ever so slowly, she allowed herself to glance up at his beautiful face, finally able after months to admire in the perfect sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw, so at odds with his windswept black hair and full lips. The tendrils of his tattoos begged to be traced and the usual silver earrings he wore were replaced with blue jewels that matched his siphons. She could have sworn those beautiful hazel eyes widened slightly before he slid on his signature apathetic mask. Elain knew Azriel had a temper and an iciness, but it never frightened her. She recognized the need to hide oneself from others.

Embarrassed, she quickly glanced down, his blue siphons slightly illuminating before he clasped his scarred hands behind his back. 

Cauldron boil me, she thought.   

“I…” 

She squared her shoulders, only able to clasp her hands in front of her dress. Why couldn’t it be him? Why couldn’t the Cauldron have picked him? Why couldn’t she stay away when he made it painfully obvious he wasn’t interested? Brown eyes bore into hazel ones, as the two breathed in tandem, waiting for the invisible threads that pulled them apart to snap. 

“I hope you’ve been well-”

“I’m sorry, my shadows they-” 

Mother above. Thousands of unspoken words danced on the tip of their tongues. 

In the silence that followed, a single shadow twirled around her neck and slinked downward toward her open palm. 

“I believe this belongs to you.” She held the shadow in her hand and extended it towards a blushing Azriel. 

Elain didn’t know when she fell for the Shadowsinger, but she suspected it was when she peered into his hazel eyes and lost herself between the flecks of green and gold. Azriel’s gaze seemed to see straight to her soul. 

“Elain!” They both breathed sharply as the spell was utterly broken. A tipsy Mor appeared, swaying as she leaned over the wooden banister.

“Nesta’s asking for you! She needs your help fastening some flowers into her veil.” She offered Mor a quick smile before casting a shy glance toward the Shadowsinger.

“See you at the ceremony?” He nodded curtly in response, and she quickly climbed the stairs, almost to the top until his smooth voice whispered. 

“I’ll see you there, Elain.” 

She paused, failing to ignore the shudder that ran through her body and the need that pulsed through her veins. Down the hall, a chorus of laughter broke her trance. As she walked to Nesta’s room, she wiped away the tears that gathered on her cheeks, and with a shaky breath, mustered up a smile wide enough to banish any shadows from her face. 

~

#acotar #elain #azriel #fanfic #a03 fanfic #elriel #elain x azriel #azriel and elain #azriel x elain

[autumnpens]

✧ their little gifts ✧

characters ◦  Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Albedo

warnings ◦ none, just fluffy gifts <3

thoughts ◦ something from a few months ago because I need something to post this blog feels so empty,, I haven't had time to write with finals :(

words ◦ 772

Diluc would gift you little expensive sweets or jewelry and give them to you in the most genuinely sweet and careful ways, with velvet boxes and bejeweled glass cases placed on tables after your meals. he’d hold a ball specifically for your entertainment and enjoyment, inviting hundreds of people, much alike the ones he had held while his father was still alive. he paid no mind to any of the guests, entirely enraptured with you, swirling you through the crowds under the light of a dazzling chandelier.

Childe’s ideal date is a fistfight in the Golden House, much like your first spar, and a place the two of you frequented. he had begged Ningguang to build a different one with the Fatui’s own funds purely to have the original to himself for your use, to Pantalone’s dismay. despite this, the floor of the Golden House was not only a sparring grounds, but your personal safe haven, the two of you spending evenings stretching into daybreaks there dancing, chatting and listening to each other’s stories of travel and discovery, family and woes. he’d shower you with gifts from across Teyvat— books from the archives of Sumeru, clothing and accessories from Snezhnaya and the like. though you’d never admit it, your favorites were the small ones— kisses placed on rings of noctilucous jade wrapping your fingers, a bracelet of Inazuman amethyst slipped into a pocket, a glaze lily of Liyue tucked behind your ear. you weren’t one to shy away from gifts either— though less mora put into them, he flushed brighter than his hair at your kisses, arms slipping around his waist from behind, or even the occasional graze of knuckles while frequenting Liyue Harbor. it was funny how such a deadly harbinger could stiffen and burn from a light touch.

Kaeya’s gifts, though less flashy, meant more than mora could show for— a sweep off your feet at the tavern (much to the side-eye of a certain bard), a quiet night spent braiding your hair after a shower (you didn’t take it out for days on your expeditions, gathering dirt and twigs near the ends until you returned to Mondstadt to his fretted mutterings and snorted teasings), a hand-picked bouquet of calla lilies, accompanied by a curtsy worthy of his brother’s halls, before being pulled into a waltz atop an unguarded tower of the walls of Mond below the stars— each and every one his gift to you, tokens of the one who will never leave the side of he who has been left time and time again.

Albedo, when confronted with your first request for a gift, took it as a sign to start giving you things. notebooks he intended on taking alchemical notes in but never opened yet, doodles and drawings from his sketchbooks, pens from around his office, trinkets buried in the snow of dragonspine he'd seen glittering around bags from less fortunate travelers. every new item that left his hands into yours you held close, a bittersweet reminder of his distance atop the snowy peak. your favorite gift he had given you, by far, was an alchemical device he had concocted on one of your more recent trips up the mountain with him. he had handed you a small bottle, a warming seelie entrapped inside. you inquired about the little thing, and he had said he'd study the biological adaptations between a seelie and it's warming variant, but to keep the bottle for now, at least until the next time you came up— give him a week or so. a few days later, you were thankful for the gift to warm you up the mountain, and greeted the alchemist. he asked to see the bottle in your hand, taking it and comparing it to one on his desk. he handed you the new bottle, something much lighter and.. no seelie, yet it still emitted warmth? he explained that he had found a way to replicate the fiery feeling of a warming seelie without having to capture one— a process using the stamen of a flaming flower and some alchemical liberties. this gift was something you cherished, fashioning the bottle into a necklace for simplicity of travel in dragonspine. not only did it allow you to visit Albedo more frequently, but it also allotted for you to accompany him on his expeditions around the mountain without him worrying. you still held his gifts dear, initiating some of your own in findings from around Teyvat, but this was the one that you had stationed closest to your heart no matter the weather or distance from dragonspine and, subsequently, your lover.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin #Diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc imagines #Kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya imagines #childe #tartaglia #genshin ajax #childe tartaglia ajax #childe x reader #childe imagines #albedo #albedo kreideprinz #albedo x reader #albedo imagines