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galedekarios · 28 days

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waterdeep's festivities & celebrations

(credit: midnightfriday)

in contrast to baldur's gate, which has few festivals and gatherings, waterdeep in contrast has a great variety of them, prompting volo to write the following about waterdeep in his chapbook about the city:

"At many times of year, hardly a tenday can pass in Waterdeep without the staging of some rite, race, or rousing ceremony of civic pride." (from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion)

in this post, i want to give an overview of these holidays and festivals. some of them are mentioned in the game, like fleetswake in a banter between gale, lae'zel and wyll, but most of them are not. they give an interesting insight in the city, its history and its people.

the most used calendar in faerûn is the calendar of harptos. it's pictured above to give you an overview of how the months and seasons work in faerûn.

The days making up a tenday did not have formal names. If precision was required, the number of the day and the number of the tenday were used, as in, "the fourth day of the first tenday of Flamerule". Days of the month were typically written as the numerical date followed by the month name, for example, "15 Hammer" or "15th Hammer". Informally or poetically this could be spoken or written as "the 15th of Deepwinter". [x]

the names of the months in faerûn are:

hammer (deepwinter)

alturiak (the claw of winter, the claw of cold)

ches (the claw of sunsets)

tarsakh (the claw of storms)

mirtul (the melting)

kythorn (the time of flowers)

flamerule (summertide)

eleasis (highsun)

eleint (the fading)

marpenoth (leaffall)

uktar (the rotting)

nightal (the drawing down)

hammer 1: wintershield

Marking the start of the new year, this observance is a widely recognized day off work, when folk sip warmed ciders and broths (often laced with herbs for health and to bring on visions) and stay inside. They tell tales of what interested them or was important in the year just done, and discuss what they intend to do or should deal with — or things that everyone “should keep a hawk’s clear eye on” — in the year ahead. Such talk inevitably leads to discussions of politics, wars, and the intentions of rulers. Maps are usually consulted, and it’s widely considered lucky to possess and examine a map on Wintershield. Map sales are brisk in the tenday preceding this holiday.

alturiak 14: the grand revel

Led by the clergy of Sune, Sharess, and Lliira, the Grand Revel is a day of dancing, music, and the consumption of sweet treats of all kinds, from chocolate to red firemint candies. Although some of the dancing is wanton and performed for show, large-scale ring dances in the street for all ages are also popular. All the dancing ends at dusk, after which bards and minstrels perform at “love feasts” for families. Couples — or those desiring to become couples — slip away together to kiss, exchange promises, and trade small tokens of affection (often rings blessed by clergy with prayers of faithfulness). Even if you have no paramour, indulge a little in the dance and food of this fine tradition. The night might be cold, but your heart will be warmed.

we learn in the game about sharess, we hear a bit about sune, the goddess of beauty and her temple of beauty in waterdeep in a banter between gale and shadowheart, but lliira is mentioned only in passing: llira is a minor goddess in the faerûnian pantheon. she's called the joybringer and is the embodiment of freedom and happiness, inspiring many poets and musicians. gale does mention her in game - or at least the llirian suites that his piano is enchanted to play.

ches 1: rhyestertide

This holiday is named in honor of Lathander’s first prophet, Rhyester, a young blind boy who was cured of that blindness by the dawn’s light on this day more than seven centuries ago. That holy event occurred in the vicinity of Silverymoon, but Lathander has long had a much larger temple in Waterdeep, and a following to match. Each of the faithful dons bright garb of sunrise hues and keeps one eye covered until the next dawn in honor of Rhyester. If you want to feel like a local, catch the eye of any celebrant you see and wink. Fine friendships have grown from far less.

ches 19: fey day

The veil between this world and the faerie realm of the Feywild is thought to be weak on this day. Though this phenomenon provokes caution in rural areas (with folk avoiding woodlands, putting offerings of food on doorsteps, and the like), it is an occasion of much drinking, singing, and dancing in Waterdeep. The wealthy host elaborate masked balls, while poorer folk don costumes of their own make and travel door to door, gaining brief entry into the celebrations in exchange for performing a song or a short play. All adopt the guises of fey beings and the supposed rulers of the Feywild, such as Queen Titania, Oberon, and Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools. Those inclined to remain sullen in the face of such frivolity had best stay home, for celebrants do their utmost to evoke a smile from those they meet.

chest 21 - 30: fleetswake

This festival celebrates the sea, maritime trade, and the gods of the sea, navigation, and weather. It spans the last tenday of Ches, and includes a series of boat races, the Shipwrights’ Ball at the Shipwrights’ House, and guild-sponsored galas at the Copper Cup festhall. According to custom, the winners of the various competitions don’t keep their trophies and earnings, but deliver them to the priests of Umberlee at the Queenspire, her temple on the beach by the east entrance to the Great Harbor, at the conclusion of the festival. The last two days of Fleetswake are the occasion of the Fair Seas Festival. During this time, there is much feasting on seafood, the harbor is strewn with flower petals, and City Guards go from tavern to tavern collecting offerings for Umberlee. Collection boxes also appear at large festival gatherings. Upon sunset of the final day, the collected coin is placed in chests and dumped into the deepest part of the harbor. This festival has existed in a number of forms since the first trade-meets occurred here more than two millennia ago, and an uncountable amount of wealth remains sunken in what has long been known as Umberlee’s Cache. The area is closely watched by merfolk guardians, whose standing orders are to kill anyone attempting to disturb it. Rumors abound that the chests have magical protections; one story tells of thieves who stole some of the collection years ago and tried to leave the city under false pretenses, only to see a squall spring up as soon as their ship left the harbor. A huge wave shaped like a hand swept the thieves overboard, but spared the ship and its crew.

this festival is one of the few mentioned in baldur's gate. as stated previously gale, wyll and lae'zel mention it in one of the banters between them in act 1:

Lae'zel notes that Gale knows a lot about mind flayers. He responds with information about his training. If there, Wyll chimes in as well. Lae'zel: You strike me cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors, I should guess.devnote Gale: Many a wise man and woman indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. Wyll: Ah, the City of Splendours. Spent a whole Fleetswake there with my father. What a delight.

tarsak 1 - 10: waukeentide

This festival has long gathered a number of older holidays under one name, stretching those celebrations into a holiday season that lasts a tenday. Among the rituals in homage to the goddess of wealth and trade are these: Caravance (Tarsahk 1). This gift-giving holiday commemorates the traditional arrival of the first caravans of the season into the city. Many parents hide gifts for their offspring in their homes, telling the children that they were left by Old Carvas — a mythical peddler who arrived with the first caravan to reach Waterdeep, his wagon loaded down with toys for children to enjoy. Goldenight (Tarsahk 5). This festival celebrates coin and gold, with many businesses staying open all night, offering midnight sales and other promotions. Some celebrants and customers decorate themselves with gold dust and wear coins as jewelry. Guildsmeet (Tarsahk 7). On this holiday, guild members gather in their halls for the announcement of new policies and a celebration of business concluded for the year. These gatherings culminate in a gala festival and dance sponsored by several guilds, which lasts from dusk till dawn and overruns the Market, the Cynosure, the Field of Triumph, and all areas in between. Leiruin (Tarsahk 10). In times long past, Waukeen caught Leira, the goddess of illusions and deception, attempting to cheat her in a deal, and buried her under a mountain of molten gold as punishment. A commemoration of that event, Leiruin is the day for guild members to pay their annual dues and for guildmasters to meet with the Lords of Waterdeep and renew their charters for another year.

waukeen is a goddess and her domain is trade and wealth.

mirtul 6 - 9: the plowing and running

Rural areas around the city observe this holiday in the traditional sense of shared activities of plowing fields and moving (or “running”) livestock. But within the city, the holiday is celebrated with a series of races. Foot, horse, and chariot races are run through courses in each ward, and the winners from each ward compete at the Field of Triumph. If you really want to see the wards come to life, this is the time. Pick your favorite, wear its colors, and cheer alongside its residents. Better yet, if you’re of an adventuresome bent, register in your favored ward and compete! Who knows? Your name or visage might soon have a place in the House of Heroes.

kythorn 1: trolltide

On this day commemorating Waterdeep’s victory in the Second Trollwar, children run through the city acting like trolls, banging on doors and growling, from highsun till dusk. Home and shop owners are expected to give the children candy, fruits, or small items. Those who give no treat can expect to become the target of a trick at sundown. This mischief typically takes the form of “troll scratchings” at doors and windows. Those with more malicious intent sing screechingly in the wee hours, and hurl raw eggs at windows, signs, and the heads of those who try to stop them. Have some candy on hand or some sweet rolls, and all will be calm where you live.

kythorn 14: guildhall day

This day is a time of trade fairs. Most shops are closed, and street sales are suspended for all but walking food peddlers. Guildhall Day celebrates the fruits of everyone’s labor with revelations of new products, innovations, fashions, and signage extolling the extent and quality of guild members’ services and wares. These offerings usually take the form of glittering displays, but guilds sometimes also sponsor brief plays or other hired entertainments (jugglers, singers, magic shows put on by hedge wizards and professional raconteurs) at which prizes or free samples are distributed. Many guilds try to recruit during this time. Guildhall Day is an excellent time to browse the city’s merchandise — and it doesn’t matter if you can’t afford what you see, because you can’t buy it that day anyway.

kythorn 20: dragondown

This day in Kythorn is celebrated with bonfires and rituals to “tame” or “drive down” dragons. In Waterdeep, the celebrations take the form of parades that center around effigies built of wood and cloth and filled with straw. Each effigy is named and has a traditional depiction, for it represents one of a handful of dragons the city has faced in its history. After being paraded to a square near where the dragon was defeated or driven off, the enormous effigy is burned. The height of the celebration comes when the effigy of Kistarianth the Red is burned on the slopes of Mount Waterdeep. A dracolich version of Kistarianth is then carried up the slopes and burned as well. These proceedings symbolize the defeat of Kistarianth first by the paladin Athar, and again decades later by his son, Piergeiron. Tradition dictates that the winners of the races run during the Plowing and Running take the role of the dragons’ slayers, with the champion of the chariot race representing Athar and the champion of the horse race playing Piergeiron.

flamerule 1: the founders' day

This day commemorates the birth of the city. The Field of Triumph is the site of illusory displays that chronicle the history of Waterdeep, as well as martial exhibitions by the Guard and other worthies. Many festhalls sponsor Founders’ Day costume contests, with prizes going to those who wear the best recreations of the garb of historical personages. Once banned as frivolous and distracting, the practice of veiling Castle Waterdeep with an illusion has been reinstated. Several mages come together to produce the effect, which seemingly transforms the castle into the ancient log fortress of Nimoar. The illusion typically lasts from midday to sunset (unless someone has the audacity and magical might to dispel it) and is regarded as a stunning work of magical art.

flamerule 3 - 5: sornyn

Sornyn is a festival of both Waukeen and Lathander, and is used for planning business, making treaties and agreements, and receiving envoys from unknown lands and traditional foes. Much wine is drunk over this three-day occasion when, as the saying goes, “My enemy is like family to me.” If you are a newcomer to the city, this time is an excellent opportunity for you to engage with new partners in business or to gain financial support for some endeavor. My agreement to write Volo’s Guide to Waterdeep was signed on a warm Sornyn evening many years ago, so who knows where your own initiative will take you?

flamerule 7: llira's night

Originally a celebration held only in Waterdeep, this holiday has since spread up and down the Sword Coast. It has received a recent boost in popularity from the custom started in Baldur’s Gate of lighting celebratory smokepowder fireworks — all purchased from Felogyr’s Fireworks of that city, and utilized only by the City Guard, of course. This nightlong festival honors the Lady of Joy with dances and balls throughout the city. Pink beverages, ranging from healthy juices to deadly strong intoxicants, are imbibed. The boom and crackle of smokepowder explosions go off all night long, so you might as well stay up with the locals and enjoy the show.

eleasis 1: ahghairon's day

Many small rituals are held throughout this day, dedicated to honoring the first Open Lord. The Lords of Waterdeep toast Ahghairon and the Watchful Order, and guildmasters toast the Lords in Ahghairon’s name. Commoners leave violets (Ahghairon’s favorite flower) around Ahghairon’s Tower, on his statue in the City of the Dead, and atop the altars of the House of Wonder. Bards perform songs in honor of the wizard all over the city. The Open Lord visits taverns and inns throughout Waterdeep to wish the people well — giving short speeches, offering toasts to Ahghairon’s memory, buying rounds of drinks, or paying for meals or accommodation. Needless to say, establishments of those sorts are generally full throughout the day.

if you are interested to learn more about ahghairon - who is mentioned too by gale in passing - or rather his lost nose - you can do so here: i've written a more extensive meta about him in this post.

eleint 21: brightswords

On this day, the City Guard, the City Navy, and the City Watch — all in glittering array — conduct parades, give demonstrations of martial skill, and stage mock battles. Those desiring to join their ranks are given a chance to demonstrate their prowess, usually with wooden practice weapons in contests against veteran soldiers. Makers and vendors of weapons sell their wares openly in the markets, experts who can hurl or juggle weapons show off their skills, and the wards compete in wrestling and boxing matches. The most anticipated part of the day is when horses are cleared from the Field of Triumph and the surrounding streets so that the Griffon Cavalry can perform aerial displays over the crowds in the stadium. Members of the Watchful Order present the cavalry with illusory foes to fight, allowing the griffon riders to engage in thrilling battles as the people watch.

marpenoth 3: day of wonders

The imaginative inventions of the Gondar are revealed on this day and paraded through the city. These devices range from something as humble as new cabinet hinges to massive mechanical constructs that walk or roll about. Failure is the paramour of invention, though, meaning it is a rare year when there isn’t some notable disruption of the celebration. The flying chair of Marchell was one such recent oddity — a device that worked marvelously on the way up but was incapable of descending. Marchell was rescued by the Griffon Cavalry, but his flying chair drifted away and was never seen again.

marpenoth 7: stoneshar

Stoneshar is an all-faiths day during which folk strive not to be idle. Even children at play are encouraged to dig holes, build sand castles, or construct crude models. Waterdavians consider Stoneshar the best day of the year to begin construction of a building, either by digging out a cellar or laying a foundation. The common wisdom is that folk who undertake new projects on Stoneshar can expect blessings upon their works in the coming year, whereas individuals who do nothing constructive on this day can expect all manner of misfortune to rain down on them in the year ahead.

marpenoth 10: reign of misrule

Swift on the heels of Stoneshar comes the Reign of Misrule. This day honors Beshaba, goddess of misfortune. People of the city are expected to break trust, belie oaths, and disobey the normal order — as long as no laws are actually broken and no rift is made that can’t be later bridged. During the Reign of Misrule, nobles serve meals to their servants, children take control of schools, priests give worship to their god’s foes, and any who wish to may participate in a guild’s trade. Pranks are played by and on many, from simple tricks to those requiring elaborate planning. Sundown brings an end to the festivities, and most folk spend much of the night cleaning and reordering things for the following day. Many visitors decline to participate, but doing so often inspires misfortune rather than avoiding it. For fear of catching the bad luck of cynics, citizens do their best to avoid talking to anyone known to not have played along, or dealing with them in any way until Gods’ Day.

marpenoth 15: gods' day

This holiday observes the anniversary of the end of the Godswar in 1358 DR, when the gods of Faerûn returned to the heavens. Private shrines are brought out into the open, and many people wear holy symbols of their favored deities. A Gods’ Day tradition in Waterdeep strictly limits the use of magic, in remembrance of the wild magic wrought during the Time of Troubles. Though not outlawed fully, spellcasting is allowable only in self-defense or in cases of extreme need. At night, this holiday becomes solemn and serious, as many Waterdavians offer prayers in thanks for the lives they have under their gods. The Griffon Cavalry sets up an immense bonfire at the peak of Mount Waterdeep, honoring the fallen and the risen gods Myrkul, Cyric, Kelemvor, Mystra, Helm, and Ao who appeared here. In thanks for their defense during Myrkul’s invasion and the resulting fires that raged through the Southern, Dock, and Castle Wards, Gods’ Day is also a semiofficial “Be Kind to the Guard and Watch Day” in Waterdeep. Feel free to participate by handing out small gifts and kind words, but be aware that any gift of greater value than a few nibs might be interpreted as a bribe.

marpenoth 30: liar's night

This holy day pays tribute to Leira and Mask. To placate those deities and ward away their attention, folk of all walks of life don masks and costumes (magical or mundane) to disguise themselves and play at being other than what they are. Commonly seen mask styles include the black mask symbol of Mask and the mirror face of the priests of Leira. But there are no bounds on the disguise you don, and the more elaborate and outlandish it is, the more celebrated the wearer. The festivities begin in the evening, when people place candles in hollowed-out gourds or pumpkins carved with faces. Each pumpkin represents a person donning a mask, while the light inside represents the truth of the soul. For as long as the candle remains lit, lies told and embarrassing things done don’t sully a person’s reputation, so celebrations often descend briefly into anarchic hedonism. Misfortune is said to come to anyone who returns to their pumpkin after celebrating to find it unlit, so buy a candle of good quality and put your gourd beyond reach of the wind. Intentionally blowing out someone else’s candle or smashing someone else’s pumpkin is taboo, and risks the wrath of both gods — yet it does occur. Tricks and pranks of all kinds are common on this night, and folk expect lies and foolishness. Pickpockets are rife on this day, so few carry much coin with them, having secreted it away somewhere the previous evening. Instead, people fill their pockets and belt pouches with candies. Traditionally, a pickpocket is meant to take the candy and leave a token in return (a tiny toy, a colorful paper folded into a shape, or the like), but this has changed over the years into adults exchanging candies among themselves and simply giving candy to children who ask for it. By custom, no deals are made nor contracts signed on Liar’s Night, because no one trusts that parties will abide by them. Illusionists and stage magicians (whether through magical or practical abilities) make the rounds to entertain private parties (having been paid in advance the previous day) or to perform in public spaces, in the hopes that a good show will earn them a meal, and perhaps a place at a private party in the future.

uktar: selûne's hallowing

On whatever night in Uktar the moon is fullest, Waterdavians celebrate Selûne’s Hallowing. The goddess is the focus of worship throughout the full phase, of course, but the major ceremony on this night is a parade of worshipers leaving the House of the Moon at moonrise and moving down to the harbor, where the high priestess wields the Wand of the Four Moons in a ceremony blessing all navigators. This holy relic is said to be the mace wielded by Selûne in her first battle against Shar, and again in a fight with her sister during the Time of Troubles. It miraculously appeared in Waterdeep after the Godswar, and has since been the focus of many divine signs. You can view it in the House of the Moon at other times of the year, but only from a well-guarded distance. If you’re lucky, you might see the Wand of the Four Moons weep. Droplets said to be the tears of Selûne manifest on the mace from time to time, and are collected by the priestesses for use in potions that can heal, cure lycanthropy, and be used as holy water.

uktar 20: last sheaf

Sometimes called “The Small Feast,” this day of residential feasting is held in celebration of the year’s bounty. Small gifts (traditionally hand kegs of ale, jars of preserves, or smoked fish and meats) are exchanged among neighbors, and “last letters” are gathered for carriage by ship captains and caravan merchants — so called because they are the last to leave the city before travel becomes difficult. Of Waterdeep’s many celebrations, this one is perhaps the most relaxed and relaxing. Plan to spend a little extra on good food and enjoy a meal with those nearest you, be they dearest hearts or the folk across the hall in the inn.

nightal 11: howldown

In honor of Malar, members of the City Guard leave the city in groups on this day to hunt down known threats to farmers and travelers, including brigands, wolves, owlbears, ogres, and trolls that haunt the roads and wilderness. These hunts typically last no longer than a tenday. During the same span of time, the City Watch engages in its own rigorous hunt for malefactors within the city walls. If you’ve any reason to doubt your standing in the eyes of the law, avoid Waterdeep for at least a tenday after Howldown. With no real hunting to do of their own, the children of Waterdeep spend Howldown engaging in mock hunts of adults dressed up as monsters, and play at the killing of these predators.

nightal 20: simril

When dusk comes on this day, folk go outside to locate particular stars that were lucky for their ancestors, or that were associated with their own births. They then attempt to stay up through the night, celebrating outside with bonfires, song, and warmed drinks. Cloudy nights often draw larger crowds than clear ones, since glimpsing your star through the haze is thought to be a blessing from Tymora. Inside buildings, service folk keep roaring fires and engage in making food to keep celebrants fed throughout the long night and into morning of the next day. If you have no particular star of your own, you’ll find many vendors of star maps willing to divine which is yours — based upon your place and date of birth — and to point you in the right direction for a shard or two.

all information is taken from volo's waterdeep enchiridion.

i hope this was helpful and information to some of you!

🖤

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3

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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months

Note

Azriel prompt 2 and 3!! Don't make it sad though lol

Work Song

Summary - A mission with Azriel takes a bad turn.

Warnings - angst, mentions of death, fear of death, fluff

"God - here just hold my hand."

"Is now a bad time to tell you that I'm claustrophobic?"

Took all of my willpower to not make this sad af.

Death.

It was always something that had terrified you, they all knew that you had spent many a night lying in bed thinking about what would come next for you, and no one knew of your fear more than Azriel, the one who soothed that fear and made it evaporate with his searing adoration for you.

Azriel assured you that no matter what came next, he would follow you anywhere, whether that be into the eyes of death and a life of entangled souls, with you, it didn't matter where he was. You were his home, his everything. The sun to his moon. The bird to his spring breeze. The dawn to his dusk. Everything.

But as he knelt before you, nose bloody and panting with wildly wide eyes staring at you in the hands of the very male you had set out to exterminate, he could see that fear in you, he could see it in the way your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, he could see it in the sweat rolling down your forehead and in the gulps of air that you took as his knife pressed to your throat.

You were just as talented as Azriel as a spy, if not more, you had grown up as an orphan in Hewn City and had no choice but to fend for yourself. Rhys had found you tailing him a couple hundred years ago along the Hewn City streets, he admitted how impressed he was by you, by your nimble athletics and swift fighting style. Azriel hadn't been happy when Rhys had placed you under his wing to train, though he found himself becoming fond of you rather quickly.

There was a sense of shared trauma between you, with his marred hands to the thick cracks slicing through your back. Life hadn't been kind to either of you, but it gave you some form of solace to know that you weren't alone.

Then the bond snapped, and Azriel often refused to ever leave you, he just wanted to be with you, slaying the Night Court's enemies or entangled with your body in the small cottage you shared in Velaris.

Azriel loved you more than anything he ever thought possible, the need to have you near, to protect you, was so great that if he wasn't with you he would believe you to be in danger. It wasn't like you couldn't look after yourself, he certainly didn't doubt that after the copious amount of times you had flipped him over your shoulder with a smirk on those beautiful lips. It gave him peace having you near, it was like he couldn't truly believe he had you, a mate, an eternal love.

Blood trickled down your neck as you heaved a shaky breath, the tip of the knife prodding into your skin. Your eyelids flickered closed, and he watched your lips move as you spoke to yourself, he watched you pray to the Mother for Rhys to hear your calls.

"God, here - just hold my hand," Azriel spoke gruffly to you as darkness shrouded you in its embrace, there was no light source in the tiny hallway, the walls were close, so close that you thought the world was caving in on you, and it didn't help that you couldn't see anything in front of you.

Blindly, you reached for him, finding instant comfort in the warmth of his digits entwining with your own, no matter how serious Azriel had to be sometimes, his touch alone told you how much he loved you, it was always so soft, and he always rubbed his thumb across the surface of your skin.

"Is now a bad time to tell you that I'm claustrophobic?" You had squeaked, flinching at the sudden tense of his hand, you couldn't see him but you knew he had turned his head to you, slowing his shuffling sideward steps.

A cold embrace curled around you and you relaxed into the shadows that cradled your face and shoulders, they purred at you, and you hummed in the softest of thanks as you felt his lips press to your temple. Such a simple thing, but something that gave you life in a way nothing else could.

"One step at a time, Dove," you smiled slightly at the name, the one he called you often, light as a feather he had said, swift and elegant, poised and perfect, "We'll be home soon. How does a bath sound? I'll even let you put one of those facemasks on me."

A small giggle pushed through your lips and you could feel him sigh in relief, "That sounds perfect, Az."

Then he had pulled you from that suffocating nook and fallen to his knees after a brute force slammed against the back of his head, awaking to find you stood before him in your leathers, hair pulled into a tight braid, gasping for air in the arms of another.

Every fibre of his soul, everything that made him, was fighting to get to you, but he couldn't. Chains were secured around his limbs and wings, carefully placed so that each tug would threaten to rip his wings from his body. But he would do it. He would lose everything for you even if it meant tearing himself to pieces in front of you.

Azriel grunted in frustrated annoyance, in agony as he tried to reach you, "Stop Az, your wings," tears brimmed in your eyes and your bottom lip wobbled.

A gentle tut pulled his gaze from you, focusing on the male who held you tightly in his arms, his face illuminated by a single streak of moonlight that slipped through the crack of the roof. A revolting thing held you, smirked at the smell of your blood, and it made Azriel boil.

"Do you love her to death?"

Azriel's eyes darkened as you whimpered, bristling in his iron clad grip, "Speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life."

It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever said. Pity.

"No grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her, no matter what."

The chains rattled and you squeezed your eyes shut, you couldn't see your mate try to rip himself apart for you. A chill breath fanned against the back of your neck and you shivered involuntarily at the sensation as the blade limply curved around your neck, threatening to spill the contents of your throat onto the damp stone floor.

Rhys. Please.

Azriel screamed in frustration, "Dove, look at me," he commanded, and you listened, you knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to soothe you with that calm voice that had the power to convince you of anything, "It's going to be okay. Just keep your eyes on me."

"I'm scared," you whispered into the pitch black room, forgetting the blade pressed to your neck at that moment.

"I know, Dove. We're going to get out of this alright? Soon we'll be back in Velaris and you'll be in my arms, alright?"

A shaky hum sounded in your throat, one that was full of tense tears and sadness.

The sensation of the body ripping from you made you gasp and you lurched forward, into another set of arms. Red siphons entered your clouded vision and you could have sobbed in relief as those arms cradled you as your attacker gargled on his own blood at the hands of your High Lord.

Moments later, chains rattled and clattered to the floor, and Azriel was on you within seconds, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips into your hair line.

"What happened?" Rhys asked, looking at your shaking form with worry as Cassian scoured the room top to bottom, Azriel was too focused on you to care about the mission at hand.

Azriel ignored his brother, cooing to you softly as sobs recked your body, a body that was trying to recover from the possibility of your greatest fear coming true, "Not now, Rhys," Azriel murmured as he scooped you into his arms and stalked from the room, following every winding path to the courtyard and lifting off into the sky without a second thought.

Azriel flitted around you once he had placed you on your bed at the cottage, he ran the bath and added all of the oils he knew soothed your muscles and anxiety. Your mate peeled the clothes from your body, then his own, and settled into the tub with you, gently washing away the blood around the already healed spot on your neck.

Candlelight illuminated the space, from the matching toothbrushes in the holder by the sink to the array of soft cotton towels folded neatly atop the organiser. Neither of you needed much to be happy, you had grown up with far less, so little that any opulence made you feel uncomfortable; but that didn't stop Azriel from showering you with gifts daily and making sure your shared abode was as comfortable as it could be.

Fear rolled off of you in waves, and he knew that you were thinking of your blood spilling onto the floor, he knew you were thinking of the grasping to life and the garbled mutters of your love confessions from your bloody lips before darkness consumed you.

"Hey," he turned your head to the side and found emptiness in your eyes, "You're home. You're safe. We're fine, okay?"

Slowly, you nodded, acknowledging his words and settling into his arms once more, sighing as the searing hot water worked its way into your muscles and coaxed you into relaxation. His lips peppered along your shoulder, slowly, lovingly, like every kiss was a declaration to the Mother of his thanks.

"I love you," your voice was weak, Azriel buried his head into the crook of your neck, "I thought you were- that I was-"

"I won't ever allow anything to happen to you," your silence was drowning, a solemn pause in your otherwise blossoming lives. Azriel's finger dragged along the curve of your jaw, "I need you to say it, Dove. I need you to believe it."

Sliding down a couple of inches, the back of your head found the space at the centre of his chest, the water rose to your shoulders and you curled onto your side, "You won't let anything happen to me," you repeated quietly, "We're safe. We're okay."

Azriel spent the rest of the evening doting on you, making sure you ate and drank, he nestled you onto his lap and read to you, he allowed his fingers and shadows to rake through your hair, and he held you tightly to his chest when your body couldn't fight slumber for a moment longer.

As long as he had you in his arms, nothing would be able to take you away.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #maasverse #fanfiction #imagine #azriel x reader #rhysand #cassian #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar oneshot #acotar drabble

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updownlately · 5 months

Text

that first night (we were standing at your door)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 1.7k | a/n: haven't written anything in a minute so lets see how this goes. this is set in the same universe at 'i promise that i'll love you'. and is technically just a small backstory. also idk how to feel about this one ngl. so, if this sucks we're just going to ignore it yeah? cool beans. anyways, happy reading! 🫶

~~~

The low hum of the car is the only audible sound in the silence that surrounds you and Leah.

Combined with the starlit sky and the inevitable chilly London air you still haven’t gotten used to, the moment feels anything but stifling, a sense of calm sitting easily in the space between you two.

The defender had taken you sightseeing around London earlier in the day, jokingly claiming to be the best tour guide in the country when she’d found out you hadn’t explored much of the city yet.

You’d easily agreed to the outing, too caught up in the blue of Leah’s eyes to even fathom the idea of saying no.

It’s how, a little less than three days later, you’d ended up getting picked up in the early hours of the morning by one way too cheery Leah and a promise of the best full English you were ever bound to have.

Spending the rest of the day following the blonde around as she took you to a handful of the obvious, and then many of the lesser-known attractions around the city, her warm hand in yours as she excitedly pointed out things for you to take note of was a day well spent, if you were asked.

Between learning Leah’s concerningly plain Nando’s order, swapping stories of your childhoods, and visiting nearly every major landmark in a forty mile radius, the day flew by in a breeze.

You don’t remember enjoying yourself this much in a while.

With the way your stomach hurt as you laughed at the many stories the blonde shared about her childhood and of the shenanigans she’d gotten up to with teammates in the past, your supposed quick lunch spanned nearly an hour and a half.

And somewhere between the shy smile Leah shot your way as you hid your face behind your hands one too many times at the terrible puns she made during your walks, and the charming toothy grin she’d give you before opening your doors and pulling out your chairs, you knew you were falling.

Soon enough, before you knew it, much of the day had passed without either of you realizing, dawn slowly creeping into dusk as street lights began to cast a golden hue on your path, the cool English breeze creeping in as your lack of jackets became apparent.

So with Leah nervously inviting you out for dinner with her, reasoning that it would be criminal to spend the whole of the morning, afternoon, and much of the evening together only to send you home hungry, you’d agreed easily yet again, matching smiles on both your faces as she’d opened her car door for you, helping you settle in.

It’s how you found yourself to where you were now- stomachs full, one of your playlists playing on mute in the car as the pair of you revelled in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

It may have been only your third official date, but you knew deep down that the blonde’s presence was one you wanted for a while, your hand itching to reach out and intertwine with hers as it sat rested on the gear shift.

Feeling the car roll to a slow stop, you were quickly jolted out of your thoughts, your staring at Leah’s hands not going unnoticed by the blonde, her smiling amusedly at you before quickly shifting the gear into park, you only then taking note of your surroundings.

You’d finally made it back home after a whole day out with the blonde.

You didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

Turning your head to see Leah looking back at you, expression hidden in the lack of light, you swallowed hard as you felt your heart sink a little at what was next.

You’d spent more than half the given hours in a day with the blonde, yet you didn’t want the night to end just yet.

Apparently Leah thought so too, her quietly uttered words bringing a small grin to your face as you realized you were unknowingly on the same page.

“I’ll walk you up?”

Nodding in response, you laughed as Leah wagged a finger in your direction and quickly threatened you to not open your door, instead hastily undoing her own belt and rushing around the car to grab it for you.

Shaking your head as you let yourself be helped out of the car, you couldn’t help the way your lips curled at the proud look on the defender’s face.

Intertwining your hands with Leah’s, you gently tugged her to follow you up your steps, the warmth emanating from her body mixed with the cool air causing goosebumps to rise on your arms.

“You do realize you didn’t have to open all the doors all day, right?”

Asking over your shoulder, you held back your laugh as you caught the sheepish smile on the other girl’s face.

“Gotta treat you right, yeah?”

Hiding the red hue that began to coat your cheeks at the words, you began looking for your keys in your shoulder bag, fumbling as you tried to take them out gracefully.

Doing your best not to shiver as you felt Leah come to a stop beside you, your shoulders nearly touching as she watched you, you wondered silently if you should just ask her to come in.

You couldn’t, could you?

Surely it was too soon to invite her in to stay a while, but you didn’t want the night to end just yet.

Pulling your keys out as you met Leah’s mirth filled eyes, face perfectly illuminated by your outdoor lights, you watched as the blonde studied your face intently, eyes dropping down to lips briefly before they shot back up to meet your own.

“Do you- ”

“Can I- ”

The both of you bursting into quiet laughter, you shook your head as you gathered your bearings, a wide grin on your face this time, nerves nearly gone as you beckoned for Leah to speak.

Eyes widening as she stepped a bit closer to you, you saw her hands hesitate for a second before they came to rest on either side of your torso.

Hiding your smile at the timid expression that appeared on the blonde’s face, you raised your eyebrows in silent jest, urging her to ask her question again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Eyes widening briefly, you did your best not to seem too eager, nodding quickly in response as your own eyes flickered to Leah’s lips before fluttering shut, her perfume infiltrating your senses in the best way as pulled you close to her, a steadying grip on your waist.

You could nearly feel the initial grin on Leah’s face, one that quickly was wiped away as she slotted her lips against yours, goosebumps rising on your body for different reasons this time as you were gently tugged closer.

It was only when Leah pulled back briefly, not letting go of her hold on you and instead pressing your foreheads together, did you process what just happened, the corners of your mouth upturning in content.

“Wow…”

Opening your eyes, you pulled back slightly to meet Leah’s gaze only to see a matching grin on her face.

“Thanks.”

Rolling your eyes, the grin from earlier not having left your face, you shook your head in faux annoyance, your own hand coming to rest on the blonde’s forearm.

“So humble, aren’t ya…”

Laughing at the furrowing eyebrows and appalled look that took over the other girl’s face, you twirled your keys in your hand, contemplating whether you should bite the bullet and invite her in.

Apparently the Englishwoman had the same question as you, head tilting to the side as recalled your unfinished question from earlier.

“What were you going to ask?”

Swallowing hard as you dangled your house keys in your hands, the clinking noise of them causing you to wince, you figured that at worst, all Leah could say was no, right?

Biting the bullet, you closed your eyes, trying to focus on the gentle but firm grip that she had on your waist, to revel in the comfort of the touch.

“I was just- I just wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to come in? Have a tea or something?”

Taking a quick glance at the surprised look you received in response, you immediately began back pedalling, fearing you’d overstepped.

“You don’t have to! I just figured you’d maybe wanted a break from driving and navigating around?”

Your pitch rose at the end of your sentence, causing you to wince and just how nervous you sounded.

Suddenly, the silence that was comforting in the confines of the car was not stifling in the open air, the length of time between your question and Leah’s response causing your heart rate to spike for reasons other than the kiss you both had just shared.

After what felt like minutes (but was probably no longer than about twenty seconds), you felt your chest ease up as the English skipper gave you a quick smile in response, nodding her eagerly.

“I’d love that.”

“Yeah?”

Getting a hum in response as Leah intertwined her hands with yours, comfort thrumming in your veins once again, you let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, turning to face your door with a wide smile as you unlocked the door, tugging Leah to follow you as you stepped inside.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Smiling to yourself in victory, your cheeks nearly hurting by now, you puffed your chest in pride, heart content with just how amazing your day had been.

And your perfect day that didn’t have to end just yet.

Leading the blonde through your house, you flicked on the lights as you told her to make herself home- a statement you didn’t know you both would take so literally, Leah practically moving in with you after you’d pass your one-year anniversary.

And you wouldn’t realize it till years later, when you’d be sat at your kitchen island in your shared home together, figuring out wedding decorations as matching rings adorned your ring fingers, that this exact moment was technically the shared start of the rest of your lives.

#not proofread as usual #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso community #woso #black & white #fluff #my writing #fic #iptily #tfn

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undermine-the-instinct · 7 months

Text

A million Bucks

Chrollo x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You and Chrollo are both dorks waiting for any chance to info dump. Also. Chrollo gives you a million dollars. Literally, it's in the title.

thank @ddarker-dreams for their latest Chrollo concept amongst others inspiring me.

“Come! On! Enough exposition about the flowers, we’re going to miss it!” Watching your boyfriend go off on color and symbolism about each flower patch you passed in the botanical garden had been cute; You imagined him to have studied up on this ever since you expressed a desire to go. It was adorable, but if he kept talking like this the both of you were going to miss the sunset, and that was something you did not want to miss.

He lets you drag him by the arm, and in your huffy mood, you can just sense the amused little smile he wears, and you pull him along faster along the path.

“We still have around fifteen minutes before the sun sets, dear.”

“So? We can't just go when the sun is about to set–it's a gradual thing, watching the sky change color and such…Just trust me.” You pat his hand and he chuckles.

The hill is a perfect height, and you happily plop yourself down when you reach it, sighing in bliss.

“And now we wait.” There are already couples of all sorts sitting in the grass around you, and Chrollo immediately takes the spot next to you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

“So this is what you wanted to see.”

“Yes, isn’t it pretty? It’l be even prettier in a few moments.”

“Hm,” He puts a hand to his chin and you know he's about to ask one of his questions.

“Tell me, common folk tend to romanticize watching the sunset, but if removed from their conventional daily schedules, would a person be able to tell the difference between sunrise and a sunset?”

“I think it’s pretty easy to tell though? Daybreak is softer, pinks and blues and lavenders and the like. Though the same colors could be found here too…Maybe because it's more tranquil? Everyone is still mostly asleep during the daybreak so you can hear the birds and the like.”

“Yet I can hear the birds now as well. And, excluding telling factors such as sound or general aura, could you truly tell the difference?”

You shrug.

“I'm not sure? If you plopped a random person on a hill such as this, but with no accompanying factors of time– like the street lamps turning on, or the clock or business folk walking home— how would they know?”

Now he’s got you hooked, time to unload some of the random trivial knowledge you have stored in your brain. You tilt your head in thought and carry on.

“The sunset often has a more yellow tone though? Sunlight is composed of a multicolored spectrum, just like a rainbow. It passes through the atmosphere, which is a mix of gaseous molecules like oxygen and nitrogen and water vapor, at a slant as the sun drops towards the horizon. The atmosphere is thicker during this time since during the day, general activity and the sun’s beams cause molecules to swell and expand, so the sun’s light rays have a harder time traveling. The short blue and violet waves have a harder time traveling, even the yellow and orange ones, which is why more densely packed and thus polluted areas usually have red sunsets. We’re lucky today to see such a bright orange sunset, but I guess that’s just a testament to how clean the city is. I knew I voted right.”

You laugh under your nose, but soon a question pops in your mind.

“On another note though… these names that we give to these different times; Daybreak, dawn, dusk, twilight, noon, day and night…for a person who doesn’t know such things how would they apply them? Couldn’t daybreak also refer to the sunset, or to twilight, since that's when the day ‘breaks’ into night? Afternoon is pretty straightforward, but what is the concept of noon to someone who's never experienced it before? I mean, everyone has experienced noon but–”

You look up, and the light is so bright and orange for a moment you could’ve sworn you saw your lover covering a lovesick smile. He quickly transitions to wiping his mouth, and you’re left stupefied if that really happened. There is still the slightest red hue on his ears, and a glimmer in his eye, but that could just be the sunlight.

“Well that's getting into the topic of linguistics, and the pattern we apply to languages for the patterns we apply to our general lives. It varies greatly among language and culture, different regions and dialects. There's certain parallels though to be found. Like how in many languages, like Spanish, day is referred to with the masculine, in this case ‘Buenos’ and night as the feminine ‘Buenas’. Apollo and Artemis, Lugus and Rhiannon, Inti and Mama Quilla, Huītzilōpōchtli and Mētztli, etcetera.”

“Oh, but that's getting into gender and its role in religion. And what about cultures that are the opposite? Like Ameratsu and Tsukuyomi-no-mikoto? Sol and Máni? And at this point, if we’re speaking about an established and organized religion then that means that such patterns have already been set and defined, and our original question has already been answered by our hypothetical person or peoples.” You grin and lean in closer to him. His hand creeps along your thigh but you let it.

“Removing all factors, How could one tell the difference between a sunrise and a sunset? They’d have to rely on intuition, with the absence of context clues. Maybe they’d be able to tell, since humans are mostly Diurnal? What do you think?”

He just stares at you, drenched in the sun’s rays, and gosh he’s really freaking pretty. Modeling contract when?

But he just keeps staring, and now you notice the way his pupils are dilated, the way he's leaning in.

“Chrollo?”

“I think,” he licks his lips before he speaks. “That you’re going to miss your sunset if you keep on.” You’re already flailing a little before he finishes his sentence, and Chrollo can't help the expression on his face as you eagerly lift your head to the sparse clouds up above.

“As riveting your conversation is though.”

“Oh shush you, we almost missed it!”

True, the skies edges were being beaten into blooming shades of indigo and plum, slipping into a golden orange and bleeding red at its sinking core. It was nothing he hadn't already seen before.

But you were acting like it was your first time; Your widened eyes glowed in the reflection of the sun, painting you in golden armour. It painted your hands, gilded your hair, lay heavy over your eyelids, and slick across your mouth like honey, opened slightly in awe. It seemed to almost pool on your tongue, and he so wanted a taste.

“Why are you staring at me?” You say, not keen to pull your eyes away. More's the pity. If you turned your head you would catch a glimpse of a man so besotted, drowning willingly in a love he never once thought he’d ever be able to experience.

“I seem to find you more captivating dearest.”

Your brow pinches, adorably, but you scoff a laugh.

“Don’t be silly, you see me almost every day. You’ve seen my face a hundred times.”

“And I've seen the sunset a thousand more. So why would I choose to look at a dying star when I can stare at you?”

The sun is almost gone, but the red hue on your face doesn’t fade, and something in Chrollo’s chest warms; purrs and curls, like a snake.

He inches forward while you huff.

“Mister Casanova over here trying to be smooth…Just what are you thinking?”

It might be indecent, the way his hand smooths along your inner thigh, but he finds he doesn’t care. Neither do you, when you finally turn to look at him, and your breath hitches with how close he is. It's getting darker, but not all of the street lamps are on.

“I’m thinking…” And he smooths your hair away from your neck. You shiver. “That right now, I'm much too endeared by you to deny you anything you might ask.”

“Oh really?” Your tone is amused, disbelieving but he nods. Goodness he was…Ah, how did Uvo and Shalnark put it again? Whipped?

“Okay, I want a million dollars.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Alright.”

“Alright? Don't tell me you’re that easy love.”

“I’m afraid I am, for you dear… Is there anything else you desire?” You flush darker, but in a bold move you grab onto his collar and drag him down into the grass for a kiss.

Your mouth does taste sweet.

A few days later, you were relaxing at home…Until you decided to go to your local coffee shop and treat yourself. Your favorite barista made your drink perfectly, and you checked your bank account to see whether you could give them a more generous tip then your usual, to find something very shocking. Now you’re pacing your bedroom with your phone pressed to your ear.

“.....Yes, dear?” Finally he picks up. You immediately lay into him.

“Chrollo? Honey, dear, darling, apple of my eye, gem of my heart…I seem to be in a bit of a conundrum.”

“Is that so? How about you explain it to me so I can help you.”

“That's exactly why I called. Now, can you tell me why there is suddenly an extra one million dollars in my bank account? Hm?” You know it's his fault. You know it.

“Hm. Maybe your boss gave you a raise?”

“Oh, is that so?”

“You have been working hard dearest.” Cheeky bastard.

“Chrollo.” He chuckles on the other end of the line, and you feel like the top of your head is going to blow off.

”Chrollo.”

“Alright, alright. It was me.”

“And why in the nine circles would you do that?”

He’s silent over the line for a minute, you can only hear the hum of his car, so you assume he‘s driving, wherever he is.

“Well, you asked for it.”

“What–”

“As your spouse, isn’t it my duty to attend to your every want and need?” You slam the phone down on your bed, and immediately smack face down into a pillow, and scream. What the hell. You can hear his muffled voice on the side, and pick the phone back up after about a minute of suffering.

“Are you alright dearest?”

“My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.”

“Oh? Now that won't do. Would another million make you feel better?”

“I will literally leave you if you do that.”

“I always knew you were a thief. Not content with just my heart, are you?”

You sigh hard and pinch the bridge of your nose. There is an anxiousness curling tight and hot in your belly, and his amused tone of voice isn’t helping.

“Where did you even get this kind of money?”

“I won the lottery.” You yell his name and he laughs, full on laughs, you’re sure your face is completely red by now.

“I'm truly serious.”

“I’m not going to accept that as an excuse.”

“Fine. Then it was inheritance from a rich estranged aunt of mine. Perhaps I'm secretly the CEO of a major conglomerate. Or perhaps I own a couple of mines. Maybe I got lucky with the stocks I invested in. Whatever makes it easiest for you to accept, darling.”

“Accept what?”

“I think we both know what I’m alluding to.” There's that tone of voice again. That tone.

Sometimes, Chrollo just…puts you on edge. There was always something eerie about him, and while he could shrug it off and be his dashing, charming self, you couldn't deny that he sometimes made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

He was too observant, you could never sneak up on him. Never. And he liked to stare, a lot. He was also crazy observant–bringing up little tidbits of info and conversation you brought up years ago with perfect clarity. He acted the most odd when you were your authentic self, like he was simultaneously amused and fascinated by your ‘quirks’.

Like when you would stop to talk to and help strangers, or when you’d return a wayward shopping cart to its right place, or when you stop to pet the local stray cats. You had always brushed it off with probably him being jaded, a bit awkward (he doesn't get internet lingo, he doesn't know basic meme culture but can tell you in excruciating detail where the murderer went wrong in whatever documentary you’re watching), but you cared for him. The good outweighed the strange, right?Even if he was gone so often, or never took off the wrapping around his forehead or changed in front of you, or how he could sometimes move so fast.

Your partner is creepy, honestly. But who doesn't want a borderline cryptid boyfriend? You stay with him anyways.

Maybe that's to your own detriment.

You sigh again, feeling like five years has been taken off your life. “You can't just drop a million dollars into my bank account Chrollo.”

“And why not?”

“Because… Because!! A million dollars Chrollo?”

“I see no issue with it. And I’m not taking it back.” He cuts you off before you can start your next sentence.

“I don’t see much value in material wealth. It makes no difference to me. Consider it disposable income.”

“Spoken like a true bourgeois.I can’t believe I betrayed my fellow man for a blood sucking parasite.” You wipe a fake tear away.

“‘Parasite’? I'm quite partial to spiders myself.”

“Ew, whatever.” Of course he would like spiders. “I’m donating your money to charity then.”

“Alright then. It’s your money now dear.”

“...You’re amused by all this, aren’t you.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” sounds of traffic overtake the line as he goes silent for a moment.

“I’m just endeared by your humility and generosity. But there's no need for theatrics dear. What's mine is mine, and what's mine is yours,” you can just imagine the smugness radiating behind that genial smile.

“And naturally, you are mine, so my point stands..”

You’re silent, and Chrollo waits for your response. You just sigh again, and shake your head.

“I can’t understand you sometimes.”

“There's no need for you to, darling. Just indulge me.”

“Yeah? And what would you like?” You tease, slipping into familiar territory. He hums in thought as if he doesn’t already know what he wants.

“Let me take you out to dinner tonight. No fuss from you.”

“You already made a reservation huh.”

“Of course. Five star." Oh dear goodness, this man is going to be the death of you.

Well, at least if you fall ill due to the stress of being with such a man you can actually cover your bills, and then some.

“So what do you want me to wear?”

“Something long sleeve, we’ll be dining on the open balcony.”

“You’ll just give me your coat if I get chilly. Anyways, I asked you what you want me to wear?” He goes quiet and you try not to grin.

“You said indulge you, right?”

He’s quiet over the line, before he laughs low, and despite yourself there is a flutter in your gut.

“You’re a wonder Darling.” he mutters something about ‘missing this later’ but before you could make head or tails of that he continued.

“Wear something black. Surprise me.” You roll your eyes and yourself off the bed, padding over to your closet.

“You and your monochromes…Alright, where are you?”

“Just a few blocks away.”

“That hardly gives me enough time to get ready.”

“No need to rush, we have time. I set the reservation for eight tonight, so you still have a few hours.”

“Then why did you come so early?”

“What if you need help zipping up your dress?” You laugh, and close the closet, having grabbed what you needed.

“Whatever, let yourself in with the mat key. We’ll talk about your disposable income when you arrive. And you can put the roses away yourself when you come.”

His voice is smooth and deep with mirth. “How did you know I brought roses?”

“You always do, dear.” You hear the sound of a car roll up to the driveway and grin, hanging up the phone. You rush into the bathroom to get ready.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucifer x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #chrollo lucifer #hxh #my writing #my stuff #my works #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

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fancyfeathers · 6 months

Text

The Moon Will Sing (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader) (Normalized Yandere AU)

(TW- abandonment, kidnapping, restraints, extreme isolation, semi torture, dehydration, starvation, marking/body modification)

Inspired by this post

There is a story in Liyue about how Rex Lapis, the Lord of Geo and the Goddess of Moonlight fell in love. It is a story known by almost everyone in Liyue, a story parents tell their children before bed, a story couples remember at wedding, asking for the godly couple’s blessing on their marriage. This story is one of the most beloved in all of Liyue, you hear it on the daily as you walk past the families in the streets of Liyue harbor. You hear the children saying of how the story reminds them of their own parents, or how they want a relationship like that one day.

This makes you want to scream…

You want to tell the children the truth, tell the couples that such a blessing would be wicked on their marriage, and you felt terrified when parents would get compared to you and your husband.

Yes you and your husband…

Perhaps we should start this tale from the beginning…

The real story, not the sugared tale this land knows…

In ancient Liyue, in the height of the Guili Assembly, there was two sister goddesses. They were not strong, they were not known to many people of the land, and their power could never even match that of an archon. The two of them made no deals with adepti or gods, had no ties, but with that they had no real enemies. The goddess of moonlight and rain only had her sister, the goddess of sunlight and rainbows, and they didn’t need anyone else. For after the night comes morning, and after the rain is the rainbow.

The two sisters lived in Northern Liyue, watching over a small nameless village. This community was outside the bounds of the Guili Assembly and forgotten by it, almost like the sisters were. So now the sisters have taken mortal forms to walk among the people of the village and protect them, like parents would.

The sister of the sunlight would walk the streets during the day, singing her divine melody to bring light to Liyue. The children loved her, calling her a princess, the adults consulted with her, asking for her guidance. She was welcomed everywhere she went for she was as bright as the sun and able to see the village when it is lively and cast in the beautiful light of the day.

Your life was much different. You lived your sister and you loved your village, but you could never walk the same path they did. Your song was sung by the night, a haunting melody that gave mortals chills. You sang it alone for most of the world dreamed when you walked. The people didn’t fear you to say, well perhaps the children did, they just did not know you. They never got to see your fond smile when you sung under the stars, nor did they see you tending to the fields of glaze lilies in the night, singing to them like you did to bring light to the night. The only time the people got to see you was at dawn when your singing would stop and you would return to you home to sleep the day away, and at dusk when you would come to guide your sister home to rest and you would begin your song as the sun would set.

Which leads you to wear you are now. The sun has just set over Liyue and that means you set out into the grassy fields of your home. This time your brought a basket with you, you wanted to surprise your sister with a gift but even as a goddess you were poor so the only thing you could manage was a flower crown made out of the glaze lilies that bloom under your song of moonlight. You walk through the field, the high grass brushing against your legs. You sing your song as you do, letting the moon and stars grow bright in the night.

“Your voice is very lovely.”

You turn in surprise to see a man dressed in robes of black, brown, and gold, a clear contrast to your dress of purples and blues. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and his eyes of gold look at you with curiosity. You had never seen this man before, you knew everyone who lived here but not once have you seen him.

“Oh, thank you, sir.” You a say, giving him a smile and a semi bow. “But I am afraid my sister’s voice is much more welcomed by our people than mine.”

“Hm? But why? Your voice is beautiful.” You chuckled at the man’s confusion but your reaction only made him more confused. “Is something funny?”

“No, no, it’s just…” sigh and shake your head, taking a step towards the man so you can get a better look at him underneath your moonlight. He was beautiful, powerful, intimidating, but beautiful. “…you don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

“No, I suppose not since you’re clearly not from around this part of Liyue.” You replied, never once breaking eye contact with him like his eyes were drawing you in deeper. “I know that you aren’t because I know everyone here, I have been in this land for hundreds of years now.”

The man stares at you for an even longer moment, looking you up and down, as if trying to read something about you. “You’re a Goddess, are you not?”

“I am… but… um…” you laugh to yourself, your hands fiddling with the woven basket you carry in your nervousness. “…I’m not strong at all, I would be one of the weakest gods. My sister is the strong one between us two but even she’s not very strong either. We might as well be mortals, the only thing we’re good for are our songs but even then no one really cares, I don’t even think Rex Lapis cares we exis- sorry that was disrespectful, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re quite alright, my dear.” He waves you off with a deep chuckle. “Being forgotten by the world when you are meant to be known must be terribly hard.”

“Thank you, I- oh no“ You cut yourself off as you saw the sky grow dark, as if the moon was disappearing into the black sky. “One moment.”

You sucked in a breath and calmed yourself from the startle. You saw the man look at you with a curious look as you turned to face the moon. You raised your voice once more in song, when you did the moon began to glow once more, lighting the land in an ethereal glow. The man’s expression was taken over by pure wonder as you sang, even more so when your song gave the lilies around you light.

“So beautiful….” The man muttered, hearing you sing and seeing the heavenly glow all around you two.

“My domain…” You spoke in response as you finished your song. “Moonlight, not often something people pray for.”

“Maybe one day they will, my dear. I have a feeling they will.”

—————————

The days have passed since that faithful meeting, and the thoughts of the man slipped your mind. You would go out in the night still and sing in that same field, but now it felt as if something was changing, you just could not place it, after all things stayed the same here as they always have been for hundreds of years.

Now you sit in the field of glaze lilies, the flowers closing with the daylight. You could see your sister walking towards you through the field from the village. There was a few children following her but they stopped and fell back when they saw she was walking towards you, you sadly weren’t big with the children despite your love for them. Your sister came up to you and sat at your side.

“Good morning, my dearest (Name).” She said, brushing aside your hair with a wide smile. “You are as beautiful as ever, like the stars above.”

“Like the stars, hm?” You replied, a teasing grin coming across your tired face. “That’s a minor offense to the goddess of moonlight.”

“Oh sush.” Your sister responded, shoving your shoulder playfully. You pushed her back and soon the two of you find yourself tumbling, rolling, down the hill like two little bunnies. The two of you landed on your back, complete laughing messes. You may be goddesses but you two are sisters before that. Soon the two of your laughs calm down and you breathe, looking up at the changing sky. “You know, I wonder what would happen if we were just normal… just sisters…”

Your joyous smile fades into one of melancholy at your sister’s comment. What would be better, being a forgotten goddess or a mortal with dreams to live out? You didn’t know, but you couldn’t decide, you didn’t have a choice. “I wish, but that couldn’t happen.”

“(Name), think about it, it could! We aren’t bound by any contract, we have no ties to Rex Lapis or the other gods and adepti.” Your sister said, sitting up. Then you realize she was serious about this. “We could just leave, go off somewhere else, see the whole world. All we would need to do is sing to keep day and night alight! We have been here for centur-“

“I won’t go.” You cut her off, giving her a firm no. You stood up, dusting off your dress and your sister sat there in shock. “It’s our job to watch over this village, formal or not. We have made our home here and we just can’t abandon out people… I need to go to sleep, goodbye sister.”

“Goodbye (Name).”

…Little did you know that goodbye was forever…

When you set out to bring light to the night, your sister was gone. You asked the villagers if they have seen her before they went off to bed and a few said they spotted her walking off down to stone gate…

She left…

She really left…

The moon and glaze lilies gave no light that night, instead the world was shrouded in darkness and there was no singing only your sobbing. You were the weaker of the sisters, you couldn’t protect the village with out your sister. If something were to happen the village would all be but destroyed. You hugged your knees close as you cried, the petals of the glazed lilies brushing against your skin.

And you did something you had never done as a god…

You prayed…

“Please, Rex Lapis, god of contracts. I know I’m a goddess, but I’m a goddess that has nothing to give but myself. Please don’t let my people be harmed.” You begged, cried, hoping that he would hear you. “I will do anything you ask, just please, guard them when I can’t, I beg of you.”

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you were absolutely desperate. You lay there in the field of glaze lilies, the blooms hiding from your eyes just like the god hiding from your eyes, watching you from a distance…

Little did you know you had just signed the contract that will turn over your fate…

—————————

Since your sister’s disappearance your people had gotten used to seeing you more often and you had gotten used to sacrificing much of your sleep to watch over the day and night. The people have warmed up to you more, and don’t fear you anymore. But the opposite has happened to your sister, your people talked about her and hated her for abandoning them for abandoning you. You asked them not to talk about her, the topic of her shattered your heart.

You walked through the village streets, helping one of the older residents carry fruit from her recent harvest back to her shop. It was calm, people saying hello to you and children asking if you can play later. Is this what your sister felt like? All this love? You weren’t used to it.

“LADY (NAME)!” You heard someone yell out from behind you, you turn to see one of the younger villagers running towards you at full speed in a complete panic. He gets back to you, breathing and panting and you notice blood pouring down his arm. “Geovishaps… edge of the village…”

Your eyes widen and your dropped the crate. You glanced around till your eyes landed on one of one of the nearby adults. “Get him medical attention now, I’ll deal with this.”

You ran forward where he came from, ignoring the cries and pleading of for you to stay. You sped forward, rushing past all the warnings. They’re outside the village, ruining your field of glaze lilies at least six giant draconic monsters stood. You took your bow and arrow and aimed it at one of the monster’s head, you had killed one before but that was with your sister.

You let the arrow fly and it hit the beast right in the eye. This also caught the attention of both it and its friends. They all turned to look at you and as soon as you heard their roar you knew you were screwed over. But you could run away and give up, you had a duty to protect these people and you would do that till you die on the battlefield. You watched as the monsters rushed towards you, raising one of its large claws ready to bring it down on you. You closed your eyes, waiting for the blow to come…

But it never did…

You opened your eyes to see the beast with a spear stabbed through its head. Your eyes widened as you saw the weirder of it, you have seen him in artwork before,t he white robe, the marks on his arms…

…Rex Lapis…

…The Lord of Geo…

You could only watch as he pulled the polearm from the beast’s head and the monster fell the ground, dead. The dead beast’s companions didn’t waste a moment before running away from the god. He watched them with a cold eye before kneeling down to you…

Then it hit you…

It was that man from that night…

Those things you said…

Oh dear…

“Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He reached down, a hand on you chin, looking over you for any bruise or mark.

“I-I am… alright my lord… thank you.” You stood up with shaky legs, his hands guiding you to stand. “You were there… that night… I said you didn’t care, I am so, so, sorry.”

“Yes, but like I said then, it is quite alright, my dear.” He chuckled, after he helped you up he didn’t let go, even when you tried to step away. “After all we have a contract.”

“W-what? What are you on about?”

“That night, when your sister left, you prayed to me asking to protect your people. Your exact words were you will do anything I ask, as long as I guard them when you cannot.” Your heart sinks at those words, you remember that, between your tears you asked that. “I have made good on my end of the contract…”

“…now there is mine…” You hesitated on your words. What have you done? You should have left with your sister when you had the chance. “What do you want of me?”

“I have been alone for many centuries, I have had many a god and adeptus come into my life but none have truly caught my eye like you did that night when I heard you sing.” He looked at you, not of a gaze of malice or of ill intentions, but that of the one he looked at you with that night when you first met, a look of adoration, of love. “I wish for our contract to be that of marriage.”

There was a long moment of silence, shock, and horror…

“…no”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.” You repeated, planting your feet into the ground and ripping your arm out of his grasp. “I did not agree to marry you.”

“You said you would do whatever I ask.” The god snapped back as you stepped away from him, his hand squeezing around the polearm in his grasp. “Do you really want to go back on your word to me?”

“I cannot be bound to anyone, my role is to protect those who live in this village, those under my protection. I do not have a duty as someone’s wife, god or mortal” You answered, drawing your bow once more. “That is something I’m willing to fight for.”

“I see…” With that you feel the earth shake beneath your feet and you knew at that very moment you messed up. “Ones who break their contracts shall suffer the Wrath of the Rock."

…and that was it…

…it was over before it begun…

…you stood no chance against the Lord of Geo after all.

—————————

You sat on the hard cold ground, it felt like ice in here despite this cave being carved out by the lord of geo himself. Speaking of the lord of geo, you haven’t seen him since he locked you in here, how long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? You didn’t know anymore. Your clothing was tattered, you sat here half naked, and that was putting it nicely. You may not need to eat but it was still unpleasant not to, one of the cons of you choosing a mortal form.

That’s not the worse of it, you can forget that when you sleep, escaping to your dreams. The dreams are full of the days where you would lay in the field with your sister and watch over your people in their village. There is only one thing you can’t escape, the constant pain in your body, every time you move the searing pain that rips at your wrists ankles, even in your dreams you can escape that pain, it ruins the happiness you get from those memories.

Chains…

Enchanted chains…

A special gift from Rex Lapis himself…

The chains linked around your wrists and ankles and attached to the floor of the cave. Sure they were long and if it was just that you would be able to pull yourself to the wall to have something to lay against, but it’s never that simple. Every time you move the chains surge geo energy into your body, it feels like you bones are shifting like tectonic plates during an earthquake. Even breathing hurts now, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was due to to the geo energy literally grinding most of your ribs to dust. A mortal would be dead by now, but not you, you just went through the same pain, and it never ended. You could only lay here, on your back, and stare at the same spot on the rock ceiling as dust and dirt collected on your body. But never any water, this place was bone dry, fitting for a place meant to hold the goddess of rain and moonlight.

Then there was the silence, it was maddening. The first few days, or maybe weeks, you sang to break the silence, keep your sanity, but most importantly fulfill your godly duties. But that was Celestia knows how long ago, you could only hope your sister was doing the best she could to watch over the day wherever she was now, because now you could only guess how violent the night has become in your absence. The night was already unsafe, but without the light of the moon, it was deadly.

A soft steps echoing in the cave snapped you out of your thoughts of simply reminding yourself to breathe in an out since it has become such a task. But now there was only one thought in your mind, after all this time he had finally come to see you again in this stone cage he made for you. You could not even turn your head to look at him in fear that your neck would break from the pulses from the chain, nor could you give him one of your usual witty greetings due to your throat being as dry as sand in the Sumeru desert in summer from the lack of water or even moisture in this cave.

You could only see him when he stood right beside your broken body, gazing down at you, but you were to weak to even make out the details of his face. He stared at you for a long time before kneeling down so that he could get a better look at your limp form. You could finally make out his expression, calm as ever, but it was unsettling for you to witness. He was ever so calm as he reached out his clawed hand and ran his finger along your cheek, collecting the dust that had landed on your skin. He looked at the dust on his fingers then back at you, like how you would treat a vase on the shelf you had forgotten to dust off.

“Oh my dear…”

He sighed as he reached down with his hand to graze over your arm, down to the chain that was sealed to your wrist without a lock. Suddenly he gave it a pull which resulted in a bloodcurdling scream ripping from your throat as your felt the surge of geo energy surge from the chain into you arm and your bones began to rub against each other and snap like twigs. As he does this you can feel your arm rapidly repair itself and breaking it again as your limb begins to change, the skin turning black and where you could feel the surges, golden markings begin to form the same one the Geo Archon bares himself.

“It seems perhaps the punishment was too strong for the crime.”

Your body fell limp as the chains disappeared. He reached down and swept you off the ground as your vision faded in and out. You wanted to scream, strangle him, do something, but you couldn’t. Your body is nothing but dust compared to your fellow god.

—————————

“Then from that day on, the Lord of Geo and the Lady of the Moonlight were wed. The Goddess ever so grateful for her husband’s protection of her and her people during the perils of the Archon War. And now it is said that when ever one hears the Goddess’s song of moonlight, they will hear a love song to her husband.”

You rolled your eyes at the “historian’s” tale. What a load of lies. You could say what really happened, but no one would believe you, a seemingly mortal woman. You could tell them that his protection was him locking you away underground for five centuries as punishment for trying to break the contract. Tell them how when you returned to the surface there was nothing left of the Liyue you knew…

…Well almost…

Your “husband” was kind enough to keep his end of the contract still and leave that village standing which is now known as Qingce Village, you visit there occasionally but no one is left to remember you. All that is left there are the stories of the sister goddesses who once protected the village, one of them running away never to be seen or mentioned by name again, and the other who protected the village dutifully with the “help” of her husband, Rex Lapis.

At least there was one accurate bit in your so called perfect love story, your only good memory of your husband before all this. That fated night when you met in the field of glaze lilies, when your mind and body were still innocent to the God of Contracts.

You rolled your eyes at the sound of applause for the historian, it hurt to hear how people romanticized your life and relationships. You couldn’t do anything but bitterly walk away, going back to to your husband who was standing at the edge of the crowd listening. Much has changed since those days, for your husband no longer went by Rex Lapis, rather Zhongli. He also wasn’t so cruel to you anymore, not after the chains. You suspected this was due to how he felt seeing you like that, not about all the pain you were in, that was just your deserved punishment.

“That was a nostalgic story, was it not, my dear?” Your husband asked as he interlocked your arm with his and walked through the crowd.

“That an interesting word to use for it.” You remarked as you watched the people of Liyue Harbor go about their day to day lives. “From what I recall, you left me in that cave for five hundred years, unless they just got the words comfort and chains confused because you did not come to see me once.”

“Well my love…” He reached his hand down to yours, running patterns over where the his markings are branded into your skin are, hidden under your glove. “…History will change to give a pleasing narrative, that is something we cannot even change.”

That was rich coming from him, the man who will correct historians on any other story but this one…

This historian said you sing a love song but truth it’s the opposite, a song of mourning for the life that was taken from you, but not that you can say anything…

…there is a silent truth that everyone knows…

…history is written by the victors.

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x

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emilystheories · 7 months

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The Dusk Court: A Gateway Between Worlds.

There is so much mystery and intrigue surrounding the Dusk Court. Why did it vanish? Where did its people go? I've mulled over many different theories, but I always come back to how dusk (or nightfall) is described in Throne of Glass:

"Nightfall. That was when Maeve had told Erawan to meet. That liminal space between light and dark, when one force yielded to another. When she would open the portal for Dorian from rooms away."

Light and dark. Opening portals.

As such, I believe the Dusk Court was home to a Wyrdgate (portal) of immense power, where the people of Midgard and Prythian once crossed over into each other's worlds.

[Spoilers for ACOTAR and CC ahead].

Autumnal Equinox.

To explain this theory, I first need to break down some observations I have noted about the workings of the ACOTAR and Crescent City worlds.

The first involves the Autumnal Equinox, as mentioned in HOSAB. In a conversation between Hypaxia and Ruhn, it is noted that the Autumnal Equinox is when the "veil between the realms is thinnest."

"Hypaxia nodded sagely. “There is a ritual I could perform … It’d need to be on the Autumnal Equinox, though.” “When the veil between realms is thinnest,” Ruhn said."

We know this is true, as on the night of the Autumnal Equinox, Apollion visits Bryce in her dreams, and is able to physically touch her:

"This night, I might appear to you—as more than a vision.” He reached out a hand, and Bryce flinched as it touched her. Truly touched her, ice so cold it ached."

However, the Autumnal Equinox is also known as Death's Day. Note how it is described here (as it becomes important for a later part of this theory):

"On the Autumnal Equinox, we shall have our mating ceremony here in Lunathion.” A month away. The holiday known as Death’s Day was a lively one, despite its name: it was a day of balance between the light and dark, when the veil between the living and dead was thinnest."

The Autumnal Equinox/Death's Day is celebrated by people dressing up in costumes (such as Danika and Bryce dressing up as trash one year, lol). Because of this, one can assume that SJM is referencing Halloween.

[art by Emilia Mildner]

This is further corroborated in the Throne of Glass books, as Aelin notes that on Samhuinn, again, the "veil between the worlds [is] thinnest" (and this is when she interacts with Elena, the dead queen).

"Until the previous kingdom, the previous city, the packed streets full of revellers out to celebrate Samhuinn, to honor the gods when the veil between worlds was thinnest."

Samhuinn is in reference to Samhain; the Celtic version (and origins of) Halloween.

To summarise; in Midgard, Death's Day (or what we know as Halloween) occurs on the Autumnal Equinox. It is a day to honour the dead. It takes place on the one night of the year when the veil between the realms/worlds is thinnest.

Starfall.

In Prythian (and more specifically, the Night Court), we have Starfall; the one night of the year when the spirits of the deceased (which manifest as stars) make their yearly migration across the sky.

However, as many have already pointed out, there seems to be a connection between Starfall, and Midgard. This is because Rhys notes that the number of stars participating in Starfall is dwindling:

“Thousands,” he said. “They’ll keep coming until dawn. Or, I hope they will. There were less and less of them the last time I witnessed Starfall.”

This aligns with what we know of the Asteri, who, instead of letting the souls of the dead pass onto the next life (and presumably, participate in Starfall), will consume these souls for food.

[Art by Clarywhy]

However, Rhys mentions that no one knows why the stars choose this particular date to make their journey across the sky. But, I have a theory about this.

I actually believe that Starfall is happening at all times - every single night. Instead, the only reason that they can see the stars (spirits) on Starfall... is because on that particular date, the veil between the realms is the thinnest. This makes sense, as again - the stars are the spirits of the deceased; you shouldn't be able to see them.

Essentially, it's the Prythian version of Death's Day... a celebration of the deceased (which is exactly what Starfall is...).

But this is where it gets interesting; Starfall occurs on the Spring Equinox (or what is known as the 'vernal' equinox).

In Midgard, as we just discussed, Death's Day occurs on the Autumnal Equinox.

So, if there is only one single date per year when the veil between the worlds is thinnest... for Prythian, this is occurring on the Spring Equinox, and for Midgard, this is occurring on the Autumnal Equinox.

This suggests that Prythian and Midgard are... mirror worlds (which perhaps explains why Bryce was yanked across into Prythian, as opposed to being pulled down?). Or, at the very least, it suggests that these two worlds are operating as opposites to each other. It may also help to explain why SJM stated that there was 6 months between the ACOTAR timeline and the CC timeline.

The Dusk Court.

Towards the end of HOSAB, Rigelus states that the Starborn fae originated from an island of "near permanent twilight," that was "a few miles from the mainland."

“Not your kind of Fae, of course—your breed dwelled in a lovely, verdant land, rich with magic. If it’s of any interest to you, your Starborn bloodline specifically hailed from a small isle a few miles from the mainland. And while the mainland had all manner of climes, the isle existed in beautiful, near-permanent twilight."

This all but confirms that the Starborn fae originated from the Dusk Court, and that this was situated on the Prison Island (which is a few miles away from the mainland of Prythian). Rhys corroborates this by suggesting that the Prison Island once used to be an "eighth court."

"Rhys told me once that this island might have even been an eighth court.”

And, as even more proof, Nesta witnesses the marking of an eight-pointed star on the floor of the Prison; the symbol of the Starborn fae.

However, there is one other location that ties into the narrative around the Dusk Court - Avallen Island (in Midgard).

Avallen Island.

The Prison Island isn't the only place that is jam-packed with hints of the Starborn fae. Instead, Avallen Island, in Midgard, is too. For example:

Avallen Island was where Ruhn found the Starsword (where he was surrounded by the sarcophagi/statues of the "sleeping" Starborn Princes...)

The Avallen fae (or some of them) are said to be Starborn themselves (Cormac says he has Starborn blood, but "not enough to be worthy of the blade"). However, instead of starlight, their powers typically manifest as shadows.

With this in mind, it's also noteworthy that Bryce's star glows for Cormac (and we know that her star glows for those who are connected to Prythian).

Additionally, there are a number of stark similarities between Avallen Island and the Prison Island. Most prominently, both islands are enshrouded in the same mysterious mist, and both are guarded by ancient magic. For example:

Avallen Island:

"I want you in Avallen because it is a safehold. Even the Asteri cannot pierce its mists without permission, so old is the magic that guards it.”

Prison Island:

“When you’re in there,” Rhys said, the words barely audible over the wind and silver streams running down the mountainside, “you won’t be able to reach me.” “Why?” I rubbed my already-freezing hands together before puffing a hot breath into the cradle of my palms. “Wards and spells far older than Prythian,” was all Rhys said."

In sum, the similarities between Avallen Island and the Prison Island are so stark, that I believe they were once connected (and perhaps still are). There are two ways this could be possible:

A Wyrdgate or portal that once existed between the two worlds (joining the two islands together).

They are literally the same place.

Option 1: Wyrdgate or portal.

Towards the end of HOSAB, Rigelus tells us that the Dusk Court existed in a "near permanent twilight," but, that doesn't make much sense -- you can't alter the sun like that (which is why it’s not permanently night-time in the Night Court, or not always day-time in the Day Court, etc). So, what else could this be referring to?

I believe that the Dusk Court used to be the place where there was a Wyrdgate (or a portal) between the ACOTAR world (on the Prison Island) and the Crescent City world (on Avallen Island). They are two separate worlds, but the people on both islands merged and interacted due to the Wyrdgate (portal).

And, as I mentioned at the start of this post, there is evidence to suggest that the ACOTAR and CC worlds are mirrors of each other - or opposites. Thus:

If it's nighttime on Avallen Island, it would be daytime on the Prison island.

If it was dawn on Avallen Island, it would be dusk on the Prison Island.

As such, there is a continual contrast between the light and the dark between the two islands. And that is what dusk is; the merging of the light and the dark. This is what Rigelus is referring to.

Thus, I believe that Dusk Court -- as it existed 15,000 (+) years ago -- didn't just involve the Prison Island... but it encompassed Avallen Island too.

I believe this also explains the powers of the Starborn:

Shadow wielders lived on Avallen Island (and they are represented by Truth-Teller; a knife that glows with a dark, BLACK light).

Starlight wielders lived on the Prison Island (and they are represented by the Starsword, which glows with a bright, WHITE light).

Both make up the two halves of the Dusk Court.

However, although they were separate worlds, evidently, they interacted. Because of this, I believe Queen Theia (who possessed starlight) married/mated and had children with whoever was the King of Avallen (who likely possessed shadow powers). I believe this was High King Fionn, given that the ruler of Avallen is also referred to as "High King"... but that's a theory for another day.

Yet most importantly, this is why their children, such as Helena, were said to have skin that glowed with "starlight AND shadows."

“So does Helena’s,” Ruhn shot back, then recited, “Night-haired Helena, from whose golden skin poured starlight and shadows.”

Eventually however, it is presumed that something happened to the Starborn who lived on the Prison Island (and Nesta senses that they were stuck in stone, or perhaps sent in time somewhere using the Harp?).

"Fae screamed, pounding on stone that hadn’t been there a moment before, pleading for their children’s sakes, begging to be let out let out let out— Nesta had the sensation of falling, tumbling through air and stars and time— It was a trap, and our people were too blind to see it—"

This is likely why the shadow wielders (such as Cormac, Ruhn) still exist on Avallen... but the starlight wielders (such as Bryce) are much more rare.

In the present day, Bryce (a starlight wielder) possesses the Starsword, but resides in Midgard (the Avallen side of the Dusk Court).

In comparison, Azriel (a shadow wielder), possesses Truth-teller, but lives in Prythian (the Prison Island side of the Dusk Court).

Just in reference to their power, it's almost like they're both stuck on the wrong side?

Option 2: Avallen Island and the Prison Island are the exact same place.

In ACOSF, readers are given a hypothesis about how the multiverse works; that the worlds are stacked on top of each other, perhaps even SHARING THE SAME SPACE, but are then separated by time.

"Merrill’s brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms—different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can’t even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself.”

But, given the mists and and the "ancient magic" involved in both the Prison Island and Avallen Island... what if the worlds are not separated in this one specific location? So, those in Midgard know of Avallen Island... those in Prythian know of the Prison Island... but, they're the same exact place.

This might seem insane, but there are two points of evidence that make me think it's possible.

The Avallen fae live and dress in the same way as the Prythian fae.

The Avallen fae are said to follow the "old ways." They don't have phones, and don't watch TV. Just like Prythian.

Then when Bryce lands in Prythian and meets the Inner Circle, she notes that they're all dressed the same as the Avallen fae.

"This female was … Fae. Clad in beautiful, yet thoroughly old-fashioned clothes. Like the stuff they wore on Avallen."

This is really damn suspicious. And it leads me to my second point:

2. The Avallen fae have the power to "veil the physical world."

As demonstrated in this passage here:

"[...] power to summon shadows or mist that could not only veil the physical world, but the mind as well.“

The Prison Island looks empty and barren... but is it? What if instead, everything is veiled?

If we entertain the thought that the Prison Island and Avallen Island are one and the same... then what if this has been hidden from the Prythian fae...?

Most of us agree that the Dusk Court is going to play a huge role in upcoming books. However, at present, the Prison Island is barren land. To re-establish the Dusk Court, they'll need to rebuild an entire court from the ground up... which seems rather implausible, given the timeline.

But if the Dusk Court is instead veiled, that's a different story...

Plot-wise, this makes perfect sense for CC3.

From the Midgard POV, exploring Avallen seems like the next logical step. It is the only place that the Asteri cannot enter, so if Ruhn, Hunt and Baxian manage to escape the Asteri's dungeons, it would make sense that they go there.

From the Prythian POV, it seems logical that Bryce will be finding the answers to 'Dusk's Truth,' and will end up exploring the Prison Island.

Both POV's are about exploring the Dusk Court.

As someone who is of the opinion that SJM is going full multiverse (and that CC3 won't be the end of Bryce's adventures in Prythian), my guess is at the end of CC3, when Bryce is at the Prison Island, and Ruhn, Hunt, Baxian are at Avallen Island... someone, on one side (likely the Avallen side), will be stepping through that gate.

Bryce's role in all of this.

It has been my mission over the past few months to emphasise just how important Bryce is to Prythian - that her returning home to Midgard at the end of CC3 (to then just pass the torch onto another character for a supposed spin-off novel) makes no sense.

Instead, Bryce has Queen Theia's exact starlight (to the point where I am pretty sure she is some sort of reincarnation). She is the heir to the Starborn fae, whose true home is the Dusk Court in Prythian (even her scent is of dusk!) And most of all, the star on her chest is a beacon for Prythian; she quite literally glows for the ACOTAR world.

Additionally, given how the Avallen fae tie into this narrative too, it's also worth mentioning that Bryce has been repeatedly foreshadowed to be the High Queen of Avallen.

"Cormac cut in, “One day, she’ll be Queen of Avallen. She’d be a fool to throw it away on a bastard angel.”

"Jesiba said, “I suppose I should consider it an honor, to be called a friend by the Starborn Princess daughter of the Autumn King.” A slight pause, and Bryce knew what was coming next. “And the future Queen of Avallen.”

In fact, Cormac's final words to Bryce were about leading their people forward.

But after today …” Cormac’s words grew heavy. Weary. “I think the choice about whether to lead our people forward will be up to you.”

Which, sounds an awful lot like the ancient fae prophecy connected to all of this:

"When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be."

[Art by wavyhues]

And, if Bryce is destined to become High Queen of Avallen, as well as High Lady of the Dusk Court... isn't it fitting that she possesses the Horn, which grants her the ability to enter other worlds?

The Queen who walked between worlds...

#sjm multiverse #acotar #crescent city #sjm theory #acotar theory #sjm crossover #bryce quinlan #azriel acotar #azriel #hofas #hunt athalar

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miniversse · 2 months

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⭑“silhouette” pt.1⭑

╰┈➤ OTHER PARTS

⭑ changbin x female reader

⭑ content includes: mentions of sex, mentions of smoking, non-idol changbin, non-idol reader, unestablished relationship, reader is a stalker?, convo heavy

⭑ note: guys, i’m obsessed with this one so much. part 2 is gonna have all the juicy stuff you look for sooo make sure you read this one first! just for ease, the window reader watches is across her, so imagine a street separating the buildings. enjoy!

⭑ minors dni

⭑——————————————————⭑

the view of the second floor window was burned into your mind, and so were all his silhouettes. whether it was a marlboro between his fingers, a beer in his hand, or a girl in his arms. you saw it all. whether he was changing, he was crying, or he was working. you saw it all.

you knew his name - changbin - from the pleasureful moans of his one night stands. you knew his age - 24 - from the balloons his friends brought to him as a suprise. he worked from dusk till dawn, typing and talking to himself until the birds chirped. you stayed up with him untill the lights of his room were dim and he became silent. your life was more of him than you, admiring his every move, every glance, every smile. 24/7.

when his mind was foggy and he sat by the window sill to light a cigarette, you’d sit up on your bed calling out his name, but it was only in your mind. your exchanged glances was the only connection between you two. his eyes glared into yours for what felt like forever, taking in your presence. but you wanted more: you wanted to hear him speak, to come down to face you, to hold you in his arms like all the other girls he held, to acknowledge more than your presence.

“why aren’t you asleep?” his voice punched the dense and quiet night, knocking you out of thought. his knees were brought up to his chest, face turned to observe your sleepless movements on the bed. you bring your head out of the window, forcing words out your dry throat.

“i.. i just don’t feel tired” you didnt need to shout for him to hear you, the neighbourhood honored this moment and kept quiet.

“me either.” he let his mouth wrap around his 2nd marlboro this night, the smoke fading into the starry sky.

he continues to speak. “its funny how the night seems to stretch on when you’re lost in thoughts”

“whats on your mind?” you ask him, wondering what someone perfect like him would be worried about.

“just… life, work, the future, whats after the future”

you lay down on your bed so that your head rests on the window sill, tilting your head to observe him. his muscular body peeking through his tight shirt and thick framed glasses complimented his serene beauty. you were tired of observing his life, rather you wanted to be in it. and this was your sole opportunity to step into his world.

“would you like some company? im not getting sleepy anytime soon” your mouth trembles on the last words, worried about his response. he hops back down into his room and and puts on a jacket, peeking his head up so you can see a bit of him.

“i’ll be there, open the door for me” and with that, the windows are shut and his room turns dark.

you squirm out of bed, racing to put everything back into place. your heart beats faster with every footstep he took closer to you. you’ve always imagined things thinking it would never happen, but it’s caught up now and you’re frantically throwing clothes into your closet and turning on candles to mask the smell of the cigarettes.

a ring at your door brings you at an abrupt halt. you approach the door to finally get to experience what you’ve always watched, maybe he’ll have you in his arms tonight to keep his mind occupied. his figure covered the lights of the hallway. he smiled at you, trying to avert your gaze from his body.

“can i come in?”

“y-yeah sure” you move to the side, watching him take his shoes off and walk in.

“so this is where you spend your time watching me?” he laughs at his remark, turning to face you again. you were at a loss of words. you couldn’t say no because that would be lying, and you couldn’t say yes because it’s awkward to admit. so you kept quiet, looking into his dark and dreamy eyes. he sits down on the couch, waiting for you to do the same.

“would you like anything to drink?”

“it’s alright, trying to limit my alcohol intake” you nod at his response, moving to sit next to him and turning your head to face him at any chance you got. the silence got longer and heavier, but you tried to open up conversations that ended unsuccessfully.

“it feels different having you here”

“in a good way, i hope” he chuckles

“definitely. i needed a distraction from all these thoughts i’ve been having”

he furrows his eyebrows with concern, turning his body to yours.

“what’s up? you can tell me.”

those 6 words were the key to your overflowing heart, and you felt like pouring everything out to him.

“it’s just that i went through a rough relationship about a year ago, and my ex back in town to torment me.” it’s all you could vocalize without having tears form in your eyes. through the blur in your eyes, you notice how his gaze falls to your lips for a rather long time. his thumb moves to your eyes, wiping off the forming tears.

“hey… don’t cry.” you felt bad for the awkward position you put him in, so you wipe your tears off and smile at him.

“it’s ok, i’ll find a way to torment him back”

his fingers now trace down your cheek and and to your chin, bringing it closer to his face. you never really got to admire his features until now. his face was smooth and warm to the eye, eyes always telling something. he brings his mouth to your ear, brushing it with his upper lip.

“i can help” your body shudders at his remark, and again when his lips lock into yours. it felt like you’ve been doing this with him forever, your youngest intertwining and gliding with ease. you occasionally bite at his lower lip, bring him closer into you and wrapping your arms around his neck. it felt unreal, and you only became greedy for more. he pulls back gently and looks back into your eyes, his mouth parts to speak.

“what’s your name? i need to know before it becomes the only thing leaving my mouth”

PART 2

⭑ TAG LIST

@rylea08 @captainchrisstan @all4minnie @katsukis1wife @strayywayy

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intothegenshinworld · 8 months

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🍂*₊“𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧”

wc: 1.2k (no beta, we die like the light in Childe's eyes) prompt used: "sharing scarves" for the falltober prompt 'event' of @astronetwrk! a/n: this post has been queued weeks in advance.

The sweltering summer days had given way to gloomy ones. From dusk to dawn, rain would fall down from the skies, the once bright colors of blooming flora now replaced by stale brown, further intensifying the bleak atmosphere.

And just like the seasons, your clothes had changed these past weeks as well. The once short and breezy outfits had been replaced by sweaters and jeans, and it still left you defenseless against the cold winter zephyrs in Snezhnaya. Every breeze made you shiver, and the only solution was to clutch your jacket closer to your body and bury your hands as deep as you could in your pockets.

You had been waiting for your boyfriend, Ajax, who definitely should’ve been back by now. He had told you to wait at one of the lonely benches out in the town streets while he’d fetch hot chocolate from a small cafe, but when you checked your phone, ten minutes had already passed, and you knew the lines couldn’t be that long.

So here you were, idly watching other people pass by as you waited for his return.

If you knew Ajax (you did, you’d been with him for a while now), you’d bet money on the fact that he’d gotten distracted by the new Halloween decorations hanging everywhere in the town.

These last few days, Ajax had been rambling non-stop about ‘Halloween’ and how he’d bring his younger brother, Teucer, for trick or treating, something he’d done for many years now. He wanted to get matching outfits with him, but when Teucer threw a fit, saying; “I’m not longer a kid”, he turned to you instead.

If he was taking this long, he’d probably be stuck behind a window, eying a decoration he hadn’t seen before and thinking of the next matching outfit to suggest to you.

A ping chimes from your phone. It successfully throws you out of your daze and you grab the phone with a sense of urgency. The sooner you’d be able to put your hands back in the safety and warmth of your pockets, the better.

After you unlock the screen with your numb fingers, you click on the notification from Ajax. It’s a selfie.

Half of his face is hidden behind his red scarf, his nose that barely peeked out from behind the fabric is dusted a soft shade of pink, it brings a nice contrast to the freckles coating his cheekbones and bridge of his nose. In his left hand, he holds a small flimsy-looking tray with two paper cups (the hot chocolate, you assume), and behind him is an adorable illustration of two ghosts.

A puff of air escapes your lips. You can’t hide the smile that forms on your face.

Quickly, another notification pops up and you send a message back before he has the chance to scavenge the internet for white sheets with cut-out holes.

The message is read, and his status turns from online to offline soon after. It only takes a few seconds before you see your boyfriend rushing to you through the streets.

“Are you alright?” Ajax’s eyes glance up and down your figure. His face is scrunched into an expression of guilt and worry.

He moves his free hand to yours as he sits down next to you on the bench, frowning when he feels your cold hands. He gently rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “We’ll need to buy you gloves. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to get cold so quickly.”

“I wouldn’t need any if my boyfriend would keep me warm instead of hunting ghosts on store windows.” You retort back with a cheeky smile. His mere presence is enough for you to feel warmer again.

His worry falters for a moment, replaced by a smile before returning. “Here, —” He removes his hand from yours and wiggles one of the paper cups from the flimsy tray. “Drink up. It’s the best you can get in Morepesok”

To your delight, the hot chocolate is still warm when you bring it up to your lips. You don’t need to wait for it to cool down, it’s the perfect temperature, and you sigh in content after downing half of it in one go.

Ajax brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. “You can have mine as well. I’m used to Snezhnayan winters, I can handle it.”

You roll your eyes as you huddle closer into your jacket. “It’s autumn, dumbass.”

A snort escapes his lips. “You call those flimsy two weeks of ‘brown leaves’ autumn?”

Fair enough.

You scoff, and the puff of air that escapes your lips forms into a small cloud before it dissipates again.

While you were both studying in Liyue, Ajax had often mentioned how gentle the weather had been compared to the conditions he grew up in. He’d talked about ice fishing, a thing he still does, and made fun of the foreigners coming to visit the Nation during the winter months.

It’s ironic how you’re one of those people now.

“Hold this,” Ajax shoves his own cup into your hands and removes the scarf from his neck. He seems adamant about keeping you warm and doesn’t give you time to question him as he wraps the fabric around your face in a delicate manner.

With the scarf out of his face, you’re able to see how he purses his lips in concentration as he tucks the end of the red fabric into a loose loop, preventing any cold air from attacking your neck any further.

It smells like him. You first catch a hint of lavender from the laundry detergent his family uses, but with the scarf right at your nose, you also notice how it failed to fully cover his natural body scent.

In a way, the scarf comforts you. Not only is it warming you up and preventing you from the cold breezes, but it also reminds you of the moments spent in his arms.

You look up into his eyes when he finally stops fussing over you.

“But now you’ll get cold.“ Your voice comes out muffled.

Ajax bumps his shoulder gently into yours. “See it as payback for making you wait.“

He takes the paper cup he had previously shoved into your hands and drinks his own share of hot choco. “If you feel bad about it, you can always offer to share.“ He turns to you with a cheeky smile on his face.

And while you know he wasn’t being serious, you urge him closer.

Like he had done with you before, you shove your now half-empty cup into his hands before removing the fabric around your neck. With a little bit of help on his side, you’re able to wrap the scarf around the both of you. Admittedly, this doesn’t nearly provide as much warmth as it did before, but Ajax was already making up for that.

His shoulder is comfortably pressed against yours, and when he turns his head to face you, your noses are but a mere inch away from touching each other.

You smile. “Tell me about the diy ghost outfit?“

He lets out a chuckle as he hands you your half-full paper cup. “Couldn’t let me enjoy the moment for a little while longer?”

#childe x reader #childe #tartaglia x reader #genshin x reader #astronetwrk #modern au #tartaglia #if you liked the fic- consider commenting or reblogging <3 #btw #you and childe studied in liyue #now youre either living together back in Snezhnaya or you're visiting his family and u return to liyue later #whatever floats your boat #also #Childe is not traumatised in this au #he's living his best life tormenting you with matching outfits <3 #I also HC him having adhd so I'm sorrynotsorry for hinting at that anywhere LOL

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haveyouseenmymarbles · 2 months

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OC Associations

Tagged by my choom, @luvwich (here). Thank you so much for encouraging me to talk about my babies!!

Valerie Serrano Espinosa

Animal: 20% rabbit, 80% wolf. Make of that what you will.

Colors: Rose (that sweet spot between red and pink). And also scarlet (bright red with hints of orange).

Month: October.

Song: Waiting Around to Die - The Be Good Tanyas

Number: 3.

Day or Night: Night. Though dusk and dawn with regards to daytime.

Plant: Adelaide (hoodless) rose.

Smells: Vanilla, lilacs, and a hint of cigarette smoke and copper, courtesy of whatever gig she just came back from.

Gemstone: Her birthstone, pink tourmaline. Also, rubies.

Season: Autumn.

Places: Bed, couches or the floor with her pets, the city streets on a rainy night, cruising the dirt Badlands roads on a sunny day under a blue sky, the hood of her car to lie back and watch the stars and moon, that rooftop that homages Blade Runner and triggers the rain, rooftop of Dark Matter to watch the sunset, rooftops in general tbh as long as they have a good view to watch the city lights and night sky, cliffs, tents, the tree in the Badlands where her firstborn daughter's ashes are buried, snuggling in Addie's (her sweetheart's) arms, the various nightclubs she's been to with her sister (Tatum)... The list goes on. My nomad baby's been all over the place.

Food: Pizza and ramen. (Fix your diet, bb, please.)

Astrological Sign: Libra.

Element: Era dependent, both fire and earth.

Drink: Herbal teas and ChroManticore.

Tagging (no pressure at all!): @enchantedreaper @katsigian @silverhandsgf @leota-nexus @theviridianbunny @fly-amanitaa @jimitherainbow @arachnophobic-larantula @dreamskug @tarmac-rat @trashcatsnark

#oc: valerie serrano espinosa #cyberpunk 2077 #tag games

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shady-tavern · 1 year

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Vampire’s Lullaby Part Three

The last and final part of Vampire’s Lullaby, part one and two can be found here. I hope it turned out alright! This is another long one.

Warnings ahead for mentioned child murder, please take care of yourselves.

***

Annabelle had worried the letter thin at the edges, folding and unfolding the piece of paper so often it started to fray a little. She was no fool, she knew exactly what Charlette was promising her. What she was trying to do.

Annabelle had often felt helpless and small in her life. She had felt it every time she had raced away from the shadows at dusk and every time she had chased after the sun at dawn. She had felt it every time she had to watch Dion step outside with no way of helping him.

She felt deeply touched that Charlette wanted to do something. That she cared enough about Annabelle, cared for her enough to want to change things for the better. Annabelle just wished she could help as well. She had never been an overly protective person of her loved ones, but she absolutely wanted them safe.

She just had no means to make that happen.

"You don't have to worry," Ophelia said, sitting on her windowsill tonight after Annabelle had invited her up.

She had her son with her, who was climbing all around the roof, playing lookout with excited determination. The little werewolf looked very cute, much like an overly enthusiastic boy rather than a monster of fur and claws and teeth.

"Charlette is very tough," Ophelia added. "She had claimed a pretty big territory both in her old home and here as well. And you did notice how no one's coming to this part of town anymore, right?"

"I know, it's not that I don't think she can do it, I just wish I could support her," Annabelle answered. Of course Charlette was capable, but that shouldn't mean she had to do everything on her own.

Ophelia tipped her head in thought, one ear swiveling constantly to keep track of her boy and the hunters down on the streets. "You can't fight night folk," Ophelia pointed out, rather unhelpful in Annabelle's personal opinion.

"I know." Annabelle forced herself to set the letter aside. "If you see her, make sure she's taking care of herself, would you?"

Ophelia nodded. "Of course, she's family after all." Then her head snapped around and she made a quick growly noise in warning when her son tried to creep towards the edge of the roof where the hunters would see him.

"I should get to bed," Annabelle said quietly after a moment. "Thank you, for keeping watch."

Ophelia offered a gentler, less toothy smile. "You're my friend too, you know? Of course I'll be here if you need me." With those words she clambered off the windowsill and easily jumped onto the neighboring roof to join her now more cautious son.

Annabelle got ready for bed and struggled to fall sleep for long minutes, staring up at the dark ceiling. There had to be something she could do to help.

The thought occupied her mind throughout the following day, right up until they got another order from an impatient noble who wanted to have a notebook done by tomorrow to gift to a friend whose birthday he had forgotten. He was willing to pay triple the regular price for the rush order that would force them to stop working on all other orders.

Annabelle offered to work late again to finish up the notebook and Mr. Bell left with a reminder to be home before the sun was gone entirely.

"I'll be careful," Annabelle promised and focused back on her work. The trick was to not get sloppy despite feeling the urgency to head home, the fading light making her restless after a lifetime of fearful hurrying.

Even though she was very sure nothing would happen to her, considering the protection she was under and the friend and lover she had now, that needling along her nerves remained.

She was nearly finished when the front door of the shop opened with a jingle. It made her startle, heart leaping into her throat, right up until she heard Ophelia's voice.

"Annabelle? Why aren't you home yet?" the werewolf called out and a glance towards the window showed it was pitch-dark outside. She had entirely lost track of time despite her best efforts.

"I'm back here," Annabelle called out. "I was finishing up an order."

The door creaked open and Ophelia poked her head in, ears swiveling as she listened and nose twitching at all the scents inside.

"I've never been inside a printing shop," the werewolf murmured as she ducked through the door, hunching down and shuffling to make her large frame fit. "It kind of reeks, though."

Annabelle couldn't help but chuckle. "I can imagine, my nose is nowhere near that sensitive, but even I don't like some of the smells around here." Especially some of the glues Mr. Bell sometimes bought. If he went for the cheaper stuff, their books always needed some time to air out to stop smelling.

"I was just wrapping things up," Annabelle said. "Thank you, for checking in on me."

Ophelia offered a wolfish grin, revealing fangs and teeth strong enough to bite straight through bone and metal. "Of course. Could I watch? I've always been curious."

Annabelle gestured her closer and showed how she put on the finishing touches.

"You know, if you ever want to stay late, you could," Ophelia offered. "I don't care if we sit around here or if I'm keeping watch outside your window."

That was a very nice offer and one Annabelle seriously considered taking. She could get so much more work done that way. But for now, she needed to go home or her family was going to lose it.

"You'd have to sneak me out my window if we want to return here," she said. "I have to be home or my parents and brothers are going to think I died."

Ophelia winced a little. "Yeah, that's fair, we don't want that. Let me know when you want to come back to the shop." She grinned again. "I could offer you a ride. I'll bet you I'm faster than you."

Annabelle snorted. "I'm not even going to take that bet, I know you are faster than me." There was a reason why hunters didn't run from the night folk unless panic took over. Why they chose to attack and lay traps instead.

She wrapped the book up in a soft cloth and left it to be picked up the next day. When she locked the store, Ophelia keeping watch, she jumped in surprise when the large werewolf suddenly started to growl, fur bristling.

"Peace," a calm voice spoke from the shadows. "I have not come here for blood."

Ophelia slowly settled down, tail lashing a bit and she kept standing half in front of Annabelle.

"If I may have a word with the human?" the voice asked and Ophelia snorted.

"How about you show your face first," the werewolf rumbled. "Then she can decide."

After a moment's pause, a tall, willowy man stepped into the light of one of the sparsely placed street lamps. His dark eyes held a red shine and he was dressed neatly and cleanly and offered a polite bow of his head.

"You are Annabelle, correct?" he asked and Annabelle stepped away from the door, resisting the urge to fiddle with her keys. "The one who convinced Charlette to pick a fight with our kind?"

That did not sound like it would be a pleasant conversation. Ophelia's ears pinned back a little and Annabelle answered, "I am." While Annabelle hadn't asked Charlette to fight other night folk, she knew her words had had an impact on her vampire.

"Do you think it possible for us to get along? Humans and night folk, I mean," the man asked, watching her closely.

"I think it's going to take a lot of work," Annabelle answered after a moment. "But if I can befriend night folk, why can't anyone else? If the killing stops, we could start building something better."

He was silent for the longest moment. "I think you are very naive. It is not that simple. We night folk have tried, you know? To be part of your world."

He stared off into the distance, something dark and grim crossing his face. "There are children no humans want, even though they are of their people. So I took them in. I loved them and cared for them, clothed and fed them and paid for their education. Do you know what happened to them?"

Annabelle found her mouth growing too dry to speak at the tone of his voice, her throat closing up when their eyes met. Fury and grief made his eyes glow a deep, dark red. Like blood. He was a vampire, she realized.

"I woke with the sinking sun to find them all hanged in secret," he said, low and with an underlying snarl that sent a stab of instinctive fear down her spine. "Children who had done no wrong. Children who died for consorting with monsters, as your lot call us. You humans didn't want them, but you didn't want anyone else to have them either."

He took a step forward, eyes blazing, only for Ophelia to step a little more firmly in front of Annabelle. He stopped and took a deep breath to reign himself in.

"I hold no insignificant sway in my part of this city," he said, voice calm again, but the darkness kept lurking in his gaze. "I will not support Charlette when we gain nothing. When the humans we dare to care about get slaughtered by their own kind. I will not fight for that kind of world, nor will all the others who agree with me."

He straightened, looking tall and imposing despite his willowy frame. "We are not the only ones who will have to change our ways." He then briefly bowed his head, polite enough but a little stiff now. "I said my piece. Do with it as you will."

Annabelle's mind was reeling too much to speak as he disappeared in the shadows. Ophelia glanced over her shoulder at her, a questioning look in her eyes.

Annabelle swallowed, wetting her lips, before she managed to speak, "Has this happened to many monsters?"

Ophelia looked away, her ears drooping a little. "To enough. It keeps us from trying to get closer to humans and it makes the other night folk more angry as well. It feels like we can do nothing right in the eyes of humanity. As though, after humans took our king, they now want to blame us for everything wrong in their lives."

"I'm sorry." Annabelle had no idea what else to say. Ophelia sent her a reassuring look.

"That's hardly your fault. Come on, let's get you home before your family worries too much."

They walked in silence and Annabelle's family was indeed very upset at her late return. The hunters outside who had escorted her home the rest of the way had scolded her as well, looking worried.

As she sat in her room, belly filled with a cold but delicious dinner, she found she was too restless to even consider sleep. The vampire's words kept circling in her mind, followed by what Ophelia had said. It wasn't until she restlessly fiddled with the papers on her desk that an idea hit her.

She couldn't grab a weapon and fight, at least not without dying needlessly in the process. She had no idea how to wield weapons after all and she especially couldn't help Charlette win against other night folk.

But there was more than one way of fighting and more than one battle that needed to be won. She grabbed a piece of paper and her quill and began to scribble furiously, writing and rewriting parts until she thought she had gotten it right.

She shoved to her feet and hurried to the window, paper in hand. "Ophelia?" she called out in a whisper and the werewolf looked up form her perch on the neighboring roof. "Can you look at this real quick?"

The werewolf jumped across the distance easily enough, accepting the paper Annabelle held out. She was silent for a long moment after she read it and Annabelle fidgeted nervously.

"What do you think?" she asked and Ophelia looked up, astonished surprise on her face, then she grinned.

"I say you are amazing. What will you do with this?"

Annabelle smiled in relief. "Can you take me back to the shop?"

"Sure," her friend answered, puzzled and curious. "But why?"

"I've got an idea." Annabelle was already climbing out the window and was easily picked up by a big, strong arm covered in warm, soft fur.

Ophelia hauled her onto her back as though she weighed nothing and went bounding across the rooftops far faster than Annabelle would have traveled on the streets. They arrived at the shop in record time and Ophelia watched curiously as Annabelle got to work.

Annabelle printed two big stacks of flyers and by then exhaustion started to catch up to her. She had worried at first to blatantly use so much paper and ink, but should Mr. Bell ask, she'd come up with a fabricated story about tripping when she hurried to leave and spilling ink everywhere and that she had to regretfully toss things out.

"Can you help me spread these?" she asked the werewolf, who grinned, wide and a little wild.

"I can do better than that. Wait here." Ophelia ducked out of the shop and a moment later, Annabelle heard a loud, howling call. It was answered by others, near and far and as she peeked out the window, she saw shapes move and gather along the edges of artificial light.

"Annabelle, come meet our friends and bring some of the flyers," Ophelia called out and Annabelle took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She would not be afraid, she told herself. If night folk were meant to share a world peacefully with humans, fear had no place in it.

She walked out with a stack of paper in her arms and made sure to smile at the gathered night folk. All kinds of creatures had gathered and they all stared at her with varying levels of curiosity. She spread the flyers among them and within seconds she heard low chatter and murmur, the click of claws and clatter of hooves and the ruffle of wings.

"We will help," a raspy voice of a spindly, pale creature said and it smiled with a mouth full of sharp needle teeth. "We are tired of a never-changing world that does nothing but hate."

Ophelia ducked into the shop to retrieve the stacks and Annabelle decided that she would not worry about being this close to other night folk while her friend was gone. No one made a move to attack, on the contrary, the nearest night folk offered a bit of polite small talk. They were nothing like the stories of feral beasts she had heard all her life.

Soon every one carried a stack of flyer as tall as Annabelle's hand was wide and they left with excited murmurs and chatter, dispersing to spread the paper all across the city.

"That's just the first step," Annabelle said as she locked up the shop and Ophelia carried her back home. "Are you and they willing to help more often?"

"Of course," Ophelia said with a smile. "We've all wanted and waited for a real chance to change things. While some night folk have fallen too deep into the dark to return, many others who will take this chance with both hands and not let go."

*.*.*

The entire city was in uproar the next day. The flyers hadn't simply been dropped in the streets, the night folk had put them up on shop windows and street lamps and along all the intersections. They had even shoved any leftovers into mail boxes. It was impossible to go anywhere and not see at least one flyer.

Annabelle heard people curse and tear the flyers down, not wanting to hear what she had to say. But that was alright, minds didn't just change overnight. The few glimpses she got of people silently pocketing flyers, looking contemplative, was worth it.

She printed flyer after flyer as the days passed, sacrificing sleep gladly. And the more she did it, the more she told the truth, the more she spoke of injustices and wrongs committed that had to be made right and the possibility for actual peace, the more people stopped to think.

They started to look at the traveling groups of clerics and town guards differently, who tore down the flyers and demanded the heads of those who had done this. They all remembered the humans killed for being seen with monsters.

They hadn't known about the dead children, but someone had broken into the cleric offices and had returned with proof that such things had indeed happened. They had spread the information all over the city and people had been furious ever since.

Annabelle saw the expressions in the eyes of the citizens change as more and more things came to light. Most of all, people wanted safety and peace. The idea of no longer fearing the night, of not sacrificing their children or spouses just to try and keep the rest of the family safe was a very luring call.

Of course, the nobles weren't going to take this sitting down. Fear was one of the things that kept them in power, after all. Fear was what the clergy was built upon and how they got their money, by making people think they could buy safety off of them, as well as blessings for their homes.

Considering how swiftly the nobility retaliated, Annabelle knew that she was on the right track. Houses of rebellious fractions got raided and one day, the guards stood in front of Mr. Bell's shop as well.

"Feel free to look around," Mr. Bell said, making a sweeping gesture. "You won't find what you're looking for."

As the guards stomped past him, Mr.Bell met Annabelle's eyes, his expression telling her that they were going to have a long talk. It made her swallow nervously.

"You're very low on ink and paper," the head guard rumbled and Mr. Bell nodded.

"Yes, our resupply shipment will arrive tomorrow. It always looks like that at the end of the month. Especially with the rush-orders from various nobles we've been getting."

Annabelle involuntarily held her breath. This was not what their shop looked like at the end of the month. So Mr. Bell had noticed, of course he must have, that their supplies had dwindled down fast. Why hadn't he said anything?

"Show me the receipts," the head guard demanded and Mr. Bell dug out more bills than there should be.

Annabelle didn't let her confused and worried tension show and soon enough the guards left, having found nothing suspicious. Not even a stray flyer anywhere. Annabelle made sure to remove any and all hints of her activities and any messed up prints she took home to burn in the fireplace while her family slept.

"So," Mr. Bell said as he watched the guards march down the street towards their next destination. "Explain to me why you've been making those flyers."

At her surprised, startled look, he huffed. "I'm no fool, girl. I know how much stock we have and how much we use. You're lucky I forged some receipts in advance when I realized what you've been doing. So, why have you decided to become a rebel?"

The entire story tumbled out after a moment of hemming and hawing and Mr. Bell listened carefully and intently, asking questions when he needed her to clarify things. At last he leaned against the counter in thoughtful silence.

"I know some supplies who sell under the hand," he said at last. "They'll bring us more ink and paper than we officially need."

Annabelle stood up a little straighter. "You'll help me?"

Mr. Bell chuckled. "Oh, my dear, you're looking at a rebel yourself. I might be getting old, but I've caused quite some mischief and trouble in my younger days." His eyes were bright and he grinned, excitement starting to shine through. "And here I thought I was going to have a quiet, boring life until I died. So, what's next on the agenda?"

Annabelle managed to collect herself, drawing away from the reeling surprise to lay out her plans. Mr. Bell had some great ideas himself and together they started to build a more solid plan of attack.

"I can't let you work on the flyers during the day, in case they come back for another surprise search," he said regretfully. "You'll be safe coming in after dark?"

"I am," she promised and he nodded.

"Then do that. In the meantime, you'll go and get some sleep, I'm sure we can throw something together." When she tried to protest, he waved her off. "I can handle the work by myself for a few hours. If necessary we'll refuse some orders in the future. We have enough money to give us that leeway for a couple of weeks."

He gestured at the book she had finished for the noble. "And if we get more orders like these, we don't have to worry about money for even longer."

Annabelle couldn't help but hug her old mentor, who chuckled and gave her back a pat. "

Now, none of that," he said when she tried to thank him or to reimburse him by cutting short her earnings. "If anything, you are doing me a favor. I was wondering what to do considering that everyone keeps urging me to retire. Having a purpose is very fun, isn't it?"

She couldn't help but smile and he ushered her away to get some rest on their coats on the floor, while he got started on their remaining orders. Annabelle managed to doze off for a bit, waking up again when the noble dropped by to pick up the book. A well filled coin purse was left behind and Mr. Bell grinned at her when he saw her sit up.

"Ready for work?" he asked and she hurriedly got to her feet to join him.

Mr. Bell left in the afternoon and returned cheerfully. He kept what he had been up to a secret, right up until the evening bell rang and someone knocked on the backdoor. The one they only used to bring out trash to the small alley.

To her surprise, three young men were there, delivering crates of parchment and ink. Mr. Bell paid them and sent them on their way with a cheerful wave. The boys briefly peered at Annabelle with silent curiosity, though they said nothing.

"I'll keep the backdoor unlocked," Mr. Bell said as he ushered her out the front door. "Please use it just in case some guards show up to patrol at night in order to try and catch the flyer-rebel."

The thought made her nervous, but Annabelle took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. If this was how she could help, she would do it, no matter the danger it brought. Things had to change.

She returned home, ate with her family and was glad to hear that Dion would return home at the end of the week. He'd stay in his bed for another week and then he'd have to return to guarding the house.

The only reason Annabelle wasn't deeply scared for her brother was the knowledge that their part of town had become very, very safe. Not a single monster showed its face, at least not to attack anyone.

Ophelia waited by the window the moment her parents and brothers had fallen asleep and Annabelle climbed out and onto her back. They traveled along the rooftops once again and Ophelia dropped into the small alley to let Annabelle use the backdoor.

They printed another round of flyers, more monsters showing up to disperse them. Some smiled at her, others looked curious. Some seemed hesitant to be hopeful, but they had come to help all the same.

Annabelle didn't print flyers every night. Neither Mr. Bell nor she had the funds for such a thing, but she made as many as she could. Aside from flyers, she printed posters to leave on market squares and when one of the monsters handed over a well-worded letter their daughter had written, she published that one too.

Dion was home at last and she made sure her brother was comfortable. He looked tense and unhappy, though his worry eased whenever his hunter friends visited. They had told him they had guarded his family in his absence and how quiet things had been recently.

"It's weird, in all honesty," one of his best friends muttered, the woman who always waited and made sure Annabelle came home safely. It was the day before he had to resume his duty and he'd been high-strung since this morning. "Sure, there are times when things are calm, but never to that extent and never for that long."

Her brother was quiet that evening as they ate and he only grimaced a little in pain when he sat up for too long. Everyone knew he shouldn't return to duty tomorrow, but no one spoke up either. Annabelle kept her head down, her determination to change things stronger than ever before.

If the fighting and bloodshed ended her brother could finish healing in peace. Everyone could heal.

A knock at the door made her family and she startle. It was too late for visitors, there was only a faint glow of light remaining in the sky, the sun itself gone.

"Open, in the name of the Inquisition," an authoritative voice shouted and Annabelle jolted in her seat, heart leaping into her throat.

Everyone knew the Inquisition. They were the ones who dealt with those who loved monsters, with humans who had gotten 'corrupted', as they called it. They also took care of rebels and 'threats to the city', which usually meant threats to the nobles.

Nerves made her stomach clench and her appetite vanished in an instant. Her parents exchanged a nervous, confused look, before they got up to hesitantly open the door.

One of the head priests was waiting on the other side, flanked by two of his subordinates and behind them were three guards.

"How can we help you?" Annabelle's mother asked, shifting a bit to stand more firmly in front of her children. "I fear we do not have enough food to feed you all, but if you seek a safe place for the night, we offer our humble home."

"We are not here for peasant gruel or to beg a spot in front of your little fire," the head priest said with disdain. "We are here to question you on the integrity of your family."

"There is nothing to question," her father said sharply. "We are good, upstanding citizens."

"That remains to be seen," the head cleric sniffed, pushing forward until her father yielded and stepped back.

Annabelle watched warily as the priests and guards walked through the open door and when they didn't bother with closing it, a bad feeling began to churn in her gut.

"Leave the door open, woman," the head priest demanded when her mother rushed to close it. Her parents and siblings stilled, nervous and tense. Dion glanced to where his weapons sat by the door, gaze calculating.

Annabelle saw his hunter friends milling outside, watching warily and inching a bit closer, half of them staring at the open door, the other half watching the surroundings keenly.

"We wish to question your daughter," the head priest demanded, those pale eyes boring into Annabelle, who scarcely dared to breathe. She sat ramrod straight, hands a gnarled knot in her lap as she gripped her skirts tightly, her heart pounding.

The way he looked at her said it all. They suspected her. They didn't know for sure yet, which was the only reason she wasn't getting arrested, but they heavily considered her the culprit.

"Our daughter has done nothing wrong," her mother said, shifting to stand more firmly in front of her. "Anything you have to say to her, you will say with all of us present."

The head priest looked faintly annoyed, but continued on without pause, "Seeing as lately someone has been stirring up the masses, we've conducted a thorough investigation as to the people capable of such foolishness. And we've now come to you, Miss Annabelle. Care to tell us if these are yours?"

He reached into his pocket to pull out some of her flyers, unfolding them and tossing them onto the dining table.

"They aren't," Annabelle answered after staring at them for a second, heart pounding so hard she felt as though her very bones were rattling in time with the beat. "I've seen them stuck on walls before though, why do you think that I made them?"

"Because she works at a print shop?" her oldest brother asked sharply, smiling in a thin and very much unamused way. "Our little sister has worked her ass off to support this family and you come in here, accusing her?"

"I do not like the tone you take with me, boy," the head priest said sharply and at a look from her mother, Rudi settled down with a fierce glower.

"Do you have any idea who could have made them?" the man asked Annabelle, who shook her head. "Or anything else you can tell us?"

Annabelle reached out to the closest flyer, coincidentally the newest one, pretending as though she was inspecting it. "The paper is thicker than the one we use in our shop," she said and the head priest's eyes narrowed. "And we don't own that shade of midnight blue either, it doesn't work as well when you want to print books."

She had never been been more relieved that Mr. Bell had gotten things for her under the hand, otherwise she could not have made those claims.

The head priest appeared faintly miffed, but turned to her parents next.

"Has she come home on time every night and not left again?" the head priest asked.

"She's shown up at dusk every day and she doesn't leave before dawn," her father said firmly. "We never heard strange noises or saw any wounds on her. Neither has she brought home gifts we couldn't explain. Go ask the hunters if you don't believe us." He gestured at the lurking neighbors outside.

"I shall," the head priest said, sounding colder and more displeased now. "You better hope your stories line up."

"They will," her mother said firmly. "Please leave now, we don't wish to invite monsters in and we still have to finish dinner."

The head priest stared Annabelle down a moment longer and she knew he didn't quite believe her, but he must have other suspects with how easily he accepted her answers. For now, at least.

"Have you considered that a monster printed these?" she found herself asking just as the man turned around to leave. "I heard some are smart."

"They're all mongrel beasts, mindless and driven by bloodlust," the head priest said sharply, looking at her over his shoulder, his eyes burning cold. "Don't be mistaken, girl, they can fake intelligence long enough to ensnare you. There is nothing more to them than instinct."

It was a fight to look appropriately chastised and agreeable and Annabelle made herself dip her head in embarrassed supplication. The head priest looked a bit mollified at that and stepped outside with his companions and guards, striding towards the waiting hunters.

Her mother closed the door, not quite slamming it but it made a clear, decisive sound. The entire living room was utterly silent, then her mother exhaled heavily.

"We will finish eating and then we'll wait for Dion's friends to knock." She turned around to look at Annabelle. "And you will tell us what exactly is going on here."

Startled, Annabelle glanced at her family and found all of them watching her with troubled frowns. She swallowed, nodding, and found herself too nervous to take another bite. No one ate in fact and Gerard soon got up to clear the table. It was almost unbearably quiet.

It didn't take long for someone to knock at the door and the hunter woman poked her head in. "They're gone. What happened?"

"Please come in and close the door," her mother said after a moment. "I think no monsters will attack, will they?" She looked at Annabelle, who ducked her head a little.

"No," she answered quietly. "They won't."

The hunters filled in and Annabelle found herself in the uncomfortable position of explaining what had happened weeks ago. Haltingly at first and then with more and more passion the story tumbled out of her.

She did not tell anyone about the kiss she had shared with Charlette, worried that it would be a step too far for them. Not because she had kissed a woman, they weren't like that, but because she had kissed one of the night folk.

Heavy silence rang after she finished, everyone staring at her with varying expressions. Dion looked guilty, Gerard and Rudi baffled, her parents incredulous and confused and the hunters were thoughtful.

"Is it possible to speak to one of these, erm, night folk?" the hunter woman asked.

"I think so," Annabelle said, thinking of Ophelia who was most likely waiting on the roof. "I can ask."

"Outside, not in here," her father said. "I just..." He sighed heavily, briefly rubbing his hand over his head. "What were you thinking?"

"She wanted us safe," Dion answered in her stead to her surprise. He sounded tired but understanding. "I can't say I blame her, father." He took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm tired of fighting for my life. Of worrying what will happen to you all when I fall. If there can be peace, I want it more than anything."

"As do I," the hunter woman asked and the other hunters of their street hummed and nodded in agreement, though they looked like they didn't really believe it possible either..

"I can go ask right now," Annabelle offered. "I could meet you outside?"

"Alright, we'll wait in the alley where no one will see us," the hunter woman said. "We just...we've got to see you're right, girl."

She got to her feet with a nod and hurried up the stairs. She heard voices rise behind her, but they were too quiet to understand individual words. It sounded like a hissed discussion, though.

"Is everything alright?" Ophelia asked the moment Annabelle opened the window. "I saw those fuck-awful priests prowling around."

"I have a request," Annabelle asked. "Would you be willing to meet my family and, um, our hunter friends?" When Ophelia reared back in surprise, she hurriedly tacked on, "It's safe, I promise. They just found out about everything and they want to talk to you. To see if peace is actually an option."

Ophelia was silent for a long minute, then she exhaled heavily. "I trust you, so, yes. Alright."

Annabelle smiled in relief, then visibly surprised her friend by climbing out the window. Ophelia easily hauled her onto her back and hopped down to the alley. Considering how everyone startled in surprise at her appearance but eased up immediately upon seeing Annabelle unharmed on the werewolf's back, Annabelle had chosen wisely to go with her friend.

"Everyone, this is Ophelia," Annabelle introduced her, clambering off her back and easily accepting the big, clawed hand that her friend held out for easy support. "Ophelia, meet my family and our friends."

"A pleasure," Ophelia said, sketching a bow, though she never took her eyes off of the hunters, who stared at her with the same intensity. "Annabelle said you have questions?"

The hunters hesitated, before Dion took a step forward, face tense but hope lurking in his eyes.

Slowly, with every question, Annabelle watched as the suspicion, the battle-ready worry, began to easy and fade. She watched as hope began to glow brighter and brighter instead. As if a gentle hand had found an ember that had been about to go out and brought it back to life with steady care in order to create a fire.

"Alright," the hunter woman said at last, turning to Annabelle. "How can we help?"

At Annabelle's surprised look, she grinned fiercely and added, "We want peace and we want things to be fair. For everyone, nobles and commoners. And those night folk too, if they help us. So, I think it's high time we join your little rebellion."

Ophelia looked positively surprised and approving, grinning back just as fiercely. "Oh, I like you."

The hunter chuckled in her low, raspy voice. "The feeling is starting to be mutual." She turned to the others behind her. "What do you say, are you lot ready to go and fulfill our dreams of cozy fires and full bellies and night skies we do not have to fear?"

The hunters rumbled strongly in agreement, faces determined and even her parents and brothers looked convinced. They met her eyes with care and a supportive, if worried gleam.

Annabelle felt relieved down to her bones and she realized she was grinning just as fiercely as the hunters and the werewolf at her side.

*.*.*

A knock at the door drew Annabelle out of her concentration. "I'm almost done, Ophelia," she called out without looking up. "Just a minute."

"I'll wait," a familiar and sorely missed voice made her startle and she looked up to find Charlette stepping through the backdoor.

Annabelle grinned wide in happy relief. Her vampire looked a little worse for wear, but proud in a way that told her of won battles. Her gait had changed as well. Where Charlette had been confident before, now she moved with the prowling knowledge of power, of tested strength and defeated opponents.

To her surprise, Charlette wasn't alone. The willowy vampire she had spoken with what seemed ages ago accompanied her, tipping his head respectfully.

His eyes were considering as he watched her, then he looked at the flyers and posters she had printed. It was getting easier and easier to find just the right words to convince the people, to sway their minds and draw them to the side of change.

"I didn't believe it, at first," the vampire said as he slowly stepped forward to get a closer look. "When I heard of humans rallying behind the cause of this one."

He nodded at Charlette, who curled her lips enough to reveal one impressive fang. He rolled his eyes at her, but looked fond rather than annoyed.

He continued, "I didn't believe it either when I heard of hunters willing to lay down their weapons and hearing us out. Of other night folk protecting them from their mad cousins."

Annabelle had been surprised most of all when she had heard of the change that had traveled through the city ever since her conversation with the hunters. Of the impact the people who joined her had.

Whoever had broken into the office of the high priests had done so again, publishing more and more damning material. They had brought proof as well for their claims, spreading committed misdeeds and crimes all over the city. More murdered children, stolen money, people forced and blackmailed into admitting night folk had threatened and thralled them when that had not been so.

The opinion of the night folk continued to shift slowly but steadily. Annabelle was helping where she could, doing her best to be a voice for the unheard. A voice for the people.

"None of that would have been possible without Charlette," she said, smiling at the vampire who smiled back with a warmth so sweet it made all the accumulated aches and stress and tension melt away.

Annabelle yearned to be held by her love, but held back for now. She wouldn't want to be rude in the middle of a conversation by getting distracted.

The willowy vampire raised a brow. "And none of it would have worked without you." He glanced between them. "Somehow, the two of you have done what I thought impossible. You're bringing our two separate worlds back together, piece by piece."

"People don't want to fight anymore," Annabelle said. "They want warm fires and full bellies and peaceful nights."

Or rather, most of them did. And those who wanted to continue fighting, well, there were always horrible night folk that still needed slaying. Just like there were horrible humans that the guards arrested to stop their evil deeds.

At this point, all that was left was getting their hands on the aristocrats, on the high priests, to force them to bow so they could cement the changes the people were demanding with increasingly louder voices. So they could have the peace back that greed and hunger for power had stolen from them.

"I will fight for that soft world," Charlette said firmly.

"Yes, you have proven as much," the willowy vampire tipped his head in respect and acceptance. "I only doubted if the humans would as well, but that doubt...it has waned with every sunlit voice that joined your cause."

He stared at the flyers for a moment longer, then looked up. "You will have my support. Every night folk from the warehouse district to the Emerald Park will immediately cease any hostilities towards humans and instead work with them when safely possible."

Annabelle's breath caught in her throat. That was...that was easily a third of the city. She stared at the vampire in surprise, who smiled thinly.

"Your Charlette isn't the only powerful one and I have many, many night folk to protect. I would not offer my support easily or foolishly. But you have convinced me, mortal maiden." He swept into a low bow. "I look forward to working together."

Annabelle hurried to curtsey back. "As do I. Thank you, really. This might...this is just the help we need to for a last push."

"I do my part as long as you do yours," he said and stepped back, gesturing at a finished and twine wrapped parcel of flyers. "I take it those are ready for distribution? May I take them?"

At Annabelle's nod he picked the thick parcel up. "I will spread these and I will get into contact with other night folk willing to help. We shall speak more on this matter tomorrow night. I believe it is high time both humans and night folk plan together."

With those words he excused himself and Annabelle stared at Charlette in baffled surprise. The vampire smiled at her.

"I've been kicking a lot of teeth in lately," Charlette said with a casual shrug. "He's had to bend the knee to me, but that doesn't mean he had to help."

"I missed you," the words were out before Annabelle could stop them, though she didn't want to either.

She got a glimpse of Charlette's face softening, then the vampire stood in front of her between one second and the next, opening her arms. Annabelle threw herself forward to hug her tightly, strong, cool arms wrapping around her firmly, holding her securely.

"I'm so glad to see you again, well and happy," Charlette murmured against her hair. "It was hard, not coming back sooner. But I had to make sure I could return with good news. And I'm so proud of you, for all you've done for me and mine."

"This is our world," Annabelle said and pulled back enough to look up. Charlette gently touched their foreheads together. "Let's fight for it together."

"We already are," Charlette answered in a whisper and when she grinned, it was fanged and fierce and not at all human and Annabelle loved her so much in this moment. "And we will win."

#my writing #vampires #wlw #lesbians #they be lesbians harold #I hope this turned out alright!#it took me forever to get this final installment done so I hope it doesn't disappoint!#I definitely learned to finish writing multiple-part stories ahead of time before posting #but this has been a lot of fun #I tried to have more of a closed ending #but with the sort of story I ended up telling it worked best this way #they're going to change the world for the better

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laracrofted · 2 years

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baby, i'm high octane (i)

synopsis: nora rogers has made a name for herself in the documentary world, but lately, she's been running on empty. and then, with impeccable timing, her aunt charlie calls about an eight-week project in san diego: a feature on naval aviation's newest and most elite squadron. she accepts.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc), minor bradley bradshaw x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, existential dread, alcohol consumption, slutty (affectionate) rooster, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers!

note: i have been working on this for many, many months, and every time i went back to edit it, it gained another 500 words, so i need to put it out in the world for my own sake. hope you enjoy!

read on AO3 | series post | next chapter

tagging: @theharddeck as usual, some mutuals (@anniesocsandgeneralstore @roleycoleyland), plus some folks who were nice about the halloween fic (@peakyrogers @t-nd-rfoot @double-j) let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

[ OPENING CRAWL ]

On March 3, 1969, the UNITED STATES NAVY established an elite school for the top one percent of its pilots. Its purpose was to teach the LOST ART OF AERIAL COMBAT and to ensure that the handful of men (and now women) who graduated were the BEST FIGHTER PILOTS IN THE WORLD. They succeeded.

The Navy calls it Fighter Weapons School. You might know it better as TOP GUN.

The DAGGER SQUADRON is Naval Aviation’s newest and most elite squadron, exclusively made up of patch wearers. Here are their stories…

[ CUE MUSIC AND FADE TO BLACK ]

Back in California for less than 24 hours, and Nora already longs for the cobblestone streets and late night espressos and dear god, the accents of the past six months.

She is used to being on the move. Living out of an expertly packed suitcase, down to a science now. Never quite settling down.

Any documentary filmmaker worth their salt learns early to stay light on their feet, ready at a moment’s notice to get the call that takes them halfway around the globe and brings them the quote, unquote next great story.

This…was a different sort of call.

“You want me to go to San Diego? Why?”

It was well past midnight in France, which made it more or less dinner time on the other side of the Atlantic. For Charlie Blackwood, a perfectly acceptable time to ring her favorite niece, but Nora had to take the call out on the small balcony that was attached to her hotel room.

Documentaries weren’t the same as Hollywood films with their wider box office appeal and George Clooney-type stars. Funding was measly in comparison, so Nora bunked with one of the producers for the Paris leg. She and Jenna had worked together before a couple years back, and while Nora knew her to be sugar sweet from dawn to dusk, the 30-year-old woman did not fuck around with her skincare routine and her eight hours.

At this time of night on a non-weekend, Paris didn’t have much street noise, but Nora was still certain Charlie’s connection must’ve cut out somewhere in the middle of her sentence. Or maybe Nora had heard her wrong.

International calls could be so fickle sometimes. Right?

“Let me get this straight. You’re asking if I want to leave Paris to go to San Diego…” Nora repeated slowly, leaving ample breathing room between each word, plenty of time for Charlie to cut in and correct her, “and meet with your ex-boyfriend about some Naval feature? We don’t even like him.”

“You can call him Maverick,” Charlie replied evenly, “Everybody else does.”

Nora pulled a face. “I’ll call him Pete. How’s that?”

“He’ll definitely ask you to call him Maverick.”

“And I’ll still call him Pete.”

Charlie’s answering sigh was loud in her ear, even through the static, and Nora smiled down at her shoes. She took a careful step around the bite-sized table, stacked precariously full with her laptop, camera, and notepad, and planted her elbows on the railing. Metal creaked gently under her weight.

“Pete… will be fine,” Charlie relented, “and really, Pete is fine in my book. We’re just… two old acquaintances who wanted different things and were never going to work out in the long term. Besides, from what I hear, Penny Benjamin is his new sweetheart now. Well, new old sweetheart.”

She didn’t know who Penny Benjamin was. Must be a real saint to put up with him.

“Good. He won’t be knocking on your door the next time the Navy sends him to Washington to accept some medal then, right?”

Nora was seventeen the last time Pete Mitchell came knocking on Charlie Blackwood’s door; around eighteen months after Nora’s mom died, making Charlie her legal guardian. He happened to be in town for some medal or some ceremony or some medal at some ceremony.

He left in the dead of night, out the window, and Charlie spent the next two weeks muttering curses about hotshot pilots and their charismatic bullshit.

“That was almost twelve years ago, Nora,” Charlie chided, much less fun Aunt Charlie and much more diplomatic Charlotte Blackwood, employed by the Pentagon in that moment. Nora rolled her eyes.

“And anyway,” Charlie continued, not letting her get another word in, “Maverick isn’t the main contact. You’d only meet with him because All Hands…” A Naval magazine, print and digital, funding the project, as Charlie had explained in her initial one long sentence explanation before Nora had been distracted by the who and the where. “…wants to focus on his team. Everything is already approved. All you, my love, would need to do is get the golden seal from Cyclone to head it up. He’s the Air Boss over there.”

“Now Cyclone is a name that I don’t know,” Nora said, then swiped out of the call to look up the definition of Air Boss. “Doesn’t sound like a name made up by a 13-year-old boy who plays too much Call of Duty. He a Captain too?”

“Vice Admiral. You can meet him on your first day,” and Nora’s lips parted in protest, to say that was a little presumptuous, given she hadn’t agreed to anything and was still half a world away working on something else. Charlie cut her off, right at the knees: “Don’t start with me. Your Paris job wraps in what… four, five days?

Three, but Nora didn’t correct her.

“Normally, by now, I would be getting half a dozen calls every week from you, gushing about what you’ve got going on next; whatever place you’ll be jetting off to this time. This is the first time I’ve talked to you in at least two weeks,” Guilt pinged at her chest, along with a large helping of existential dread. “Have you even signed on to anything new?”

No. And Nora was doing jack shit to change that.

Her producer was already signed on for a film that would start pre-production ten weeks from now. It was a big one, lots of people to bring on board, and Jenna – literal angel in human form Jenna offered to pass Nora’s name along for consideration.

Nora still hadn’t given an answer.

She worried the edge of her lip but said nothing, and Charlie must’ve taken that as encouragement enough to continue on. “It’ll be a short project. Gives you enough time to find something new that excites you. Just… go to North Island and talk to Cyclone. You need a break.”

Late May breezed across her cheeks, smelling of the sweet pink and white cherry blossoms in bloom at a nearby park. She’d passed it nearly every day, afraid that the end of May would come and Nora wouldn’t ever see them in full bloom before having to leave. They bloomed two weeks ago, almost overnight, and Nora knew that June loomed and with it, the end of another project.

All that remained was uncertainty.

She did need a break, though Nora wasn’t sure that anyone other than her aunt and herself would consider working on another documentary to be a break. She couldn’t remember the last time Charlie had even taken a sick day. They were born and bred workaholics the both of them, and usually, Nora thrived on that.

But lately, Nora was so tired.

Another project could be good for me, Nora thought. Fewer eyes and expectations, without the pressure of acclaim and awards and future grants and questions of what are you doing next tightening like a noose around her neck. It’d be a one and done. She could do that.

“Alright,” Nora said, feeling a little lighter from letting the words loose. That was reassuring, at least. “Start from the beginning. How’d you find out about it? Who are the subjects? What’s the goal?”

Smile audible in her voice, Charlie started again, “Here is what I know…”

They wrapped mid-week with the usual fanfare, and the next day, Nora was packed and on a plane back home to Southern California.

Nora could already tell the Vice Admiral was ready to have the screening process over and done with. He barely asked her any questions before shaking her hand and foisting her onto Admiral Bates who ran her through the rules and regulations for getting onto the base and her accommodations.

Since Nora was freelancing for a Naval magazine, the United States government would be putting her up for the duration of the project. God bless America. She did not want to find a last minute hotel room in San Diego in June.

After obtaining a temporary ID card and a neat stack of manilla folders, probably filled with generously redacted background and service records, Nora is promptly deposited in the beachside parking lot of a steel-blue apartment building, faded from sun and brine, with a whole night ahead.

Showering off the plane eats up a few minutes, as does replying to the check-in email that the magazine contact sent over this afternoon. They would talk more over the weekend and into next week. It was difficult to connect with the time difference, so Charlie had guided the initial communication.

Calling Charlie drains another half hour, while Nora hums in all the right places and fights to keep her eyes open, chiming in with the occasional observation about North Island and tidbit about the conversation with Cyclone and Warlock.

“What’d you think of Cyclone?”

She stares at the blank wall across from the bed – all that wide open space and not an art print in sight – and thinks back.

Cyclone leveled an impassive stare at her over the folder that held her portfolio – apparently faxed over by Charlie before Nora had even agreed to come – and said, “This is an unusual circumstance. Most of the nepotism hires that come across my desk are aiming higher than an eight week contractor.”

She’d bitten her cheek to hold back a laugh, and Admiral Bates let out a suspiciously timed cough, hiding his mouth behind a balled fist.

“He was kind of hot,” Nora admits, then has to hold the phone away from her ear to not be deafened by Charlie’s laughter. “What? Just because I lack a father figure, I’m not allowed to appreciate an older man every now and then?”

“Sure, but I think I’ll draw the line at Maverick.”

Nora does her best projectile vomit noise, and Charlie laughs so hard that Mr. Charlotte Blackwood – as Nora affectionately likes to call Charlie’s husband John, who always accepted it with a congenial smile that only made her like him more – shouts from another room, wanting to know what exactly is so hilarious.

She won’t see Pete Mitchell until Monday, and after promising to tell him that Charlie says hello and sends her best to him and this Penny Benjamin woman, Nora hangs up the phone.

It’s barely 8 PM, and Nora wants nothing more than to crawl under the covers and leech the travel from her bones, but the San Diego sun is stubborn and high on the horizon. She knows her own body well enough to know that an 8 PM bedtime makes for a 3 AM bout of insomnia.

Boredom finds Nora perched on a cushioned barstool, a fresh t-shirt on her torso and a new coat of red lipstick on her lips, in the crowded Hard Deck bar. Sipping on an Old Fashioned, chatting with none other than Penny Benjamin.

“Charlie Blackwood,” Penny Benjamin repeats, a surprised but amiable smile on her face. A brown leather jacket sits over her slender shoulders, the same warm shade as her hair, and Nora spots a United States Navy patch on the sleeve. “God, I haven’t seen Charlie in… 30 years now. She may have told you, but I met her once or twice at Top Gun, back before my old man, the great Admiral Benjamin, retired. How’s she doing?”

“She’s good,” Nora offers, adding as an afterthought, just in case Penny Benjamin was the jealous type. “Married now.”

Penny sends her a sidelong look, narrow-eyed, that must make the fresh-faced Top Gun hopefuls cower in their regulation boots. Behind the glass, Nora’s lips curve into an amused smirk.

Things must be going well. Good for them.

Nora swirls the amber liquid, fishing out an extra cherry from the bottom and popping it into her mouth. “She sends her well wishes. She’d probably want me to give you a hug or something, but I think I’d fall on my ass trying to lean over the counter. Consider yourself lucky.”

“You can give my hug to Pete, but only if I’m there to witness.”

“Distinguished Captain Mitchell isn’t much of a hugger? I’m shocked.”

“Are you kidding?” Penny fills another pint glass for a patron a few barstools down, sliding it down the counter and looking back at Nora with an amused twinkle. “He’ll turn into a robot. He won’t know how to react. Make sure to ask one of the boys to record it for you so I can blackmail him with it forever.”

Imagining it, Nora is still smiling when Penny’s name calls her to the other side of the counter. Leaving her alone to people-watch and observe the establishment with a filmmaker’s eye.

Miniature planes hang from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze that cuts in with the opening and closing of the door. A wood island separates one side of the bar from the other, stacked high with an assortment of colorful glass bottles that gleam in the fading sunlight.

A golden wash spills through the back windows, and the Hard Deck is filling up fast with civilians, veterans, and servicemen alike. They’re the easiest to spot, wearing their service khakis and all.

Music swells through the bar, and Nora spies a jukebox in the corner, drawing a line five deep, all waiting for their turn to select the next 1980s classic. She recognizes the current song from her white dad music playlist.

‘Take It Easy’ by Eagles. Track four, baby.

Over her shoulder, a tight-knit crowd surrounds the pool table. They throw jeers and jokes at each other with familiarity, and Nora watches them for a moment too long, dragging her tired eyes away when one of them starts to turn in her direction.

She checks her phone, under the bar, not on top, of course, unless Nora wants to buy the whole room a round. A little after 8:30 now. She just needs a kill another hour or so, and then, that’ll feel like an acceptable time to crawl into bed and sleep for the next ten hours.

Fingers dancing through her tote, Nora fishes out her favorite journal, setting it down flat on the least sticky surface she can find. Leather-bound, stuffed to the brim with colorful sticky notes and touch-creased photographs. Further searches reveal that Nora left her pens back at the apartment, somewhere in one of those suitcases that had gotten packed and unpacked in an attempt to burn time.

“Do you have a spare pen?”

A blue pen rolls over to her waiting hands as Penny passes with a wink and dashes down the counter to fill a round of drinks. She has that endless energy that Nora needs a few coffees to achieve.

Thinking it makes Nora’s lids feel even heavier.

Tracks switch again on the jukebox, and Nora hums along to the new song, another winning installment on her white dad music playlist. Has the United States Navy hacked her Spotify account or something? She cuts through the pages like a surfboard through an ocean wave to find a fresh page, and Nora spins the pen between manicured fingers, mouthing the lyrics to ‘Dancing in the Dark’ under her breath.

Her brain is a firework show, thoughts shooting off high and fast, bursting into a million different directions. Loud and colorful. She can be like this on her best day, but a severe lack of sleep – or in this case, horrible jet lag – makes it a million times worse.

A long blank stare at the page later, Nora manages to piece a few words together into what might resemble a coherent thought, with emphasis on the word might here.

And right as Nora clicks the pen and presses it down on the page, denting the lined paper beneath the blue ink, an empty pint glass is set down on the counter, a few inches from her left hand. A whiff of cologne fills her nostrils, a little overbearing but still pleasant.

Fingers drum against the wood, in time with the music, and determined, despite the distraction, to pin down the semi-coherent thoughts that are now fleeing like scattered mice, Nora reaches for her drink and finds it empty save for half-melted ice and an orange rind.

“Buy you another one, sweetheart?”

She looks up, in spite of herself, and damn.

He is handsome as hell, heart-aching levels of handsome, a little like looking into the sun. Like a goddamn movie star, all broad shoulders and perfect, slicked back blonde hair, and easy confidence that fits him like a well-worn shirt.

He plucks the rocks glass easily from her stunned grip, holding it between two fingers, a loose, almost careless hold, and damn her to hell, Nora swallows against her suddenly dry mouth.

She really needs to go to bed. Among other things.

Green eyes study the contents of the glass, then flick back over to her, and Nora is hit with the full force of a mega-watt smile.

Dimples out. Ready to film a tooth-whitener commercial.

“Bourbon girl? I’m impressed.”

“Why?” Nora drawls, and hell, the word comes out of her mouth a little rough. Get it together. Put away the bedroom voice. She clears the cobwebs from her throat. “Because I look like I’d order a cosmopolitan in a dive bar and act surprised when I’m given a vodka cran?”

He seems to take look as an invitation, dragging his eyes over the soft t-shirt, a little damp over the shoulders from her shower, and the faded blue jeans that hang loosely from her legs, an old pair with a rip in the knee big enough that Nora might soon need to give them a second life as shorts.

His appraisal stalls out on her blood-red lips, tracing the shape of them, getting the lay of the land. And then, slowly rises back to meet her gaze. All the while, smiling like a pageant contestant.

“Name’s Hangman.”

Record scratch. He’s a pilot.

Goddamn pilots.

“That doesn’t sound like a name,” Nora drawls back, matching his conceited-ass smile with her freshly chilled ice-cold bitch smirk. “And I can buy my own drinks.”

Rudeness isn’t her drug of choice, but Nora clocks him as a tough one. A swift one-two ego punch should do the trick, rejecting his advance and mocking his precious call sign in one fell swoop. Aviators toss those around more than their actual names.

He’ll leave now.

She stares him down, and Mr. Pilot stares right back, eyes amused and sparkling in the twinkling lights dancing right above the bar, tucked between the steins.

Any minute now.

He doesn’t move an inch, and if possible, the Barbie and Ken smile grows even wider on his perfect face. He’s so hot, Nora kinda wants to break his nose just to make something on his face crooked.

“It’s my call sign.”

She is so tired. It trips off her tongue, almost out of habit: “Well, I’m not calling you Hangman. What’s your actual name?”

Why…. Why would those words come out of her mouth, instead of the ‘Get lost, Malibu Barbie’ that was locked and loaded in the back of her mind? Damn damn damn.

She doesn’t fool around with pilots, not after Charlie’s history with Pete Mitchell and her own Air Force sperm donor who couldn’t be bothered to call more than once a year. And especially not, when Nora will be working on the base for the next two months. What if Nora ran into him?

The edge of Hangman’s mouth twitches into a slow, dangerous smile, and Nora catches a flash of his canines, ultra-white like the rest of his teeth.

She fiddles with the pen cap, rolling and bending it between her pointer finger and thumb. Waits impatiently for him to give her an answer that gives her the opening needed to send him packing, back to the pool table to make better use of his bulging arm muscles over there.

Some co-ed girls push behind him, stumbling and giggling to each other, and in stepping out of their way, Hangman inches forward into her space. Breath warm at her nape, stirring the pale strands loose at her cheekbones, too short to remain tucked behind her ears without a fight.

Clever fingers capture one and brush it back into place, softly brushing against the side of her neck. His words are a low, hot rumble against the shell of her ear: “It’s Jake. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”

Oh, Nora thinks, warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with the sticky heat of the night. Oh shit.

She has the borrowed pen in a chokehold, gripping it hard enough to redden her fingertips, and Hangman – now Jake notices. His grin widens, and Nora forces herself to loosen the hold, to let the blood flow back into her hands, to regain some of her composure.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Not a question this time, so Nora doesn’t need to give him a yes or no.

He’s offered a loophole, one around her own better judgment, without even realizing it. She can just drop her shoulders with casual indifference, as if to say if you insist, and turn back to her journal. Pretend not to feel his intent, most definitely intrigued gaze on the side of her face.

It’s a free drink, and Nora’s hardly encouraging him. What is the harm, really?

A smug smile crosses his face when Penny comes over, an unreadable expression on her face, and Nora doesn’t stop him from ordering another Old Fashioned. He’s close enough now to feel the evening heat radiating from his tan skin, exposed where the sleeves of his t-shirt cut across his biceps.

Nora is not enabling anything. Not at all.

Rooster is on the last swallow of his beer when Phoenix looks over his shoulder and groans, a dramatic and drawn-out sound that would’ve made her an excellent soap opera star in a different life. He barely has time to snort before Bob appears at her side, a look of sudden concern on his clean-shaven face.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re never getting our next round.” Phoenix rigidly jerks her head in the direction that Hangman disappeared a few minutes ago. Too long ago, now that Rooster thinks about it. “Bagman got distracted.”

This is enough to bring the rest of the Daggers to attention. They round the pool table one by one, incited by the suggestion that Hangman might get out of buying them drinks.

“Distracted,” Payback lets out a sardonic snort. He leans on the pool cue like a walking stick, towering over the rest of them with Rooster seated. “He probably forgot to order the round. Idiot.”

“I don’t blame him,” Fanboy drawls, looking to the center of the room, waggling his brows. “I think I’d let her distract me anytime, anywhere. Is that not the hottest woman you’ve ever seen step foot in this bar?” His eyes go wide, almost panicked, darting to the only woman in their ranks. “No offense, Phoenix.”

Phoenix shows no sign of hearing him, and Rooster and Payback share a disbelieving look over the WSO’s head, snickering underneath their amazing mustaches. Lucky son of a bitch.

“Poor girl,” Phoenix muses with a slow shake of her head, sending her loose curls cascading over her shoulders. “Someone needs to launch a rescue mission. He’s practically drooling into her glass. And…” Something changes in her expression. “Did I hit my head in the cockpit this afternoon and not remember it? Does that girl look familiar to anyone else?”

“Never seen her before in my life,” Payback says, slapping his WSO on the shoulder, which seems to give Fanboy the confidence to add in, “I’d love to get further acquainted though. Think I can swoop in and steal her from Hangman?”

Phoenix has already pulled out her phone, paying no attention to the round of low chuckles and smirks that are shared between the men. Her fingers skate across the screen, faster than an F-18 on descent, and Rooster looks over his shoulder to get in on the joke.

It takes him all of two seconds to find them, mostly because Hangman has just flashed that thousand-watt smile that could probably blind an enemy dogfighter.

He leans against the counter, the cocky bastard, with a pint glass in his hand – one that should be in all of their hands right now. Not an empty glass filled with an inch of foam. Looking down at the barstool next to him, or more specifically, at the woman perched there.

Slender, blonde, dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and most definitely a civilian. He can’t accurately weigh in on Fanboy’s assessment, at least until Rooster can catch a glimpse of her face.

“I knew it!”

All of them startle when Phoenix makes the announcement and looks up from her phone with the victorious expression of someone who’d just shot down Maverick in a dogfight. She waves her phone in front of their faces, too fast for him to make out more than a blur of words and pictures.

“I fucking knew it. I follow her on Instagram.” And the wide smile on Phoenix’s face be described as nothing short of gleeful gloating. She cackles to herself, leaning over to show the screen to Bob again. “And you little shits made fun of me for loving documentaries so much. Who’s laughing now?”

Documentaries….

Recognition tugs at the edge of his drunken memory.

“Her name is – ”

She turns, and Rooster sees her face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rooster calls out, and Phoenix and Bob startle at the sudden change in volume, brown and blue eyes shooting up from the phone like Rooster blared an airhorn between their heads. He ignores them. “Am I seeing things, or Nora fucking Rogers, is that you?”

Everyone in a 10-foot radius looks at him, exchanging looks and eye rolls, dismissing him as belligerent but harmless, but Rooster ignores them, keeping his eyes locked on one woman.

Cornflower blue eyes survey the crowded room, sifting through the noise to place the voice, and finally, land on him. Surprise softens her features. And as the jukebox switches tracks, another crooning 1980s love song pouring through the speakers, Nora Rogers smiles at him for the first time in half a decade.

“Bradley Bradshaw, from beyond the grave.”

It really is him. This… six-foot-something hallucination with tree-trunk arms and a ridiculous porn star mustache and a familiar gleam in his eyes that spelled trouble. Did Charlie know Bradley would be here? She might’ve mentioned that. Nora looks up at him… and up again, because goddamn, were all Naval aviators so fucking tall?

An awkward beat passes where Bradley and Nora seem to grapple for the right greeting for a person you hadn’t seen in years and hadn’t seen all that often in the first place and mutually, come up empty-handed.

They’d met all of four or five times over the years, courtesy of the long-distance friendship that blossomed between Aunt Charlie and his mother Carole after Pete had left his Top Gun instructor post and shipped out again. She could use the extra friend without her husband, Charlie had said.

And then, Nora got older and became Charlie’s backup plus one to some Naval Aviation functions, usually thrown by Top Gun graduates who passed through when Charlie was a civilian instructor. She’d see him there every once in a while, all grown up and pursuing his dreams of becoming a pilot.

And then, Nora thinks absently, there was that one time…

She should’ve remembered that Bradley Bradshaw is a hugger.

Making up his mind for them both, Bradley reaches out and tugs her against his chest. And for one moment, Nora can feel the muscled strength of his arms banded around her torso, the firmness of his chest underneath the open Hawaiian shirt and incredibly thin white tank; can practically make out the ridges of his abs through the fabric.

It is barely longer than a brief squeeze, but as Nora pulls back, an unnatural but not entirely unexpected lightness buzzes in her chest. She is quick to blame it on the lack of sleep and dark liquor coursing through her veins.

She is feeling all kinds of strange tonight.

Like earlier, when Jake Seresin handed over the Old Fashioned, an unshakable curl to his lips, and as Nora took a delicate sip, watched the movement with half-lidded eyes; the muscles that worked in her throat. Like Jake wanted nothing more than to follow the path with his mouth, and Nora could picture him sprawled across her bed, clear as a snapshot: chests heaving, sweat dripping, tongue dragging across her pulse point, his large hand a collar around her throat.

Right then. Silly little thoughts like that.

Nora clears her throat, tugging at the neckline of her tee, and almost unbidden, like a magnetic pull, her gaze wanders back to him, standing in nearly the exact same spot at the bar, collecting a round of drinks. He apparently owed the group for the last pool game or something.

She can’t help but notice a new tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. She can tell, having been slightly too preoccupied with the strong line of his shoulders over at the bar for her own liking. He’d seemed so casual at the bar, so relaxed.

Is Jake mad? At Bradley, for interrupting them? At Nora, for coming over here?

These seem to be his friends. He was playing pool with them after all, up until Jake approached her at the bar. And Nora was hardly even talking to him at the bar, scribbling in her notebook and entertaining the occasional question as Jake seemed content to stand at her shoulder and watch.

“What’s your name?”

“What’re you doing in Fightertown?”

“What do you do for work?”

“A filmmaker? Like Quentin Tarantino?”

And Nora had been incised enough to set her pen down and stare him down. “I make documentaries, and if I did make movies, I’d at least like to be compared to someone decent. Not some piece-of-shit asshole director.”

His brows rose, but Jake looked unperturbed. “Like who?”

“Like… I don’t know, Nora Ephron or Greta Gerwig. You probably don’t even know who Nora Ephron is, do you? Do you also think Fight Club is a love letter to toxic masculinity?”

He exhaled a laugh, brows still halfway to his hairline, and opened his mouth to reply when Bradley called her name, and Nora was gone before Jake could get another word in.

Still. Seeing him look so… Tense? Dejected? Annoyed?

It makes her feel off-kilter.

Maybe Jake just wanted to chat her up at the bar and go back to his friends, not to be bothered for the rest of the night. She’s ruined that plan by coming over here, invited or not. It shouldn’t matter. She can’t stop herself from wondering anyway. God. Why do you even care?

She doesn’t know him, and after tonight, she’ll likely never see him again.

He starts to turn, and Nora slingshots her gaze back to Bradley, refusing to be caught watching him, who is looking down – and down – with a rose-colored hue to his face. A pair of aviator sunglasses sit crookedly over his eyes, showing her reflection.

She takes a half-step back to not have to crane her neck so much to meet his eyes. Raises her voice to be heard over the music, much closer to the jukebox now. “What are you doing here? I might be out of the loop, but didn’t you already graduate from Top Gun? Like many, many years ago?”

“She’s calling you old, Rooster,” Jake cuts in, reappearing and passing out the few bottles and glasses around the circle. Seven total, including another Old Fashioned that Nora probably doesn’t need but still accepts. He shoots her a wink over the glass. “You gonna take that, man?”

“I was not, you jackass,” Nora shoots back, the second Old Fashioned blurring the lines between her brain and her mouth.

Jake settles against the pool table in a casual stance, arms crossed across his chest, biceps bulging. She must’ve imagined the earlier tension. He seems fine now, watching her with a smirk.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here. Answer the question, Bradshaw.”

Bradley’s laugh is a little loud, a little unsteady. One look at the nearest hightop table, littered with empty beer bottles and pint glasses, tells her everything she needs to know.

Bradley Bradshaw is tipsy. Color shines high in his cheeks.

“‘What am I doing here?’ You’re on a Naval base, darling, which makes me,” Bradley pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and with the hand holding the new beer bottle, gestures to his own chest. Covered in that shirt that is… not hiding much, “the law around these parts. I ask the questions around here.” A dark-haired woman rolls her eyes behind his back. “What the hell are you doing here, civilian? You following me around now?”

Oh wow. He’s so drunk.

“In your dreams.”

She doesn’t like the look on his face; doesn’t trust what drunk Bradley might spit out next in a public setting, so Nora brings them back to more even ground, summarizing everything with a short and sweet, “I’m doing Charlie a favor” that is more or less true. Gives him the barest rundown of her past 48 hours, all too aware of the four Naval aviators standing within earshot, shooting her curious glances and waiting for an introduction.

“It’s your turn now.”

“We were here on a special detachment. Eight months ago. Top secret shit,” Bradley offers in an oh so serious tone. All of his concentration seems to go towards hiding a smile. It’s given away by the obvious twitch of his mustache, dampening the effect slightly. “I can’t talk about it, or Cyclone will shoot me out of an airlock.”

“We’re on the ground, Rooster.”

“Semantics, Payback. He will take me up into the atmosphere in an F-18 just to shoot me into space. And then, probably like, come down here and have one black coffee in victory. Happy now?”

Nora offers, “I actually have some security clearance.”

Some was probably an exaggeration. Charlie set her up with a director who needed an assistant, back when Nora really needed another project under her belt to build her portfolio. Lightly sensitive, all for internal use, of course.

“No shit. Aren’t you special?”

Drenched in sarcasm, but Bradshaw is looking at her over the edge of his pint glass with a hint of something else in his brown eyes.

Nope. No. Not going there tonight.

“Now, Bradshaw.” She delivers a light slap to his chest, and Bradley looks down, amused. It’s a little more familiar than Nora was going for. She probably didn’t need another drink. “When are you going to stop being rude and introduce me?”

His arm settles over her shoulders, swiveling her like a Hard Deck barstool to face the rest of the group. They go down the line, one by one. Call signs, then their first and last names, upon request because Nora refuses to call a bunch of grown men things like Rooster and Fanboy. Phoenix is actually a damn cool name.

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, and Bob.

Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob again.

“And Hangman,” Jake finishes, a pronounced twang in his voice that Nora didn’t notice before. She was missing the accents earlier, wasn’t she? “We met at a little spot not far from here. I was the devastatingly handsome man buying you a drink.”

“Sorry,” Nora shoots back, all calm and collected. “I don’t think I know a Hangman. Doesn’t sound like a real name to me.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Jake.”

“It’s all coming back now.” And Nora doesn’t mean for it to come out so quiet, so intimate. “Hi Jake.”

He flashes her a dimpled grin, all soft edges. “Hi Nora.”

It’s so damn charming that Nora has to bite back an unbidden smile, but with the high-speed attention of an F-18 pilot, Jake catches it, the smug son of a bitch. He lifts his beer to his mouth and shoots her a heated look that curls her toes inside her boots.

“So,” Phoenix interjects, glancing between them with an all too knowing look that makes Nora flush. “Who is up for another round of pool?”

She should’ve stuck to her original plan, which would have seen her leave over an hour ago. Already curled up under the sheets for a long, much-needed sleep by now.

But Nora is having too much fun, sitting on a barstool near the pool table, watching the game and listening to them trade insults and stories (just the non-classified ones, of course) back and forth. All of them seem to know each other well, and Nora learns early on that Captain Mitchell recruited them for this special top-secret detachment a few months back.

“We’re still here under Maverick as an actual squadron now. We’re… I’m sorry, I’m not exactly sure what I can and can’t tell you,” Bob explains, cutting himself off with a sheepish expression. He is damn cute, clean-shaven and baby-faced. Easygoing. He reminds her a little of a duckling, jabs rolling off his back like water. “You can ask Maverick on Monday. Are you just following him around with a camera or…?”

She gives him the quick run-down, well aware that the Daggers are all within earshot now, not even pretending not to eavesdrop on the conversation. “It will probably be a good bit of interviews and additional footage. It’s not just about Captain Mitchell. I’ll be focusing on the whole team.”

“We’ll probably be seeing a lot of you then.”

It is a perfectly nonchalant observation, but Nora’s heart does a stuttered thump-thump in her chest, the exact same realization piercing through her intoxicated brain way too late. If Maverick is their CO, then Bob is on the team that Nora will be profiling in the feature. All of them are. Which means...

She will be seeing them. Probably every single day.

Nora manages to get out an even, “I guess so.”

She remembers the cardboard box of files, sitting unopened next to her overturned suitcase, and wants to bang her head against a wall. Instead, Nora washes down the overwhelming sense of uh oh with a too-quick gulp of her drink. Green eyes burn against the side of her face, stinging like the bourbon in her nostrils.

Natasha drops onto the next barstool over, providing the perfect distraction from her thoughts. She’s just landed an impressive sequence of shots against Mickey and Reuben, who now stand staring down at the table, hands on hips in identical stances of contemplation.

“I follow you on Instagram,” Natasha admits, snagging her beer bottle from a nearby table and waving off the popcorn that Bob offers her. “And I have to tell you. I have invited these idiots over to watch documentaries with me more times than I can even remember. Tried different topics too. Bob is the only one who ever comes over. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.”

“Oh, I won’t. I can smell a fraud a mile away,” Nora reassures, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes to match the other woman, “but I, for one, would love an invitation to watch a documentary with you. Make it a weekly thing while I’m here.”

And Natasha grins wide enough to inspire warm and fuzzy feelings in her chest. Is this what budding friendship felt like? She has been on the move so much lately. She’d almost forgotten.

“Nora is my friend, Phoenix,” Bradley cuts in, sunglasses sliding further and further down his nose. His large hand comes up to deliver a playful push to the other woman’s shoulder. “Stop trying to steal her away from me. Get your own friend.”

“We’re friends now, are we, Bradshaw?” Nora can’t help her laugh, slightly mocking, light enough not to be mistaken as rejection. “I haven’t seen you in like… five years. You probably don’t even know my birthday.”

He pouts. “Phoenix doesn’t know your birthday either.”

“It’s in August. She posted about it on her Instagram.”

“Go away, Phoenix,” Bradley reaches across her again to push at Natasha harder. He loses his balance a little bit and nearly topples into Nora’s lap, only caught by Phoenix shoving against his shoulder. “Don’t let her do this, Rogers. You’re breaking my heart here.”

“You’re drunk,” Nora giggles, an honest to god giggle, only reserved for drunk Nora. Sober Nora laughs. Drunk Nora giggles. It’s usually a sign to call it a night. “You’re drunk, and I think… I think I might be drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk.”

Nice. Real professional. Getting drunk on the night before her first day and with none other than the only team of pilots on North Island that she is guaranteed to see after tonight.

“Oh no….” Nora whispers through another giggle, and with a hand that feels disconnected from her arm, reaches up and pushes Bradley’s sunglasses back up his nose. His grin turns wolfish and… “I think I need to go home.”

“Or…”

“I can take you. Where’re you staying?”

Jake pulls his keys out of his pocket and dangles them from a finger, while Bradley straightens, with sudden coordination, to his full height. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha has paused mid-sip, watching with unadulterated interest, like Rooster and Hangman were the most interesting thing on television. Bob offers her the popcorn again, and Natasha takes a handful.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I stopped an hour ago, and I only had two.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“Did you not just say you haven’t seen her in five years?”

“She’s not going home with you.”

“Jesus Christ…” Jake scrubs a hand over his face, his growing irritation plain. “It’s a ride home, not an invitation to bed. You’d rather put her in a cab with a stranger than have me drive her home? What’s your problem?”

“My problem is – ”

Well. This is… rapidly descending into a testosterone fest.

She can feel a dull ache developing in her temple, a heaviness to her lids that is becoming harder to ignore. She needs a strong painkiller, about three and a half glasses of water, and a bed. Preferably tonight.

“Alright, I’m calling an Uber.”

She reaches for her phone, and Jake raises a placating hand.

“Don’t waste money on an Uber. I’ll take you home,” Jake repeats, looking pained, and then, Bradley Bradshaw opens his mouth and takes a big breath, gearing up to restart this idiotic argument.

“Bradshaw, I swear…” Nora presses her fingers to her forehead and closes her eyes. “In about five minutes, I might sleep on that pool table, so please, I will take what I can get. I’m staying at…” Did Warlock ever give her the address? Goddammit. “It’s… It’s like a blue apartment building next to the beach. It’s not far from here. Know what I’m talking about please.”

Exhaustion makes her blunt, but Jake looks amused again.. More amused than Nora would give herself credit for inspiring with her drunken rambles.

“I know it. We all live there.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Oh. Great.”

She really will see them every day, even on her days off.

Something flashes across Bradley’s face, too quick for her to clock it, but Nora is focused on putting hands on her phone, wallet, and keys. Hoisting her bag onto her arm.

“Well, I’ll come with you.”

“Rooster. Seriously?”

“No, I should probably call it a night too, and I caught a ride with Phoenix here anyway. I’ll come back with you guys.”

Jake and Bradley share a long stare-down that Nora is too tired to even process. It is some sort of telepathic conversation that must be exclusive to Top Gun graduates, or a silent dick-measuring contest. One of the two.

“Oh,” Phoenix observes, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “This’ll be interesting.”

Yeah, Nora thinks. It’ll be something alright.

It is a short ride back to the apartments. Bradley hums the words to ‘Great Balls of Fire’ under his breath the whole time, over and over in an unending loop, while Nora presses her forehead to the window, breath fogging the glass with the late night temperatures, and closes her eyes.

It does little to alleviate the weight of Jake’s gaze, dashing off the rearview mirror at every red light. He casts a sideways glance at Bradley, then opens his mouth to say something, but then Nora’s eyelids flutter closed and Jake remains silent, reaching for the radio knob to turn the volume down.

His truck finally rounds the last bend in the road and pulls into the lot, and Nora is damn near crawling out of her skin. She drank two full glasses of water at the bar before leaving. She isn’t buzzed enough at this point to blame the heady warmth on the alcohol. It’s him.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Jake expertly steers the truck, one-handed, into a spot along the front row of apartments. She can see her door from here, spotlighted under a second-floor flood light like a safe haven. “Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle until I’ve come to a full and complete…”

He’s barely tapped the brakes when Nora mumbles a good night and makes a run for the staircase.

“Alright then,” Jake calls after her through his open window, accent thick from drowsiness. “Good night to you too, sweetheart.”

She shuts her door on his raspy chuckle.

It echoes in her ears all the same, even after splashing freezing cold water on her neck, stripping off her clothes, and climbing into the bed with the slightly scratchy sheets. Lingers, like the brush of his fingertips down the side of her neck.

Nora heaves a sigh in the blue dark. “Goddammit.”

end note: likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. and if you have thoughts and feelings, please shout in my asks or my messages. i'd love to hear from you!

read the next chapter!

#am sweating posting this #so please tell me what you think #fic: baby i'm high octane #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x nora rogers #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick fic #laracrofted writes

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hiramaris · 9 months

Text

Dusk Fragments #1

Summary: A night of drinking, a group of friends, and two people returning to town. What could go wrong? Pairings: Jessy x Gender Neutral MC

Note: Had this on my mind for quite a while. This one-shot follows Dusk til Dawn. The timeline isn't clear here.

“I don’t think drinking and partying is such a good idea right now.” Cleo mused against her drink, the condensation on her glass forming tiny beads. She eyed the swirling liquid thoughtfully, her expression pensive. Despite her verbal disagreement, she downed her margarita in one go, barely wincing at the tangy taste.

Dan scoffed at that, knowing fully well where this conversation was going. “It’s been months. No one died. What better way to celebrate than being wasted?”

Lilly, seated next to Cleo, leaned forward, her gaze serious. “Hannah and Richy are still under court-ordered psychiatric evaluation and treatment,” Lilly emphasizes as if everyone has forgotten that fact. “Y/n and Jake are nowhere to be seen. So, I don't think these counts for a celebration.”

Jessy froze at the mention of your name, her hand pausing in mid-air as she played with her Mimosa.

For months, she had tried not to let your name linger in her mind for longer than necessary. It still hurts to think about you. Despite the fact that Agent Hartmann– Charlotte, Jessy corrected herself, already explained everything, it did nothing to quell the pain she was feeling.

Because why couldn’t you just tell them all those things yourself? Why couldn’t you just come back?

“But did they die?”

“Dan!” Cleo admonishes him.

“What?” He shrugged as he plucked a chilled martini glass from the shelf. “I’m just saying,” he continued as he went back to face them and to prepare Lilly’s drink. “Out of all the possible worst-case scenarios, we managed to get the best one. I’m not saying y’all need to trash out and get wasted, but I don’t think Y/n did all this for us to just sulk in our homes forever. We deserve this after all the hell each of us went through.”

“That’s true,” Phil popped out beside him, placing another Mimosa in front of Jessy despite the redhead's protest. “I never thought I’d get out of that stinky place they called prison after a certain someone” he eyed Dan accusingly, a smug smirk on his face “testified against me. So, drink up! Celebrations are in order!”

“For the love of— I already said sorry!” Dan yells at Phil’s retreating form, his voice drowning from the music reverberating around the Aurora bar.

“Sorry won’t cut it, Pal! You still have 6 months left of voluntary work before you get your wage!” Phil shouted back in a sing-song voice before disappearing into the stockroom.

“He won’t ever live it down, y’know?” Jessy allows herself to smirk at Dan’s guilty face. The man got an earful from her when she learned about what he did. If she were the same person as before, she would have never forgiven him but she’s a changed person now. At least that’s what she likes to think. Dan means well despite his impulsivity.

“I know,” Dan grumbled as he placed Lilly’s cosmopolitan in front of her.

The blonde eagerly sips her drink, humming in satisfaction, her body slightly swaying to the music. “Fuck it, I guess we do deserve to lose out a little.” Lilly perks up when ‘Streets’ begins blasting from the bar's speakers. The lights turned a deep hue of red as if to accentuate the mood of the song. “Oh my god! I love Doja Cat! Come, Cleo. Let’s dance!”

Cleo had no choice but to finish off her drinks before allowing the youngest Donfort to drag her to the nearest dance floor.

“She’s getting drunk,” Thomas commented quietly as he observed them.

“Oh, Lilly? Let her.” Dan leans a bit on the counter. “What about you, Tommy? What can I get for you? You’ve been awfully quiet since you came here.”

“I don’t think it’s such a great idea. Someone needs to be sober around here.”

Dan chuckles at that. “Still a wimp,” he teased. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to drink tonight. Not until Y/n comes back to keep their promise and buy me a drink. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Fine.” Thomas sighed. “After what happened I guess I need a hard drink. Give me some Negroni.”

“Right away, sir.”

Jessy waited for Dan to get away from earshot to get some vermouth from the stock room before addressing Thomas. “Have she talked to you, yet?”

Thomas pursed his lips, his gaze shifting to the swirling liquid in Jessy’s glass. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding, his voice tinged with a sense of longing.

“Not since… that day.” He went quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I miss her, a lot.” He admitted. “But I’m trying to understand her. What happened was shitty. I don’t think 6 months of treatment would suffice to get over a trauma.”

“Any news about their development?”

Thomas sighed, his gaze distant as he delved into the subject. “Well… she’s starting to at least connect with her family. Lilly says it’s just about trivial matter and Hannah seems to be avoiding the topic being discussed just yet. About Richy…” he trailed off. “he’s doing okay, I guess. I talked to him a little while ago and he said he was truly sorry about what happened.”

“Do you… forgive him?” Jessy questions tentatively, her gaze fixed on Thomas, searching for his thoughts on the matter.

Thomas swallowed, fists curling into a fist. “I do. He’s my friend.” He met her eyes, his own ones going mist. “It’s just quite difficult to forget what he had done.”

“I know…” Jessy murmured, her tone reflective, finally downing her first mimosa. The contrasting flavors of bitterness, sweetness, and tanginess played against her tongue, much like the conflicting emotions she was feeling. “Richy doesn’t want to talk to us. I tried to… y’know but he pushed me away.”

“He was afraid. He doesn’t trust himself around you girls.”

“Oh,” was all that Jessy could say.

Maybe you and Richy have a lot more in common than she expected.

Like making decisions for everyone instead of asking them directly. She doesn’t get why both of you chose to keep everything to yourselves.

“Y/n,” Thomas suddenly says. “Do you still think of them?”

“Every day,” she found herself whispering. “I don’t think I had ever stopped.”

“Wow, I just went away for a minute or two and everything suddenly got sentimental.” Dan’s voice joined the conversation. He raised an eyebrow at the two as he began to mix Thomas’ drinks.

“It’s nothing!” Jessy tried to laugh, shoving her empty glass towards Dan. “I want another Mimosa. I’ll be back. I just need to go to the bathroom for a sec.”

“Hey! You still have a full glass of Mimosa here!” Dan calls back to her, but Jessy continues to her destination, brushing through sweaty bodies. She really needs to pee.

More importantly…

She also needs to cry.

Damn it. This is what she’s talking about. Just give her a couple of seconds to think of you and then no more than later her eyes turn into a waterwork.

“Jessy?” Well, that’s a voice that sounds familiar.

She whirls on the spot, and she has little time to even out her voice to mask her surprise. “Alica?”

Luckily, she managed to do it.

Because never in those three years, she has expected to see Alica Roth in the arms of her ex-boyfriend, Norman White.

It took all self-control for Jessy not to give any sort of reaction. What she told you was true. She never made an effort to know whom her ex had cheated her with due to fear of actually knowing who that person might be.

And just her luck, it seemed Alica was the person Norman fucked while being in a relationship with her.

“Oh, hi!” She put on a tight-lipped smile at the two. “I didn’t know that you two…” she tried to laugh. “How long?” She just wanted to know if her theory was true.

Norman has the audacity to look so smug about it, pulling the girl closer to him by the hip as if to rub salt in her wounds. Not that there’s any wound to begin with.

“Two years,” he answers with his typical boyish grin that Jessy used to swoon at. Well, not anymore.

And two years? He was still dating Jessy at that time!

This piece of crap really did cheat on her with Alica, and they even have the decency to flaunt it right on her face. Alica is no better; she knew Jessy was in a relationship with him and yet she allowed Norman to pursue her.

“I heard about what happened. I’m really sorry about Hannah and Richy.” Alica mentions, and Jessy doesn’t know if the girl is even genuine about it. “It must have been stressful for you guys.”

“It was.”

Norman straightened out, his arms falling from his side. “Well, you certainly didn’t look stressed at all,” he eyes her up and down unabashedly. “I mean don’t get me wrong. I know you are but what I was trying to say was you look as dashing as ever.” He finished his babbling with a grin.

Alica raised an eyebrow at his comment before turning her attention back to Jessy with the most faux smile she had ever seen in her life.

“He’s such a sweet guy, right? Always thoughtful with girls even if he already has a girlfriend.”

If she wasn’t sure before, Jessy is sure as hell that’s definitely sarcastic now.

“Oh, I know.” Jessy’s smile was just as fake.

“Of course,” as oblivious as ever, Norman beamed. “I even chatted that Y/n when Lilly posted about that video. Because y’know, I don’t like it when women get hurt.”

Jessy furrows her brows at that. What’s that even supposed to mean?

And wait, what?! He had chat Y/n which means he was one of the locals who harassed Y/n!

“Hey, y’all. I heard my name so would you mind if join in?”

****

“Do you think this is a good idea, Y/n?”

You turned to Jake, a smug smirk dancing across your lips. “Well, considering the last mission you need to do in order to grant your defection to the Agency has gone very well, I don’t see the problem in going back here. Plus,” your grin widens. “You have to be here. I don’t want Lilly to kill me so you have to protect me against her wrath.”

Jake chuckles at that. “You just took down twelve men just a couple of hours ago, and you mean to tell me you are afraid of Lilly?”

“It’s different,” you retorted, parking the car in the designated place Phil had made for you. You closed the door shut. Jake follows you after. From here you can already hear the music blasting inside. And judging from the disco lights you’re seeing peeking from the gates; you knew this is going to be one hell of a night.

“How do I look?” you turned to Jake as you tried to brush off imaginary specks of dust from your shirt. Not that it would make any difference. The glaring bruise on your cheek and a cut to the lip wouldn’t go unnoticed anyway.

“Like you just went on a mission.”

“I’m going to tell Aerith to dump your ass.” You narrowed your eyes at him. You couldn’t see his whole face because of his mask but you didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes at you. “Hey, I saw that!”

Jake just shook his head and pushed you inside– forcefully.

“Just go inside and go restore your love life.”

The stench of alcohol and sweat greeted your nostrils and you didn’t bother to hide the look of pure disgust on your face, The lights were off inside but the illumination coming from the disco lights created a swirling pattern of abstract forms that gracefully blended with– is that ‘streets’?!

And is that Lilly dancing with Cleo?! If you can even call that dancing.

You snorted at the sight. The blonde’s probably drunk but Cleo looks sober enough which made this whole thing funnier. The poor girl was so embarrassed with her friend.

“I didn’t know Lilly was a fan of Doja Cat.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea.

You could have sworn you saw Jake’s eye twitch at the sight of his sister dancing in the middle of the dance floor with men trying to dance with her only to be pushed away by Cleo.

Not long after, Jake pushed his way through the crowd and towards his sister. You can only wish the men around Lilly good luck because a pissed Jake is someone you wouldn’t want on your plate– ever.

Shaking your head, you made your way towards the bar without any announcement when your eyes spotted those familiar beards from miles away and Thomas’ signature beanie.

“What’s cooking, good looking?”

“Y/n?!” Thomas almost spat his drink on a very unsuspecting Dan.

You thought that was the funniest thing you have ever seen but looking at Dan, it was your turn to choke on your own spit. The man looked like he saw a ghost with the way his eyes widened.

“Thanks for accepting my invitation, Y/n.” Phil wraps his arm around you. Taking you away from the bar, much to Dan’s dismay.

“Hey! I was talking to Y/n!”

Phil only gave him the finger, laughing. “Sorry, pal but we got customers.”

Dan could only grumble in annoyance as a group of rowdy teenagers came stumbling on the bar, leaving his hands full at the moment.

“You looked like you just came from a fight,” he commented as he guided you towards a corner. The music in this spot had mellowed, allowing both of you to talk in a normal voice. “I assume you won as always.”

“Won’t you know it?” You grinned. “I suppose free drinks are in order tonight?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Is that any way to talk to your brother-in-law?”

Your smile falters a bit. It’s been 6 months of radio silence. The last time you talked to her was when you left. You barely said goodbye. You barely gave any reassurance.

How could you though? How can you look at someone you love so much and tell yourself it’s time to go?

Would she still want you after all this time? Would she even want to talk to you?

“Is she mad at me?” You questioned quietly. The million-dollar question.

Phil noticed your apprehension, quirking an eyebrow at you. “Do you think I’ll invite you here if she hates you?”

“I mean if the invitation is out of spite, it is possible.”

He laughed. “You might want to get your head checked out, L/n. Unless you have a major concussion then you’re probably crazy to even be convinced that the kindest person in Duskwood hates your guts. Of course, she loves you shitless.” He took both of your shoulders, shaking you as if to take away those thoughts. “Listen, I didn’t just invited you here just to show gratitude for bailing me out. This is also me paying my sister back for all the shitty things I’ve done to her.”

His gaze suddenly flickered behind you, his grin coming back.

“Make my little sister happy, okay?” Without warning he pushed you forward. But not without whispering. “That’s her ex, Norman. Punch him in the face for me. Tata!”

You felt the world seemed to freeze before you when you finally saw her.

Ever since you came here you pretend to look around. You wanted to convince yourself that you’re just familiarizing yourself with your surroundings but the truth is…

I’m actually looking for you.

You can feel your chest starting to ache again. A frequent occurrence whenever you think of her. But seeing her again after all this time gives you a different kind of pain.

You find yourself walking towards her. Somehow, you’re thankful she has her back on you because it gave you a bit of time to prep yourself to face the redhead.

“He’s such a sweet guy, right? Always thoughtful with girls even if he already has a girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows raised when you finally got an earshot to the conversation Jessy was having with these people.

“Oh, I know.” Even with her back on you, you can notice Jessy was visibly tense. You frowned. Clearly, she’s uncomfortable. Just who the hell are these people?

“Of course,” the guy with a face you didn’t like boasted. So, this is the ex, huh? “I even chatted that Y/n when Lilly posted about that video. Because y’know, I don’t like it when women get hurt.”

“Hey, y’all. I heard my name so would you mind if join in?” That was the time you decided to swoop in.

You casually grab Jessy by the waist, far away from her so-called ex who doesn't seem to know how to read the room.

Telling by the lack of flinch, you know Jessy already knows it was you. If she was surprised at your sudden appearance after months of radio silence, she didn’t show it.

You put yourself between them. All the while, Norman looks a bit startled at your sudden presence. He was taken aback. He slowly backed away when he noticed your piercing gaze focused on him.

“It would be kind of rude to talk behind my back, right?” You went on. Flashing them a charming smile. You turn to Jessy, kissing her cheek. “Anyway, Dan sent me to tell you your Mimosa is good to go, babe.”

She kissed your cheek back, right across your bruise as if to tell you it didn’t go unnoticed by her. “Of course, love. Thank you!”

You fight a flush beginning to emerge on your cheeks at the endearment. But you find yourself not even trying to as the next words uttered by the woman in front of you were enough for you to grimace.

“Oh, my. I wasn’t informed you have such a hot company there, Jessy.” You could have sworn the woman batted her eyelashes at you unabashedly, making the ‘ex’ bristle next to her.

Jessy feigns a smile as she rests her head against your chest, “this is Norman and this is his girlfriend, Alica. Guys, this is my partner, Y/n.”

Norman held out his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Normy.” You smiled, ignoring the wince on his face as you might have gripped his hand a little too hard.

“It’s a-actually Norman, not Normy.” He corrected with a strained smile.

“You’re the same Normy who harassed me on the phone right?” You raised an eyebrow, your gaze challenging.

“N-no. I…” he stuttered pathetically, making you grin wider.

“Call me Ali, dear.” Alica made a move to kiss your cheek and was about to do another one, but Jessy pulled you back to her, eyes openly glaring now. The blonde didn’t seem to care as she commented, “you smell good, and that bruise looks hot.”

You were quick to wipe off the kiss from your cheeks, not even bothering to hide it from Alica. You’re not entirely sure what was Jessy’s history with her aside from Normy here. But what you’re sure of is your girlfriend has a massive jealous streak.

You have come to know that for the first week you have known her. And if blonde here has known Jessy far more than you have, then she better know that the redhead is ready to bury her alive right now.

“What the fuck is that, Ali?” Norman was the first to react, glaring at you and his girlfriend.

“Chill out, hon. I was just–“

“We’re leaving.” Jessy cuts off curtly, pulling you away from the scene. She stopped in what you assumed to be a hallway to the comfort room. Pulling out a handkerchief and a bottle of alcohol, she began to dab the piece of cloth to your cheeks. “I’m going to kill her.”

You laughed quietly, “I bet you do.”

She furrowed her eyebrow but remained quiet as she finished the job. She even sprayed her perfume on your shirt as if to wipe any trace of the blonde in you. Or she’s probably marking you. Or both. In any case, you didn’t mind.

Your heart pounded as you raised your hands to cup her cheeks. Your thumb begins to stroke her cheek in a delicate manner, and your eyes wander around her face. You are now faced with the woman you have badly missed to the point it physically gives you pain just by thinking about it. You took your time to admire her face, now up close for the first time in how many months of not seeing it.

She looked a bit thinner. Up close, you can see the effects of the situation that fell upon her— the bags under her eyes due to spending sleepless nights and the worry lines starting to form on her forehead. But in your eyes, you have never seen such beauty. She still looked beautiful, nonetheless. She was still your Jessy.

“Sorry,” you murmured. You didn’t emphasize what for. Do you even need to?

Sorry for leaving. Sorry for keeping you in the dark. Sorry for hurting you.

But none of those came close to what left your lips.

“Sorry, I let her kiss me. I shouldn’t have–”

The laugh that escaped her lips was soft and rich. Her breath tingled against your cheeks as she leaned her forehead against yours, her arms secured around your neck. You knew then that she knows what you were apologizing for and it’s sure as hell not about letting Alica kiss you.

“Apparently, that woman just really likes stealing people I love. I suppose you’re not an exemption.”

“Hmm, so she was the girl.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a realization.

“Uhuh.” Jessy is a lot closer now, lips barely an inch that if you leaned a little closer you would be kissing her. Her fingers played with the baby hairs at the back of your neck making your breath hitched. And judging by the little smirk on her lips, you knew damn well she knows her effect on you. “I’m still mad at you.” She whispers and you note the faint smell of alcohol on her breath.

“I know.” You whispered just as quietly. “Let me make it up to you.”

“How so?” A dashing smirk spreads across her features, and for a moment, your eyes drift mindlessly toward her unsuspecting lips, loving the way they curl up in a low grin. At this point, the resistance to kiss her lips would probably be a battle already lost.

So you did.

You pecked her cheeks first, another one on the corner of her mouth, and then the other one for good measure. Peppering her kisses nonstop if you could. She can only laugh softly at your antics, loving the attention you give her.

And because your always motto is "to save the best for last" you took your precious time laying a long, slow kiss full on her lips. Her hands were eager to mess with your hair, deepening the kiss. You can feel the heat rising on your skin, her touches leaving trails of fire.

Not satisfied with the proximity, you pulled her closer. You even made your way to flip your positions, now pinning the redhead against the wall and a solid chest.

Her grip on your shirt tightens in such a way that she wants to pull it off you. At the back of your mind, you were aware that someone could walk in on you two almost eating each other's faces but you're usually clumsy brain was now foggier than you could remember as you were so busy latching your mouth against her neck and feeling Jessy tilting them to the side to give you better access. Her scent, warmth, and kisses consume you ent—

“Y/n?” You and Jessy froze. That was Phil’s voice!

The urgency in his voice was enough to cleanse your hazy mind, and without the overwhelming thoughts about your girlfriend which you may not guarantee wouldn't go past what is deemed to be inexplicit, you can now hear his voice clearer against the blasting music.

You only got a few seconds to detach yourself from a disappointed and irritated Jessy and fix your hair which she seems to love to mess with.

Despite the initial annoyance, the redhead still managed to have the audacity to flash you an amusing grin as she couldn't take her eyes off your already swollen lips, seemingly satisfied with her creation. And it's not like she's any better.

Sure, her hair's fine, but her lips are a bit bruised, too and there are patches of redness forming on the side of her neck courtesy of your mouth.

When Phil finally arrived inside the room, you managed to act like you were fixing your hair whilst Jessy was trying to fix her lipstick. From his point of view, it looks like you two were having the usual conversation and not shoving each other’s tongues down your throats five seconds ago.

"Did I interrupt something?" He questioned smugly, wanting to tease you but you weren't having any of it. You were too flustered to even function properly now.

"No," was Jessy’s quick reply, not trusting you to answer. She barely managed to hide her smile behind her own mirror.

Phil looks like he doesn’t believe that obvious lie and was excited to turn to you. "Man, you should have seen the pussy-ass bitch Normy and his girlfriend arguing at the parking lot. He was like ‘why the fuck did you kissed a random stranger?’ and Alica was like ‘Is it my fault Y/n is hot?’ and then he was like–" He wasn't able to continue his story as Jessy’s glare was so sharp, that it can dissect a living creature.

Her eyebrows were raised to the fullest and her gaze was unwavering, challenging her own brother to continue his story to the extent that she wouldn’t like where it would head.

If your blood earlier had rushed towards your cheeks, it now had drained the color on your face and you're practically choking on your own spit for the second time this night.

"– and I just want to say your drinks are ready. That's all." He finishes lamely.

You knew that's not what he was trying to say, but to save his life and maybe yours from the redhead’s wrath, he knew better than to continue his story.

"Oh, and Y/n?" You perked up from your sudden faux interest to the flickering sign of the comfort room down the hallway. Phil’s smirk returned full blast. "You got a little something here,” he motioned his fingers to his lips. “See you!"

Your hand flew faster than when Phil bolted out to grab Jessy’s mirror.

And to your horror, a thin line of smeared lipstick was visible at your bottom lip. It wasn’t noticeable enough to catch someone’s attention, but it is sure as hell noticeable enough for the likes of Phil. And he wouldn’t need to put two and two together to even know what you were doing earlier with his sister.

Jessy’s laughter came rumbling across your chest as she pulled you closer again.

And boy, you were right.

Tonight’s going to be a long night.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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