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#which is also poor writing
miabrown007 · 4 months
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the summer after finishing university in New York, Marinette gets invited to a camping trip with Alya and Nino and his best friend. which, honestly, is for the best. at least she has more time than the four years she's already had to figure out how to reach out to her one-time superhero partner, with whom she fell out of touch after the reveal.
only, it's Adrien Agreste waiting for them on the meeting point, beaming so hard at her that it's blatantly obvious they know each other well. in her panic, what is Marinette supposed to tell Alya and Nino to protect their identites, if not that they used to date?
(fake exes AU x there was only one tent)
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yeoldenews · 3 months
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A mother's word for word transcription of the imaginary phone call her four-year-old made to Santa Claus in 1911.
(source: The Harbor Beach Times, December 22, 1911.)
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Through some outrageous case of serendipity I found a recording of another phone call this same child made 60 years later. Though I have to say his choice of conversational partner is a definite downgrade from the first call.
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tennessoui · 9 months
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brain will not let me sleep until I say
same age padawans au where they’ve been in a weird wired frenemies thing for ages but now that they’re both mature adults (all of 24/25 years old) they’re more friends than enemies….
And it’s Obi-Wan that Anakin tells when he’s decided he’s going to leave the Order, not anyone else. He has a wife. There was a pregnancy scare a few weeks ago and it made her want their relationship to stop being a secret so they could really have kids. He has to leave the Order. Doesn’t Obi-Wan understand?
Obi-Wan, who has been a little in love with Anakin since they were younglings, does not understand. Not one bit. Instead of wishing him well and helping him pack, he goes to the Council and requests a mission in the Outer Rim….perhaps a month long or more…perhaps undercover? No contact with anyone on Coruscant. And maybe they could assign Anakin Skywalker as his back up? He can help with the undercover aspect.
And at first, Anakin is pissed because he was planning to resign from the Order in the next few days, but Obi-Wan convinces him to go on this mission with him….one last mission as a Jedi. To say goodbye to the Jedi life.
Obviously, Obi-Wan sort of wants to go on one last mission with Anakin because in his dreams, he wants the mission to go so perfectly that Anakin stays with him the Order. But realistically, he mostly wants to go on this mission to say goodbye to Anakin and then let him go, soaking up all his warmth and light, memorizing every casual touch bestowed on him because he knows they’re ticking down to the last handful of seconds together.
But then obviously the mission works TOO well and Anakin falls in love with Obi-Wan but doesn’t admit to it even to himself before they’re on the ship about to head back to Coruscant and Anakin realizes he doesn’t want to leave this planet because he doesn’t want to leave Obi-Wan if it could always be like this so he crashes the ship during take off so they can stay longer because he’s 24 and doesn’t know how to handle the immensity of his love except through destruction
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wikiangela · 4 months
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inspiration saturday/seven sentence sunday
tagged by @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus (tagging y'all back for seven sentence sunday <33)
still trying to get back to writing and currently jumping between wips again lol - and I made a lil moodboard for the cheating fic + title reveal haha - for once I have a title waaaay before I'm gonna finish the fic - it's the line that inspired this whole fic but a bit edited, from mgk's 'loco' (the og line is 'got a man at home but she loves the way I taste')
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and a lil snippet:
“Uh, yeah, I guess it was.” Buck finally responds, quickly getting out of bed and taking his pillow with him and covering himself. He feels too exposed like that, standing in front of Eddie, but he needs to put some distance between them. “It was- it was a-” his voice shakes, he feels like his body is physically trying to stop him from saying these words, “a drunken mistake. It doesn’t- it won’t change anything, right?” he finally looks at Eddie, who’s staring at him with wide, sad eyes, and Buck has no time or energy to read into it right now. “It doesn’t have to be weird.” he sounds pleading, begging, just needing Eddie to say that they can get back to normal and pretend it never happened. 
“No, of course.” Eddie’s voice sounds hoarse, and he clears his throat, a faint smile on his face. “We were drunk, it was- it was nothing. Let’s just forget anything happened.” Eddie’s words sting. Buck was hoping for them, but they still hurt, and he immediately wants him to take it back, he wants to backtrack on what he said earlier, he wants to- he really needs to get a fucking grip and sort out his feelings.
no pressure tags (it's already sunday here so tagging y'all for seven sentence sunday): @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks
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don1t1red · 5 months
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I know that this is a very unpopular opinion but hear me out!
I think not enough people consider Corvo as an unreliable narrator. We see the story from his point of view and all we know about Jessamine Kaldwin comes from his perspective. So, to think on that, do we really know how good Jessamine was as the Empress? 
I know that she is usually portrayed as a good person if not a saint but what if it wasn't that way? A lot of people in the streets are indifferent towards her image, if not hostile; the situation with Delilah; how both Geoff Curnow and Corvo are treated because of their nationality; two hatters recalling how greatly Corvo dealt with workers uprising under her command  – a lot of things are a tell-tale signs that something is not quite right. 
And at this point I have to clarify that I'm not saying things like "boo no I hate Jessamine". No, it's actually quite the opposite, I love her character. But the way it is usually portrayed seems to be so dull and static. Let her not be a saint. 
Let her be manipulative. Let her tell Corvo that "he is not like other serkonans, he is sooo special and that's why he is where he is and not somewhere deep in the silver mine", while being (just as any nobility in Gristol) not very welcome to any outlanders. 
Let her be power-hungry and afraid to lose this power. Remember a bonecharm in her hidden room in the Tower? Who knows how it ended up here! Maybe she knew (or felt) that Delilah was coming, capable of overpowering and taking everything from her. Maybe Jessamine was so afraid to lose her posh life that she was ready to use some kind of a black magic! 
Let her be disloyal. Obviously, she and Corvo developed some kind of codependency. But along with that, she was the Empress so who could stop her from having an affair or two? And Corvo was just the safest option, with a way less unnecessary risks and questions. 
Let her be an imperfect person. 
Obviously, Jessamine could be easily born a perfect ruler and a perfect loving woman for her chosen one and her daughter. But maybe she had to learn it the hard way. 
Maybe she changed along with Corvo. Maybe the plague was a critical point for her character, maybe those months without Corvo made her rethink a lot of things. 
And isn't it tragic, finally understanding and becoming the Empress everyone wants to see in you, just to be killed the other day, because all those changes have been seen as a weakness? Have nothing but faith in your closest one, faith that these people will be more wise than she was? 
Give her some development, give her some motion! She could easily  be a saint, static point.  But in my opinion, she deserves to be not perfect but in constant motion. Trying and learning, understanding and making mistakes. She was too young when she became the Empress, she was a part of gristolian nobility, not so kind to anyone but themselves, she literally had no prerequisites to become a good person. And yet somehow she did. 
It's always so easy to be a "saint" from the very beginning. And it's always so hard to learn how to become one.
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crispyjenkins · 3 months
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(AC wip) The Savage Price of Piety
it's desmond's deathday and i wrote like. 9,000 more words to this wip (first two parts here) last week and i want to brag about it, so happy deathday you wet bastard (mostly gen but with a surprise rarepair, time travel/reincarnation, found family, william miles’ a+ parenting, accidental subterfuge, desmond goes by miles mostly, inspired by study of flight by @esamastation but with a twist!, only somewhat historically accurate swears by which i mean probably not at all but leonardo had some Opinions alright) have some (three) chronological but scattered bits of scenes
  “Oh,” Claudia says as soon as she opens the door, seeing Ezio’s rather wretched expression, “you’ve figured it out, then.”
  “You could have told me,” he growls, following her into the entryway and closing the door behind himself. 
  Claudia scoffs, spinning on heel to lead the way further into the building for the kitchens. “I had one conversation with the boy, brother, I was hardly sure of it myself. Wait,” she halts and points a finger at him accusingly, “how did you figure it out?”
  Ezio, quite graciously he thinks, ignores the subtle insult to his intelligence. Sighing, he pushes back his hood before their mother sees him with it on indoors, and runs a hand over his beard. “I had Leonardo visit.”
  Claudia’s face slackens, before twisting into a rage that has Ezio stepping away warily.
  But she punches the wall instead of her brother, a shouted “Gods damn it!” echoing in the narrow space. Then she spins on her heel and hollers further into the residential part of the bordello, “Mother! We forgot about Leonardo!”
  Horrified by his sister and concerned for his mother’s current mental state, Ezio reaches out to put a hand on Claudia’s arm, but he doesn’t get the chance before Maria de' Auditore is shouting right back, “God damn it!”
  Grumbling, Claudia stomps down the hall and leaves a very confused Ezio hurrying to follow; she ignores all his pleas for explanation until she’s stomped into the kitchen, where their mother is pouring two very large glasses of wine, with very little water to cut down the potency. She passes one to Claudia silently, and then they both drink, though luckily they aren’t attempting to down it all at once.
  “I can’t believe we forgot the Maestro,” their mother mutters to herself as she comes over to kiss Ezio on both cheeks, before shoving the still mostly-full glass into his hands.
  “Forgot him for what?” Ezio wants to know, clutching the glass like a mother clutches a babe.
  “To test if Miles really is an Auditore.” It’s said so flippantly, like it doesn’t affect Claudia at all, but she also collapses into one of two chairs at the little tea table under the largest window. Their mother takes the other, massaging her forehead and looking like she’s grieving their family all over again.
  It occurs to Ezio, as he moves to stand next to the table, that she probably is.
--
“It’s all up to you now, Seventeen.”
  Desmond opens his eyes to the dark of the dormitory, faint moonlight cutting over the floor between his bed and Nino’s, and he can’t bring himself to move — even to roll off his arm that is very much still asleep. 
  Clay still haunts him.
  Five hundred fucking years, and his current twenty-four besides, and that fucker still won’t leave him alone. If Desmond were not so familiar with what an actual Bleed feels like, he’d almost think Clay is stuck in his brain the same way as his ancestors. Thank fuck he stopped Bleeding Ezio’s memories and feelings, while still retaining much of the training.
  Fuck, time travel is so weird.
  Or, reincarnation? He’s not sure of much, but he’s sure he was dead, he’s sure he burned, and he’s sure that though his 15th century mother had affectionately called him [redacted], his name is Desmond Miles.
  Or just Miles, he supposes. Sue him, he panicked when Adele first approached him, and the best aliases are ones you know you’ll respond to, right? If only he’d have had the forethought to divorce himself from his... future family’s surname.
  It sounds different enough with an Italian accent that it hasn’t caused any problems, yet. Like making him flinch. Or snapping that he hasn’t been a Miles since he was sixteen.
  Granted, he still has no idea what he would go by instead. Altaïr and Conner would feel weird, while Sef or Darim are just a bit on the nose, and does he look like an Edward? Malik, maybe. His grandmother here, now, is actually from the Levant, so his skin is certainly dark enough that people wouldn’t be surprised by the name.
Except that feels almost akin to naming himself Leonardo.
--
  So instead, Leonardo spends every spare moment with his best friend, sometimes to brainstorm, sometimes to simply be there for him. It’s during one of these visits, he and Ezio once again observing the youngest assassins in the training ring, that he hears Miles laugh for the first time, and it’s as if ice water has been poured directly into his veins.
  Oh fuck. Oh Saints, oh Holy Father, oh fuck.
  “Leonardo?” Ezio asks quietly, head tilted towards him in concern, but Leonardo ignores him to stumble for the bannister to lean over it and stare down at Miles learning a little jig from Tullio, laughing all the while.
  He had only heard it once, truth be told, and it had been Salaí that had caused it, but even three years later, Leonardo remembers the laugh of Rodrigo Borgia’s sinister little shadow.
  Below, Miles doesn’t stop smiling, but his golden brown gaze yanks up towards Leonardo as if knowing his thoughts are about him. His eyes narrow, then widen slightly in realisation, and then he winces and looks away, which is all the confirmation Leonardo needs.
  Turning around, Leonardo grabs a confused Ezio by the arm and drags him from the training room, ignoring his protests until they find the nearest empty room.
  “Leonardo, what—?”
  “Romulus.”
-
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nyxofdemons · 6 months
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this was going to be like a mile long essay but i just realized the most concise way to say it is that "it feels like a retcon that blitz has been so resentful and hostile towards fizz all this time since he was supposed to feel guilty" is simply not a good criticism when we have been shown, time and time again, that blitz's number one defense mechanism when he feels guilty or judged or attacked is to lash out, to deflect and ignore all his responsibility, and to shift the blame to someone else. that's like. his defining character flaw
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ctl-yuejie · 6 months
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I very much understand why Nick is always so receptive to Boston cajoling him with sex.
They are super compatible in bed and Boston particularly is a very passionate and attentive lover. Compare him fucking Top and Gap to his sex with Nick: I would say that the sex he has with Nick is intimate to say the least.
And Nick craves to be loved by Boston, even if he's understood that he can never get it, what he IS getting is true affection so it's no wonder to me why he "gives in" every time.
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If I’m not careful I might accidentally give Ghostbur celiacs disease in the name of Projection. I must resist. He does not deserve that.
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nateriverswife · 3 months
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not only i do not subscribe to the idea that Watari imposed L's role on the wammy’s residents (for different reasons) or that wammy’s was created just for L, but I also don't understand how that would work. Mello and Near are from the fourth generation (debatable but regardless, they don't seem to be from the second) and if they are the successors, it means that the people chosen from the prior generations either died or decided to back down. It's highly unlikely that everyone died, and if they decided to back down, that simply means that people can just do so, which goes against the most common headcanon in this fandom. I could accept that they all went into hiding, if only it weren't for the fact that Mello, Near and L are highly competitive individuals so there must be someone before Mello and Near that wanted to be L, especially because the way Wammy’s is structured leads to competitiveness. So what happened to those people, that at the time L dies are mostly adults? I think they would surely be the first choices, just because they are older. They don't even have to be individually the smartest people, because they can work together. I will always think that A and B's generation is also L's, so it would make sense that after A's death, the project was put on hold for a while, so nobody was actually chosen from the 2nd and 3rd generation (still debatable - do they actually exist or Mello’s came immediately after?). They probably weren't even introduced to the idea of a successor programme, so they had no idea of that, and only after, as L was getting more well known (and maybe even after B's attempt to ruin him or whatever he wanted to do) or when he started the Kira case, the successor programme was reinstalled. Still, no one is forcing anyone to be L. Near and Mello want to win, to be him. As Mello could just walk out of the Wammy’s, they could also say, fuck no, but they didn't. True that the Wammy’s could idolise L, but if we take as canon what he said to the kids and the fact that some began to dislike him, he doesn't want to be seen as an idiol and the kids are not brainwashed into thinking that.
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antiqua-lugar · 3 months
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fun fact, during my first fully blind playthrought of bg3 I honestly thought gale was the writers' favourite if nothing else because of how much varied dialogue he had. like I never reallly had a conversation with astarion that wasn't about his trauma, his vampirism or how boring I am for not wanting to take over a cult but I knew all of gale's hobbies, two or three childhood's anecdotes and the whole history of tara, who he was making plans to introduce to me later.
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infestedguest · 3 months
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tfw you’re a couple chapters into an fma found family fic and it’s becoming increasingly clear that the author sees Al as an accessory for Ed and not as an actual character
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skrunksthatwunk · 3 months
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so the eikichi-centric kuwabara fic is going well
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soldier-poet-king · 2 months
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being full of extreme emotions 24/7 does NOT make you good at expressing emotions, especially when it's sanitized, socially-ordained sentiment demanded by professional etiquette. in fact, being super upfront and genuine about my emotions makes this faux behaviour MORE excruciating, imho
source: i am consistently the most emotional person on the face of the earth, but am experiencing The Agonies trying to write thank you cards for my second-last day at work
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eruden-writes · 4 days
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Desperation's Summit - Part 13
widowed troll x human raising triplets enemies-ish to lovers? on-going
Summary:
What happens when a rich human woman gets kidnapped by a troll in the mountains? The troll claims it was an accident, but is that really true?
cw: spousal death backstory
❄ Part 1 ❄ Masterlist ❄ Previous ❄
*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧
When Cordelia awoke the next morning, it was to a pounding head, a lung wracking cough, and a fever. After a loud sniffle, she added 'sticky congestion' to her list of ailments. Trying to ignore the agitation of being ill, she shifted and her eyes slid around the room.
Upon entering Rakash's room last night, she found a rough-hewn desk and chair a top of pelt-like rug and books in an array of amateurish to professional binding. She didn't know if the books belonged to Karina or if they were legitimately bound Trollish texts and her exhaustion had outweighed her curiosity. There had also been a large fireplace, attached to the one in the main cabin room, she thought.
It took her a few minutes to locate the stairs that led to the mezzanine-like partial floor above, where his more bed and dressing area resided.
On the left side of the bed, morning light squeezed between panels of a curtained window. A large, foldable privacy screen sectioned off a small area of the room, flanked by a heavy, crudely made armoire. Her eye caught on the occasional tunic or discarded sock, reminding her she was in Rakash's domain. As if the scent lingering in his blankets wasn't reminder enough.
Vague snatches of last night danced through her mind. Her run-in with the thrall, the magic that had sizzled from her fingers, Rakash's confessional backstory.
Cordelia rubbed her fingers against the blankets swaddling her, as if she could erase the phantom sensations still burning there. While getting the medicine for Ebra, she had quietly sworn to not indulge Rakash, flirtatiously or carnally. He had disappointed her. She didn't bed people who disappointed her. Or that's what she told herself.
Avoiding the thoughts lurking at the edges of her thoughts, she considered whether she should attempt to venture down the stairs, despite her body's preemptive twinges, and to the kitchen for food.
"How're you feeling?" As if summoned by her consciousness and appetite, Rakash appeared from the stairway with a tray gripped in his hands. The shadows under his eyes had returned, making his features as grim-faced as the first time they met.
Strangely, something felt something was softer about him. Though that might just be thanks to her illness.
"Peachy," Cordelia croaked, her throat aching. Uncomfortable heat, unconnected to her illness, crept into her cheeks as she remembered her impromptu bath last night.
Rakash brought the tray closer, setting it on the bedside table with a soft clack. Without warning, he pressed his palm to her forehead. It took Cordelia a breathless beat to understand what he was doing just before he hummed in consternation, "I was worried this would happen."
"What?" As he stepped back, relieving her of his cooler palm, Cordelia eyed the offerings on the tray. Thick greyish glop steamed in the bowl. She presumed it was oatmeal or gruel. A mug with a greenish yellow hue that was hopefully tea. A piece of toasted bread and - amusingly - a small bowl of fruit sauce.
Faintly, she wondered if a trolling or three had assisted on this breakfast. If so, then they were all feeling well. That eased an unexpected knot in her chest.
Also among the food was her bound journal. An odd offering, she thought, before she remembered. It was the journal with the proportions for the medication scrawled in it. Rakash picked it up, waggling it in the air gently. "Tell me the measurements."
She blinked up at him, not quite understanding before realization hit her. Ah... it waswritten in Common, wasn't it?
That didn't explain why he wanted to know about the medicine now. Her eyebrows furrowed further, a slow mounting dread sinking into her chest. "Why? Your kids are fine, aren't they?"
"For you." Rakash tipped the journal closer to her head but stopped shy of lightly bopping her on the forehead.
Oh, that was why? Cordelia swallowed down a sigh of relief, that cold dread dissipating. Not even looking at Rakash, she dismissively waved her hand. "I'll be fine. It's just a cold."
Rakash narrowed his eyes, his features darkening for a second. He supposed he should be relieved she was back to being obstinate, but her tone rubbed him the wrong way. Something lurked between the words. It reminded him of her words the other night, when she asked if she looked like a "creepy, death-dealing mage."
He realized it hadn't been disgust that colored her tone then. It was disbelief. How could she be a mage? It seemed strange that Cordelia couldn't imagine herself being something.
Quietly, he watched her daintily spoon some of the fruit sauce – a concoction the kids swore she'd enjoy – into her mouth. She swallowed slowly, face pinching with a subdued flinch indicating her throat was raw. At least she went for another bite, which would hopefully fuel the fight inside her.
As he watched her eat, he considered how to convince her to allow him to help her. Maybe she didn't want to rely on him. Or maybe she just liked lording her abilities and capabilities over him. Though, that didn't seem the case, given the last twenty-four hours they'd endured. So why would she fight his assistance?
He supposed it didn't really matter. Cordelia was an adult and could do what she wanted, even if it caused detriment to herself. But something about how she spoke of herself nagged at his thoughts. Further, if she did get worse, would she be able to tell him the correct instructions for the medicine? His lips thinned at that thought. He really didn't want to lose her thanks to her own stubbornness, let alone to an illness he had medicines to combat.
Medicines he possessed specifically because of her.
An idea sparked through his head, forceful and warm. Before he thought too long in it, Rakash stepped forward, grabbed Cordelia by her chin, and stooped over her.
Her body went rigid at his touch. Heat bit at her cheeks and she wildly wondered if this was a fever or blush. Either way, a surprised squeak left her as he forced her gaze up. "What are you doi—!?"
Cordelia's body froze as Rakash swept down and caught her lips. She became very aware of the weight of the tray on her lap, torn between tossing it at the troll and holding it tight to ground herself. She also became agonizingly aware of the chill on one shoulder, where her nightgown had slipped low.
His heat eased the stiff ache in her muscles, the cold from her bones. Tired and weak, Cordelia let her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss, and tilting her head a little. Her cheek brushed against one of his tusks as his tongue breached across her lips.
Despite the suddenness, the kiss was achingly tender. The affection made Cordelia twinge with need on a level entirely different than carnal. Something that battled against the pangs of illness, craving more simple touches versus salacious need.
When Rakash pulled away, Cordelia's eyes dazedly blinked open. She was greeted with his grin spread beneath his tusks.
"Oh no, I've been exposed to this highly contagious sickness." His deadpan words couldn't hide the smug glint in his eye as he leaned back. Once more he held up the journal and waved it in Cordelia's line of sight. "And if I get ill while my children's nanny is sick, there will be no one to care for the triplets."
She blinked up at him, eyes round and cheeks aching where his stubble razed her softer skin. Trying to ignore the embarrassment rising in her, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, you are absolutely wretched."
"As you've said before," Rakash sighed, though the slight curve of his lips betrayed his self-congratulations. Again, he waggled the journal in front of her. "The measurements?"
Cordelia had half a mind to ignore him. Stubbornness and spite didn't want to give into him, especially after he'd kissed her without consent! A small part of her knew she didn't actually mind, since it was Rakash. She shoved that small part to the deeper recesses of her brain, hoping it would never be seen again. He was just looking out for her stubborn self, since without her he'd be alone to care for his kids.
With that thought in mind, Cordelia sighed and relented.
"Zalmir and Kazri got quarter doses as precaution, while Ebra got a half dose for symptoms. Adult humans get full doses. I'm not sure about adult trolls, but I bought enough for ten human adults, just in case." Taking the journal, she flipped to the pages with the doctor's directions. After she indicated the measurements, describing how to differentiate between the ingredients through description or labeling, she shot him a withering look. "Happy now?"
Rakash took a moment to consider her instructions as he rubbed his chin. Once he relieved her of the journal, she pressed back against the pillows, glaring down into the bowl of oatmeal. She fought to convince herself that the way he mumbled the instructions back to himself, personalized for his own understanding, was not making her heart flutter.
When Rakash was certain he had a strong understanding, he flipped the journal shut – keeping a finger on the page to keep his spot – and glanced down at Cordelia. She refused to look at him. Her cheeks were a deeper shade of pink than a fever warranted and small bead of guilt pulsed through him.
It wasn't enough guilt to regret forcing her hand. Still, his voice was soft and gentle as he said, "I think I have it. Thank you."
Only when Rakash turned to leave did Cordelia bring her eyes up, glowering after him. As he descended down the stairs, and out of her sight, she remembered her food. Forcing her attention to the tray, she forced herself to eat while fending off nausea and suffering her sore throat. Another uncomfortable sensation had taken root alongside the queasiness. Something that she, yet again, didn't want to look too closely at.
x x x
Days passed and Cordelia's health slowly climbed closer to what one could call healthy. It was aggravatingly slow compared to Ebra's exuberant return to boisterous health. When she accused Rakash of getting the medicine measurements wrong for her, he calmly reminded her she also had a run-in with a thrall, which may have slowed her healing process. Even more infuriating was the fact she couldn't argue against that.
Even with her sniping, Rakash continued to bring her food, a change of clothes, and an allotment of medicine every day. His attentive behavior made the feelings in her chest tangle even tighter.
Worse, he always settled on the edge of the bed, side to side with her, watching closely as she drank the tonic. It was like he didn't trust her to take her medicine and on a few occasions she had half a mind to spit it at him. She never did, of course. It would have been a waste of medicine, but the temptation was there.
These were Cordelia's musings as she accepted the tonic from Rakash and as he settled beside her on the bed.
Imagining the shock that would paint his face made Cordelia vaguely smile. Of course, then his shock would give way to anger. Maybe even a scowl or a baring of teeth with a curled lip.
Cordelia had fallen silent, as she was wont to do during their newfound morning routine. Rakash chalked it up to her not being fully awake just yet. However, a few days had passed and she'd gotten better over that time, making him want to gauge her health.
He settled on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the headboard but not looking straight at the human woman. "How are you feeling today, Delwi?"
Thankfully, Cordelia had already gulped down the remedy, or else she may have choked. Heat sparked up her, hearing him call her the nickname she grudgingly allowed the trollings to use. The rush of blood to her cheeks made her skin burn as she shot a glare up at Rakash. "You do not call me that!"
"Why not? My kids do." He bit down a grin, watching from the corner of his gaze as the woman visibly bristled. A few days ago, she wouldn't have taken the bait. Opting instead to burrow further into the blankets, while half-heartedly complaining about his stench on them.
"This may come as a surprise to you, but theyare toddlers whereas you are not." Cordelia sniffed disapprovingly at him, settling the cup to the side as she dragged her spoon through the broth he had brought for the midday meal.
"So you noticed," he returned, the ghost of a smile dancing at his lips as his eyes hooded suggestively.
If this was how he interacted with his late wife, Cordelia could almost see his appeal. The irate edge of his voice had softened over the last few days, sounding far smoother than it had since she arrived. Rolling her eyes, she ignored the observation and clung to agitation. "I've barely noticed the difference."
To that, Rakash snorted.
"What?" Cordelia shot back at him.
"You either haven't met many children or know some awfully large ones if you could mistake me for a toddler." He leaned toward her, raising his eyebrows. At some point in their conversation, he had extended an arm behind her shoulders, along the top of the headboard. With her hair plaited and pulled over her shoulder, a vague thought realized he could coast his fingertips along the nape of her neck.
If he wanted to, of course.
"This may be hard for you to understand but I was speaking figuratively, not literally. You do understand the difference, don't you?" She narrowed her eyes at him, funneling haughtiness into her tone. Part of her didn't think he was listening. His gaze seemed angled behind her and Cordelia suddenly felt the open air on her bared skin there. The ambient heat of his arm taunted her.
"Barely." Rakash leaned closer toward her, arm sliding further along the headboard in an attempt to ease the itch in his fingers. Her body language tensed, the faint pink on her cheeks darkening as she turned away from him with a huff and returned to her soup. Like how his body heat teased Cordelia, hers tempted him. The last few days of taking care of her, coupled with his gratitude for her interference, had further softened him to this arrogant woman. It didn't help that his 'stench' and her scent were intertwined in his bed now.
He found his eyes drawn to her lips more often, especially as she ate, recalling the smallest of sounds she had made during their sudden kiss. His fingers curled, knowing how soft she was from that very first night. When he had accidentally stolen her away. Sitting with her under his arm, Rakash knew he would have willingly made the same mistake again.
The thought struck him like a club over the head and he sat straight, averting his gaze with his arm falling off the headboard and to his own side. Rakash had to remind himself Cordelia was not happy with the circumstances. Even if he wouldn't change his actions, she'd surely wish otherwise. That notion spun around his head, even when she shot him a curious look as he retreated.
If he was a lesser man, he could have convinced himself she was disappointed at him moving away.
They sat in silence for a few moments, Cordelia quietly eating and wondering why he'd suddenly pulled away. Rakash continued to sit on the edge of the bed, leaned back against the headboard. A safe buffer of space had squeezed between them.
It was Rakash who broke the amicable silence as he turned toward Cordelia. "Do you feel well enough to get out of bed today?"
She paused, shooting him a suspicious look with her spoon clamped in her mouth. The momentary relief of his eyes being turned away from her as she ate fled as a breathless sort of apprehension crawled back into her chest. Why she suddenly felt fidgety under Rakash's gaze, Cordelia didn't understand.
With that though securely in place, her eyebrow raised cynically as she eased the spoon from her lips. "So eager to put me back to work?"
Only with willful determination did Rakash not let his eyes drop to Cordelia's lips and watch the utensil slip from between her lips. Well, determination and curiosity to see her reaction to what he had planned. "No, I have something to show you."
Cordelia's nose wrinkled with preemptive disapproval, her thoughts swinging back to their previous discussion. She ignored the bite of heat on her cheeks as she said, "This doesn't have anything to do with you proving you're bigger than a toddler, does it?"
"No," he snorted and shook his head, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a grin. "Though, if you ask nicely, I might be inclined t—"
His teasing words were cut off as a flustered Cordelia flung a pillow into his face. As he chuckled into the cushion, she faintly realized that weeks ago she'd been perversely curious how Rakash looked when he smiled, when he laughed. Now, she was woefully unprepared for that expression on his lips, so close to her own face.
She could have leaned over, closed that distance, and—
Before Rakash fully lowered the pillow, a mass of blankets rained down on him. Cordelia scrambled from the bed, moving her bowl of soup to the bedside table with her mug of tea.
"A momentary change of scenery should be fine," she primly trilled as she staggered on semi-wobbly legs to the little heap of her clothes that sat on a small chest by the privacy screen. In her effort to gain distance from Rakash, Cordelia didn't notice when he pushed the blankets off. Nor did she notice how his eyes followed her.
With the light from the window through the thin material of her chemise, memories of her nude form kneeling beside him washed over Rakash's thoughts. A lump formed in his throat as heat raged in his center. When did it become so warm in the room? Taking a deep breath through his nose, he averted his gaze and stood.
"I'll wait for you below as you get ready," he said and headed for the stairs. She didn't seem to care or notice, he thought, as he descended to the safety below.
Sorting carelessly through her clothes, not really seeing what she was picking up, Cordelia listened to Rakash leave. Try as she might, she couldn't ignore heart thrumming noisomely in her chest.
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skullhaver · 2 months
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i did not like poor things, but unlike plenty of other movies that i dislike, i am still thinking about this one nearly a month later. it has lit a low-burning fire in me that only a critical youtube video essay of at least 30 minutes can extinguish
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