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swordsandholly · 21 days

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Fancy

Ch 1: Here’s Your One Chance | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire! Poly! 141 x Plus size! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A permanent darkness rests over the city. Cold, too. Despite living here your whole life you’ve never quite adjusted to the artificial nature of it - to the shadow hanging above the miles and miles of city and the constant chill on your skin.

Really, you aren’t meant to be here. This place isn’t built for humans despite the mass that live within the confines of the city’s dome. It’s made for creatures - beings of the night that stalk and rule. The air has become rotten in the lower neighborhoods over a century due to pollution and overpopulation. It will turn your lungs black before the age of five without the proper protection.

Apartment buildings are crowded and decent living conditions are hard to come by. Many have a waitlist longer than the human lifespan. Most operate on a dorm system - at least one person per room. Randomly assigned of course, based entirely on who can pay the rent. You’ve lucked out enough to earn a shitty studio to yourself. It’s cracked and crumbling but the locks are tight and it has a window - even if the view is just a building across the alleyway.

You squeeze into a black mini dress, tying your hair up to show off the double string of pearls on your neck. They’re the nicest thing you own - the only thing worthy of this club. The only thing that can project the image needed to get proper tips. Red lipstick as a final touch. It’s corny, you know, but the vampire clients are always suckers for it. Pun intended.

This job is important. There can’t be a hair out of place. This is your chance. Your one chance to make enough money to get out of the slums. To at least make it to the middle city. You can practically hear the grime on the sidewalk as you make your way toward the metro station. Dirt and debris so caked into the very air down here that you have to wear a respirator as you go. It’ll leave marks when you first take it off, but they usually disappear by the time you’ve made it from the depot to the club.

You don’t bother with sitting on the train. Hell will freeze over before you chance catching whatever new disease has grown in that Petri dish. Instead you join the rest of the patrons in awkwardly standing in the center of the cart, damn near falling over when the train lurches to begin its journey from the slums to the upper city. There are actual names for the two areas, but nobody uses them anymore.

The respirator makes a hissing sound as you remove it after stepping out of the train. The cool, clean air of the upper city fills your lungs. It’s satisfying in a way its sticky, filtered sister could never be. The faux fur of your cropped coat tickles a bit as you walk, blown by that strange breeze that never seems to stop in the upper city. The one that blows all the grime and smog downhill.

The club sits square in central downtown - the bottom level of a historical hotel. It’s an elegant building. Red with curled metal accents over the windows and doors. Modeled after the ancient art nouveau movement. It sparkles underneath the artificial LEDs of the city - all signs and glowing windows. You can always tell where the humans are, catching glimpses of that unmistakable glow only a UV light gives off.

You duck down the alley behind the hotel. Grimy and dark, the complete opposite of the front entrance. Your heels clack on the concrete loudly - echoing off the hard walls of the building surrounding you.

It’s easy enough to slip into the routine of your job. Going back and forth to the bartender, carrying various drinks and placating the egos of cowardly men and the vampires they lie to themselves about being equal to. You can see the hunger in their eyes when you tilt your head, exposing more of your neck to the light. When your wrists just pass their noses as you set down their glasses.

It’s hard work. Long hours and more days of the week than you would like, but it pays enough for you to afford your little apartment and save some for your future.

“Hey! New girl!” The owner barks at you as you gently set your tray back into the stack to be washed.

You whirl on your heel. Shit, did you fuck up? Ruin everything? Your mind runs through every interaction over the course of the night - every comment, every stilted moment. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Need you as a Companion.” He stands in front of you, the pinstripes of his suit warping over his massive crossed arms. The wrinkle in his nose makes his mustache twitch.

“C-companion!” You squeak. “I’m not-“

“We had a call out. Need you to take the private booth in the back.”

Your eyes are saucers - heart beating so hard you almost can’t hear his words. You don’t know what to make of this. His words are harsh and cut right though you, but the prospect they hold…

“You paying attention?” He grunts.

Your voice shakes. “Just… why me?”

“You match their preference.” Its blunt. Uncaring. Not that you would ever expect much sympathy from the owner of a place like this - feeding girls to vampires and their kin.

Generally, you’re not the type to be preferred - too big and soft for most. It’s what kept you as a server exclusively, you’re sure. Companion is such a major step up, too. You haven’t had any training. You never thought you’d get there - only a few girls make it from Server to Companion. To have it by happenstance…

With a deep breath you remind yourself that this is temporary. Just for tonight. You are acting as a replacement, nothing more. If you pull this off maybe you’ll get enough tips to finally replace the air filtration in your apartment. Maybe you can even get an overhead UV light. Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!

Another tray is shoved into your hands. Is this… actual gold? Ornate designs line the outer rim - all weaving in and out of each other inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. It’s cold on your hands and so shiny you catch your reflection in it before the bartender sets a bottle of wine and four glasses on it. You’re fairly certain between the wine and the tray you are holding upwards of four thousand dollars a in your hands. It takes everything to keep your hands from trembling.

You slowly head for the back booth - just beyond the main floor of the bar. It’s far more quiet here. The music from the floor muffled by distance. There are only a few private booths and they are only ever occupied by the city’s elite. The top of the top. You pause at the heavy, velvet burgundy curtain separating you and your clients for tonight. They could be anyone.

You hope they aren’t the type to get rough.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you use the other the push the heavy curtain to the side - entire body alert and tense as your eyes land on the four men sitting around the rounded booth. Their eyes meet yours, and you freeze. A shiver runs down your spine.

They’re beautiful in that way only vampires can be. Untouchable. Marble-esque. Eyes clear and bright even in the low light of the booth - that sheen of night vision apparent. Lions staring down their prey and you, who walked into the den willingly.

“Good evening.” It takes everything to keep your voice steady. To slip back into that comfortable customer service headspace you’ve curated over the years. “I’ll be your Companion tonight.”

“What happened t’ Cherry?” The man on the outer right side of the booth asks. His arm is slung carelessly over the back of the booth, body slack and comfortable.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You say softly, carefully sliding the tray onto the table. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” A man with an imperial beard smiles. It softens his face - makes him look less like stone. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” You murmur. It’s your chosen work name - based on a song your mother used to play from a century ago. One of your earliest memories is her lifting you into her arms and spinning around to the song. All the workers names are single words. Easy to remember. Easy to request for returning quests.

“Fittin’.” The man to your left grins, bright blue eyes sparkling. His fangs catch the light - your hands tremble for a brief moment.

“Do you know who we are?” The masked man beside him asks. His voice rumbles through your nerves, all the way into your bones. You can hardly look at him - the skull covering the top half of his face makes your gut churn.

Should you know them? Oh, fuck, you probably should. Vampires live forever - their names and legacies travel across centuries. Millenia. It’s going to give you away. You’re just a low class human from the slums. You don’t know Vampires from the uppers.

The illusion of luxury only goes so far.

“It’s not a trick question.” The man to your right smiles gently, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir.”

“Well,” The one with the beard sits a little straighter. “I’m John Price and these are my… confidants. Cohorts. Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley.” He gestures to each as he goes.

John Price… John Price… Nothing comes to mind. Nothing about any of them, for that matter.

“Lovely to meet you.” You smile pleasantly, slipping back into the script. Swallowing roughly and steadying yourself, you reach for the bottle and slowly pouring a tester amount into the four glasses. “Tonight we have a vintage red from 2089.”

John hums, swirling the glass before taking a sip. His eyes glow in the low bar light. “You remember the 80’s, Simon?”

“Which one?” The makes you pause. How many 80’s could there be?

John laughs, whole and hearty. Little crows feet appear in the corners of his eyes. “Which d’you think?”

“I remember the blood.” The masked man mutters. He doesn’t look at John - dark eyes locked on you. You keep up the well trained smile. Neutral, comfortable.

“Och, ye would.” Johnny scoffs, taking his own glass after John gives you a nod to fill the four properly. “Cannae ever remember the good.”

“Well what’s your finest memory then Johnny?”

“There’s was this lass… think her name was Cassandra. Had the biggest tits and-“

“Enough of that. Theres a lady present.” John waves his hand. To your surprise, Johnny actually listens despite looking muffed about it. You can’t help but snort. Lady. As if.

How old are they, anyway? They look young - especially Johnny and Kyle. Definitely below thirty when they were turned. John obviously leads but that doesn’t necessarily mean he turned the rest of them. They could have just come together over the years. Vampire covens vary heavily as to why they came together. Sometimes friendship, sometimes relation, sometimes just convenience.

Simon is still staring you down, hooking a thumb under his mask to raise it just over the end of his nose. Scarred lips sip from his glass.

“Come sit, luv.” Kyle pats the booth beside him.

You snap out of your thoughts at the prompt - moving to sit in the empty spot beside Kyle. The next thing you know hands are on your hips, passing you over until you’re sat square in the middle as if you weigh nothing. You know vampires are strong - you’ve gotten thrown around by your fair share in the slums, whether a mugging or fucking - but it still startles you. They could crush you with barely a flick of the wrist.

Fingers brush over your shoulders, tracing the shape of them before lowering to rest between your exposed shoulder blades. They’re cold and leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Tell us about yourself, hm?” John prompts.

“Oh, not much to tell.” You shrug and smile. “I’m from the city. Started here about a year ago-“

“How have we never seen ye then?” Johnny interrupts, eyes locked on your chest. “A bonnie thing like ye…”

“Well…” You raise your hand to your mouth like you would when whispering a secret. “I’m not supposed to tell but I’m actually a server, normally.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle leans his chin on his palm. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” You huff, letting the pliant facade slip just enough to make yourself seem real. Just a little less doll like before you return to the script.

“Absolutely nothin’.” Simon hums beside you, eyes near black under the shadow of his mask.

Your face heats. Client compliments never get to you and you’re not sure what about his feels so different. All of their attention is so intense. It dives under your skin and burrows deep in your marrow.

“So, seeing as you implied I should know who you are-“ You tilt your head and meeting John’s eye, “who are you?”

John chuckles, leaning close. “Oh, no one important. Contractors. Independently employed.”

“Ah, so, criminals.” You laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I can’t exactly judge.” You lean in as well, shoulder pressing against his broad chest. The material of his suit is soft and thick. High quality. “I mean, look where I am, hm?”

“Are ye a criminal, lassie?” Johnny grins at you, tilting his head. How he makes a mo-hawk cute is beyond you.

“Shh.” You press a finger to your lips.

It’s easy enough to look sultry, to play the part, to mindlessly flirt. Easy enough to fall into the simple back and forth. Scripted. Basic. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just clients at the end of the day, even if they have more money and power than your usual crowd.

You carefully refill each of their glasses. You can feel their eyes on you - boring through your very being. It takes more concentration than you’d like to keep your breath from hitching when John’s hand rests on your upper thigh. You lean forward, pushing each glass back to their respective owners.

Johnny takes your hand before you can retract it, placing gentle kisses from your palm to your wrist. He sighs shakily, teeth catching your skin ever so slightly.

“Johnny.” The masked man rumbles in warning.

“Not gonnae bite, LT… she just smells incredible.” Johnny murmurs against your wrist.

“Have you ever been bitten, dove?” John asks, eyes half lidded as he stares you down. That feeling comes back.

Prey. You’re just prey.

“N-no…” You shake your head, voice smaller than you’d like. You’re not supposed to. Clients aren’t allowed to bite the girls here - it’s not one of those clubs - but in reality you’re at your mercy. To book one of these rooms they surely have the money to pay whoever necessary to do whatever they might want with you.

“Donnae look so afraid.” Johnny chuckles.

“We’re not goin’ t’bite.” Kyle leans forward. “Just curious.”

“Oh…” You whisper. Johnny drops your wrist and you pray that they don’t notice how quickly you retract it.

“Alright boys, time for business.” John sighs. He suddenly grabs your chin, turning you to face him. It’s a light touch, not too rough but solid. His pupils dilate and yours with them. “You’ll forget everything we say from now until I snap my fingers.”

The next thing you know you’re blinking blearily, sitting in John’s lap with your legs across Kyle’s. The younger man’s hand rests on your leg, thumb gently stroking your ankle as you come back to sentience.

It’s like coming up from the undertow and getting your first gasp of air.

“There she is.” Johnny murmurs, smiling softly.

You were compelled - you know that much. It’s disorienting. You rub the corner of your eye, purposefully evening your breath. At least your clothes are all still in place. You don’t feel… touched. Not bitten either. A choked sigh escapes you against your will, hands trembling in your lap.

“You’re alright, dove.” John coos, cold breath puffing against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. How much time has passed? When… what… “Can be hard t’come out of it, hm?”

“I’m okay...” You whisper.

“Have some water.” Kyle pushes a glass toward you. The concern on his face feels foreign.

A large, empty decanter of scotch sits in the center of the table accompanied by several empty glasses. That’s the closest hint you have to how long you’ve been here. You take the glass of water shakily and sip, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the rim.

John continues to coo and soothe down your hair. His other hand travels down to rest on your hip, holding you in place against him. It’s strange… this feeling. You’ve been compelled before briefly but it wasn’t like this. John has to be strong. Old. He’s been around a while to have that kind of power - for it to be this difficult for you to come out of the haze. It’s taking more concentration to keep from crying than you’d like.

Stranger, though, is the way they watch you. The way John works you back to reality. Most vampires would have been inappropriate while you were gone, wouldn’t bother with the borderline aftercare needed when coming out from under their spell. Most would have left you slumped in the booth - drained of blood and pleasure - laughing as they went.

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter and gathering your wits. “Can I get you gentleman anything else?”

They share a look, one that you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asks, voice low.

You look up at him with big eyes. Childlike, almost, staring up in wonder. It’s so strange how vampires aren’t quite white - they just lack the redness of life. The pink under the skin that signifies a beating heart and limited life span.

“I’m sure.”

John presses closer, breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Thank you for being so gracious f’us, tonight.

“Always…” There’s an honestly behind the word that startles you. A craving deep in your bones to prove yourself worthy of him and his men.

Strange.

“We best be on our way.” Simon rumbles, prompting Johnny to let him out of the booth.

John’s eyes flick between yours briefly before he moves you off of his lap with the gentle touch one might use when handling fine china. As much as you want to stay there, dazed and still coming down, you have work to do. So, you stand after them and begin slowly gathering the empty glasses on the tray. They feel heavier in your hand the normal.

A cold touch runs up your back and you freeze. Fingers trace the curve of your spine. You straighten, turning slowly only to meet those soft blue eyes again. John takes your hand, eyes alight with something you don’t understand. “I’ll tell the owner he’s wasting you as a servin’ girl. You’re made for more.”

Before you can even possibly decide how to respond, he’s gone. Disappeared through the curtain and into the forever night. Something crinkles in your hand. When you look down, slowly opening your fingers, the contents make your heart jump into your throat.

Cash. A massive roll of neatly banded cash.

How much is this? A thousand? More?

With frightened eyes and slippery hands you tuck the cash into the secret pocket of your coat. Having that much cash on your person is so out of your wheelhouse - out of the realm of possibility- you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t even get to say thank you.

Your mind whirls as you finish up your shift, eyes glazed over while slipping on your coat. The other girls look off put. A few whisper and stare.

What do they think you did?

Then again, you think as you brace yourself for the lurching and squealing of the metro, there isn’t any way to know what happened. Not unless one of the vampires tells you, and good luck prying any information out of one of them. Even if they tell you, they can just make you forget all over again.

How did you behave? Were you the same as always? Were you an entirely different person?

Some people forget themselves when under compulsion - every inhibition thrown to the wind carelessly. You need your inhibitions. They keep your job secure and yourself safe. You can’t afford carelessness.

The walk back home is tense. That small bulk in your pocket burns a hole though you as your mind runs with every possibility of what might have happened. What you might have done to earn such a massive tip. It can’t have been dignified, could it?

There’s no way they just like you. That’s not how vampires are.

It takes everything to motivate yourself to actually take off your clothing and jewelry before falling into bed. However long they had you, it drained you. Left you tired and shaky as you crawl under the thick bundle of quilts that make up for the lack of heating in your home.

Your eyes meet the wad of cash that barely fit in the inner pocket of your coat. It feels like a threat. Use me well or lose me forever! Make me count because you’ll never see me again!

For now, at least, you can bask in it.

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florencemtrash · 5 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free.

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground.

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes.

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home.

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls.

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance.

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion?

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room.

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those…

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done?

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water.

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-”

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely.

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.”

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.”

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that.

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.”

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor.

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae.

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets.

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed.

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger.

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip.

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands.

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it.

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief.

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye.

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved.

“I made a mistake don’t-”

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather.

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic.

“No, no I didn’t.”

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple.

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman.

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said.

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side.

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.”

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…”

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.”

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice.

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed.

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea.

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly.

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.”

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood.

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.”

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night.

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.”

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him.

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for.

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.”

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x mate reader #inner circle #azriel acotar #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 month

Text

"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Time and distance cannot break certain promises

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: Mentions of war, mental asylums, unjust imprisonment, mentions of controversial mental health treatments, cross dressing (?), implications of violence against women, illness, no betareading we go in raw

Author's note: You might have seen this post where I mention the life of Dorothy Lawrence. Well this is very loosely based on her life mixed with Tommy's story. Left it very open to a part 2 if people like the premise.

(Yes my people watch me put together moodboards instead of choosing gifs)

Requested tag (hope not to disappoint) @brummiereader @emotionalcadaver

The asylum stood tall and imponent before Tommy’s gaze, its towering central dome and flanking turrets framed by the bright sun rays of a cheerful spring afternoon. The radiant gardens contrasted dramatically with the derelict state of the building itself; rusty and broken drainpipes hanging from the roof, rotten wood frames and shattered window panes, missing chunks of brick on the walls, revealing the inner framing and plaster. Nothing about that place inspired trust to those who crossed its threshold, let alone hopes of betterment. The lamentable exterior stood like the perfect match of the decadence within.

The smell of rot assaulted him the second he entered. The paint had started to peel off, and moisture stains crawled across walls and ceiling. Most windows in the main hall were shuttered, and the incandescent light bulbs did little to cut through the darkness, casting a sickly shadow over the room. The orderly that welcomed him in the entrance had an embittered face, and he questioned Tommy on his name, whom he was visiting and his reasons to. He patted him down and overturned his pockets, making him leave behind anything that could be used to harm or be harmed. Cap, cigar case, lighter, sleeve garters and shoelaces stayed behind while another orderly led him through long hallways and endless locked doors towards the morning hall where he’d meet the purpose of his visit.

Finally, they stopped before a wide set of oaken double doors with panels of rubbed glass, which allowed him a faint peek of what happened on the other side. The orderly barely opened the door enough to enter himself and told Tommy to wait outside, as if he feared something may escape from within given the chance. After a few minutes he returned, leaving the gap open for Tommy to pass through.

“Sister Janice will take you to her. Don’t look at other patients. Don’t talk to other patients. If they come to you, ignore them. Don’t take anything they give you”

Perplexed, curious and mostly annoyed by all the delays, Tommy ducked under the orderly’s arm while he held the door open. As soon as he stepped inside the orderly let go, and the door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The sudden brightness hurt his eyes after the unceasing darkness, and Tommy had to squint briefly as his pupils grew accustomed to his surroundings. An ample hall stretched before him, arch windows spanning from floor to ceiling lining the west and north walls. Moth eaten draperies of blue velvet had been drawn back to allow sunlight in, in hopes of insufflating some life into the gelid heart of the asylum.

The room had surely once been a magnificent ballroom, but had now been reduced to the sad, dirty, abandoned alcove where the non-aggressive patients spent most of their waking hours, some engaged in the very few activities offered to them, others dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves like lost souls, their gazes absent and their appearance unkempt. Not one person appeared to have a coherent thought there, and Tommy wondered if it was due to their own ailments, or due to the medicines the nurses forced down their throats to keep them tame and peaceful, albeit stupid.

As Tommy walked past, he couldn't help but notice the way his presence drew attention from them. The patients stopped in their tracks to stare at him as if he were the most marvellous wonder they had ever seen. They pointed at him, uttering incoherences and laughing at jokes no one else heard. Some tried to get close but were forced back with a sharp gesture by the nun accompanying him, whom only now Tommy noticed, carried a mean looking leather strap, hanging side by side with a rosary from her cord belt.

At long last, she came into view. Slouched on a rocking chair facing the windows, a ragged purple cardigan thrown over a white, floor length dress, resembling more a nightgown than any sort of decent clothing. A white linen cap covered her hair, and Tommy noticed that the ties had been removed, as had been from the rest of her garments. She looked thinner, thinner even than she did in France. She gave no indication that she had noticed their presence, her dulled eyes fixated on the gardens outside.

“I have it from here, sister” Tommy dismissed the nun with a wave of his hand, dragging a nearby stool to sit next to the woman.

“I’m sorry Mr. Shelby, but I cannot allow you to be unsupervised with a patient. She seems tame now, but who knows what atrocities a woman of sin like her might commit”

Tommy wanted to snort. She barely looked strong enough to hold herself in the chair, how could she harm anyone?

“She won’t attack me sister” Tommy insisted “Now step back, and I will make sure the asylum is handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

The nun opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then chose against it. The asylum could do with some extra coin, after all. She straightened up and smoothed her habit, perhaps a way to reinstate her authority that Tommy had so brazenly challenged.

“You have half an hour” She stated at last before walking away towards a group of patients who were seemingly arguing over a doll.

Tommy’s gaze returned to the woman in front of him, who continued to be absent from the world around her, and who gave no sign of life other than the steady rising and falling of her shoulders with each breath. Thomas allowed the pause to linger between them a few seconds longer, but he didn’t want to waste his allotted time. He wouldn’t put it past these people to drag him out like that; the laws of men did not apply in these sorts of places.

He called her name softly, in a nearly soothing whisper. Once, twice, thrice, yet it did not do to her more than the drafts howling through the broken panes or the maniac laughs of the patients around them. He didn’t want to touch her and risk startling her, but he didn’t want to spend his visit staring at her left cheek. He took his last chance, using this time a different name, a name he had not pronounced since 1915.

“Private Anders”

The name stirred something in her mind. Her back straightened a bit and her features quivered in recognition. Slowly, stiffly, she turned towards Tommy, her eyebrows first furrowing in confusion then rising in surprise.

“Sergeant Major?” Her shock could not be disguised, and she readied to rise and salute, but Tommy motioned for her to remain seated.

“At ease, private”

Tommy recalled perfectly the first day he saw her. They were stationed near Albert, digging up a new front line as they tried to gain terrain from the Germans. The troops from the British Expeditionary Force and the 179th tunnelling company consisted mostly of coal miners, all turned sappers whose task was to ready up the land for battle. The clay rich soil basically melted between their fingers when it rained, making the digging of trenches and shelters a never-ending battle. The dampness crept up their legs and seeped into their bones, and Tommy had seen one too many soldiers whose feet rotted inside their boots. Even the strongest men, used to work from sun to sun in the depths of the coal mines breathing dust and methane, would sometimes succumb to the elements.

Tommy worked paired with Tom Dunn, a man as thick of back as he was of skull. He could easily lift an adult man and throw him across the field like a sack of potatoes, and legend has it he pulled the coal carts in the mine when the horses couldn’t. If left to it, he could probably dig out the trench with only his hands and his helmet.

He had been the one to introduce Tommy to her. Dunn had hidden that little lunatic in an abandoned cottage, not too far from where the troops were stationed. Somehow, she had obtained a uniform, which she had padded with cotton wool to flatten her curves and broaden her shoulders. Her hair had been cut in a military style, scrapes on her cheeks simulated a shaving rash, and potassium permanganate attempted to sharpen her jaw and cheekbones with dark shadows.

She slept in a damp mattress, with little more than a threadbare blanket to keep her warm; she had no means of acquiring something better, nor could she light a fire in the dusty hearth for fear of being discovered. Dunn had been feeding her with whatever he could spare from his own rations or snatch from others, which meant she had been eating the minimum for survival, since the woods offered nothing but naked branches at that time of year.

Tommy had been left thunderstruck, far too much to react properly. A million questions came to his lips, and a million died there as his mind couldn’t exactly put into words what he wanted to know. His gaze flickered between them both, who looked at him pleadingly like a couple of children asking their parents to stay up late. His first instinct was to call up their superior and hand her over to them, for her own safety, but then he thought about it better. The things that could happen to her if he handed her over to the war office…and that’s it, if they handed her over in the first place, or chose to make justice themselves.

No, for the sake of her safety and his conscience, he would play along with them for now.

“What is your name?” He inquired, a simple question to cut through the gelid silence that had befallen them.

For an answer, she handed Tommy papers and a matching dog tag. Forgeries, most likely, and very good ones, which meant she spent money on those. Paying from her own pocket to go to war

They held each other's gaze for endless seconds. At long last, Tommy offered a handshake.

“Welcome to the 179th tunnelling company, Private John Anders. I’ll look after you”

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting. The person who sat before him, hunched and dirty and completely lost to the world, bore no resemblance to the fiery, and perhaps a little unhinged, woman that had gone through every length to infiltrate herself in the front line. Years of memory seemed to have been erased from her mind, but she recalled vividly everything she went through in her time in France. She did not know the day and year she lived in but could easily recite the names of every man she met from the 179th, as well as every technique they implemented to dig out the clay.

Tommy was sure that, if he were to put a shovel in her hands, she would unconsciously start digging.

He had partly placated his worries by placing a nurse in the asylum, one handpicked by Polly and paid out of his own pocket, to look after her. But that solution felt like not enough. Not by a mile. What that place did to her, what they were turning her into…Killing her bit by bit, stripping away her sanity to erase from her any memory she held of those weeks in the front. He still recalled the tunnel collapse, when the rain-soaked clay began to crumble over them like cold tar, obscuring their vision and sticking their feet to the ground. How the men dragged out each other, coated from head to toe in the reddish paste. She had tripped, her foot had gotten stuck, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that she had been left behind, and he had re-entered the tunnel for her. Feeling his way through the darkness, keeping an eye on the entrance, calling her name out; her fake name, for even in the face of danger he had the mental fortitude to remember the importance of her cover up. How she dropped her own facade, her fearful voice calling him as she stretched her arm towards him.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy

“Tommy!” Billowed an angered female voice, dragging his thoughts back to the present time.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to dissipate the fogs of the past that laid over them. Because he was not in the tunnels, nor in the Western front. He was sitting in his office, behind his desk, nursing a whiskey in his hands and with Polly sitting across him, equally angered and perplexed at her nephew’s inattention.

“You know I don’t appreciate my words being wasted”. It sounded like a threat, but half of the things Polly said usually did “If you had no interest in this briefing, you could have rescheduled our meeting”.

“You hate your time being wasted” Tommy pointed out.

“Which is exactly what you’re doing now” She remarked.

Silence lingered in the office while Polly lit a new cigarette and Tommy downed his drink, which had already begun to warm in his hands. He stood to pour another, which he finished almost immediately.

“So” Polly began, exhaling the smoke in an elegant blow “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” As usual, Polly could see through him as easily as one would do through a clean glass. It unnerved him sometimes, to be laid open so vulnerably under her watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing” Tommy sat before the fire; hands laced behind his head in an attempt to seem relaxed.

“There’s been many things on your mind, Tommy, and nothing has never been one of them”. Polly’s slender fingers ran across the glass bottles on the bar cart before settling on gin, pouring herself a more than generous serving.

“You’re thinking of her”.

Tommy immediately thought of denying it, but what was the point? When Polly knew, no one could tell her otherwise. And as much as he hated others meddling in his business, the words came tumbling before he could hold them back.

“I’m just worried. She’s not the same she used to be. I don’t know what they do to her in that place, but she’s changed. Those medicines they give her, and who knows what else they’ve done. You know the treatments” He shook his head, as if to dismiss everything he said “Just worried”

“It’s been many years since you last saw her. Everyone changed after the war. God knows you did”.

“This is not the same. They’re killing her there” Tommy stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution to his problems in the plaster. Polly only watched him, pondering over her next words carefully. She only hoped she would not regret whatever her nephew chose to do next.

“If her wellbeing worries you so, you have to do the right thing”

He frowned, turning to look at her with confusion clear in his eyes. Polly sipped the gin, swirling it around her mouth as she gave it a last thought. This was one of the far and few times in which Tommy proved he had a heart, and that softened her as well.

“If you are worried, you act. If they’re killing her in there, you get her out”

The sun had finally shone upon the soldiers after nearly a week of bad weather, when rain and fog had turned the living conditions in the trenches into nearly inhumane. The soldiers were happy, for they would no longer shiver until their bones ached, and they would at last be able to put their clothes and themselves to dry. The tunnellers were less than pleased, for the sun had dried the clay into a solid wall, forcing them to exhaust their muscles to dig out chunks the size of their heads while the sweat ran down their temples and backs. Their comrades kept them supplied with water, but it felt like pouring water on a bottomless bucket.

Tommy worked side by side with her. Him. Her. Her identity still got tied in his mind, and he had to think through every word addressed in her direction for fear of blowing her cover. He watched her out of the corner of the eye as she swung the pickaxe with a strength and determination he never expected to see in a woman. Despite her resilience, Tommy worried about her, and kept a watchful gaze for any sign of exhaustion. She could not afford to be taken ill or injured, for a trip to the medical tent would be enough to unravel all her carefully crafted lies. He had to take care of her.

They both worked in the very end of the trench, and the sounds around them would conceal any hushed conversation. Tommy’s curiosity was stronger than his willpower

“Why?”

She didn’t react at first, and Tommy thought she either didn’t listen to him, or chose to ignore him, both of which were valid. But before he could ask again, she whispered back, keeping her manly tone

“Why what?”

“Why come here? What sane person would come here, on her own free will, to be forced into coldness and starvation? Risk your life, and for what purpose? Couldn’t find good places to dig back in England?”

She snorted, the sound quite lighter than any man’s laugh, so she concealed it by clearing her throat

“I wanted to serve my country, same as you. Is there any sin on that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep?”

She stopped digging for a moment, leaving the pickaxe embedded in the clay. She sat in the upturned bucket they used as stool, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t work shirtless, and their uniforms had been made to shield from the cold only. Tommy offered her water; she drank a sip and poured the rest on her head. He noticed her hair had grown again, and curled behind her ears. He made a mental note to give her a trim after nightfall.

“I just wanted to see what it was like. What it really was. They don’t tell us the truth back home. The newspapers make it sound as if the front is almost peaceful and the men are just laying back eating turkey while the Germans fall a hundred a day. I wanted the truth, and I want to write about it. Make a book of all the lies they fed us home.”

Her reasoning didn’t sit well with him. All that effort, that trouble, that risk, just to figure out if war was as bad as she thought? Mad, mad in the head this one.

“And what does your family think you’re doing away from home?”

She scratched her chin, in the same way Tommy did when he got a shaving rash from his blunt razors. She had picked up male mannerisms quite fast, particularly his own

“Not much family left to care what I do or stop doing. I said I’d come to France to volunteer as a nurse, but they most likely think I came as a camp follower. If they knew what I’m up to, they would have me committed to the closest madhouse”

“The madhouse is where you belong” Tommy replied, albeit jokingly, as he stopped his work to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. But he was interrupted by a ball of clay being tossed at his face with masterful precision, dampened for maximum effect.

“Shut up, Sergeant Major”

Blue skies and a pleasant breeze welcomed them at the gates of Arrow House. Tommy chose to drive this time, taking the advice from the doctor who would oversee her care, who suggested she be exposed to the least amount of people possible during the first days as she adjusted to life outside. Only Tommy, Frances and the nurse who would be her primary caretaker.

She stared at the world around her with such wonder, like a blind whose sight had been restored. Every tree, every bird, the very landscape that surrounded his manor brought such wonder onto her face, like a child with a Christmas tree. Her happiness almost managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a good idea.

When Polly told him to get her out, he knew she meant to put her in a home of her own, with a caretaker, and allow her to have a life of her own. And Tommy considered the idea, for a while. To place her in a nice neighbourhood, in a house with a garden and a balcony where she could enjoy the sun, with a nurse and maids and a car. But it didn’t sit right with him. She had been alone ever since they took her. Imprisoned until the war ended, and then released only to be taken to the madhouse at first chance. Not one familiar face around her for nearly a decade. No, Tommy wouldn’t take her out of a cage just to put her back in a smaller, prettier one. She needed someone to protect her. And for better or worse, that one could only be Tommy.

When the car came to a halt, she was the first one out, gaping at the imponent state which Tommy owned.

“Is this where you live, Sergeant Major?” The wonder was palpable in her voice. But the only thing Tommy noticed was that after everything she still couldn’t find it in her to call him by his name.

“2000 acres of land, of which 12 are just garden, and 750 acres of farming land”

She cocked an eyebrow, and in the amused twinkle of her eyes Tommy saw a glimpse of the one she used to be.

“Are you a farmer now, sir?” She disguised her laugh behind the handkerchief she insisted on carrying, looking down like a bashful schoolgirl.

Tommy pulled out a cigarette; he felt the corner of his lips pulled into the shadow of a smile, pleased to see her spirits lifted.

“My business is more focused on progress and modernity, but I wouldn’t reject the idea. Perhaps one day it’ll come in hand to have crops and cows”

“That would be the bloody day” She didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time “Our mighty Sergeant Major, dressed in overalls and with mud up to his knees shovelling cow shit”

“I find myself more interested in horse shit these days. Come on, I’ll show you around”

Tommy gave her a complete tour of the house and adjacent grounds, both to show her everything that would be at her complete disposal, and also as a way to show off how far he had come since they were both in the trenches, hunched over a meagre fire lit inside an empty can and sharing a homemade cigarette made from tobacco leftovers. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her fingers running over tapestries, leathers and carved wood with childlike wonder

He saved her room for last. A wide bedroom at the very back of the house, situated in a corner with plenty of windows. It had a view of the back of the state, so she could enjoy the gardens, the horses and the surrounding woods. In the corner with the most sunlight Tommy had placed a writing desk, supplied with paper, pens, ink and a brand new typewriter. Amidst everything sat a bunch of old and worn pages, all of different sizes and materials, kept together nicely with leather cord. She picked it up gingerly, running her thumb over the first page. Even though the paper was stained and dusty, the words could be read as easily as the first day she wrote them.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged the improvised diary to her chest like it was a most prized possession. And perhaps it was. She turned towards Tommy, a mixture of bewilderment and eternal gratitude plastered on her features

“Where did you get it? I thought they would have had it destroyed when they locked me up”

Tommy only smirked, pulling out a cigarette from the golden case he carried “Remember what I told you? Always make sure someone owes you something”

That gesture, so small yet so meaningful, shifted something inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears she attempted to fight, but they won in the end. She practically jumped into Tommy’s arms, hugging him with the eagerness of a person who has been denied a caring touch for far too long.

“How will I ever be able to thank you enough, Sergeant Major?”

His free arm circled her frame, returning the gesture

“You can start by calling me Tommy”

Worry crept up Tommy’s spine as the higher ups did their rounds to inspect the work on the freshly dug trenches. It had been three days since she last showed up, and he would soon run out of lies to cover up for “Private Anders’” absence.

As much as she tried to deny it, finally the harsh conditions had caught up to her. Her health had gone down a slippery slope with the arrival of winter. First it had been just a fretless dry cough, easily softened with pine tea. But then came the bone pains, the headaches, the constant fatigue. The dampness of her safe haven had seeped into her bones and caused some sort of rheumatism. Tommy noticed the swelling of her hands as they struggled to grip the pickaxe. Her hair began to fall out in clumps.

The shivers and the fever had finally knocked her off her feet. She had been unable to leave her cottage, which in turn worsened her condition even further. Tommy had tried to bring her something more substantial to eat, but she seemed unable to eat more than a few bites of stale bread dipped in some coffee the Americans had given them. Dry, suffocating coughs racked her body until she had to gasp for air, her teeth and lips speckled with blood.

“This is the end line” She had mumbled weakly during the third night, while Tommy tried to desperately convince her to light a fire to warm and dry the place

“No. You are not going to die. I won’t allow it. I told you I’d take care of you” He stated firmly, sitting on the floor by her side with her hand in his, his other one cupping her feverish cheek. He had been in a similar spot, not too long ago. Watching life fade away from a young woman’s eyes. He refused to let her die, not like that, not there where he would have to dump her body in the river.

“I am not going to die” She stated with a conviction her current condition didn’t match “But to survive, I have to turn myself in”

The idea of handing her over to the war office filled Tommy with panic

“No, no you cannot do that. Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Your best prospect would be to be thrown in jail, to be given 10 years for impersonating a soldier. And that’s if the higher ups are feeling compassionate” He shuddered at thinking what those wolves would do to her “Listen, I get leave tomorrow night. I’ll go to the nearest town, get some medicine, maybe I can pawn some things and get you a new blanket. You-”

“No” With great effort, she propped herself up in one elbow. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the strands of hair left in the pillow “I’ve implicated you long enough. The excuses and lies you have made for me are enough to have you dishonourably discharged and tried. You have done everything you could for me, and for that I am forever indebted to you, Sergeant Major. This next chapter in my life, I have to write it alone”

She sounded dejected and disappointed, as if she had failed some unwritten expectation of her adventure. But Tommy thought quite the opposite. He only felt admiration for the things she had put herself through in order to tell her story. He still thought she was mad in the head, but in a completely different way

“Will you mention my name when you write your book?” He asked jokingly, helping her lay back down slowly, pulling the ragged blanket up to her chin

“Only if you want to be jailed next to me for helping an intruder” She laughed, but the sound was cut short by another fit of coughing “I’ll dedicate it to you, Sergeant Major. Everything I write and do will be because of you”

Tommy awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide open, darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. Everything seemed to be calm in his room. And then it happened again. A dry thud in the wall, followed by a muffled scream.

In a heartbeat he was out of bed, gun in hand. He followed the noises, which seemed to grow louder the closer he got to her bedroom. The door was ajar, allowing a sliver of moonlight to project in the floor, in which Tommy could see two shadows moving.

He stormed inside, gun ready to fire. But he didn’t find an intruder, no. Just her, on her knees, banging her fists against the wall as she screamed. Her nurse stood by her side, amidst a disaster of clothes and books and other objects, unsuccessfully trying to coax her back to bed

“Miss, please. The hour is quite late. You need sleep”

“No, no. The walls are coming down. We have to get out, the roof’s collapsing!” She yelled desperately, clawing at the wall trying to dig herself out of some dark place that only existed in her head. He saw her nails tear the wallpaper with ferocity. And then he noticed the nurse unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a syringe

“No” He said almost immediately as he put a firm hand on the nurse’s arm “Go to bed. I have this”

“But Mr. Shelby!”

“I said go. Leave me with her”

The nurse doubted, holding his gaze, but chose to exit the room, closing the door behind her.

Tommy walked towards her slowly, afraid he would startle her. He gingerly touched her arm, but his presence went as unnoticed as a speck of dust. He called out her name, again and again, without success. The mud had seeped deep in her brain, as it had done his, and blocked her senses from the outside world. In order to get through, Tommy had to get into the mud with her

He stood tall, in martial position, hands behind his back

“Private Anders!”

Quick like a lightning bolt, she stood up and saluted in a firm position. Tears streaked her face and her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf

“Sergeant Major sir!”

“At ease, private. You are relieved of your duties. Time to go back home”

Like the lifting of a spell, her eyes glossed over as she blinked slowly, looking around her from the bed, to the things she had thrown around in haste, and finally towards Tommy. Her lower lip quivered

“What is happening to me?”

Her knees faltered. Tommy lunged forward before she could hit herself, coming down to the floor with her held in his arms. She burrowed herself in his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt as she wept, her body racked by sobs. Tommy shushed her quietly, his fingers carding through her hair

“Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby one shot #marsie writes #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine

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sinning-23 · 6 months

Text

Fishbowl (Buggy x Siren!Reader)

I hope you guysss like this one lol it’s been in the works for a minute and is one of the last in the siren/mermaid series! Also sorry for any spelling errors! This one with be a two part red and definitely some angst? Or at least I’ll try lol angst isn’t exactly my specialty!

Anyway, ENJOY!

Your nails claw at the glass, leaving scrapes and indents in their wake. After being captured by these pirates, you were transported to a large glass dome on wheels. You were panicking, the screeching from your echolocation making passerby’s of the crew cover their ears and double over.

Why you? You hadn't even been by the ship...they just pulled up to the shore of your home island firing cannons as your sisters swam for cover. You directed them, helping them escape only to be grabbed by the hair an dragged to the shore before you could make your escape.

Any mermaid knew what happened when they were captured.... fin scales used for jewelry, the rich meat of your tails used in rare dishes. The your teeth would be grinder down to pearl like where’s, drilled for necklaces. Nausea builds in the pit of your stomach. This was it.

He approached you, lifting you by your hair as your gills opens and close at the side of your neck, an unpleasant, wet sounding “gasp” filling the silence.

“What a treat. My audience is gonna love you.”

You swallow hard, native tongue sliding off with venom. He sneers at this.

“Too bad I can’t understand you sweets.” Buggy chuckles.

He’s got your arm in an uncomfortable grip as he drags you across the sand and flings you into another crewmate. I’m some kind of silent agreement the carry you across the sandy beach to the temporary tank. Your stomach turns, glittery tears falling down your cheeks.

Currently, you keep clawing, scratching, and screeching, and the glass begins to crack at this latest noise. You needed to get out. But before you can fix your voice to scream again, he enters.

"Please shut your mouth sweetheart. You're not going anywhere.” He explains with a roll of his eyes.

You speak again, and of course, he can understand but it’s something along the lines of,

“I’ll kill you when I get out of here.”

_____4 months______

You scratched a tally for each day you were there, the fishbowl now adorned with a stand and a pretty label in fancy blue ribbon and gold paint. He forced you to act in his shows, putting your gifted set of pipes “to good use”. Even though your siren song was powerful, its intended purpose seemed to fade away.

Every song you sang, the sorrow of being captured poured into your notes, making the audience ever more mournful than they already were. Your songs and performances almost always ended in tears now, Buggy’s crew opting to wear earplugs in fear they’d end their lives then and there if they heard one more melancholic tune.

Buggy, on the other hand, was beginning to grow ever impatient. The first two months of shows had gone just fine! His crew and audience were so enamored by your beauty and sound. Now it was just pitiful. But even though it pissed him off his own decisions led to failure, he couldn’t help but want your gorgeous set of pipes to himself.

Often, he’s caught himself in a daze, wondering what it feels like to have you sing him to sleep, your hands caressing his face with a smile and he pulls into a sense of security. Fat chance though…

Besides, you hadn’t even really been properly introduced since that day he surprise adopted you(kidnapped). Perhaps he should make conversation? He shakes his head at the thought, sitting in his designated chair, just watching.

Your scales flash and flicker sparkles of light in the empty tent. Maybe that’s why he captured you in the first place? You were beautiful. And his did he love seeing those pretty glittery tears roll down your cheeks when you’d first met.

A smile plays over his lips when you catch him staring, your eyes narrowing for a moment before you press against the glass, blowing bubbles at him from under the water. You say something he can’t quite hear.

In a curious haze, he stands, walking up to your fishbowl, looking at each tally you’d engraved into the glass.

“Why won’t you let me go?” You hum, the water making your voice somehow sound prettier that ever, the slight muffle making him hum.

“Because I like sad songs.” He jokes, circling your glass prison.

How typical of him, to joke in a serious situation like this, well serious to you at least. He really takes time to observe you, the way your scales seem to be some sort of opalescent chrome.

How your hair floats around your face, your gills opening and closing ever so slightly. He admires the smaller fins adorning your spine and forearms. He wonders if you’re insecure about them.

“Sing for me.”

It’s a demand, and before you can protest, he’s already back in his chair, watching, resting his head against his closed fist.

Even though you feel obligated, your voice and song feel softer now. Almost as if the small interaction with the captain had only slightly lifted your spirit.

And somehow your hymn didn’t seem so dismal.

#x reader #reader is a siren #i don't care he's hot #one piece live action #one piece #opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece buggy #one piece x reader #buggy the clown #op buggy #buggy the clown x reader #angst?

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sarahwroteathing · 6 months

Text

Christmas Drabble Request: Tinsel, exhausted, Natasha

[Natasha Romanoff x reader]

*****

Natasha was late. Very, very late.

She ran up the stairs like there was a supersolldier on her ass, holding her paper bag over head in an attempt to protect it from the worst of the jostling.

"Please be awake. Please be awake," she muttered to herself.

The hall lights flickered on as she rushed out of the stairwell, caught by the motion detectors. As she neared the door of your shared apartment, she caught the soft sounds of your "night in" playlist filtering through the door. After taking a moment to catch her breath and plan her approach, Natasha fished her keys out of her pocket and let herself inside.

The overhead lights were off, the living area only lit by strands of colorful twinkle lights below the TV, the small tree in the corner, and the candles in the window. The music was still muffled, coming from the back bedroom. Nat slipped her shoes off and followed the sound with a small frown.

The bedroom was similarly lit, the overhead light off and the walls glowing with circles of red, pink, orange, green, and blue. String lights were fixed carefully around the headboard, and a lamp on the nightstand was on. You were sitting at your small vanity table, wrapped in your soft winter robe and finishing the last step of your evening skincare routine.

"Hey, baby," Natasha said softly. And she wasn't trying to play you, but she couldn't help letting her eyes go a little soft, a little wide. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She didn't offer any excuses. You knew the drill by now, unfortunately.

"I'm glad you're safe," you said, trying very hard to sound casual. But Nat still heard the lingering disappointment in your voice. You were about to say something else when you finally caught a glimpse of her in the mirror.

You turned quickly on your low stool, reaching for her with a sad frown. You'd been together for too long to be surprised by the bruise blooming on her cheekbone, but that didn't mean you were ever okay with seeing it.

Natasha dropped gently to her knees beside you, closing her eyes with a contented hum when you hands came up to cradle her face.

"Do I need to go kick someone's ass for you?" you asked, reaching for the small glass bottles and jar on the table again, your touch achingly gentle and sweet as you started applying those fancy serums and moisturizers to her skin this time.

"No, I took care of it."

"Good."

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said again, but you shook your head dismissively. "I really wanted to decorate with you."

"It's okay. I took care of it." You stood up, drawing Natasha up with you. "You look exhausted."

"I am," she sighed, following you thoughtlessly as you led her back into the living room. "But I don't think I'm ready to sleep yet."

"I know. Go sit on the couch. I'll be there in a second."

Natasha dropped heavily onto the cushions. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wane, her whole body felt clumsy and heavy.

"Oh, there's a bag by the door!" she called to you, hearing you shuffle around the kitchen. "I brought some stuff."

“Oooo, did you buy me something shiny?” you joked, settling beside her carrying the bag and balancing a small plate of rugelach that Nat knew on sight was from her favorite bakery.

“Yes, actually,” she said, accepting the plate with a soft thank you.

You set the bag on your lap, smiling as you carefully lifted a small, potted poinsettia out first.

“Is this your festive twist on apology roses?”

“Mhmm,” Nat hummed around a mouth full of pastry.

You shook your head with a smile, setting the poinsettia down on the coffee table. Next came a small ornament, and a crinkle of confused amusement appeared between your brows. It was a tiny blue and red striped cup with a clear dome lid covering a disc of red glitter.

“Is this an icee?”

“Our first date,” Natasha reminded you. “You got a cherry icee. And a brain freeze.”

“You little softie,” you said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “That wasn’t a date though.”

“I kissed you at the end of it.”

“That doesn’t make it a date,” you laughed, kissing her again.

The ornament joined the flowers on the table, and you pulled the last item from the bag.

“Tinsel?”

“Something shiny.”

“Right,” you said knowingly, glancing over at the tree. “You want to sneak in some extra decorating tomorrow?”

“I would love to,” she said sincerely.

“Okay,” you said, patting your lap. “But rest first.”

Nat set her plate aside, scooting around on the couch until she could rest her head on your thighs. Your hands were in her hair almost immediately, combing gently through the chaotic strands that were still damp from her post-mission shower. She let her eyes slipped closed, taking a deep breath and finally releasing all that tension she still held in her body, melting into the couch, into you.

She was almost asleep when she heard the faint crinkle. One green eye slid open just long enough to watch your hand slip into the tinsel package. She smiled a little, feeling the way your fingers worked through her hair and knowing that she’d wake up with bright silver strands woven through a messy braid.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff imagine

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oqmemphis · 2 days

Note

i MUST hear more about this very normal and completely functional minecraft server. please spill more details

Before the last world reset, there was a region a few hundred blocks across which was permanently lit as though it were noon 24 hours a day, because one of the admins replaced every air block with an invisible level 15 light block. Directly next to this was a former ocean that got turned into a vast plain of packed ice stretching in every direction; you could stand in the middle of it and it would be indistinguishable from superflat.

On that old world, the market next to spawn had about a 50% chance of completely locking up my game any time I went there, and the only way to fix it was to go into Task Manager and force-crash Minecraft. Nobody else ever had this issue, and to this day I do not know what caused it.

There was an entirely separate world containing a single castle, which you could only get to if the owner of the castle teleported you in there. The castle was supposed to be surrounded by an inescapable dome of barrier blocks, but I managed to get out and explore the rest of the world. At 0,0 there was a village that had generated in a massive pit, a hundred blocks across and stretching nearly to bedrock. Immediately next to this pit was a frozen river bearing the shatter pattern of some kind of large explosion, set off by forces unknown.

Someone built an outpost one million blocks away from spawn. Those chunks got culled at some point, and when the player who built it went back there they found a completely different landscape generated in its place. There was never an update that changed terrain generation during that world's run.

Recently, the functionality of rails got completely inverted. Unpowered rails would accelerate a minecart, while powered ones would stop it in its tracks. This, at least, was just an issue with one plugin being configured wrong. Sometimes there are issues where multiple plugins exist alongside each other fight for dominance.

We have one plugin that allows some players to fly and resist all fall damage without elytra or equipment, and another plugin that (until recently) was configured to block the first plugin from functioning whenever you were in another player's land claim. This led to situations where you could fly into an invisible claim region and instantly drop out of the sky and die. I have died seven times on this world, and all of them were because of this.

There is an obsidian sphere about a hundred blocks across, mostly submerged in the ocean; elsewhere, there is an island of comparable size which is covered entirely in basalt; and elsewhere still, there is a region of forest that has been fully replaced with sculk. I know this because I am currently making a map of the server covering around 12000x12000 blocks, and all those places just show up as mysterious, cursed splotches of black.

There is a lot of lore and roleplaying. The Queen is both fae and vampiric; my queries as to how precisely a diet of blood is reconciled with an iron allergy have gone largely unanswered. She has also canonically destroyed and remade the entire world on two separate occasions. The server has only undergone one world reset.

Immediately before said reset, I wrote a 70-page book filled with footnote labyrinths, in which my character briefly goes on an anti-capitalist rant before discussing the architectural styling of his home and the impending obliteration thereof. It serves as a spiritual sequel to a 100-page book which is ostensibly a user manual for installing an item sorter, but which also contains the lyrics to Mr Blue Sky and mentions something called the "City of Ouranos Department for Bibliographical Metaphysics and Chilled Legumes" (which is a reference to a different server I used to play on, in which a "Cool Bean War" was instigated with the help of a book that would crash your game if you tried to read past the first page).

The item sorter that the aforementioned user manual is for is a colossal assemblage of redstone components that click and flash for several minutes every time you put anything into it. I never actually built this on the server, because I ended up making a much simpler design using a custom plugin called SlimeFun (which tries to emulate the functionality of a tech mod without actually being one). This plugin's cargo management system does not contain a priority allocation mechanism, so I ended up implementing one by forcing the lower-priority route through a very long cargo pipe that eventually loops back on itself and ends at an overflow chest a few blocks from the starting point, thereby tricking SlimeFun's pathfinding algorithm into only sending items through it if every other option has been exhausted.

A reincarnation of Herb the Herbalist, the bizarre glitchy NPC entity that @the-unseelie-court-official has discussed at length, now resides in a hole directly under world spawn, repeating the same six lines of dialogue on a loop for all eternity:

I once was free, you know? There was a time when the Queen almost came toppling around me. Like a puppet with no strings I could not move nor speak, but I was free. It was stripped from me. Even now I dance her tune, only speaking of this past because she lets me. I crave nothing more than death. Please, unjust unmerciful God who would leave me to survive.

So, y'know, they're doing fine.

#normal server #long post

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neongreenllama · 5 months

Text

Prompt: Snow

@wolfstarmicrofic - 788 words

(we are pretending it's still december and this is not Very Late)

cw grief

Remus put on the kettle, like he did every morning. He pulled out two cups and put in teabags.

It was quiet in the little cabin, like every morning. One would think a toddler of seventeen months of age meant a lot of screaming and laughing and crying and general ruckus, but an almost eerie silence had enveloped the cabin like a dome. The lights and cheer from the distant outside hadn’t reached it; everything inside was dim and muffled as though moving through cotton.

Remus lifted his heavy arm through the cotton to turn off the kettle and pour their tea when Sirius spoke.

“Snow.”

His voice was slow to travel through the silence and when it reached Remus it was barely audible. There was a time when they had spoken every morning; Remus couldn’t even remember what of. What was ever so interesting about another day, another breakfast, that there was anything to say about it? Was it once brighter, his chest lighter?

“Snow,” Sirius said again from far away but Remus’s brain couldn’t push the cotton away to understand what he was trying to say. “Remus.”

At his name Remus did hum distractedly to signal that he was listening while he put sugar in his tea and stirred.

“Snow. Look.”

A hand grabbed his shoulder and twirled him around in the direction of the window.

And by Merlin, it was white.

It took him a few seconds to catch up.

“But we don’t get snow here.”

The Coast of Wales was not like Hogwarts. Snowfall was rare, and especially this much.

Sirius had picked up the toddler and carried him to the window so the boy could look outside. His little hand pointed at the whiteness outside and Sirius did the same.

“Look, that’s snow. It snowed last night.”

Harry put one hand in his mouth to chew on it and pointed again with the other.

“Yes. Snow,” Sirius repeated patiently, used to not getting a reply.

“’ow.”

Sirius’s head shot around to look at the toddler.

“Snow,” he repeated.

“’now.”

Remus had to blink back tears while Harry started to wrangle around in Sirius’s arms, trying to reach for the window.

“Outside? You want to go outside, play in the snow?”

The toddler didn’t speak again but his movements made it clear he wanted to get closer to the white stuff.

He helped Sirius pack the little boy up in warm clothes. Once they were done, he looked more like a starfish than a 1.5-year-old. Sirius put a heating charm on him.

And then Sirius led Harry outside and the boy made a step in the snow. And then another. And then he insisted on walking without Sirius’s help and fell immediately, but his godfather was by his side to brush the snow out of his face and help him back up.

This went on until Harry was babbling words and grabbing at the snow and Sirius’s smile was as bright as he couldn’t remember seeing it for months.

“Here.” Remus moved to their side. “I’ve got him.”

Sirius gave him a brief look of thanks before taking a step back and transforming into Padfoot, resulting in a loud “Paddy!” from Harry.

The massive dog licked Harry’s face before bowing down and then running off through the snow. They watched him roll around in the snow, bite it and jump to catch the flakes out of the air.

Whenever the boy called for Paddy and tried to get to him, Padfoot was already by his side, sniffing him and licking his face while the boy was trying (and failing, with his mittens) to grab his fur. He’d stay and then run off again in a display of energy Remus only now became acutely aware of having missed for so long.

After having gone off in a whirlwind again, Padfoot reached the shed. There was some banging and growling and Remus was almost ready to take out his wand and fight when Padfoot returned, pulling an old sleigh backwards.

He helped him put Harry securely on the sleigh and harness Padfoot up front.

Then he sat back and watched Padfoot pull the sleigh around in the snow, while keeping his wand at hand to make sure the screaming and giggling Harry didn’t fall off.

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a smile.

He took off his glove to touch the cold snow. He felt his own body warm against it as it melted in his hand. The toddler’s laughter and Padfoot’s barks filled out the silence. He thought about hanging up the fairy lights and decorations they kept in the shed.

Perhaps they would be okay for Christmas. Just the three of them.

#wolfstarmicrofic #snow #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar raising harry

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layla4567 · 8 months

Text

Vaccines are good

Dad!Colin Zabel x Mom!fem!reader

Summary: You and your husband Colin make up a happy family, Colin turned out to be a great father and you both love your little son. But can the detective get out of trouble when they take his son to be vaccinated?

Warnings: fluffy things and mention of needles and childhood illnesses of course

Word count: 2.8k ***************

Colin was preparing lunch while Alex was sitting at the table drawing with his crayons. The handsome detective smashed two eggs into the pan, adding salt, pepper and coriander and then began to beat them with the fork. He would take care of preparing something else for Alex, over time he had learned that the little one didn't like omelettes. He arranged the food on the plates and served them on the table waiting for you to get home from work.

"Hey champion, what are you drawing?" Colin asked, bringing his face closer to the sheet of paper.

The boy happily held the paper up with pride. "It's you with your police car!"

Colin smiled when he saw himself in that drawing. The colors spilled out of the lines but the detective could clearly be seen standing next to his car, which had the dome lights on, shining red and blue. Alex was very proud of his father and always said that when he grows up he wants to be like him, he even often wore his father's clothes and played cops and robbers with his schoolmate. Colin always laughs but obviously he worries that his son will be involved in a dangerous and stressful job like that.

"It's amazing kid! you even drew the details of my uniform, you are talented!"

Alex's cheeks turned tulip-pink with pure joy as he smiled widely. The boy was a carbon copy of his father, same eyes, same hair and every time he smiled you saw Colin. Suddenly there was a sound of keys opening the door and a sweet voice announced their arrival.

"It's mom!!" Alex got out of his chair running towards the door while you opened it laughing at his enthusiasm. Colin also came to meet you.

"Hey! How was my teddy bear today?"

You scooped Alex into your arms as you planted a loud, slobbery kiss on his cheek. The little boy laughed and then with a grimace of disgust he wiped his cheek without stopping laughing, his face was so funny that it infected you with laughter. You weren't afraid to show how much you loved your son even if you were a little clingy at times.

"Hi sweetie, welcome home." Colin hugged you around the waist and kissed you tenderly on the lips.

"Ew..". The boy said, making a disgusted face and looking away.

Colin laughed tenderly. "Why don't you show mommy what you did today, huh?"

The boy nodded with great enthusiasm and jumping happily.

"Let's see Alex, show me"

Your son grabbed your hand and quickly led you to the table where his little drawing rested. With both hands he raised it to the level of his face.

"Ta-daa!! Guess who it is!!"

You gasped in surprise as you grabbed the drawing from the boy's small hands. You looked at it carefully while smiling sweetly. The proportions of the things he had drawn were not perfect but they seemed adorable to you.

"Oh my god Alex, it's beautiful! And It's daddy! and with his police car of course"

"Yeah!! you guessed it!". Alex smiled at you with that gap between his frontal paddles that seemed so tender and pretty to you.

"Let's hang your drawing on the refrigerator door, what do you think, honey?"

Your son shouted yes and you gave Colin a smiling look.

"I think it's a great idea babe"

While you placed the drawing under two magnets Colin asked his son what he wanted for lunch.

"Ok little champ, what do you want for lunch? You don't want an omelet, right?"

Alex shook his head vigorously while sticking out his tongue in a grimace of disgust.

Colin smiled in amusement. "Alright, alright. How about pasta?"

"Yay I love pasta!!"

The detective laughed amused, it was no secret that your son loved Italian food. you turned around looking at them happily.

"Ok, then pasta will be"

Your husband had gotten up from his seat to put the noodles in a pot when Alex sneezed loudly. Colin stopped halfway looking at you while you approached Alex with concern.

"What was that, hun?" You gently took his chin in your hand, inspecting him.

"I don't know, mommy". Alex sniffed the snot with his nose as he wiped it on a sleeve.

"I already told you not to wipe your snot on your sleeve, you'll make it dirty."

"Sorry mom.."

You looked for a disposable tissue in your purse that Colin handed you and leaned close to your son's face.

"Come here"

You carefully wiped his nose while inspecting his nasal passages for any possible infection or irritation but found nothing alarming.

"Well It seems like you don't have any infection, maybe it's a simple allergy. "My love, was he like this all day?" You turned to look at your husband who returned a worrying look.

"Actually no, he was perfect. Just now he started sneezing"

You put your arms on your hips as you looked at your son thoughtfully who looked back at you a little scared.

"But he had already had a cold last week, right?"

Colin nodded. You still remembered what it had been like last week. Alex had had a fever and cough and had stayed in bed resting as the doctor had said. The poor thing couldn't leave the house to play with his friends and spent time eating soups that he considered very bland.

Worried, you walked quickly to your bedroom to look for Alex's vaccination record. You checked that everything was in order, Alex had all the vaccines from when he was a few months old baby. But he was missing the measles vaccine, which he had to get at age 5. Alarmed, you returned to the kitchen with the booklet in your hand. Alex had a terrified face when he saw it, he already knew that the storm was about to break loose.

"Colin, Alex doesn't have the measles vaccine and he's already 6, he must get it as soon as possible".

When the little boy heard the word vaccine, he jumped in his chair.

"Sure, it makes sense. The symptoms are fever, cough and runny nose, that's what he suffered last week"

"Come on, bring the car keys, we have to take him to the nearest hospital".

The detective grabbed the keys that were hanging on a cute keychain on the wall hand painted by Alex and you grabbed your purse and put on a jacket. When you called your son, he got out of the chair scared, getting as far away from the two of you as possible.

"NO!". He yelled

The two of you were about to open the door when the child's scream made you turn around to see him. When the little naughty boy made sure he had both of your attention, he returned to the charge, shouting.

"I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE DOCTOR AND I DON'T WANT VACCINES!!!"

Alex crossed his arms angrily as he furrowed his eyebrows so tightly that his forehead became wrinkled.

"Alexis Zabel!"

You put your hands on your hips, also furrowing your eyebrows, looking at him defiantly, you could play that game too. Everyone in the family knew that when you called your son by his full name it was because you had exhausted your patience and he was in serious trouble.

Colin took a step forward, trying to calm the atmosphere and cut the tension that would be felt in the air.

"Come on Alex, don't make mom angry, don't make it harder".

The detective approached with his arms open to grab his son but the boy was faster and ran screaming towards his room as if he had a rocket up his ass.

"NOOOOO!"

You ran in his direction, annoyed. "Alexis come here immediately!"

Colin grabbed your arm. "Wait, let me talk to him."

You huffed in agreement while your husband smiled at you, caressing your wrist. Colin headed to his son's room. His dark wooden door was decorated with posters of dinosaurs and robots. He knocked on the door twice.

"Alex? It's me, daddy. Can I come in?"

The man heard Alex's muffled voice from being behind the thick door giving him a negative answer, from his tone of voice he seemed still angry.

"Please son I just want to talk I promise"

Zabel waited anxiously by the door when a slight movement of the handle made him sigh in relief. Alex's chubby face barely peeked out of the space he had left open.

"Fine, come in"

Colin walked in smiling. Alex's room was quite big. The walls were decorated with drawings and posters of his favorite cartoons. There were also shelves with dolls and stuffed animals piled up, many of them were dinosaurs, he loved them. His toy trunk also had fire engines, tanks and racing cars that the boy had even taken charge of naming. The bed where the boy was sitting was shaped like a car and his blankets had drawings of prehistoric animals and plants. Colin sat next to his son who remained very serious.

"Listen Al, I know you don't want to get vaccinated but it's for your own good.". Colin used to use that pet name with his son.

"Adults always say that". Alex crossed his arms and turned his face away so as not to see his father.

"But it's because it's the truth. You know?, when I was your age I didn't want to get vaccinated either."

Alex's little face lit up in surprise as she turned to look at him. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Look, if you promise to behave like the brave boy I know you are, on the way out, I promise to buy you the biggest ice cream you want".

"You promise?". Said the boy smiling

Colin extended his pinky in promise. "Pinky promise, kid"

Alex intertwined his pinky with his father's, laughing happily as they both left the room, but not before grabbing a toy car for Alex to entertain himself and calm down. You continued waiting at the door impatiently moving one foot up and down until you saw them leave the room.

"We can go now". Your husband said smiling.

***************

The ride to the hospital was quite quiet, from time to time you would take quick glances at Alex who was calmly playing with his toy in the back seat. Colin sensed your nervousness and grabbed your hand firmly, smiling at you while he held the steering wheel with the other.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine." He whispered to you

You nodded, smiling. Everything seemed calm and correct, but when he arrived at the establishment and got out of the car, Alex saw the facade of the hospital and the fear returned to him, so he started screaming and kicking to get back to the car. You grabbed your son's hand, pulling him with Colin's help to get him into the hospital but Alex couldn't stop crying. The detective crouched down next to his son.

"Remember what we talked about, if you continue like this there will be no ice cream"

Colin's slightly threatening tone brooked no reply. Alex was going to say something but upon looking into his father's intimidating eyes he decided to remain silent. So, with a dejected air and the face of a lamb about to go to the slaughterhouse, they headed inside the building. Of course the boy carried the toy car under his arm. In the waiting room there were many children more or less his age, some teenagers and babies a few months old. With a sad and scared face, Alex sat between his parents to await his fatal fate. The other children also seemed somewhat dejected.

You knew how tortuous it is for a child to be vaccinated, you still remember when you went nervously to the waiting room to get an injection when you were a child. And honestly the screams and cries that came from the door where the vaccines were given was not exactly relaxing. That's why you took your son's delicate hand in yours, squeezing it gently to give him warmth, courage and protection.

"Sweetheart, you can do it, I trust you. And when we get into the room I will be with you the entire time and I will hold your hand so it doesn't hurt."

Your son wiped a small tear that was almost dry from his rosy cheek and looked at you with a shy smile.

"Alright, if you say so..."

The hours passed and the waiting room was emptying. There were only two people left ahead of you. Many of the children came out smiling with tears in their eyes, others didn't say anything and looked at the ground as they walked. Then a plump older woman called them by Alex's full name. The little boy did not want to go but he remembered his father's promise and bravely squeezed your hand and headed to the room while your husband sat waiting outside.

The injection room was beige and the walls were decorated with paintings of animals to calm the children, you weren't sure if it really worked. There was also a medium-sized window with baby blue curtains that overlooked a garden full of flowering bushes. You directed your distracted gaze there when the woman brought you out of your thoughts.

"Okay, so this is little Alex Zabel."

The lady was wearing a dark blue nurse's uniform and was smiling affably. You looked at your son who could only look down holding on to his toy car.

"Oh it's ok honey, it'll just be a little prick". The woman said

Alex's eyes were starting to water again so you tenderly wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a protective gesture. "Sweetie everything will be fine, you'll see"

The nurse told Alex to sit in a chair and roll up the sleeve of his shirt so she could give him the injection. She also asked him which arm he wanted the injection in and the boy pointed to his left arm. The good-natured woman began to prepare the needle, taking one out of a sterilized envelope that was in a plastic box full of them. When you saw them, a slight chill ran down your spine. You still remembered your first vaccine as if it were yesterday and you understood everyone more than ever. those children who came out crying.

Alex also saw the needles and buried his face in your chest, scared. You grabbed her hand and whispered the words you had said before "Remember, mommy is here and I won't let go of your hand."

The little boy nodded and sat up straight in his chair, squeezing your hand tightly as he showed his left arm to the nurse. She tapped the needle with her gloved hands to make the liquid go down.

"Alright, little Alex, take a deep breath."

Alex closed his eyes tightly until his nose wrinkled and he squeezed your hand even harder as it started to hurt, never underestimate the strength of a scared 6 year old child. It was barely a second until the nurse announced that she was finished.

"Done! You see it wasn't that big of a deal?".She laughed sweetly

Your son opened his brown eyes wide and looked at his arm in surprise, looking for any cut or wound, both women laughed and the nurse carefully squeezed his arm with cotton.

"Hold this cotton in your arm for a few minutes, then you could throw it away. Aaand." The woman took out a red popsicle from a jar and handed it to the child who was looking with bright, greedy eyes. "This is for you, for being such a brave child."

"That's very kind, thank you" You said to the nurse and looked at your son "You thank her too, Alex."

The little one had already put the lollipop in his mouth without thinking twice and didn't even take it out to respond "Thzank yough"

Mother and son left the small room hand in hand, happy and laughing. Colin was already standing waiting for them with a relieved smile on his face.

"So? How did my little champion do?"

"Oh he was incredible, he didn't cry even once"

"And look daddy!!, the nurse gave me a lollipop for being good!"

"Oh look at that!"

Colin lifted the boy into his arms giving him a kiss on the cheek while you held his toy.

"It seems that today you are going to stuff yourself with so many sweet things"

"What does that mean?". You asked funny and curious

"It means daddy will buy me ice cream!!!"

Colin looked down, smiling a little embarrassed for not telling his wife about the deal.

"Oh yeah? Well I guess daddy can buy ice cream for everyone too." You said laughing and giving your husband a kiss on the cheek.

Colin laughed and agreed to pay for the other ice creams. They returned to the car happy, heading to the nearest ice cream parlor, eager to try that sweet and frozen dessert.

***************

I have read many stories where Colin is the father of a girl, so I wanted to write a story where he had a son.

By the way, I wrote this after reading the @sweeter-innocence-fics fic. Thanks for being an inspiration for this, you can read her Colin fic here

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downbad4fyodor · 6 months

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Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x Fem!reader word count: 363 summary: Fyodor takes you to see the Christmas lights around Moscow warnings: none Tag list: @getousrep

Want more Fics for the Holidays?

The frigid embrace of Moscow's winter air wrapped around you and Fyodor as you embarked on an enchanting adventure through the city adorned in the splendor of Christmas lights. Fyodor had orchestrated a surprise evening to immerse you in the spellbinding beauty of Moscow's festive illumination.

Under the silver glow of the moon, the streets draped in a pristine coat of snow whispered tales of winter magic. Fyodor, with his tall and commanding presence, walked by your side, his violet eyes reflecting the soft radiance of the Christmas lights that adorned the city. The night promised a magical journey, and Fyodor's gaze held a mysterious allure that heightened the sense of anticipation.

The first stop on this captivating expedition was none other than the historic Red Square. As you approached, the iconic St. Basil's Cathedral emerged like a majestic ice palace. Its domes, adorned with a breathtaking array of twinkling lights in hues of red, green, and gold, transformed the architectural marvel into a mesmerizing spectacle that rivaled the stars above. Fyodor, his breath visible in the crisp air, squeezed your hand as you both stood in silent awe, taking in the dazzling display that seemed to defy the winter night.

"It's like something out of a fairytale, isn't it?" Fyodor's voice, a low and melodic timbre, resonated with the joy of the season.

You nodded, captivated by the radiance that enveloped the historical landmark. The lights seemed to pirouette in harmony with the delicate snowflakes that floated gently from the night sky, creating an ethereal dance of winter wonder.

Fyodor, his gloved hand still entwined with yours, led you through the snow-covered cobblestones, each step revealing a new tableau of luminous beauty. The avenues of Moscow glittered with a tapestry of lights, like celestial pathways guiding you through the heart of the city's festive spirit. The meticulous arrangement of lights on trees, lampposts, and buildings painted a landscape that seemed plucked from a dream.

The journey continued to Gorky Park, where the frozen lake reflected the brilliance of the lights like a mirror. The towering trees, now adorned with a kaleidoscope of colors, stood as silent witnesses to the festive transformation. Fyodor guided you towards a charming carousel, its lights casting a warm glow against the snowy canvas. Whimsical music and the laughter of children added to the symphony of the holidays.

As you and Fyodor boarded the carousel, the world around you transformed into a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of lights and laughter. The crisp air, laced with the scents of hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts, heightened the sensory experience. Fyodor's eyes met yours, a silent promise of shared joy and the magic that lingered in the moment.

The night unfolded as a captivating exploration of Moscow's neighborhoods, each one vying to outshine the other in a dazzling display of lights. Fyodor, his arm wrapped around you protectively, shared tales of Moscow's Christmas traditions and folklore, infusing the journey with cultural richness.

The grand finale awaited at the historic Bolshoi Theatre. The monumental building, a symbol of artistic excellence, now stood adorned with a cascade of lights that accentuated its architectural grandeur. Fyodor, a mischievous glint in his eyes, led you towards the entrance. As you ascended the grand staircase, the lights dimmed, and the façade of the theatre became a canvas for an enchanting light show.

Colors danced across the intricate details of the building, synchronized with festive melodies that echoed through the night. Fyodor, his expression a mix of satisfaction and delight, watched your reactions with unabashed joy. The lights, now painting the night sky with vibrant strokes, encapsulated the very essence of the season.

As the light show reached its crescendo, Fyodor turned to you with a tender smile. "Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered, his voice a warm embrace in the winter night.

The evening, a symphony of lights and shared moments, etched itself into the tapestry of your memories. Moscow, draped in its festive best, became the canvas for a magical journey orchestrated by Fyodor, your companion in this winter fairytale. The Christmas lights, now etched in your heart, whispered tales of love and enchantment as you and Fyodor embraced the magic of the season in the heart of Moscow's winter wonderland.

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star-wars-writing · 5 months

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The Twilight Prophecy

Summary: In a world where the Sun Court reigns in perpetual daylight and the Moon Court thrives under starlit night, an ancient prophecy emerges to challenge the status quo. Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan, heirs to their respective thrones, find their destinies intertwined when a mysterious sorceress delivers a cryptic warning

A/N: So this one might be a bit different, once again it started with a prompt for the Codywan bingo @codywanbingo with theme Romance. but things might have gotten out of hand. @swfandomevents

The prompt for this was sharing armour. for now this is a one shot, but if you guys, the readers are open to it. depending on your reactions to the one shot I might be convinced to make it a series.

In the Moon Court, nestled in the heart of a kingdom where night reigned supreme and the stars whispered ancient secrets, life unfolded like a perpetual dance under the celestial dome. The court, an architectural marvel of pale stones and silver spires, mirrored the tranquil beauty of the moon it revered. At its center was the royal family, presided over by King Qui-gon, a ruler as enigmatic as the moon's hidden face, with Crown Prince Obi-Wan Kenobi, his eldest son, at his side.

Crown Prince Obi-Wan, with hair as fiery as a comet's tail, stood in stark contrast to the cool, muted hues of the court. His red locks, a rarity in the realm, were often likened to a stray strand of the sun caught in the lunar embrace. His presence in the court was like a steady flame; warm, illuminating, but never consuming. His eyes, a deep blue reminiscent of the twilight sky, held the calmness of the moonlit night and the intensity of a thousand stars.

King Qui-gon, a figure both respected and slightly feared, ruled with a wisdom that seemed to flow from the moon itself. His silver hair and beard, like the frosted edges of the moon, framed a face etched with the lines of time and responsibility. He was a king who spoke little, but when he did, his words held the weight of the night sky.

Anakin, Obi-Wan's younger brother, was the court's untamed storm. With hair as dark as the space between stars and eyes that sparkled with unbridled energy, he was a stark contrast to Obi-Wan's composed demeanor. Anakin's restless spirit often led him to the court's training grounds, where his prowess with the sword was as renowned as his impulsive nature.

Ahsoka, the youngest, was the court's dawn. Her laughter brought light to the dimmest corners, and her curiosity was as boundless as the night sky. Her presence was a gentle reminder of the dawn that followed every night, a symbol of hope and renewal in the Moon Court's often somber ambiance.

Life in the Moon Court was a delicate balance of tradition and the subtle magic that permeated the air. The nights were filled with quiet conversations, the rustle of silk robes, and the soft clinking of teacups. Scholars and astronomers were as revered as knights, their knowledge of the stars and the moon considered essential to the kingdom's wellbeing.

Music was the soul of the court, with melodies often drifting through the corridors like a soft breeze. Instruments that mimicked the sound of the night—gentle flutes, stringed instruments, and soft drums—created an ambiance that was both soothing and enigmatic.

The courtiers moved with a grace that mirrored the phases of the moon, their robes flowing in silvery and blue hues, adorned with motifs of stars and celestial bodies. In this court, every gesture, every word spoken, was as measured and deliberate as the lunar cycle.

In the heart of it all was Obi-Wan, a prince not only of blood but of the people. His days were spent in council meetings, where he listened more than he spoke, his judgments always fair and thoughtful. His nights were dedicated to the study of ancient texts and star charts, seeking wisdom in the patterns of the cosmos.

Yet, beneath the calm surface, there was a current of anticipation, a sense of a destiny not yet fulfilled. Obi-Wan, more than anyone, felt this unspoken promise that hung in the air like a pending eclipse. It was a feeling that whispered of changes to come, of paths yet to be walked, and of a bond that would define not only his fate but that of the Moon Court itself.

****

In the resplendent Sun Court, where day held sway and golden light bathed the land in warmth and vitality, the rhythm of life pulsated with a vibrancy befitting its celestial patron. The court itself was an architectural splendor, its walls and towers crafted from sun-kissed stone that shimmered like the surface of a star. At its heart was the royal family, led by King Jango, a monarch whose presence was as commanding as the sun in the zenith sky, with Crown Prince Cody, his eldest son, shining brightly by his side.

Crown Prince Cody was the embodiment of the Sun Court's ideals – his bearing noble and his gaze as piercing as the midday sun. His hair, a rich brown, like the fertile earth nourished by sunlight, complemented his sturdy, yet graceful demeanor. Cody's presence in the court was like a steady beacon; guiding, assuring, but always approachable. His eyes, reflecting the clear blue of a cloudless sky, held the promise of endless horizons and the resolve of daylight.

King Jango, a ruler whose reign was marked by prosperity and strength, led with a firm but fair hand. His hair and beard, peppered with strands of gray, spoke of years under the sun, commanding battles and councils alike. His decision to ascend the throne after King Jaster, his father and the former king, abdicated, was accepted with reverence by the court. Jaster, still a respected figure, remained a guiding star in the court's firmament, his wisdom as perennial as the sun itself.

The younger princes, Rex, Wolffe, Fives, and Echo, were like rays of the same sun, each unique in their brilliance. Rex, with his sharp mind and tactical acumen, was often found in the company of the court's strategists, his keen insights as valuable as any seasoned general's. Wolffe, more reserved, shared a deep interest in the court's engineering feats, his innovative ideas reflecting the Sun Court's continuous quest for progress. Fives and Echo, inseparable in their mischief and mirth, brought a spirited energy to the court, their laughter echoing through the halls like the playful dance of sunbeams.

Life in the Sun Court was a grand tapestry of color and celebration, where the arts flourished under the generous patronage of the royal family. The days were filled with lively debates in the council chambers, the clanging of swords in the training yards, and the hustle of trade in the bustling marketplaces. Knights and scholars alike were esteemed, their roles pivotal in upholding the court's glory.

Music in the Sun Court was a bold symphony, with brass and percussion leading the charge, their sounds evoking the power and majesty of the sun. The courtiers, adorned in vibrant colors – oranges, reds, and yellows – moved with a confidence that mirrored the court's solar inspiration. In this court, every action, every word resonated with the intensity of the sun's rays.

At the center was Cody, a prince whose responsibilities encompassed not just royal duties but the aspirations of his people. He was often seen engaging with his subjects, his approachability as a leader as cherished as his strategic mind. His evenings, though less public, were spent in deep study and contemplation, his gaze often turning skyward, where the setting sun met the rising moon, a silent acknowledgment of a world beyond his own.

Yet, beneath the Sun Court's radiant facade, there was an undercurrent of expectation, a sense of a destiny intertwined with that of another realm. Cody, more than anyone, felt this looming promise, a sense that his path was not his alone to tread. It was a feeling that hinted at a convergence of day and night, of a bond that would bridge the gap between the Sun Court and a kingdom not of light, but of moonlit shadows.

***

In the twilight-kissed ruins of the abandoned castle, where history whispered from every stone, the annual council of the Moon and Sun Courts convened. This year's gathering was marked by a significant change – for the first time, Kings Qui-gon and Jango had brought their sons, introducing the next generation to the intricate dance of diplomacy and trade.

The castle, a relic of a forgotten time, stood at the very edge where day melted into night, its once proud walls now softened by age and draped in ivy. Its grand hall, though worn by years, echoed with renewed life as the delegations of both courts assembled, their robes fluttering like banners of night and day.

Crown Prince Obi-Wan of the Moon Court, his fiery red hair a vivid contrast against his silver-hued attire, stepped into the hall with a quiet confidence. His gaze, curious and observant, swept over the Sun Court's delegation, taking in the bright colors and bold patterns that seemed to capture the essence of sunlight.

Across the room, Crown Prince Cody of the Sun Court, his stature both noble and approachable, mirrored Obi-Wan's curiosity. His hair, the color of fertile earth, was complemented by the golden embroidery of his attire, reminiscent of the rays of the midday sun.

As the council commenced, King Qui-gon, his voice as serene as a moonlit night, spoke of the Moon Court's rich deposits of moonstone and star silver, precious materials sought after by the Sun Court. King Jango, his tone warm and commanding, offered in exchange the Sun Court's abundant harvests and solar-infused elixirs, items of great value to the Moon Court.

The discussion of trade routes, quantities, and protections unfolded with a practiced rhythm, the two kings negotiating with a mutual respect forged over years of such meetings. Amidst the bartering and agreements, Obi-Wan and Cody's eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

During a recess, the princes found themselves standing near an ancient, vine-covered balcony. "First council?" Cody inquired, his voice casual but friendly.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, a slight smile on his lips. "It's more... vibrant than I expected. The exchange of goods, it's like a dance of resources and needs."

Cody nodded. "It's the rhythm of our courts, isn't it? Day and night, each providing what the other lacks. Balance."

Their conversation, initially revolving around the intricacies of the council, gradually became more personal, veering towards their lives within their respective courts. Obi-Wan spoke of the tranquil nights and starlit ceremonies of the Moon Court, while Cody shared tales of sun-drenched fields and lively festivals under the sun.

As the meeting resumed, and they returned to their delegations, there was a mutual sense of understanding, a recognition that they were not just princes of opposing realms, but custodians of a delicate balance.

Throughout the rest of the council, as their fathers deliberated over the final details of the trade agreement, Obi-Wan and Cody exchanged occasional glances and subtle nods. In those brief moments, a foundation was laid for a relationship that would, in time, transcend the mere exchange of goods and speak to the deeper bond between day and night, sun and moon.

During a lull in the council proceedings, as the courtiers mingled and the kings conferred in hushed tones, Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan found themselves gravitating towards each other, away from the throng. They walked side by side towards one of the castle's ancient archways, which framed the setting sun on one side and the rising moon on the other, a perfect intersection of their two worlds.

Cody's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the sun's fiery farewell kissed the moon's cool greeting. "It's quite something, isn't it? The sun and moon, always chasing, never meeting."

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes reflecting the twilight hues. "Yet, here we are, standing where they converge. It's poetic in a way."

Their conversation, initially a shared admiration for the celestial dance, slowly turned towards the more personal. Cody's posture, relaxed yet attentive, and Obi-Wan's thoughtful demeanor, created an atmosphere of ease and openness.

"You know," Cody began, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity, "I've always wondered what it's like in the Moon Court. Is it as tranquil as they say?"

Obi-Wan's lips curved into a soft smile. "Tranquility is one word for it. It's a world of introspection, of seeking wisdom in the stars. But it can also be... isolating. The night is beautiful, but it's also vast and endless."

Cody's eyes met Obi-Wan's, a spark of understanding in their depths. "I suppose the Sun Court is its opposite then. It's always bustling, always bright. Sometimes it feels like there's no space to breathe, to think. The sun can be overbearing at its zenith."

Their shared laughter at Cody's words was a brief, harmonious note that seemed to bridge their contrasting worlds.

"I imagine that's why these councils are important," Obi-Wan mused, his gaze returning to the horizon. "They're not just about trade and politics. They're about understanding, about seeing the world through each other's eyes."

Cody nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Do you think we'll ever achieve that? True understanding between our courts?"

"I believe so," Obi-Wan replied, his voice carrying a quiet conviction. "Understanding begins with individuals. It starts with conversations like this."

Their dialogue was interrupted as the council bell tolled, signaling the end of the break. As they turned to rejoin the others, their steps synchronized, there was an unspoken agreement between them – a commitment to bridge the gap between day and night, sun and moon, one conversation at a time.

As they parted ways at the archway, the brief contact of their hands was like a spark – fleeting, but potent enough to kindle a connection that promised to grow stronger with each passing council. In that moment, unnoticed by the busy courtiers, a seed of change was planted, watered by the hope of understanding and the possibility of unity in a world divided by light and shadow.

On the third evening of the council, as the twilight sky melted into a tapestry of stars and the crescent moon, a grand dinner was held in the castle's ancient dining hall. The long tables were adorned with candles that flickered like distant stars, casting a warm glow over the assembled nobility of the Sun and Moon Courts. At the center of this constellation of courtiers sat Kings Qui-gon and Jango, their presence commanding yet genial, a testament to years of leadership and diplomacy.

Opposite their fathers, Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan were seated beside each other, the candlelight playing across their features, softening the lines of their royal bearing. As the dinner progressed, the hum of conversation filled the hall, a blend of laughter, clinking silverware, and the subtle rustling of fine garments.

Cody turned towards Obi-Wan, his expression open and curious. "Prince Obi-Wan, I've been meaning to ask – what is it like to train in the ways of your court's mystic arts? I've heard tales of the Moon Court's connection to the stars."

Obi-Wan's eyes lit up, a spark of enthusiasm breaking through his usual composure. "It's a lifelong journey of learning, Prince Cody. The stars and the moon guide us, teaching us about balance and the flow of the cosmos. It's more than just training; it's a way of understanding our place in the universe."

Cody's interest was palpable, his gaze intent. "That sounds... profound. In the Sun Court, our focus is often on the tangible – the strength of the body, the mastery of combat, the art of governance. I wonder what it would be like to look beyond, to see the world as you do."

Their conversation, rich with the exchange of ideas and perspectives, continued seamlessly, almost as if the crowded hall around them had faded into the background. As they spoke, their fathers occasionally glanced their way, noting the ease of their interaction with a mixture of surprise and quiet approval.

Obi-Wan, usually reserved, found himself intrigued by Cody's genuine curiosity and the earnestness with which he spoke of his own experiences. "Your world sounds fascinating, Cody. There's a certain... vitality to the way you describe it. I admit, there are times I wish the Moon Court had a bit more of the Sun Court's vigor."

Cody smiled, a warm, inviting expression that seemed to reflect the very essence of his court. "And I sometimes long for the tranquility and depth of yours. Perhaps that's the key, isn't it? Learning from each other, finding harmony between day and night."

Their dialogue, rich and engaging, continued throughout the dinner, touching upon topics from the philosophical to the mundane. It was a conversation that wove a thread between them, a connection that went beyond their titles and responsibilities. In the shared laughter, the exchange of insights, and the subtle understanding that passed between them, a foundation was being laid – the first stepping stone in a journey that would redefine not only their relationship but potentially the future of their courts.

As the final day of the council dawned, the ancient castle found itself enveloped in the soft, ethereal light of twilight, where night gently handed over the reins to day. It was in this tranquil hour that Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan, drawn by a shared sense of purpose and curiosity, found themselves atop the highest tower of the castle.

Standing side by side, they watched in silence as the horizon blurred the lines between their two worlds, the night's darkness fading into the warm embrace of the morning light. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of dew and ancient stone.

Cody broke the silence, his voice soft yet clear in the quiet of the morning. "I often stand on the battlements of the Sun Court at dawn, watching the world awaken. There's a sense of endless possibilities with each new day, a new beginning."

Obi-Wan turned to face him, the first light of dawn casting a golden glow on his red hair. "In the Moon Court, we watch the stars fade into morning. It's a reminder that even the longest night has an end, that there's a rhythm and cycle to everything."

Their eyes met, a mutual understanding flickering between them. They were princes of different realms, yet in this moment, they were simply two individuals, sharing their hopes and dreams.

"What do you dream of for your future, Cody?" Obi-Wan asked, his gaze returning to the horizon.

Cody's eyes reflected the sky's changing colors. "I dream of a kingdom that thrives, not just in strength and prosperity, but in wisdom and understanding. A kingdom that looks beyond the horizon, that learns from others."

"And you, Obi-Wan? What are your dreams?" Cody's question was tinged with genuine interest.

Obi-Wan's response was thoughtful, his words measured. "I dream of balance. A balance between tradition and progress, between the mystic and the tangible. I want to lead the Moon Court into a future where we are not just observers of the night but active participants in the world's tapestry."

Their conversation flowed naturally, as if the barriers of their titles and duties had been left at the foot of the tower. They spoke of their aspirations for their people, their personal hopes, and the challenges they anticipated. In the shared confidences and laughter, a bond was being forged, strengthened by the understanding that their dreams were not so different after all.

As the sun fully broke the horizon, bathing the world in its light, they stood in a companionable silence, each lost in thoughts of the future and the role they would play in it.

It was Cody who finally spoke, his voice carrying a newfound resolve. "Perhaps our courts are more alike than we thought. Maybe this is just the beginning, Obi-Wan. A beginning of something greater than just trade and alliances."

Obi-Wan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I believe you're right, Cody. This is a beginning. And it's one we can shape together."

As they descended from the tower, the first rays of the sun meeting the last whispers of the night, there was a sense of promise in the air, a feeling that this meeting was the first step in a journey that would bridge the gap between their worlds, guided by their shared dreams and visions for the future.

As the final day of the council waned, a serene twilight enveloped the ancient castle, softening the edges of shadows and light. The grand hall, alive with the closure of the five-day meeting between the Sun and Moon Courts, was suddenly hushed as an unexpected figure appeared at the entrance. A sorceress, clad in robes that shimmered like the starlit sky, stood with an air of enigmatic power.

The hall fell into a deep silence, the bustling energy of the courtiers replaced by a palpable sense of anticipation and unease. King Jango of the Sun Court and King Qui-gon of the Moon Court, their expressions shifting from surprise to guarded wariness, stood to confront this unforeseen visitor.

Crown Prince Cody and Crown Prince Obi-Wan exchanged a tense glance, both aware of the potential gravity of this moment. They stood alert, their attention fixed on the mysterious sorceress.

She stepped gracefully into the room, her presence commanding the attention of all present. Her voice, clear and resonant, echoed through the hall, her words weaving a rhyme that carried the weight of prophecy:

"In twilight's embrace, where night greets the day,

A trial looms near, a path shadowed and gray.

Heart and armor must meet, in a bond forged anew,

Uniting sun's blaze with the moon's silver hue.

Together, two realms must face a dark hour,

A union of souls, their greatest power.

Should this bond break, or fail to be found,

Both sun and moon shall lose their crown."

The sorceress's words, cryptic yet haunting, resonated through the hall, leaving a ripple of whispered speculation and concern. The courtiers and delegates exchanged uneasy glances, pondering the ominous implications of her message.

Cody, his expression a mix of skepticism and contemplation, turned to Obi-Wan. "Hearts and armor... Could she be speaking of us, of our courts?"

Obi-Wan, his eyes thoughtful, nodded slowly. "It seems so. This prophecy... it suggests a unity deeper than mere alliances. Something more personal, perhaps."

King Qui-gon and King Jango shared a concerned look, the implications of the prophecy not lost on them. The sorceress's mention of hearts and armor hinted at a bond beyond political ties, suggesting a personal connection that could hold the key to their realms' futures.

As the sorceress turned, her cloak billowing around her like a dark cloud, she vanished into the twilight as mysteriously as she had appeared. Her departure left a trail of questions and a sense of foreboding that lingered in the air.

The council, now officially concluded, left the members of both courts with more than just diplomatic resolutions; they carried with them the weight of a prophetic warning. As they began to depart, Cody and Obi-Wan remained, their shared glance one of determination and newfound understanding.

As the sorceress's enigmatic presence faded into the twilight, a restless energy began to stir in the grand hall. The initial shock of her visit slowly gave way to a flurry of conversations among the courtiers and delegates of the Sun and Moon Courts. The once orderly gathering turned into a mosaic of hushed debates and speculative discussions, with the sorceress's prophecy at the heart of it all.

In one corner, a group of Moon Court scholars huddled together, their brows furrowed in concentration. "Hearts and armor, sun and moon... It's as if she speaks of a union, a convergence of our realms," one mused, his fingers tracing the patterns on his star-embroidered robe.

Nearby, a cluster of Sun Court knights speculated with a mix of skepticism and concern. "Could it be a ploy? Another kingdom sowing seeds of fear and discord?" a knight questioned, his hand unconsciously resting on the pommel of his sword.

At the center of the hall, Kings Qui-gon and Jango convened in a quiet, intense discussion. Their expressions were a study in contemplation, weighing the potential meanings and implications of the prophecy. They were leaders seasoned by years of rule, accustomed to navigating the murky waters of political intrigue and veiled threats.

Cody and Obi-Wan, standing a short distance away from their fathers, exchanged their thoughts in a low, earnest conversation. "It's hard to dismiss her words as mere madness," Cody said, his gaze lingering on the spot where the sorceress had stood. "The prophecy... it felt charged with truth, or at least with purpose."

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting a deep introspection. "Indeed. And the reference to hearts and armor... it implies a personal sacrifice or a personal bond. It's not something we can ignore."

Their dialogue was interrupted as Anakin and Ahsoka approached, their youthful curiosity evident. "Do you really think there's something to her words?" Anakin asked, his tone a mix of excitement and skepticism.

Ahsoka, her eyes wide with a blend of worry and wonder, added, "It felt like she was speaking directly to you, Cody, and to you, Obi-Wan. Like you're a part of this prophecy."

The conversation was cut short as King Qui-gon addressed the room, his voice carrying a calm authority that quieted the murmurs. "We will consider the sorceress's words with the seriousness they deserve. For now, let us not jump to conclusions or let fear guide our actions."

King Jango nodded in agreement. "We have always stood strong, united in our differences. This will not change. Let us return to our courts and contemplate our next steps with wisdom and caution."

As the delegates began to disperse, the air still tinged with uncertainty, Cody and Obi-Wan lingered, their thoughts lingering on the enigmatic prophecy. There was a sense of an invisible thread weaving through their conversation, tying their fates to the words of the sorceress.

***

As the Moon Court delegation embarked on their nocturnal journey back to their realm, they traversed under a star-studded sky, where the cosmos painted stories in the vastness above. The soft sounds of the night were punctuated by the rhythmic canter of horses, their hooves gently tapping the earth, harmonizing with the nocturnal symphony of the wilderness.

Crown Prince Obi-Wan, astride a graceful steed that moved with an almost ethereal grace, led the procession. The horse, a magnificent creature with a coat as dark as the night sky and eyes that reflected the moon's glow, seemed an extension of Obi-Wan himself, moving with a quiet dignity that mirrored his rider's temperament.

Obi-Wan's posture was relaxed yet alert, his eyes occasionally lifting to gaze at the celestial tapestry above. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying whispers of the forest and the secrets of the night. His mind, however, was far from at ease, troubled by the words of the sorceress. "A union of hearts and armor..." he whispered to himself, the prophecy resonating within him, a puzzle waiting to be unraveled.

The thought of Prince Cody surfaced unbidden in his mind – their recent conversations, the shared looks, the subtle but unmistakable connection that had begun to form between them. Could this enigmatic prophecy be alluding to something beyond the political, something personal that tied them together?

Lost in thought, Obi-Wan hardly noticed when his younger brother, Anakin, rode up alongside him, breaking his contemplation. Anakin's horse, a spirited animal with a fiery mane, matched his rider's energetic and bold spirit.

"Lost in the stars, brother?" Anakin asked, his voice carrying a light, teasing tone, yet tinged with concern.

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, acknowledging Anakin's attempt to lighten his mood. "Just pondering the sorceress's words. They hint at something deeper than alliances – a bond of a more personal nature."

Riding on his other side, Ahsoka joined the conversation, her horse a dappled gray that moved with a lively step. "It does sound daunting, but we've faced challenges before. And we'll face this one together, whatever it may be."

The siblings continued their journey under the night sky, the conversation veering between light-hearted banter and thoughtful discussions about the future. Despite the uncertainty of the prophecy, their bond as a family offered a comforting sense of solidity against the unknown.

Upon reaching the Moon Court's castle, a silhouette of spires and turrets that seemed to rise out of the darkness itself, Obi-Wan dismounted his horse, his gaze lingering on the stars above. Though the path ahead was shrouded in mystery, he felt a renewed sense of purpose, fortified by the support of his family and the intriguing possibility of the bond foretold in the prophecy. In the quiet assurance of the night, Obi-Wan found a silent resolve, a determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead, guided by the light of the stars and the strength of newfound connections.

As the Sun Court delegation made their way back to their kingdom, the journey was bathed in the brilliant light of the sun, casting long, golden shadows across the land. The entourage moved with a steady rhythm, the sound of hooves and the occasional clink of armor punctuating the air, resonating with the vibrant energy of the day.

At the forefront, Crown Prince Cody rode a majestic horse, its coat a lustrous golden hue that seemed to capture and reflect the sunlight. The horse moved with a proud, assertive gait, mirroring Cody's own confident and resolute nature. Cody sat tall in the saddle, his posture embodying the strength and poise of the Sun Court.

The warm sunlight played across his face, highlighting a thoughtful expression that seemed uncharacteristic of his usually decisive demeanor. Cody's mind was preoccupied with the sorceress's enigmatic prophecy, her words echoing in his head like a distant drumbeat. "Hearts and armor... a union beyond our courts," he mused, the idea both intriguing and unsettling.

Cody's contemplation was noticed by his younger brother, Rex, who rode up beside him. Rex's horse, a sturdy and reliable steed, matched his rider's practical and steadfast spirit.

"Something on your mind, Cody?" Rex inquired, his tone casual but perceptive.

Cody glanced at his brother, his expression softening. "Just thinking about the sorceress's warning. It suggests a bond that goes deeper than mere alliances. I wonder if it's pointing to something... or someone."

Rex nodded, understanding the weight of such thoughts. "Do you think it has to do with the Moon Court? With Prince Obi-Wan, perhaps?"

Cody's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sun continued its relentless journey across the sky. "It's possible. Our interactions have been... different. There's an understanding there that I can't quite explain."

As they continued their ride, the conversation turned to the implications of the prophecy and what it might mean for the future of their court. Despite the uncertainty, Rex's presence and pragmatic insights offered Cody a sense of groundedness, a reminder that he wasn't alone in facing the challenges ahead.

Upon arriving at the Sun Court's castle, a magnificent structure that seemed to rise like a phoenix from the land, bathed in perpetual sunlight, Cody dismounted his horse. He stood for a moment, taking in the sight of his home, the walls glowing as if lit from within by the sun's eternal fire.

The journey back had left him with more questions than answers, but in the bright light of day, Cody found a sense of clarity and resolve. Whatever the prophecy entailed, whatever trials lay ahead, he knew that the strength of his court and the potential of the bond foretold would guide them through. The sun's unwavering journey across the sky was a reminder that even in the face of uncertainty, the light would always find a way to shine through.

****

As I said at the beginning, depending on your reactions, I might make this a series, but I would love to hear if that was something you wanted or not? If this one shot has satisfied your curiosity or not.

#commander cody #obi wan kenobi #captain rex #jango fett #jaster mereel #royal au #Star Wars au #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #obi wan fanfiction #commander cody fanfiction #adventure #romance #prophecy #anakin #ahsoka #codywanbingo #codywan

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twistyfish · 9 days

Text

𝙎𝙖𝙡(𝙞)𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

requested by @lilacmingi ♥

~☁☼☁~

You patted a stray hair off your lilac skirt, the velvet plush beneath your shaking fingers. You pulled at a tight coil of your hair, twisting and releasing it from your updo. An unexpected weakness had befallen you. Goosebumps littered your chest, the deep neckline normally thrilling but unwelcome today as you shook with chills.

It was an unfortunate time to fall ill, as you were attending a ball of great grandeur. The domed ceiling of the palace was ivory, etched with intricate depictions of gothic scenery. Angels clashed spears with the fangs of great beasts, serpents and hounds alike coming to wage battle on the figureheads of Heaven. Marble pillars held up the artwork in a star pattern, and moonlight filtered in through the multicolored windows. You felt rather small in comparison to the rich, dizzying landscape.

You sat in a corner with your head against the wall, still overwhelmed. You had managed to sneak out into a narrower hall, seeking a smaller space, though this smaller space was still large enough to house a baby giant.

"My dear, you seem lost." A short man in a lacy top and slick raven hair walked up to you from around the corner. Your eyes widened, and you scrambled to get up. Your blood pressure dropped as you stood, and you leaned against the wall.

The man chuckled. It was a pitchy, sinister sound. "Did I take your breath away? I apologize."

"No, not at all," you said breathlessly.

Something about this man seemed familiar. "From where are you visiting?" You asked.

He grinned, pointed incisors gleaming. "Family of the host."

Oh.

"You're Bumjoong's brother?"

He nodded and extended a gloved hand to you. "You can call me Hongjoong. Come, let me take you back to the ballroom." You groaned internally, not wanting to go back to the loud, sweaty room you had just escaped. But you had to be polite.

You took his hand in yours, wrapping your fingers around his. His hand was nearly the same size as yours, which was kind of charming. He led you to the ballroom, which was gargantuan in comparison to the already huge hall you had come from. Scarlet curtains adorned the massive windows, and amber lights framed the huge room. People whirled around in masses, and you already felt queasy.

Maybe your discomfort was visible, because Hongjoong tilted his head to look you in the eyes. "Such events aren't much to my taste either. But we shall converse to pass the time, yes? What's your name?"

You told him, and he spoke it aloud carefully, as though pronouncing a word from another language. "How melodious. It suits its owner." He ran his tongue across his pearly teeth absentmindedly. His skin was pale, but not with any rosy or golden undertones. His pallor was like milk. Almost like there was no blood running under the skin. His nose was small and sharp. His features were almost too perfect.

He noticed you examining him, and he smiled with his chin resting on one hand, revealing his pointed teeth once again.

You cleared your throat. "You know, there are rumors of your family being vampires," you remarked, holding back a cough.

"Is that so? What do you think about them?" He seemed truly interested.

"I think there are a lot of things I've yet to see in this world."

He laughed heartily at that. "Did you know vampire saliva has healing properties? Our ashes too, but I'd rather not deal with the implications of that option. I think it would be beneficial for me to demonstrate."

"Oh? Why?" The corners of his lips twitched up. "You're not feeling well, are you my dear?"

You feigned ignorance, but he was right. You were intensely feverish. "Perhaps I'm not feeling all that fit," you admitted.

"Then let me show you my theory."

Your brows twitched, a bit of feverish delirium surfacing. "How do I know you won't bite me?" You asked in a low voice.

"I guess you'll have to take a chance." And with that, his lips were on your neck. You gasped as his tongue drew a line from your clavicle to the crook of your neck, and his lips gently closed around a patch of flesh. His teeth grazed your skin, but true to his word, he never bit.

His arm looped around your waist as you sank to the floor in his arms, his rough tongue still lapping at your neck. Your eyes rolled back as he tenderly sucked you like a thick smoothie.

Within a few minutes, a cool sensation spread from the base of your neck through your body, and he rubbed your arm as you shuddered. Your wooziness faded gradually.

"Better?" He asked.

"Yes," you said.

Unfortunately, quite a few people were now staring at you.

Oops.

~☁☼☁~

requests are open!

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #vampire!au #vampire!hongjoong

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hopepetal · 1 year

Text

Part three of my desert skies au with @applestruda!!

Part One | Part Two

Reblogs are appreciated!!

“Just a little warning ahead of time,” Grian had started, holding out his hand to Scar as he rose from where he knelt in front of the small altar, “the valley can be… a little difficult to navigate.” He honked to get Scar's attention, holding out his hand again. “And it's quite cold.”

Scar honked back, taking Grian's hand. “A bit nippy, huh? Don't you worry, mister. I can handle a little chill.” He honked out a laugh.

Grian laughed as well. “Alright.” The golden dome above them began spinning, a loud rumbling echoing throughout the temple as the large gates that led to the valley opened. A pale orange light bathed the temple, and Grian lifted his chin to feel the first whisper of cold creep in through the doorway. “Though you’ll find it’s a little more than ‘a bit nippy’.”

He tugged on Scar’s hand and led them through the doorway, into a sunbathed forest that Scar gazed at in awe. Right before they reached the large pond, Grian took off, sailing into the tunnel of clouds with an excited honk. These tunnels were a bit more difficult to navigate, with the cold air currents coming in to mix with the warm ones, but Grian was no moth. He flew with ease, honking in rapid succession as a way to show his excitement.

They burst out of the exit, Scar raising his hand up to stop the sudden bright light from blinding him. A moment later, the cold hit them, and he yelped. “G, it’s really cold!”

Grian laughed, spreading his wings so that their flight slowed down. “I told you!” he crowed, “I told you, but you didn’t listen! And here I thought you could handle a little chill!” They soared over the slabs of rocks that stuck out from the clouds, and Grian caught sight of the landing area as Scar honked at him in mock offense.

“I said I could handle a little chill!” Scar clarified, laughing as they began their descent. “This is not a chill!”

Grian honked as they hit the ground, holding tight to Scar’s hand as they slid over the snow in an arc, kicking up white flurries as they skidded to a halt. “I warned you,” he giggled, “and it gets better after a bit, you'll warm up plenty!”

“No, never,” Scar groaned dramatically as Grian led him to the candles scattered around the area, “I shall never be warm again! My wings will freeze off, and I will never recover!”

Grian hummed, unconvinced. “Mhm, sure.” He led Scar to the crest of the hill, gazing out over the slope that stretched out as far as the eye could see. “Right. We're going to be skating down this hill. Usually people race, but I'm not sure–” He cut himself off before he could finish, shaking his head slightly. “Hold on tight to me, it may be a little rough.”

“Wait!” Scar interrupted, “I want to race. Pretty please? It'll be fun!” He let go of Grian's hand, hopping up and down excitedly. “I wanna race!”

Grian let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Another time, Scar. There's something I want to show you, and I need the speed from the race to fly over the wind barrier. It's a bit tricky, and I don't want to lose you.”

Scar slumped over, disappointed. “Aw… okay…” He reluctantly took Grian's hand once more, honking. “Next time, though! We'll race and I'll win!”

Grian laughed. “Yeah, we'll see. Right then, hold on tight!” He took a few running steps, and then they were off, sliding down the hill.

Scar began honking loudly as they zoomed over the snow, kicking up powdery snowflakes as they did. Hitting the ice only sent them faster, the light from the candles filling their chests with warmth and light. Grian couldn't stop himself from letting out a few quick honks in succession as they shot into a tunnel– going through the valley was always such an exciting journey, even if it was quite cold.

The two caught air several times, which Grian wasn't surprised to see. When they got more airtime, he simply flared out his wings and maneuvered them back to the ground, landing with a soft thump on the snow. Beside him, Scar was letting out excited, joyful honks in quick succession. Grian was reminded of himself when he was a moth– he had adored the valley of triumph, despite having initially complained at how cold it was. It almost hurt to see how similar his old self was to Scar. Some days, he desperately wished for his younger self to come back.

Grian was quickly distracted from his thoughts when Scar let out a panicked honk at seeing the path suddenly turn incredibly narrow. With a reassuring honk, Grian held just a little tighter to Scar's hand. “We're about to fly!” he called back, and Scar honked in response. As they shot into the narrow passageway, Grian prepared himself.

As soon as they shot out of the passageway, the duo was blinded by the sudden sunlight that reflected off the snow and was made much brighter. The moment Grian felt his feet leave the ground, he spread his wings and boosted himself upward, straining against the pull of gravity. He flapped his wings again, the force causing him and Scar to spin in the air. “Okay, okay, okay…” Grian muttered to himself as they cleared the wind barrier, flying high above the ground. “Whew! There we go!” He let out an elated honk.

Scar honked along with him, giggling. “That was so fun!” He glanced down, letting out a soft ‘oooh’. “Oh, we are so high right now.”

“Yep,” Grian confirmed as he flapped his wings again, “I usually fly really high up– I just feel safer. More free.” Another flap of his wings propelled them forward. “Most people don't do that, though. They prefer to have more cover over their heads. I'm a bit different in that aspect.”

“I like having cover,” Scar mused, “more safe that way, I think.”

Grian shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, it could be. Alright, we're almost there.” He dipped down low to brush against the clouds, feeling energy flood back into him as he did so. The mountains were coloured a vibrant red from the light as they flew through, turning around a corner and spotting a large wall on top of a sloped hill. “There it is!”

Scar was silent for a moment, before he whispered in that quiet, awe-struck voice of his, “woah.”

Grian dipped lower so that they would be able to make it under the archway, honking. “Just wait until you see…” He trailed off as they soared out from underneath the arch, letting the sights speak for themselves.

Grand towers, stretching up toward the heavens. A dusky red light illuminating the area, glinting off the grandiose golden structure that floated in the middle of it all, acting as a centerpiece to the architectural wonder. Snow capped mountains, with pointed peaks that were needle sharp. In the background, there was Eden, looming above the world and shining like a gemstone. As they soared into the main area of the citadel, Grian felt the updraft hit, and began slowly climbing upward with Scar holding tight to his hand.

“This place…” Scar breathed, “it's beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Grian agreed, gently squeezing Scar's hand, “yeah, it really is beautiful.”

The updraft carried them into one of the many covered pavilions, and Grian let go of Scar's hand when they landed. Stepping forward, he lit the candles, feeling the light seep into his wings. “Alright, there are a lot of candles in the little buildings here, and there's a winged light somewhere around here. But there's a constant updraft, which makes it more difficult to…” As he straightened up, Grian realized something was wrong. Turning, he saw that Scar had disappeared, and was now flying up toward the golden structure. “...fly. Oh, for goodness sake!”

“Grian!” Scar yelled, honking loudly to draw his attention, “Grian, I made a mistake!”

With a sigh, Grian spread his wings and took off, following Scar up in a slow, spiraling circle. “You know,” he called out, taking his time as he followed Scar, “you really shouldn't fly off without me in areas with unstable air currents. Or fly off before I'm done talking.” He did a lazy twist in the air, laughing at Scar's panicked honks. “Oh, you're fine, stop it. Just take some deep breaths, spread your arms, and stop gliding. You'll start slowly falling.”

“Oh gosh, oh goodness, oh, oh…” Scar did as he was told, beginning to fall slowly. He fell past Grian, who let himself begin to fall after. “I'm doing it! I'm doing it, are you watching?! Grian, are you watching?”

“Always,” Grian responded with a snicker, “otherwise moths will run away and get themselves caught in an updraft, like a certain someone~”

Scar honked indignantly. “I got kidnapped by air! How is that my fault?!”

Grian laughed louder, before noticing that they were falling a little faster than intended. “Scar,” he called down, “I want you to start gliding again, just for a second–” Aaaand Scar was not listening to him. Oh, joy.

Grian could only watch as Scar plummeted to the ground, smacking straight into the center of the circular platform and falling flat on his face. Before he could land next to Scar and help his companion up, an unknown sky kid ran over and helped Scar to his feet before offering him a candle.

Grian landed a few steps away as Scar accepted the candle, and he reached out with his own to illuminate the other's face. “You good, Scar?” he asked, “I tried to warn you, but…”

Scar shrugged. “I'm fine! He helped me up– hold on, he's offering me some more candles!” Scar turned back to the other sky kid, honking in appreciation as he accepted the candle. “Oh– why, hello there! What's your name?” The sky kid let out a few honks. “Impulse? Oh, that's a cool name! I'm Scar, and this is Grian!” He gestured over to Grian, before glancing down. “G, you wanna…?” He made a gesture that Grian could only describe as 'give candle'.

Grian laughed slightly. “Uhh, I don't have enough.”

“Oh!” Scar relayed that information to Impulse, who honked back a laugh. “Yeah, he says that's no problem.”

Impulse offered Grian a candle, and he took it with a bow. “Hi, so sorry about that. I'm a moth guide, and–”

“Oh, really, don't worry about it.” Impulse's voice was soothing in a way Grian couldn't quite place. “It's nice to meet you, Grian. I noticed your friend took quite the spill. I hope you don't mind.”

Grian shook his head. “Oh, no, he's not– I don't–” He spluttered for another moment before starting over. “Thank you. That was very kind of you.”

“Of course!” Impulse looked between Grian and Scar. “You're traveling together, right? Gathering light?”

“Yep!” Scar confirmed with a honk, “I lost some light, he lost some light–”

“–and I've just been guiding him through the realms,” Grian finished. “I was about to show him the flying race, though, because it's fun.”

Impulse seemed to light up. “Oh! Oh yeah, that's a lot of fun. Do you mind if I join you for that? I was headed down to that part of the valley anyway. I'll be out of your hands after, I promise.”

Grian looked at Scar. “I'm not sure–”

“Of course!” Scar interrupted, “the more the merrier!” He took Grian's hand, and held out his to Impulse. “Flying race sure sounds like fun!”

Grian sighed softly, before nodding. “Yeah. Right, then! Let's go!” He took a few steps before spreading his wings and taking off, letting the updraft carry him and his companions through the sheer mountains. Landing was certainly smoother this time than the last, but Grian still stumbled forward slightly.

Entering the temple, Grian had to laugh at Scar's awed 'oooh'. “You never get used to it, huh?” he teased.

“Never,” Scar answered, craning his neck to look around the temple, “I hope I never do.”

Grian led the group to the candles that sat at the front of the temple, holding out his candle to light them. “Right. We’re making this a race, then?” He glanced at Impulse, then Scar. “I hope you two aren’t disappointed when you lose.”

Impulse laughed, pulling away and taking a spot in front of the doors. “You’ll be eating those words soon enough!”

Grian led Scar to one of the doors and let go of his hand. “Okay, you know how to race, right? Just fly on through and get to the other side. Not too difficult– although, given what you’ve told me… actually, do you just want me to guide you through this? It’s fine if you don’t want to do this alone.”

“Nah, don’t even worry about lil’ old me!” Scar sat down on one of the glowing spots. “I’m so good at this flying thing. In fact,” he added on as Grian took a seat next to him, “I bet I’m going to win this race! And then you’ll have to let me guide you!”

“A horrifying concept,” Grian muttered, but his voice was light-hearted.

The three stood as the doors slowly rumbled open, the wind blowing through their hair as sunlight streamed in. Grian let out a few honks, which Impulse and Scar responded to with their own. Then the gate was pulled up, and the race began.

Grian took off immediately, tucking his wings in close to dip into the clouds before shooting through one of the first archways, feeling the light he collected warm him. Diving down, he soared through another archway before flying into a tunnel of clouds. Following the trail of birds, he shot out from the tunnel with an excited honk, noticing Impulse and Scar following close behind.

Grian pulled ahead as they soared through the bridges and fallen pillars, tucking his wings in close as he maneuvered through the close quarters. He heard Scar honk a few times as he narrowly avoided smacking face-first into the pillars. “Follow the mantas!” he called back to Scar as they flew, “so you don’t get lost!”

Rounding the corner, Grian noticed that Impulse had almost caught up to him– just as they were getting to one of the hardest parts of the race. The rocks scattered all throughout the sky were notoriously tricky to navigate through, especially for newer or less skilled flyers.

“Grian!” Sure enough, Scar called out to him, voice tiny and faint from the distance. “Grian, I'm not too sure about this! I think I made a mistake!”

Grian let himself slow down, allowing Impulse to overtake him. “Just go slow, Scar! Stay calm! It's almost over, you just have to get through this–!”

Scar let out a few panicked honks before crashing into one of the rocks, throwing himself wildly off course and right into more of the rocks. “Oh no! Oh– ow! Ow! Grian! Grian, I’m in a bit of a tizzy! I require assistance– ow!”

“Hold on, Scar!” Grian slowed down as much as he could, letting Scar fall past him. As soon as he could, he grabbed Scar’s hand, and folded his wings in tight so that they dropped down and shot through the rest of the rocks.

After a moment of silence, with nothing but the wind whistling to break the quiet, Scar spoke up. “Thanks for saving me.”

Grian sighed. “Of course, Scar. I should’ve thought to warn you about the rocks, but it’s been a while since I flew here, and I guess–” He braced himself for the landing, before they began to slide down the hill– “I guess I just forgot. I’m really sorry about that.”

“No, no no, don’t you worry about that! I’m the one who got himself all banged up! The rocks, you know, they really give a good bangin’. They banged me real good.”

Grian couldn’t help but laugh at that– awkward, clunky, and so very Scar. “Yeah, yeah, they really did.”

Heralded by fireworks, the two skated into the large arena, their feet hitting the ice with a satisfying sound. Impulse was there, waiting for them on the raised platform in the middle of the arena. He honked in greeting as Grian and Scar skated around to grab the light from the candles before joining him on the platform. “Ran into some trouble?” he asked, looking Scar over. “I wanted to stop, but gosh– those winds are really hard to navigate.”

Grian nodded. “Yeah, they’re almost impossible to slow down in safely. It’s still a really difficult task for me, even after so much practice.” He glanced up at Scar. “And yeah, we ran into a bit of trouble–”

“I got banged by a rock!” Scar proclaimed, proud as could be.

“...yeah,” Grian relented, “that’s pretty much it. I saw it coming, really, but someone decided they wanted to be independent–”

“Nothing wrong with that!” Impulse said. “If you know what you’re doing, that is.”

Scar honked indignantly, stomping his foot. “Oh, you’re both so mean! So, so mean to me! I have done nothing wrong ever, I will have you know–”

“Okay, Mr. Rock Banger,” Impulse shot back, earning a wheeze from Grian. “Well, anyway. Thank you both so much for letting me join you on your trip down. I’m guessing you’re heading to the wastelands next, then?” He glanced toward the large door behind them as he said that, before turning back to Grian and Scar. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Grian tightened his grip ever-so-slightly on Scar’s hand. “I think we’re going to need it.” For the first time, something about the way he spoke seemed dull. Grave, even. “It was nice meeting you, Impulse. I really hope we run into each other again sometime.”

“Of course. I’ll be here in the valley if you ever need me.” Impulse stepped back. “Bye, fellas. Don’t lose your light out there.”

“Oh, that’s just a given with me!” Scar piped up cheerily. “Just you wait, I’ll be back sooner than you think!”

Grian groaned, starting to lead Scar toward the temple. “No, you are not, not on my watch–” Glancing back, he waved to Impulse with his free hand. “Goodbye! May your light continue to shine!”

“May your light continue to shine!” Impulse called back, watching as they disappeared into the temple.

The darkness of the temple interior was a big adjustment from the bright valley, and Grian took a moment before leading Scar further into the temple.

“Woah.” Scar pulled away from Grian to hop up onto the platform that held the stone altar, soaking up all the light from the candles. “This is–”

“Let me guess,” Grian interrupted as he lit the white candles, “so cool?”

“Exactly!” Scar hopped down to kneel next to Grian. “How did you know?”

Grian had to stifle a laugh at that. “Lucky guess.”

As the door slowly opened, their eyes were drawn upward. Eden, floating, shining, loomed above them like a dark cloud. A somber sort of silence fell over them as Scar took Grian’s hand once more and let himself be led out of the temple.

Just through the cloud tunnel lay the golden wasteland. A place Scar couldn’t quite remember– but could never forget.

#my writing #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scar #impulsesv #impulse #desert skies au

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jammed-out · 6 months

Text

Hypnovember Day 13 - Mind Fucked Out

(CW: dick growth, breast growth, ear penetration, magic transformation, light monster fucking)

Cold metal armor plates bounced against each other with each step as the Jayne made their way through the abandoned fortress. The sound echoed off of the cold stone walls that their singular torch did nothing to heat. The dampness hung in the air like a cold blanket clinging to every bolt and stone. They shivered, the torch’s heat not even managing to penetrate the cold metal armor that they wore.

They had found the abandoned castle while on a scouting mission for their guild and made note of it. However when nobody seemed to care to visit it, Jayne made a point to come back on their own time. So now, in the middle of the night, they ventured through the main tower. The grounds were clearly touched by a curse, whereas the rest of the wasteland swamp had been dead and decaying, the fortress sprung up rich verdant plants that grew along the walls, not a single leaf outside of the damaged walls. Even still, the wasteland was growing on the castle, cracks had formed in the walls, death and decay slowly stretching inward. Jayne knew it was better to not linger here, best to get in, get any magical items they could find and get out before the place came in.

The step beneath their right foot gave out, crumbling slightly. Their leather boot slid off the broken rock causing them to stumble. They slammed into the wall on their right to avoid a larger fall, metal plated shoulder slamming against it. The sound echoed off the silence. Jayne took a deep breath and steadied themselves using their free hand to push off from the wall. The cold seeped in through their glove chilling them to the bone. They quickly recoiled pulling their hand away.

Slowly they continued deeper down. The air felt colder the deeper they went but smelled less damp. It actually smelled sweeter, more like a ripe fruit. Jayne wondered what could be making such a smell in a place like this. They raised the torch higher above their head hoping to see further into the darkness.

As they rounded the last few steps, they came upon what seemed to be an antechamber. The close stone walls of the stair well expanded outward into large towering archways that stretched up above. Jayne raised the torch, the light barely illuminating the curved ceiling. Each archway formed into a bulbous domed roof. They let out a soft whistle, the sound bouncing around the room.

Jayne peered into the darkness, the arches seemed to stretch on and outward forming a large networking hallway. They sighed, it would take hours to search something this large. Instead they tucked one hand onto the hilt of their sword stashed on their left hip choosing instead to follow the sweet smell. It led them forward before sharply veering off towards the right, then to the left, then back to the right. Jayne was surprised, the scent seemed to be moving around the room. They made a mental note to remember each step. It would be harder to leave if they couldn’t, especially if there were dangers here.

“Sssssuch a pretty little adventurer. It has been ssssso long sssssince we could induct a new sssservant to the Velvet Fold.”

The voice echoed off of the ceiling. Jayne spun, sword raised in one hand, torch in the other. They waved it back and forth trying to illuminate the darkness. They couldn’t see anything but every so often they could sense shapes moving in the shadows. A brush of air. The smell would grow stronger flowing with it.

“The Velvet Fold welcomes all who wish to join it. Would you welcome its embrace?”

The second voice was different. It was softer, smaller than the other. Jayne didn’t know if it was further away or just from a smaller creature. There was definitely more than one thing here.

“Adventurer must welcome Fold. Must join us.”

That one was big. Possibly an orc or half giant. Jayne’s hand shook slightly. They shouldn’t have come here alone. They were very outmatched. Not only that but the Velvet Fold was extremely dangerous. They were a cult of savage worshippers that kidnapped and enslaved any who could be used as breeding stock. They ran across the lands reigning terror, or at least they had until they had been wiped out. Jayne had heard stories of the things they did. Suddenly they were terrified of what would happen if they were caught.

They turned quickly running. Their feet slammed against the ground thudding as they sprinted for dear life. They had to get out of there as fast as possible. They just needed to retrace their steps and they could escape. They wouldn’t go out adventuring alone. That’s why you have a guild to protect you from things like thi-

Their thoughts were cut short as their foot caught on something. Suddenly they were flying through the air, tumbling forward. Their chest slammed against the ground with a thud knocking the air from their lungs with a quick thud. Their sword slid across the ground into the darkness, the torch bouncing away. It dimmed with each thud, only a few embers burning gently in the darkness. Jayne scrambled forward, clawing with their hands to grab it. The fingers wrapped around the hilt, quickly coiling around it before suddenly feeling it slide away. Their metal plates scraped against the ground as something wrapped around their right leg, quickly pulling them backwards into the darkness. The light disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness as everything went black.

Jayne screamed and tried to kick at whatever was wrapped around their leg. It responded by twisting them sideways rolling them across the ground on their back. There was a flash of red light to their right and suddenly they found their wrists pulled together on their chest. An invisible chain wrapped around them tying them tightly together, a binding spell. It quickly pulled their wrists upward pulling their arms taught. It pulled tighter still dragging their arms up above their head. Slowly their body followed, pulled by their arms and the invisible string. They were tugged upward, stretching their body towards the ceiling. Their feet stood on the floor, just enough to prevent them from relaxing or dropping down.

“You will join the Velvet Fold. You will be welcomed in with warm and loving.” A voice whispered just behind their head. Jayne tried to turn but felt their arms strain at the effort.

“Do not sssstruggle. We would not like to ssssseeee you hurt yoursssself.”

“Please. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone you’re here.” Jayne whimpered struggling against the invisible bonds.

“We would rather you did. We have been so lonely. Our lady in lust craves new followers. You shall be the first of many.” A pair of hands wrapped around Jayne’s body slowly sliding down their sides before coiling around their waist. “You will make a fantastic incubator.”

“Please. I don’t want this.” Jayne whimpered knowing that it was futile to fight them. It was too late for them. The monsters would have their way with them.

“Do not fear. We are gentle.”

“Yessss….Allow me to eassse your fearssss…” Jayne could make out a naga slithering into view. They slowly mouthed something, their hands glowing a soft green. They reached up and gently traced the edges of Jayne’s clothing and armor, the seams and pins decaying. The pieces of metal and fabric fell to the ground in shambles piece by piece. Jayne realized they were undressing themselves. The cold air slowly pushed into their skin causing their hair to stand on edge. They suddenly felt so vulnerable.

“You will be part of the Fold. Welcome the embrace of the goddess.” Jayne felt something cold press against the curve of their ass. It slid over the smooth flesh pressing between their two ass cheeks. It was slimy and squirmed against their flesh as if it was searching for an entrance. Jayne squeezed their eyes shut crying softly.

The object or creature, they couldn’t be sure slithered down, pressing against their asshole. It squeezed, forcing its way into the opening. Jayne felt something pop like a bubble. They felt fluid gush inside of their ass. It bubbled and gurgled, fizzing. Jayne could feel something in their stomach, like a bubble building. It grew, stretching upward. They felt so full as if they were going to burst. They tried squeezing to push it out and were rewarded with a loud pop. Something warm dripped out of them sliding down their legs. The air suddenly smelled sweet, like fresh fruit right after the harvest.

The snake person’s hands slid up caressing Jayne’s sides before sliding up onto their chest. The scales, surprisingly warm clasped their small chest, fingers toying with sensitive nipples. Jayne’s eyes rolled back in their head, pleasure radiating through them. “Are you sssssure they will be an incubator? I would perhapssss rather they breed me. It hassss been sssssooooo long ssssince I have been taken by the lady of lussssst.”

Jayne was barely aware of the conversation happening around them. Their nipples were radiating such pleasure thought their body. It was as if every nerve was suddenly connected to their chest. Each brush of a scale’s edge sent a shock through their body causing them to writhe in pleasure against the restraints. They could feel the wetness along their slit slowly build up into a single drop that fell down their legs.

“Need….” Jayne whined bucking their hips in the air. They needed to be touched. Their body was aching in a way that had never been felt before.

“They are ready. Prepare the crown of our lady. May it bless you with your true purpose.”

Jayne could feel a cold piece of metal place on their head. It thrummed with magical energy. Slowly it fit snuggly around their head. It pulsed, each vibration sending a wave of pleasure into Jayne’s body. They could feel it, like a heart beat. Their vision flashed with pulses. With each wave they could see in the darkness for a brief second. The vibrations creating a sort of outlined echo. There were dozens of shapes in the darkness, all looking at Jayne, all waiting for them.

Jayne cried out as they came, body shaking. They could feel the crown shifting, feeding off of them. Energy radiated out from it wrapping around them. Tendrils of magic snaked down caressing the sides of their face. They curled up trading around Jayne’s ears. Jayne wanted to protest but all that came out was a low whimper of pleasure.

The tendrils took it as approval and slipped inward. Jayne could feel their ears stretch as the phantom tendrils pushed deeper, stretching their head. Their eyes rolled back as they shook. Spit dripped out of their mouth as they gasped, their entirety suddenly penetrated. They felt a loud squelch as the tendrils popped in quickly smashing against their brain. Jayne groaned head falling forward as their legs spread. There was a magic building within them.

Signals of energy traced down their nerves, coiling, wrapping like energy. Their ass swelled, bulging, curving outward. Had they been wearing clothes, they would have exploded into shreds of fabric. Instead the flesh bounced, rising and swelling outward, muscle and fat forming and stretching outward. Their chest heaved, small flat breasts surging forward with momentum. Jayne could feel liquid swelling within them as they grew larger, heavier, pulling their chest forward. Small arms suddenly grew rich with muscle. Their wrists swelled to match, the magic ropes shattering instantly as their arms fell to their sides with a thud. They stumbled forward tumbling into the embrace of the naga.

Jayne’s mouth fell open as they slid down the body of the snake person. The scales left small cuts on the skin that quickly mended themselves. Their tongue shot out, quickly stretching longer. Jayne didn’t know how they knew, but they knew exactly what to do. Their lips quickly pushed the scales apart revealing the sensitive flesh hidden beneath. The naga hissed, their body shaking. Jayne’s tongue plunged deeper surging into the sweet depths within.

Deep inside their mind, Jayne was being overloaded with pleasure. They were aware of what their body was doing but had no control over it. It moved as if puppeted by their own desires or the crown’s. It was hard to know where Jayne ended and where the lady of lust began. Jayne could feel her voice, her touch as it guided her, awakening Jayne’s true potential. Jayne never know they were destined for such greatness, how so many were, their desires twisted and manipulated instead of allowing the Velvet Fold to run freely, embracing all who needed freedom. Jayne would help the lady of lust spread, the Velvet Fold spread once more, and in return, they would be free to embrace their pleasure.

The crown curled, wrapping around Jayne’s head, pulling. Something surged along the tentacles of magic. Pink magic surged out of Jayne’s head, pulsing up into the crown. The crowd cheered as Jayne felt a longing within themselves. They felt themselves stretch, swelling below. They could feel their insides twist, pushing outward, swelling forward. They leaned back gasping as from deep within their fold something burst out. A large throbbing cock, tapered at the head yet flared at the base. Jayne could feel more, horns, small ones bursting out of the top of their skull. The tentacles swelled brighter, rich pink energy pulling out of their head.

Blind lust filled them. Jayne became lost in the waves. It surged inside of their head, blind obedience, the Velvet Fold wrapping around their brain, flooding it with what was desired. Jayne gave into the desire. Lost within they would do what they must for the lady of lust. They would be the lady’s arch priest. They would do it with eagerness. They were the bearer of the crown, they must serve.

Jayne came, cock twitching wildly as cum erupted from the head. They could feel the crown merge with their horns, cold metal merging with flesh. The magic swirling into their very cells. They were the conduit of magic, they were their lady of lust’s vessel. They were the Velvet Fold, and the Velvet Fold was them. They could feel every orgasm from the crowd, their bodies shaking as they came.

Jayne smiled. The Velvet Fold must grow. They must spread their lady’s pleasure across the world.

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Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!

#brainwashing #mind control #mind conditioning #my writings #transformation #breast expansion #dick growth #hypnovember #jam out hypnovember #corruption kink #mind corruption

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