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#ethereality of women my beloved <3
mangoslixes · 2 years
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I drank every sky that I could
...the story unfolds as Hu Jundi expresses the poems in his heart through paint on cloth.
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sincerelywhistler · 1 year
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CEBALRAI
In the most recent channel anniversary trivia livestream, Erik mentioned he once upon a time ago had plans for a soft Sadism boyfriend character. This is my OC of said boy, Cebalrai!
More under the cut:
Here’s a Pinterest board that captures his vibes :)
And a Spotify playlist as well
• Cebalrai (pronounced as “SEB-all-rye”) often goes by 'Ceb' (still pronounced like "Seb”). Beta Ophiuchi, also named Cebalrai, is a star in the equatorial constellation of Ophiuchus. Ophiuchus is the canonical name of Gavin’s steward and I will SOMEHOW absolutely be incorporating that into his story k thanks
• He works for the Department in the mental health field as a psychotherapist, most often with Seers in specific. As a Sadism demon, he’s able to feed from his empowered clients' troubled emotions while counseling them during their personal healing journeys.
• Coincide with that Department role, he is a thread-cutter (a demon who is responsible for cutting the magical threads of empowered humans to Aria). Our beloved Seer, Morgan, stated that, "there very serious mental and emotional repercussions to a decision like [getting threads cut]; it is not one to be made lightly," (Learning About Your Magical Abilities From a Seer). It is Ceb's job to reassuringly assist empowered persons of whether or not cutting their threads is the best decision, subsequently severing their ties to magic in a comfortable setting should they choose to proceed. He’s a soft and gentle presence, a great fit for the job.
• He and Morgan are work buddies :)
• Ceb has a soft spot for humanity, being obsessed with human traditions, culture, history, psychology, so on. The prospect of being mortal fascinates him more than anything. If there’s a non-magic way of doing a task, he’ll take that route.
• Green witchy boi hehe
• TALL MAN!! HUGE BOY BUILT FOR GIVING HUGS THAT SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!!
• Baker of any and all things sweet
• The star's name literally translates to "dog of the shepard”. Reflecting this, Ceb, like a sheepdog/cattle-dog, has a natural inclination to guide people towards their sense of safety and belonging. Task-oriented and loyal until the end of time.
• He loves gardening! Talking to the plants puts his mind at ease. And because he doesn't need to feed his physical body with physical foods, he often gifts his home-grown produce and herbs away to his struggling patients and the few kind coworkers he knows.
• Probably smells like rain tbh
• Cannot do math to save his life
• If he’s not wearing cozy sweaters, he’s in the most ethereal attire because he’s extra like that
• Avid reader! Romance is his absolute favorite genre. But as sweet as he is, bro won't hesitate to go on tirades about how toxic or poorly the relationships in some books are portrayed. Colleen Hoover may be his worst enemy.
• Favorite book is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
• Hydrangea tattoos to symbolize grace and gratitude. Bein’ a Sadism Demon comes with a lot of baggage, man
• Main love languages are acts of service and quality time
• Lives a quiet life in a secluded, little cottage-like house out on the rural edge of town with his three corgis— LaVern, Maxine, and Patricia (aptly named after The Andrews Sisters, a female big-band & swing vocalist group popular in the 1930s-50s, aka my Ceb's favorite era of music).
• Will try to pet any animal. The opossums by his house know little peace. 
• Rabid for cherry vanilla coca-cola he is an addict
I've got whole documents pertaining to this big dummy, and you’ll be seeing much more of him in the future <3
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celticbotanart · 8 months
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*Squid Squidward wide awake meme* ALRIGHT, hear me out - I've been saying for a while how much Witcher 3 reminds me of the Brazilian countriside (more specific Minas Gerais). And ever since I had this madlad dream of a Brazilian Witcher except we called them Bruxeiros (the X here is pronounced like "SH" not like the American "X" - its kind of a meme here, kind of a "literal" PT-BR translation, it's complicated), and they fight Brazilian folklore badass stuff like Boitatá (fucking giant fire snake), Iaras (river mermaids) and un-curse women that became Mula Sem Cabeça (literally headless mules running around with fire coming out their necks). These are all some of our most well-known folklore for real, lol (HIGHLY recommend season 1 of Brazilian Netflix show Invisible City if you wanna see more! It's REALLY good!)
ANYWAY. I was in my kitchen making toast at midnight, when it occured to me. I had A VisionTM. Brazilian Witcher battle music would be like. Floral Fury.
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For those unfamiliar, this specific Cuphead theme is 200% oldschool Brazilian samba - yeah the "weird straw-against-plastic-lid" sound is an actual instrument, it's called cuíca lol "Nah, but this is too happy and cheerful", you say. Alright, you are correct, maybe it doesn't fit to be a battle theme for the Bruxeiros. HOW ABOUT SEPULTURA, THEN
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SEPULTURA, THE BRAZILIAN METAL BAND, who performed this song as soundtrack for the BR movie "Lisbela e o Prisioneiro" (one of my fucking faves btw), and it the theme song for Frederico Evandro, a character who's ruthless hitman ("Matador").
BRO. IMAGINE. The peaceful and colorfully bucolic countryside of Minas Gerais and you are there fighting a Brazilian Werewolf (cause they are different from the European werewolf, we have several types btw), with THAT playing as battle theme.
Another good contender is Break of Reality's rendition of "As Bachianas n5" by Villa-Lobos (guy was a badass proeminend classical music composer who loved to mix in Brazilian folk elements with the classical music sttuff, pissing off a lot of purists in the process lol, good for him)
"As Bachianas n5" is probably Villas' most famous piece, it's originally a GORGEOUS aria, classically sung in Brazilian Portuguese.
SEVERAL people covered this song, including Sandy from sibling duo Sandy & Junior (they were EXTREMELY POPULAR with kids and teens back in the 90s/early 2000s); also people from all around the world covered it. You get it, it's pretty legit and famous AF.
THEN came Break of Reality a few years ago
with THIS badass cover:
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LOOK.
THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE VERSIONS OF THIS SONG. I STAN THIS COVER SO HIGH. I LOVE how it is sweet and emotional, but it brings a totally different, new, raw aspect to it that is so strangely fitting to this song (I can't explain, it just is). I can easily imagine this in the Bruxeiro!AU as battle music, even more cause a lot of the og Witcher 3 OST is full of slavic folk music that doesn't even reflect the Battling of Monsters thing - "...Steel For Humans" is like, a song sung by girls on wedding/harvest festivals, lol.
ON THAT NOTE, I think we could end this crazy ass post by including some of the folk / afro-Brazilian culture as well, which is only fair, and add this one, which I LOVE, "Caxangá / Escravos de Jó" by Milton Nascimento (my beloved <3) and folk singer Clementina de Jesus:
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Milton is known to sing in high, ethereal vocalizations and extremely emotional lyrics. Guy is just A Fucking Legend fr. If there's a bard in my Bruxeiro!AU it's def Milton, I love his work so so so much! He's also known for mixing up influences from afro-brazilian culture, as you can see in here!
Stay tuned for more posts like this that can happen again at any moment or never again, lol
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noesapphic · 11 months
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A Glimpse of Us
Author’s Notes
This week was @lizzybeth1986​ ‘s birthday and I wanted to write her a little something for this! This isn’t much but it’s made with love <3. This explores my MC Eclipsa and Liam’s friendship, as well as a glimpse of Fabian and my TRM MC, Olive, and their platonic marriage. 
BTW, I made a few winks to several Renaissance queens in the fic, lmk if you spot them!! 
English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/ grammar mistakes
For better experience, listen to ‘A Glimpse of Us’ the song that inspired the fic 
Summary: A late visit to the museum makes Liam and Eclipsa have a heart-to-heart conversation 
Rating: G 
Word Count: 1.6k 
Pairing: King Liam Rys & Eclipsa Ice (TRR MC) & King Fabian Rys & Olive Aster (TRM MC) 
Category: Fluff, a small bit of angst 
Book: The Royal Romance, book three & The Royal Masquerade 
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When the security guard saw the new king enter the private collection of the Cordonian Museum, he was flabbergasted to say the least. Liam greeted him and told him he was expecting company and kindly asked for an hour so they wouldn’t be disturbed. The guard eagerly accepted.
He observed the section dedicated to the Cordonian Renaissance, marvelling at the many beautiful paintings and statues, among them a portrait of King Edward, who was then prince. He must’ve been at least five, and was dressed in adult garments of children. He had warm brown skin and soft features, not touched yet by time and royal training. He certainly resembled the queen. Historians of the century had now saved a few letters that revealed the magnificent queen’s true nature: like his Lipsa, she too had loved women, though hadn’t been lucky to love freely her beloved female guard, Kayden. He then observed a personal portrait of Queen Olive that had been revealed during the Regency era, in 1814 to be exact by his ancestor, King Lionel II, who, like many monarchs following Napoleon’s example, wanted to bring back the splendour of the Renaissance and Ancient Rome back by any means. The Queen in that portrait was in state of undress, only her dressing gown on, that was slowly falling from her shoulders. Her raven hair was down, and my, was it long! The curls went far away from the painter’s sight, and indeed, it had been said that Olive’s hair was so long, that during her coronation, she could sit on it. She had a small smile on her face, and fondness on her eyes. Unlike his ancestor, Liam knew that the King and Queen never loved one another. He had grown up with legends of the magnificent monarchs’ supposed love, joined by a strong sense of duty to the country.
Poor Olive had been the true power behind her reign over Cordonia, from 1600 to 1617, dying of a stroke at the age of 38. Fabian took the reins and ended Olive’s work. It had been a time of peace, but everyone agreed that the old king missed dearly his queen, and that nostalgia was passed on their only child, Edward, who followed into his parents’ footsteps. He then noticed a familiar figure behind him. His heart was beating faster and the hairs on the nape of his neck stirred. How long it’d take for him to stop reacting like this? She was a promised woman, for heaven’s sake! He couldn’t do this to Hana, who definitely deserved love and be loved back after all the neglect and suffering.
“When you look at the painting,” Eclipsa finally spoke “what do you see?”
“A bond between man and wife,” Liam smiled “a bond that surpasses many. The unification of duty and peace. And you, Eclipsa?”
He finally dared turning around, and saw her beautiful brown skin, basking in the moonlight, her warm brown eyes and her blonde hair. It was very unusual for someone to combine brown with blonde, but this was Eclipsa! If someone could make it look ethereal, that was her. Her eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips together, signs of concentration. Her nose also scrunched, and he wondered if Hana noticed it. He was sure she did.
“I see fondness and a certain intimacy. But… there’s something in her eyes that speaks to me. She appreciates and respects Fabian, but she cannot bring herself to love him as her husband. The sad glint in her eyes and the way her shoulders slump… I know the feeling.” She then looked at him and bit her lip “You and I… I adore you, and you’re the best man I’ve ever met, but we would’ve been miserable, Liam.”
He winced and closed his eyes “I—I know that now, Lipsa.”
She took his hand and he gasped “When you proposed, for a moment, I considered it. I closed my eyes and asked my head and heart to tell me what would happen if I said yes despite my heart’s cries. We would’ve worked, but—,”
“I would’ve made you miserable, you’d end up hating me and—,” He exhaled shakily “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. I’d rather be alone than hurting the woman I love the most on earth.”
She placed a hand on his cheek “There is no world or alternate universe where I would hate you, Liam Rys. You know that, right?”
He nodded, and both stared at the beautiful and deep painting. Liam looked back at Eclipsa and squeezed her hand “I hope that I am not in the way of you having your happily ever after.”
Eclipsa smiled and shook her head “Of course not. You are a part of my heart, Liam. You’re my best friend in the world, and my soulmate. I don’t know if you feel the same—,”
“I do. How could I not? I could marry seven times and none would have the place in my heart that you have, Lipsa.”
Eclipsa’s eyes softened and both stared at one another “I owe you so many things. I wish I could take back the pain I’ve caused you in your heart.”
“I’m not in pain, Eclipsa. It’s certainly not easy, but you’re not making me miserable. I promise, it’s not what you think. I will be alright. You ought to worry about having the best wedding, not fretting over a poor king.”
“That poor king is my friend, and I feel responsible for it. Don’t let my rejection ruin you and your best years. Promise me, once healed, you’ll give it a chance.” She was squeezing his hands and looking at him in the eyes “Liam, I beg you.”
“I will.”
They hugged, and he closed his eyes, basking into her perfume and forgetting for once the weight in his heart since the words spoken by the woman hugging him pierced his heart.
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23rd of March, 1610
Olive closed her eyes, basking into the morning sunlight, warm and welcoming. She could hear her son training outside, and the brush of her husband touching the canvas. She looked back at Fabian, who was biting his lip in concentration. They locked eyes and he teasingly said “Do not move or I’ll end up giving you a nose the size of Sardinia!”
They both laughed. Olive looked again through the window, where Kayden taught Edward how to do a good stance. They locked eyes and she smiled at her, and Kayden’s eyes softened at the sight of her queen.
“Ahem. Olive?” Fabian called. Olive looked back at him and raised her eyebrows in question “I had been wondering… had I been a woman, would you… have given me a chance?”
Olive chuckled and nodded negatively “Woman or not, my heart is Kayden’s. Not even Aphrodite herself would’ve made me change my mind about her.” She sighed “Sometimes I hate the way God created me. I wish I could rip off my poor, needy heart and let my head reign.”
Fabian left the easel and placed his hands on her shoulders “I remember a wise woman told me once that love, passion and devotion are a part of the human experience, and that to love and be loved back was the reason she had endured for so long.” He squeezed her shoulders “You are a wonderful woman; kind, devout, passionate, intelligent, and with a heart of gold. Kayden, Cordonia, and I are thankful that you are here in our lives. We wouldn’t want you any other way.”
Tears rolled down Olive’s cheeks and Fabian embraced his wife, and she asked between sobs “Do I make you miserable, Fabian?”
He wiped her tears and smiled “Never, Olive. I’ve yet to find a woman like yourself in my lifetime. I knew what I was doing when I proposed this arrangement, and I would do it again. Not many men can say they’ve married their best friend. If so, I should be asking you if I make you miserable.”
“Of course not, Fabian. No matter how many times my mind wanders, I wouldn’t take back my decision. I know I did well. Duty is sacrifice, is it not?”
Fabian smiled and arranged a wild strand of hair on Olive’s face “Just promise me you’ll allow yourself to have some joy with her. You’re the best queen we’ve had in a while, and I can handle the kingdom well until you get back.”
Olive kissed his cheek “I will think of such generous offer. Now, get back to painting, Your Majesty.”
“As you command, my queen.” He laughed.
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Back in the present, when Eclipsa broke apart, she whispered “If it helps, I don’t think Olive was that miserable. They seemed to have a strong bond and a better relationship than many of their descendants. Besides, it’d be impossible to be unhappy by your side, Liam.”
Liam smiled for a brief moment “Thank you. It means the world to me, Eclipsa.”
She was about to say something when a big yawn came to her and she covered her mouth. They both looked at one another before breaking into laughter “Good Lord,” Liam laughed “it’s nearly two in the morning. We ought to go back before anyone worries.”
Eclipsa checked her phone and giggled “Bertrand’s already had seven aneurysms.”
They laughed again. He, too, had missing calls from Bastien and Drake, which made them get out of the museum and both parted ways. Liam looked back at Eclipsa’s black clothes vanishing from his sights and smiled for a brief moment. Maybe his romantic feelings would go away, but he was sure that he’d love her in another way for a very, very long time.
Maybe they had been meant to meet and have a jolly good time, but he was not Fabian, and she was not Olive, but what he lived and felt made him relate to the 500-year-old king very much, catching in his marriage a glimpse of them.
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angyvalentine · 1 year
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Reunited, at least for a while
Summary: "Leaving the center of the city behind him, he encouraged his steed to go at full gallop, at least for the short distance toward his home. He expected to see Lysandra in the garden with Calliope, perhaps the chaos of their arrival warned his wife of his incoming return. It was late in the afternoon, but surely his baby girl was still outside playing and enjoying the last rays of sun of the day before dinner.
Instead, nor Lysandra nor Calliope were anywhere to be seen."
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Ares is nowhere to be seen for now (shooooooo!), so here's some fluff (and a bit of angst of course) with Kratos and his first beloved family. I may add some fanart later, who knows!
Words count: 5.3k+
Pairing: Kratos x Lysandra
A/N: So - uhm- here we go again! It took me ages to finish it since I kept adding and rewriting stuff, not to speak about researches. Honestly? As much as I enjoyed GoW2018 (still waiting for Ragnarok on PC), I really think that Lysandra and Calliope deserve more love. Like, A LOT (that's why I'm quite glad I found artists like @bittybonbon and @the-shy-artisan, at least I've someone who can understand me lmao). They deserved to be happy. So here I am, writing stuff (hopefully decent one!) and drawing a lot about them (even if I'm slow like a sloth :°D) =w= I apologize for any mistake, English isn't my first language ;-;
Note: I know that during the games we mostly hear Calliope call Kratos "Father", but in the first game, in the final illusion, she calls him "Daddy" (even "papa" in the second novel). And giving her age in this piece, I prefer to stick with it.
A side note about Kratos: while we mostly know him as a cold man that actually let himself go in Ragnarok, we should remember a bit of details from the comics and Ascension too: beside the fact that he challenged the Gods to save his daughter, in the comics he touches Lysandra quite often - especially holding. What about Ascension? Beside the (in)famous illusion, we can see that he held his wife's hand when he collapsed after killing her and Calliope. The man loved physical contact with his beloved ones, prove me wrong.
Read it on AO3! - I'd love to know what you think about it :3
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Another battle.
Another conquest.
Another victory.
Leading back his army toward Sparta, Kratos felt good.
That one had been a good raid. No losses, no one of his men injured. Their target surely hadn’t been a great village but the resources it had could have been useful for Sparta. Still, the lord of that pathetic town pleaded to be spared, they’d have accepted Sparta’s supremacy over them. Slavery in Spartans kitchens would have been way better than death by his soldiers’s hands - but if there was something that Kratos hated, it was cowardice. That old fool was dead even before finishing his pathetic pleas. That day, heads fell like leaves in that warm autumn.
Behind him, his soldiers rode exchanging brief chatters – some remembering particular victims, sadistically laughing at their fear shortly before their deaths, some others were way more eager to come back to their women.
Kratos tightened the grip on the sack he held in his fist, treasures and gems hidden in it. He wasn’t really interested in the spoils he took from the defeated’s treasure-houses, and he well knew that Lysandra had no lust for them either. She always told him she didn’t care for gems and jewels – she just wanted him to come back home to her. He would have left them in the hands of his superiors.
And yet… he found a ring. A ring with a blue stone – was that Azurite? Funny, since they considered it related to Athena - mounted into a silvery omega symbol. Lysandra often wore blue dresses, and that hue was nice on her pale skin and dark hair. When he saw her for the first time she was dancing in the middle of the Geronos, her body hidden by blue veils, and he thought she was somehow embraced by the waves of the sea. He was a warrior, but he could recognize ethereal elegance when it danced so clearly in front of his eyes.
Not to mention that they thought clear blue had the power to keep evil away. He wouldn’t have let anything in the whole world hurt his family, he was sure of it. But, well… the stone wouldn’t have done any harm. And the symbol was so related to who he was – war itself, death for his enemies. That ring was a perfect representation of their union – he deeply loved his wife, there was no doubt about that – and he held her close to his heart just like that silvery omega held the stone mounted. It was the only jewel he actually chose to keep, and it was safe in a pouch tied to his belt.
He wouldn’t have said it loud, but he was eager to see his family again. Maybe that fool Ajax would have had to wait to have his wife in his arms sooner that the day after (or maybe he wasn’t so willing to share her again like before?), but Kratos knew that his Lysandra was waiting for him, and him only. He internally smirked, already tasting her lips moulding against his own and the warmth of her body in his arms.
And of course, he wanted to see his little Calliope. She was growing so fast into an almost-carbon copy of her mother - she had Lysandra's sweetness and soft dark curls on her head. But her eyes – oh, her eyes are golden like his ones. So similar to the pure amber made from the Heliades’ tears.
When he left for that campaign she was still learning how to properly run, still a bit uncertain on her chubby short legs despite being barely two years old. She was a little bursting ball of energy, there was apparently nothing that could stop her from exploring and gaining little bits of independency, day by day – it was something that really made him proud of his daughter. And even if he was sorry to miss all of her earlier steps in life, he had duties as a Captain of Sparta’s army, may them be the daily trainings in the fields, or the campaigns that lasted months. He had had to wait until she was asleep to depart for that raid, because the poor thing had started crying her eyes out clinging to his leg at his first attempt to leave.
They were nearby the settlements little far from Sparta. He squeezed the horse’s sides between his legs and clicked his tongue, making it sprint at full speed and lifting clouds of dust. His soldiers quickly followed him, roars in the air that in the city were welcomed like fine music. In the distance, Kratos could see the crowd gathering to welcome back the victorious army. He could hear them praise him and his companions and send praises the deities who were watching over them, granting the valorous soldiers another victory. Instructors pointed at them to the younger boys, showing them how they should have become in the future – strong, fearless, ready to do anything to bring glory to their city.
He pulled the reins to make the horse slow down into a gentle trot, before stopping in front of the king who was waiting for them with the royal guard. Dismounting from his horse, he put down the sack and knelt in front of the king, offering him the spoils of the raid.
«You never fail to show the worth of your troops, Kratos.» The older man said, looking with proud at the captain and his soldiers behind him «Our city is grateful for the honour you brought us once again. May you all go to rest now, as tomorrow will bring us all another day to prove our worth.»
More praises were shouted from the crowd, and that felt good. And he was eager to conquer even more, to show that he and his companions could have bought even more glory to their city. As he mounted again on his horse, Kratos could see the women impatiently waiting for their husbands to rejoin them in the warmth of their homes. He dismissed his soldiers, whom didn’t waste a second to search for the respective wives. With a slight flick of his head he took leave to the king and gently nudged his horse with the heel of a foot to start his depart.
He totally ignored the whores who kept calling and inviting him in the brothel, unlike some of his men who didn’t have anyone that was waiting for them at home. The days when he took countless women to his bed were long gone and he was perfectly fine with it.
Leaving the center of the city behind him, he encouraged his steed to go at full gallop, at least for the short distance toward his home. He expected to see Lysandra in the garden with Calliope, perhaps the chaos of their arrival warned his wife of his incoming return. It was late in the afternoon, but surely his baby girl was still outside playing and enjoying the last rays of sun of the day before dinner.
Instead, nor Lysandra nor Calliope were anywhere to be seen. The door was closed just like the curtains on the windows. For a moment he thought he maybe missed them in the crowd, or maybe they didn’t come across on the road. But he could see smoke coming up from the chimney, he was sure they were both in there. Yanking the reins, he quickly dismounted and tied the horse to a big ring on the garden wall, rushing toward the door. Still no noises from inside, nor voices.
He hesitated for a moment, before gently pushing it open. The light inside was quite dim, with just the fireplace lit. Kratos was about to call for his wife, when he saw her silently padding out of Calliope’s bedroom, careful to quietly close the door. He had yet to see her face, but the posture itself suggested how exhausted she was – hopefully, only due to Calliope’s vivacity. But even the hair she normally kept down her back was tied in a messy bun, and he knew how much she liked to take care of her hair. She gasped when she noticed his hulking figure in the middle of the room, and froze for a moment. He didn’t get the chance to say anything before she walked to him, gently cupping his face in her hands.
«You are finally back, my love.» She murmured, rubbing her thumbs on his cheeks and searching for his amber eyes «Are you all right? You are not injured, are you?»
«I am fine, Lysandra.» He said, softly taking her hands and kissing her knuckles «But you…»
«I am fine as well, Kratos.» She quickly dismissed his worries, lowering her gaze. She leaned forward his chest, resting her forehead on his armor and letting out a sigh «Now that you are here, it will be better.»
Kratos rested his hands on her hips, his lips brushed on her hair while speaking. «Where is Calliope?»
Before his wife could actually answer him, rough coughs could be heard from their daughter’s bedroom. Lysandra tensed for a moment, then rushed to get a clean cloth from one of the cabinets and went back into the room.
Kratos followed her, stopping at the doorstep to watch her knelt at the side of the bed, where Calliope was resting nestled under a fleecy lamb’s-wool blanket. He heard Lysandra encouraging the child to spit on the cloth, before gently wiping her lips and moving some curls from her eyes.
«Your father is back, sweetie.» She murmured, moving to the side to reveal Kratos’s figure behind her.
Calliope looked at him with glassy eyes, unhappy that she didn’t have the strength to run into her father’s arms to welcome him back. After his depart, and countless weeping on Lysandra’s lap, she had just hoped to see him again as soon as possible -  her mother had explained her that he didn’t leave to his normal trainings, and Calliope wasn’t used not seeing him at home for such long time.
«Daddy…» her voice was broken from the soreness in her throat, and she moved a bit under the blanket as to reach for him.
Lysandra got up to move and make some room for Kratos, who took her place by their daughter’s side. He gently stroked her cheek, feeling Calliope’s hand grabbing his to keep him in place.
«How are you feeling, my child?» he spoke with a low voice, as if a louder tone could bother her.
«It hurts.» she whined, placing her other hand on her throat «I want to go out and play with you, daddy.»
«You will do. When you will feel better.» Kratos rubbed his thumb on her warm skin, softly scratching the nape under her curls. He waited until he saw her closing her eyes, before turning around to look at his wife behind him «How long has she been like this?»
«Almost a week, by now.» Lysandra replied with a tired sigh.
She took a couple of steps back, inviting him to follow her in the kitchen to let Calliope rest. Kratos leaned forward to kiss his daughter’s cheek before assuring to be back soon, and got up with a grunt from his chest.
When he reached Lysandra, she was busy boiling some water by the hearth. He could see how nervous she was, even just by the fact that she kept stirring the water with a wood spoon – and he perfectly knew why.
Lysandra was a strong woman, sweet and calm, and she deeply loved her family. She had loved their child from the very first moment the healer had told her she was pregnant – and he remembered how scared she was when the midwives told her the child was sick, meant to be brought to the council – meant to be killed, because she was ill, weak – and there was no place for weak ones in Sparta. She had collapsed from the birthing table, naked, dirty, in pain and unstable on her legs, demanding to see her newborn, begging her husband to do something even if she knew they couldn’t break the laws. She had almost cried when she saw her baby, how small and cute she was despite her flush skin being scarred with fistulas and red spots. But the worst was seeing the soldiers of the royal guard bursting into their home, demanding to surrender Calliope to them – Kratos even had tried to defend them both, his sword unsheathed and ready to fight anyone who would ever dare to lift a finger on their daughter. But they had taken her, cruelly tearing the crying baby away from her arms, despite giving Kratos the chance to find the ambrosia that could have cured her.
She had spent weeks alone waiting, trying to heal, praying that her husband could come back in time to save their little Calliope. It had been pure agony looking at the empty crib that Kratos had previously built for their child.
Nonetheless…
She had seen the young boy throwing her baby off the cliff on the mount Taygetos. And she thought she would have died of heartbreak in that moment, almost collapsing from relief when she had seen Kratos flying on the back of a Roc with their baby, safe and still alive, in his arms.
For many nights after that day, Kratos had woken up in the middle of the night feeling her side of the bed barely warm. He knew that Lysandra had to get up to breastfeed Calliope, but she always took too long to come back to him. And after a couple of nights, he had discovered why – he always had found her on a chair in Calliope’s bedroom, the baby soundly asleep in her arms under her mother’s gaze. It was like she wasn’t aware of his presence, her gaze empty despite being fixed on her child. She didn’t even care to cover her breast, letting Calliope sleep with her face pressed on it – and he always knelt by her side, softly inviting her to come back to their bed.
«She is safe now, Lysandra.» Was what he always told her, gently brushing his wife’s cheek with his index finger «Nothing will hurt her ever again.»
«She will heal, Lysandra.» He said, holding her shoulders in his big hands «You know that no one will take her ever again.»
What a deja-vu. It was like she was stuck in those moments, her mind trapped in those nights she spent holding the newborn in her arms, fearing she might suddenly disappear once again.
«I know.» She lifted her chin, blinking her eyelids to stop those frustrated tears «I know, Kratos. Bad colds like this can happen, and she is a strong child. It is just… sometimes bad memories come back when I less expect them. Not much Spartan-ish for the wife of the greatest Captain of the city, am I right?» she let out a humourless chuckle, slightly turning her head to look at him.
He sniggered, mumbling in her hair «Indeed. But I would not want you any different.»
She sighed with a smile on her lips, before pointing at a jar on a shelf nearby «Would you mind passing it to me, please? The healer suggested me to brew linden tea for Calliope, it should help her healing faster.»
Kratos did as he was told, observing his wife pouring the boiling water in a cup. There was something familiar in that act, something that was buried in his childhood memories. Memories of a long lost past, when there were just him, Deimos, and their mother Callisto.
«Linseeds.» he said, getting a perplexed look from the woman in front of him «My mother always prepared linseed poultice for my brother, when he was sick. It should be useful as well.»
He rushed out of the door before Lysandra could ask him to go get some. She heard him spur his steed, its hoofs loud on the stone path. Collecting the cup she just prepared for Calliope, she cautiously walked back into the bedroom just to find her daughter looking at her.
«Where is daddy?» she immediately asked, fearing he could have left again without a goodbye.
«He just went to get something good for your health, sweetie. He will be back soon.» Lysandra helped her getting sit, bringing the cup near her pouted lips «There, your tea. Sweet like you.»
The little girl sipped slowly, her tiny hands on her mother’s ones. She coughed a couple of times, yet she was pleased to feel her throat and tummy warming up thanks to the beverage. She gladly accepted the spoon of honey that Lysandra was handing out to her, swallowing it in a single gulp.
Lysandra wrapped the cup in a cloth, so Calliope wouldn’t get her hands burned, and got up to retrieve a big, soft towel –the one she used for Calliope when she would take baths. While the communal baths were built right adjacent to the gymnasia, ready for everyone to enjoy vapor baths, they recreated a smaller one in their own bathroom. A smaller fireplace warmed up the room, bowls of water could be used with essential oils. And such treatment was something the healer suggested Lysandra to try on Calliope – peppermint would have helped her breathing better, as well the warm steam in the room. It was a short ritual, yet a nice one for both of them.
She was about to take her child to the bathroom, when they both heard Kratos coming back from the city. He dropped a bag full of linseeds on the kitchen table and reached the hearth, to check if there was still enough water in the pot. She noticed that, after all of that, he was still clad in his battle armour – and looking for a moment at her daughter, she suggested him to take the bath with their little girl. She knew Calliope wanted to spend as much time as possible with her father, even in her poor condition. Said child quietly waited near the fireplace while Lysandra helped Kratos unfastening his cuirass, the belt left already on the floor.
The armour was heavy in her hands, still dirty from the battle and the travels, but Kratos quickly dismissed her concerns – he would have cleaned it later. She left it on its stand, collecting the belt as well to place it on the shoulder of the cuirass. That’s when she noticed the pouch tied on it, and she shot him a puzzled look – it was quite unusual for him to keep stuff from his raids, but her husband was giving her his back, bended to pick up Calliope who didn’t waste a second to hug his neck and nuzzle her face on it.
He carefully sat in the tub holding his daughter close to his chest, before placing her on his lap. Kneeling beside them, Lysandra used her own headband to tie Calliope’s hair so to keep it dry, and thankfully the child let her do the job – in contrast to when she was way healthier, and loved to play with her mother in the water.
«You know what the healer said, Calliope.» Lysandra said, placing two towels near the fireplace to warm them up, as well the bowl with water and essential oils «Breath deeply, sweetie.»
The warmth in the room was making the child a little drowsy. She tried to find a more comfortable position on her father’s lap, still doing as her mother instructed. She looked so small on Kratos’s chest, even compared to his hand that was slowly rubbing her back up and down.
Even if Lysandra knew how much Kratos loved their daughter, it still almost brought her to joyful tears how such a hulking, bloodthirst warrior could be also so sweet and gentle with his baby girl. He never cared that his wife didn’t give birth to a boy, when the city itself hoped for more young, strong warriors for its army – he had loved Calliope from the very beginning. He had even challenged the gods themselves to save her, got his hands dirty with blood, even Spartan blood, to accomplish his mission. And here he was, tired after his return from war campaign, humming the same lullaby she so often sang to her newborn, with the now grow up child almost asleep on his chest. Lysandra focused on the scene in front of her, trying to imprint it on her mind – the gentle lapping of the water in the tub, the crackling of the fire, and their little family finally together. She sadly knew that would have been a rare occasion.
When Calliope started coughing again, she quickly put a cloth near her mouth while Kratos tapped – careful to limit his strength – her back. Throwing the rag away, Lysandra wrapped her in the warm towel, sitting near the fireplace to dry her and change her into a fresh tunic, while her husband finished to wash himself. Smirking to himself, he was well aware that Lysandra wouldn’t have welcomed him between the sheets if he was still dirty and smelly of blood and dust.
«Take your time.» she said, picking up the child and walking toward the door «I have yet to prepare dinner.»
«Daddy told me we can have bawley cakes.» Calliope looked briefly at her father in the tub and then at her mother, hope shining in her amber eyes «With honey.».
«Oh? He said he wants the barley ones?» Lysandra gave her an amused look, correcting her «Does he want to eat all of your honey too?»
«Not all, no.» she hid her face in her mother’s neck «I need it too.»
«But your father is such a big man, he needs to eat a lot, sweetie.» she raised an eyebrow, looking at Kratos who decided to play along.
«Your mother is right, Calliope.» he said, an unusual light tone in his voice «I need to eat a lot to stay this big and strong, and to protect both of you.»
«No need!» she squeaked, horrified at the though of losing all of her precious honey. Not even the cough stopped her «Mom is strong too. You can have two spoons of honey.»
«Two only?».
«Two.» she showed him just her index finger. Seeing her father raising an eyebrow, as if he was waiting for something more – inviting her to think – she added the thumb too.
Lysandra laughed heartfully, kissing her cheek and bringing her out, closing the door behind them to keep the room warm. They went back to Calliope’s room, where her mother made her lie on her bed while she’d busy herself in preparing the linseeds. It didn’t take her long and, when the seeds were ready, she carefully wrapped them in a linen cloth and placed it on Calliope’s chest. It was a new thing for her, it felt strange at first and she played with the jelly feeling inside the compress, moving the seeds around the cloth. She barely lift her head when she heard Kratos getting out of the bathroom, warm steam lifting from his heated skin, and peeped both of her parents sharing a hug – oh well, it was her dad hugging her mother, his arms were so massive that she could barely see Lysandra’s frame. A hand of hers lifted to caress his arm and they stayed there, in silence.
When Kratos was home, her mother was happier – she was a child, but she could see the difference. It was as if his presence could soothe Lysandra’s soul. She of course was happy as well, she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her daddy. She wanted to attend festivals with both her parents and clap her hands while both her and her father would watch Lysandra dancing with the other girls in the ritual dances. A new fit of coughs stopped her thoughts, and she saw Kratos getting closer to her. She spat again in the cloth he put under her mouth – she was so tired of that disgusting thing! – and grabbed his hand to keep him close. He sat on the floor, his features relaxed while looking at his daughter.
«I love you, daddy.» she smiled under the blanket, holding his hand in both of her ones and rubbing her cheek against it.
«Me as well, little one.» a rare smile lifted a corner of his mouth «Your mother and you are the reason I keep fighting. To keep both of you safe.».
----
The silence was very comfortable while they dined. The bread was freshly-baked, the barley soup warmed their tummies, and Calliope got to have her much-loved barley cakes. She watched carefully as Kratos made a show of getting a third spoon of honey, smirking while helping himself.
«You said two.» she mumbled, counting on her fingers and showing him thumb and index ones.
«You said two, Calliope.» he replied with a smile, the spoon still over the jar «Not me.»
The child was left speechless, while she considered in silence his answer. He could almost see the gears in her brain processing the whole scene, and she showed him again the fingers.
«Two. Mom said it will help me grow big and strong.».
«It will indeed, yes.»
«So I need to eat it.» she looked at her dish, where she had some leftovers of the barley soup, and pieces of her portion of cake. She took one of those, passing it to her father «You can have this.»
Kratos let the spoon fall into the jar, gently pushing back her hand with a smile «Worry not, little one. I am fine right now, enjoy your cake and honey.».
Lysandra looked at her child with a faint smile on her lips. Despite being so adamant about not giving more honey than necessary, she was still willing to share something she loved as much. Seeing her husband poking his daughter's nose to remove crumbles and honey, she knew that she needed to hold those moments close to her heart, for times when darkness would have threated to stick her mind in horrible memories.
---
It took a fair amount of time to put Calliope to bed. She was so happy to have her father home that sleeping was almost a waste of time, for her. Kratos had to promise again and again that he’d have cooked tiganites – like, a lot of tiganites – for her breakfast, and that he would have spent the whole day with her, playing or riding his horse in the fields. She held close her rag doll while Kratos bended to kiss her forehead and bid her goodnight.
Just before reaching Lysandra in their bedroom, he remembered the pouch still tied to his armour belt. He retrieved it, opening the lace and letting the ring fall onto his palm. The blue stone shined with the fire of the hearth, and Kratos took a moment to stare at it. It was perfect for his wife.
He closed his fist, hiding it, and turned around toward the room where Lysandra was waiting for him. He found her at her small toilet, busy detangling her hair before getting to bed. The light chiton she used to sleep left half of her back completely bare, much for his pleasure. She met his gaze in the mirror, smirking at his reflection.
«Seeing something you like?» she said, getting up with calculated movements.
She was his personal siren, the most beautiful creature he ever met in the whole wide world – and she was his, and his only.
He sat on the bed, grabbing her waist when she got within his reach. She felt there was something hard between her side and his palm, yet she got distracted when he started dragging her down with him, forcing her to quickly grasping on his shoulders for support. She stared down at her husband, he was looking at her with such intensity that it was like he was trying to pry into her soul. She felt one of his hands rubbing her back up and down, and she was surprised he didn’t even try to squeeze her rear.
«Under other circumstances, I would have loved you all night long.» he murmured, moving her hair from her eyes «But you need to rest. I’ll take care of Calliope if she’ll need anything.»
«Are you sure?» slowly, Lysandra laid down on his side, her head on his chest while she traced the crimson tattoo on his pec with a finger «You just came back from war.»
«The worst one was inside here.» Kratos gently poked her forehead, cradling her in a protective hug «I am not that blind that I will not admit it.».
She hid a smile against his skin, circling his torso – at least, trying to - to hug him. She was glad to have another proof that, under the brutish façade, there was a man that was trying to be considerate as well. Peeping at his face, she saw how uncharacteristically his features were relaxed, no trace of his usual scowl.
They stayed in silence for a while, and Kratos thought that Lysandra was collapsed from exhaustion, before hearing her voice again.
«Will you tell me what are you hiding in your fist?» she murmured, lifting her gaze to meet his one.
Kratos moved his hand from under the pillow, looking for a moment at his closed fist before searching for his wife’s hand with his free one. Lysandra let him move her arm, until he brought her hand in front of his face. Carefully, he put the jewel on her ring finger and waited for her reaction. And by the lack of any comment, he knew she was pretty much surprised. She was looking at the ring, examining it carefully – especially the omega symbol. But the fact that she was smiling was a good thing, he thought.
«Did it remind you of us?» she asked, leaning toward him to kiss his jaw.
He hummed in response, tightening his hold on her side. When he heard her chuckling he lowered his gaze on her, perplexed.
«It’s just funny how much you’re devoted to the rules of our kings, yet we broke so many of them just with our marriage.» she said, caressing his chest «You didn’t make me cut my hair.»
«You did. A bit.» he retorted, staring at the ceiling – he knew how right she was.
«I should have cut it short. I just cut it less than a span.»
«But you loved your long hair. It suited you better.»
«Do you remember what you told me during our wedding night?»
«… “let us do it again”.»
«What? Not that!» she playfully hit his chest, her cheeks turning crimson while he snickered at her expenses.
«I told you I wanted to see the sunrise with you. And we did so.»
«… Indeed. Instead of dropping me home and hurrying back to the barracks.»
Again, he knew she was absolutely right. But loving her that night had filled the emptiness he had felt inside himself for such a long time, he wouldn’t have even hoped to find some relief from it. No amount of battles, nor sex with random women could satisfy him anymore. Theirs, instead, had been pure harmony of bodies and souls. Of course, once found, he didn’t want to let her go.
Strangely, it was hard for him to say it loud. He just hoped Lysandra could actually feel how sincere his love for her was.
Kratos squeezed her in a hug, pressing his lips in her hair.
«Sleep now. Or morning will come before we know it.» he mumbled, holding her close.
Lysandra smiled again, finding a comfortable position pressed on her husband’s side and hiding a yawn against his pec. She finally felt safe, able to enjoy a nice night of sleep, knowing that he was watching over them both. That at least for a while, their family was finally reunited.
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bisexualjohnnycage · 2 years
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1 2 3 for my beloved Lady Xuna
Hello, my darling Goose! Thank you so so much for the ask! I really got into it under the cut because you gave me the opportunity to discuss two-years worth of thought that goes into Lady Xuna’s design and why she is significant to me. For this I say, thank you for the ask, dear friend. You are most precious. ^_^
(Answered 1 and 3 right here!)
2. Why does your oc look the way they do? What are your reasons for their appearance?
OKAY SO! A FEW NOTES BEFORE I BEGIN! This is REALLY long because this is stuff I’ve always thought about but never mentioned! I will not be arguing with anyone over the subjects I go over in this, so if you want to drop into my DMs to undermine me or be racist, fuck off. ^_^
One more thing, I speak about femininity and womanhood a lot in this since thats a very important thing when explaining Lady Xuna’s design. Just a reminder; Lady Xuna is in fact bigender and identifies as both man and woman (she uses she/her pronouns). Okay, on to the design deep-dive!
To start off, I designed Lady Xuna to be a latina woman and I gave her all the ethnic features that I usually see erased, ignored, or ridiculed in media because I wanted to make her beautiful in a non-eurocentric way. Her design is important, even down to the small details. And each and every design choice was made to contradict the way latinas are poorly portrayed by media. I wanted to design a character that was ethereal and divine and stunning in the way I find the women in my culture, in my family, to be ethereal and stunning. Its why I take major offense when I see her white washed or drawn incorrectly. With that said, on to the explanations! >:-)
Hair and face:
I gave Lady Xuna a purposefully ethnic appearance so that there would be no doubt that she is, in fact, a person of color. Her nose is crooked and the bridge of her nose has a noticeable bump to it, her lips are shapely and big (and kissable because omg I want to kiss her so bad), her eyes are designed to be wide and full of life, and her brows are thick and dark. I wanted her face to look unique and mature. So I gave her crows feet, laugh lines, and eyebags in her design since I enjoy making older OCs. Her hair is very naturally wavy, almost spiky, and I draw it that way to show she is an unstoppable force but in control of herself always. Its why she wears a ponytail - it is pulled away from her face to show she is orderly and proper, but her hair itself is untamed and is beautiful because of that.
Skin and scars:
There’s a huge colorism issue when it comes to ethnic characters and how they are portrayed. I won’t get too into it, but often times when a character is of ethnic origin, their skin will either be severely lightened (if you want an example look at literally ANY anime with a POC character/M*rvel/D*sney and the way they portray dark skin characters in the MCU/literally any American media that portrays latinos) OR, even worse, the only time they’ll have dark skin is to present them as “villainous” or “evil”. Its because of this horrible idea that lightness=good and darkness=bad in media, and its colonizer connotations, that I decided to give Xuna a purposefully dark skin tone.
Its a color so rich with undertones of warm colors because she’s a warm and positive character! She brings joy into any room she walks into, and her skin matches that same idea as it almost has a glow to it. Her skin is a rich and dark color, one that I find gorgeous and that exemplifies the way she shines like the sun. Her scars, in contrast, serve a different purpose moreso for her narrative. Her scars are symbols of what she’s faced in life and both originate from the same event - the one that caused her rebirth and her worse trauma. They are slash/stab wounds caused by the crooked dagger of her mother, whom Xuna had to defeat. This is a VERY important event that impacts the very core of Xuna’s character and it is why her scars are so noticeable and important.
Height and build:
This one is more influenced by the misogynistic ideas of femininity present in fighting games than anything else. Its a thing that MK (and a LOT of other games) does where it will present its male kombatants as bulky and muscular, but will refrain from applying those same aspects to its female kombatants, instead portraying women as slim and shapely (in a purposefully sexualizing manner) ONLY. I could go into this but I won’t because thats a whole other post related to a lot of intersecting ideas. But me? I HATE this trend, which is why I always draw canon characters and my OCs with huge, war-machine muscles regardless of gender. For Lady Xuna, its the same thing. I hate that women “have” to be portrayed as slim and lean in order to be considered “athletic/appealing” for the [majority] straight and male intended audience.
So Lady Xuna is an unapologetically muscular and strong character and it is important to her role and her authority...She also happens to be very curvy because I wanted her to be, there’s no deeper reason for that part lol. Lady Xuna also happens to be tall for a different and admittedly funny reason though. I made her 6′7 (originally 5′8, this woman has GROWN) because I myself am 4′11 and I wanted to make her tall and imposing the way I can’t be asdfgh-
Outfit, gear, and color scheme:
Her outfit is intended to resemble armor, it is majority black and gold, with several layers to protect during kombat. I made her default outfit to be very regal-looking to express her position in Earthrealm, it appears almost civilian to represent the fact that she is a pacifist, and I wanted it to be flowy in certain aspects to show off during battles and in my drawings. The color scheme is intended to inspire a feeling of warmth and respect, the color gold represents wealth, positivity, and joy just like her. The color black exemplifies authority, beauty, and regality.
One thing I want to draw attention to is her skirts: A thing I hate in games is when female characters wear dresses or mini-skirts since it is often only used to pander to the [usually] male audience. I decided to give Lady Xuna her skirts for different and significantly more personal reasons. 1) The lore reason is so that others cannot predict what moves she will make because prediction is a huge aspect of her character and 2) to represent her regality, femininity, and as a soft gesture to her culture as the skirts are meant to take on similar appearances to baile folkloric dresses. ^_^
***
I know this is a really long answer to an admittedly simple ask, however I really wanted to bring attention to the amount of detail that comes into EVERY aspect about Lady Xuna, this is also very surface-level explanations as well. I joke often but Lady Xuna means a lot to me, moreso than most people probably assume. She is my first and most favorite OC, and I’ve put months amount of work into her. Every part of her is precisely crafted by me, and she is significant to me as a latin person as she is a reflection of myself, my culture, and my people. I ask that those who read this are respectable of this. Thank you for reading!! ^_^
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dr-drckken · 1 year
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Day 30: Character Wishlist
1. Dr. Doofenshmirtz: ALSO putting doof on my list because i think having him on multiple lists really speaks for how much his ass needs to BE HERE. begging, pleading, down on my knees. look people, what do I need to do to convince someone to get Doofenshmirtz!! He’s literally the best cartoon dead known to humanity AND he’s a mad scientist. We could be the best of friends, chopping it up on the block. Talking about lab safety! Complaining about how hard it is to find a good lab assistant! I’m not Anya, I don’t have his daughter to entice you with, but I do have his predecessor in funny little cartoon scientists in a beloved children’s show. The point of a disneyrp is for the crossovers and this could be THE crossover.  AND if you use nick cage his could be us: https://thyla.tumblr.com/post/702286691264872448/pedrohub-the-unbearable-weight-of-massive-talent
2. Jackson Storm: i know he was voiced by armie hammer and that’s weird, but like pls. Join that Cars hive! I think he could be a fun addition. We’ve seen the mean girl trope before but let’s talk about a mean GUY! which….yeah we have also seen before, but since it’s being done for my personal benefit i think that’s totally fine and welcome and im giving you permission. I know the mean jock boy has plagued the world, but I ALSO KNOW that with the world that has been created here at swynrp, that the cliche could actually be fun instead of annoying.
3. Mike and Sully: putting them back on here because they have not left my mind since last year kids and at this point they probably never will. Only thing keeping me from getting one is that fact that they wouldn’t have their buddy and thankfully my brain won’t allow one to live while the other is not there. 
4. Eda Clawthorne: The only thing keeping me from getting Eda at any given point is that I would love to write with her, but like I would also love to WRITE her and fjdskajfdksl it’s a very frustrating position to be in you know. She’s just such a good character!! I love her! She adopts people left and right! She’s funny! She’s powerful! She’s got a funny little demon deal to grapple with! Her sister is here!! AAGHH! Begging someone to get her before I give in besties. 
5. Cruella de Vil: I just think she’s neat. And by neat I mean unhinged and possibly one of the worst Disney villains out there lmfao. but that’s what I like about her. I think more women should be able to be mean and evil and commit atrocities. We’ve had our time with the Order Boys (and knife girl) in the hunting ring, but I just think it’s time that a new villain clan takes the spotlight. 
6. Arawn Prydain: ….that being said, I also think we need some less than nice sorcerers hanging around. There’s a few in the open characters tag, but since we’ve got Eilonwy and Taran hanging out I think Arawn would be a good addition to the ranks. Plus with all our #spooky gang characters, a baddie necromancer would be fun to see adding to the mix.
7. Granmamare: I think we should have more merfolk in GENERAL so I’m going to advocate for a QUEEN because, like, come on now, how fun is that. An ethereal lady wandering the town and trying to find like minded people to bring back home to run off the poachers? That’s a fun plot. I like it. I think she should be here, being everyone’s mom. 
8. Scuttle: We’ve got a lot of business owners around town! Some new, some old, but who we do NOT have is the antique shop owner with all his little merfolk friends. I SIMPLY THINK it would be fun to have the kinda kooky, very fun, very well meaning, very bad singer, Scuttle come join us down in Swynlake Town. both because that’s my boss! he could have some really cool stories/shit to say about the stuff he sells! and another business owner to spice things up! what’s his perspective on everything? if he EVEN HAS ONE
9. Winnie the Pooh: I just think this one is really funny. COULD BE TRAGIC IDK, there’s always something a bit tragic about winnie the pooh but still. let’s get this cutie in here! a guy who used to be a literal stuffed animal?? must give the best hugs in town. and this town could use them. and if he doesn’t wear crop tops then idk maybe you shouldn’t be playing him actually. just a thought.
10. The Recess Gang: doing a 5 in 1! I really like the recess kids’ skeletons and think they should all be here, having a grand old time. Whether that be in secondary or even in the uni. There’s nothing like a core group of friends just making their way through life together despite the different paths that they came from to this point. They’re all different but that’s what makes their dynamic work baby!! 
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readyplayerhobi · 3 years
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Flower | 40 | End
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; Hoseok x Reader
; Genre: Fluff, angst
; Word Count: 6.9k
; Warnings: Slight anxiety attack, mentions of panic, slight body issues
; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?
; A/N: So...this is it 😢 Flower is officially over! I started writing this on November 15th, 2019. Almost a year later, here we are with 40 chapters, 3 drabbles and 180k of words. Can you believe I actually finished it? I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it and the journey of the MC finding herself and falling in love with Hoseok. It’s been so fun to write and it’s sad to let it go. If you’ve enjoyed reading this, please let me know with a comment or an ask! I’ve loved reading how much you’ve all felt seen or embraced by the MC with her struggles and I’d love to hear your thoughts on not only this chapter but the whole fic! Feedback is what keeps authors going and I came very close to leaving writing once Flower was finished but I’m still going to carry on. I’m not sure if this chapter is good or not, but I hope you enjoy it anyway and think it a fitting end to the story!
; Flower Masterpost
-
“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...walk down the aisle. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, Hoseok could not be there or I could have a heart attack and drop down dead. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of my issues, I wouldn’t have to worry about everyone watching me. On the other hand...I’m going to marry the love of my life. As long as he turns up” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers in the room, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself.
It was a good job, as it meant that no one else in the room could hear your panicked thoughts that were being verbalised. Hoseok and you had decided to get married at an exquisite mansion hotel with the ceremony itself being in the elegant gardens outside. There was a full-sized maze alongside a stunning fountain, the centrepiece being a marble depiction of Aphrodite rising from the shallows.
You’d taken a walk around the perfectly groomed gardens the night before, taking in all the decorations that you’d painstakingly picked out over the months that had been artfully arranged by the staff. The flowers in the gardens were beautiful, a smorgasbord of pinks, oranges, violets, reds and yellows that brought the whole area to life. Alongside it looking visually perfect, it also smelled amazing as well with the soft scent of different flowers mixing.
At night, the tiny fairy lights that had been strung up around the building front and the metal trellises that were organised in the garden gave off a soft, golden glow. It made the whole place look ethereal and you were excited for everyone else to get to see it during the reception tonight.
The actual wedding ceremony was scheduled to start at two in the afternoon, with only friends and family invited for that. It would be outside as well, with Hoseok and you standing at the end of a make-shift aisle on the lawn section of the hotel’s garden. Temporary chairs had been arranged on both sides for your guests, dark wood with ivory silk draped over everyone. At the end of the aisle, each chair had a silk bow in ivory and deep purple alongside a bouquet of specially arranged flowers. 
It all looked perfect and you’d marvelled at it yesterday, amazed that they’d managed to bring your vision to life. Now all you had to do was walk down it and get married, which was where you were a little panicked.
The room that had been assigned to the bridal party was on the lower floor of the hotel, reducing the risk of you potentially killing yourself by tripping over your dress while walking down the stairs. It was technically two hotel rooms connected through a shared bathroom, which you found bizarre.
Your mom and Hoseok’s mom had taken the other room for their use to get changed, the hairdresser and makeup artist they’d hired working there to make them look their best for the ceremony. Even now, you could hear them chattering and laughing away with each other. Even through your anxiety, you can’t help but smile as you hear them get on so well.
Any fears you’d had about them not liking each other had quickly disappeared. Instead, they’d become good friends and liked to meet up now and then to have a talk over coffee or something. It pleased you to see your mom getting to have more friends.
Eden and Amelia had also chosen to get ready in that room, not wanting to crowd the one you were in too much. It was already full of dresses and a ridiculous amount of makeup and hair product with only four of you so you couldn’t even imagine the chaos with five of you.
In your room was Soyeon, Chungha and Dahyun alongside you. Dahyun was currently three months pregnant, having successfully been inseminated with Jungkook’s sperm. He’d agreed to their request and after a few months of getting prepared for the attempts, Dahyun had undergone the procedure. What it had been exactly, you didn’t know because you hadn’t felt it was your business to pry into something like that.
It was a privilege to even know they were trying before anyone else. Their announcement had come at your bachelorette party when Dahyun had refused alcohol, immediately leading Soyeon and you to be suspicious. You’d never seen Chungha’s beloved ever turn down a drink so it had been a clear sign of something at least.
Needless to say, your party had happily become a celebration of their impending baby. Thankfully, you weren’t one of those people who got overly annoyed at others announcing things at events. Or at least, not big events. Your bachelorette party had been a perfect time to find out, whereas you might not have been so amenable if they’d told everyone today instead.
That was normal though, right? Today was your day. Yours and Hoseok’s. People who felt the need to co-opt special days like that were a special type of self-absorbed in your opinion.
Given it was so early into her pregnancy, Dahyun isn't showing that much. Which meant her bridesmaid dress hadn’t needed to be altered too much. None of them has gotten into their dresses just yet, instead currently in the process of getting their face and hair done. Chungha’s hair has already been done, elegantly styled into a beautiful updo with a few tendrils curled around her face.
The makeup for the girls was a smokey eye with subtle blush and contour, alongside a neutral lip. It wasn’t anything flashy, but you’d loved the concept of it all. Particularly with the small and delicate crystals that dotted along their waterline, adding a little sparkle to match the tiny crystals on their deep violet dresses.
As a present to each of them, you’d bought them a gift set from Pandora. In each one was a pair of dainty stud earrings with a heart design alongside a matching heart-shaped pendant necklace. All the hearts were encrusted with brilliant-cut stones, making the perfect gift that could be used again in the future for casual use.
They’d all been in awe of it and surprised at being given presents as well. You hadn’t even known it was a thing until you’d looked up wedding preparation online, discovering that you should also buy something for Hoseok. Which had led to you buying him the fancy watch he’d been drooling over for months now. It had been eye-watering expensive, but it had been worth it for his excited text this morning.
Along with the watch, you’d also written him a letter. It was meant to be light-hearted and fun, but you’d ended up writing way too much as you’d poured out your love to him alongside everything you felt for him. To your eternal embarrassment, you’d ended up crying while writing it as you’d told him everything you’d never been able to vocalise, including writing possibly a million times that you love him.
He’d been instructed to not read that until just before the ceremony.
His present to you was a gaming table, which might not seem to be very sentimental to anyone else but you’d been ecstatic over it. For years now, you’d been saying that you wanted to buy a proper table that was designed for board games and that could then be used as a normal table when converted. They were super expensive so you’d resigned yourself to never getting one, but he’d printed out the receipt of what he’d ordered and put it into an envelope for you to open tonight.
Neither of you had ever been a traditional couple, and that certainly wasn’t about to change with marriage.
“Hey, you okay?” Amelia asks, interrupting your intense thought process as she sits down next to you. As usual, her aura is warm and reassuring as she reaches over to gently squeeze at your hand. You don’t spend a huge amount of time around her, but you knew both Eden and her enough to want them in your bridal party.
“Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m just…” Trailing off, you struggle to find the right words and instead gesture towards the air. It makes no sense but you can’t quite figure out what you’re trying to say. Mainly because you can’t figure out what your mind is thinking.
“It’s okay to be worried, don’t feel like you shouldn’t be. If you’re anxious or nervous then that’s okay as well. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should be feeling, just feel what you are. Trust Hoseok, trust yourself and all your family and friends. We’re all here for you and we want you to have the best day possible. Tell us if anything is wrong, okay? I have no doubt that Chungha and Soyeon would strong-arm everyone into whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable.” She says, smirking as she nods over to the two women who are chattering away in their respective chairs.
“I know, I know. I’m trying. It’s just...god, everyone is going to be staring at me and I hate being the centre of attention,” Looking down at your hands, you chew at your lips. “What if I mess up the vows? Or I freeze or drop the ring?”
“Hey, it’s normal to feel that. I doubt there’s anyone who’s gotten married who wasn’t at least a little bit anxious about messing something up. Yes, everyone is here to watch you, but they’re for Hoseok too. I’m sure he’s just as worried that he might make a mistake, and if you do then, so what? It’s not going to ruin anything, it just means your human. If anything, people will probably find it endearing. The only person you should concern yourself with is Hoseok, and I doubt there’s anything you could do today to ruin the day for him. Unless you don’t go.” Amelia laughs when you give a shocked gasp, jaw-dropping open and eyes wide.
“I would never do that! But what if he decides he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” Now the worry that had wiggled itself deep inside your mind comes to the fore and you find yourself almost whispering the words. It feels like a betrayal to Hoseok for even thinking he’d do that, but you can’t help the fear.
You must not have been quite enough though as Chungha speaks up, facing you in her chair with a stern expression on her face as she wags her finger. “Lady, do not think that. I don’t want that thought to even enter your head. As if Jung Hoseok is ever going to back out now. I think that man would’ve eloped with you if you’d asked instead. He’s going to be standing at the end of that aisle, probably bawling like a baby.”
“Maybe not that far.” This is from Eden, who’s laid out on the bed in the centre of the room, playing Zelda on her Switch. She’d had her makeup done earlier and is now waiting for the hairdresser to be free while Amelia is waiting for her makeup. All of you had decided that you’d be last to get ready to make sure that everything looked as fresh as possible.
“Want to bet? That man is gonna be sobbing.” This starts up a whole ten-minute discussion about whether or not Hoseok was going to cry at seeing you. Namjoon hadn’t cried but Jimin had during their weddings, surprising no one. But Namjoon had cried at the birth of his daughter.
You weren’t sure, to be honest. Hoseok didn’t cry all that often and you could probably count on one hand how many times you’d seen it over four years. On top of that, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to see him crying. It made your chest hurt when he did and you always ended up crying too.
Something about seeing strong and proud men cry was just heartbreaking to you. 
For a while, you just sit back and let the conversation wash over you as they all debate and borderline argue, intensely amongst themselves. They’d all switched around now and they’ll soon start getting into their bridesmaid’s dresses, which meant you’d be finally getting ready.
Your nails had been done the night before with a beautiful design in the same colour scheme as the wedding. They looked so pretty and elegant, which was a surprise to you every time you looked at them as you never really bothered doing your nails. While you liked to do fancy makeup looks now and then to post onto social media, nails were not something you were interested in.
Maybe you should reassess that thought.
“Anyway, what we’re all trying, and failing, to say is that Hoseok loves you and if he doesn’t cry then he’s crying inside at how beautiful you are.” Soyeon states firmly, sitting next to you and admiring your nails as well. All the bridesmaids had the same style to keep the theme going and she wiggled her fingers with a bright smile.
“I’m not even ready yet, you don’t know if I’ll be beautiful.”
There’s dead silence in the room after the comment, with even the hairdresser and makeup artist turning to stare at you. Between the six other women in the room, you’re pretty sure that they’ve got every emotion from shock to annoyance to incredulity covered. Feeling yourself get warm at their attention, you look down to your lap in embarrassment.
Obviously, the wrong thing to say.
“Okay, we’re going to ignore that you just said that. You don’t need to be dolled up and in a wedding dress to be beautiful, it’s just going to enhance what you already have. And I don’t want any arguments on that.” Poking your side lightly, you playfully wince at Soyeon as she scolds you. Everyone else is nodding along solemnly before they carry on with whatever they’d been doing.
“Seriously though, I overheard your conversation with Amelia. She’s right. Embrace your feelings but don’t let them overwhelm you. Standing in front of a crowd is nerve-wracking for anyone, but you’ve got the love of your life standing there with you. Just focus on Hoseok, he’ll get you through it. He always has, right?” Soyeon said.
Giving her a half-smile, you nod and do a remarkably good job of looking like a scolded child or something. You know it’s just because she loves you that she doesn’t want you to berate yourself, along with the fact that she knows what you’re like. If someone doesn’t verbally acknowledge your problems then you’ll just obsess over them.
Your phone screen lights up in your lap before it begins to vibrate suddenly, Hoseok’s name visible on the screen. Frowning down at it, you wonder why he’s calling before a multitude of emotions and thoughts runs through your mind.
“Go take it in the bathroom.” Pulling you up, Soyeon practically pushes you into the bathroom before giving you a smile and a thumbs-up as she closes the door.
Seeing the other door is also open, you peek out and let everyone in that room know that you’d be using the bathroom for a few minutes and to not come in. Once you get the acknowledgement, you close and lock it as well before pushing up to sit on the counter.
“Hobi! Why are you calling?” Leaning back against the mirror, you frown deeply as you question him. The first response is just his familiar deep chuckle, the sound already helping to soothe some of your frayed nerves.
“Amelia texted Joon, who told me. I don’t want you to stress yourself out! Not today, today’s meant to be a happy day. No stress. Or anxiety.” Snorting, you roll your eyes as you trace an invisible design onto your thigh.
“Sure, like that’s gonna happen. You know me. And why are you calling? We’re not meant to see each other until the wedding, it’s bad luck!” There’s a brief pause and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes, the deep sigh he lets out telling you all you need to know.
“Meeps, I’m pretty sure that only counts for physically seeing each other. I can’t see you right now. I don’t recall anything about not being allowed to hear you, or talk to you. Besides, we make our luck.” He sounds so nonchalant and now it’s your turn to sigh at him.
“You’re going to get us hit by lightning or something.”
“Impossible, the weather schedule for today is meant to be sunny with a little bit of cloud later on. Nice warm temperatures that aren’t too hot but also not too cold. Perfect. No lightning.” His immediate rebuttal has you laughing, unable to stay mad at him for too long. Not when he’s trying so hard to take your mind off things.
“Seriously though, are you okay? What are you worried about? Talk to me.” Hoseok asks, his voice calm and steady as he stops joking around. There’s a brief moment of resistance, the thought that you don’t want to bother him with your silly thoughts or annoying emotions before you remember that you can trust him. No matter how ridiculous it sounds in your head, Hoseok will listen and he won’t make fun of you.
“I’m just...scared. Of all the people. Like, they’re going to be watching me or staring. What if I look fat or ugly? Or I fuck up saying the vows? Or I drop the ring or my dress splits or something? Or if I trip down the aisle?! Or if you decide you don’t want to marry me anymore?” As you begin to reel off the questions that have been plaguing your mind, you can feel your chest getting a little tighter and your breathing shallower.
With the practised ease of someone who’s dealt with your panic attacks over the years, Hoseok makes calming and reassuring noises over the phone until you’re silent. Just listening to him, you take in the comforting words as he lets you know that you’re okay and everything is fine. Finally, once he thinks you’re calm enough, he carries on.
“Meeps, that’s fine. Don’t be upset that you’re having those thoughts. I’ve had every one of those thoughts today as well. I mean...not the dress one. Substitute that for pants splitting or something, which is even more embarrassing because my underwear is not black today. But the point I’m trying to make here is that it’s normal to have those thoughts today. I’d probably be more worried if you weren’t having them.” He pauses to laugh before you hear shuffling noises.
There’s no doubt he’s probably not even getting into his tuxedo just yet and you curse the fact that men take far less time to get ready than women. He’ll probably only start like...an hour before the ceremony begins or something.
“But all I’ll say is, it doesn’t matter if anything goes wrong because we’ll fix it. You and me, just like always. You won’t look fat or ugly because you’re neither fat nor ugly anyway, instead, you’ll be the most beautiful woman here. Which you always are to me but don’t let my mom hear me tell you that. And I’m going to be standing at the end of the aisle, I promise you that. I’m the one who proposed to you and I will be there, waiting for you. That’s one thing I can assure you of completely.” Hoseok says this firmly, his voice perhaps more serious than you’ve ever heard it before.
You can practically feel his determination to make you understand that he’s going to be there. That he’s going to marry you today, no matter what happens. It makes your heart swell with love and emotion, causing you to press your hand against your mouth.
Hoseok takes your silence as a positive, choosing to let it carry on for a little longer before speaking once more.
“I love you, Meeps. And by the end of today, you’re going to be my wife. We’re going to have a great day with a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception before probably going to bed drunk. Or at least, I’m going to be drunk. Not entirely sure if I’ll be able to take you to Poundtown tonight-”
“Don’t ever say that again.” 
“But if not tonight then definitely tomorrow. Unless you don’t want me to drink, in which case probably tonight if you’re up for it.” Shaking your head, you can’t help but smile at his stupid comments. He always knew how to cheer you up, even if it was with the most ridiculous thing you’d heard today.
“You can drink, I’m not going to make you sober throughout the entire reception. I want you to have fun with everyone, so if you end up drunk then that’s fine. Just don’t go overboard.”
“Choosing to ignore my Poundtown comments, I see.” 
“Jung Hoseok, I am going to hang up now. I will see you later, okay?”
“Okay. Love you.” Feeling a little shy, you murmur your next words into the phone.
“Love you too.”
-
The ceremony is officially about to start and you stare at the open door, knowing that outside all your guests are waiting. Not only that, but Hoseok is at the end of the aisle. You’d been reassured by everyone there who had peeked out to make sure, quelling your fears and worries.
All the groomsmen had come inside upon finding out you were here, lining themselves up alongside their specified bridesmaid partners and chatting away happily. They all looked incredibly handsome in their suits, the colours matching the bridesmaids perfectly and you felt a little pride at having thought of a good colour scheme.
Your mom is fussing around you, making sure that your dress looks perfect and that your bouquet hasn’t fallen apart or anything. Sighing, you gently push her hands away as she tries once more to move your necklace.
All of them had given you something as part of the tradition for the bride. Dahyun had lent you a beautiful Cartier bracelet, glowing with diamonds, as part of the ‘something borrowed’ while Chungha had bought you diamond earrings for the ‘something new’. Your mom had given you the bracelet she’d worn for her wedding, now occupying your other wrist and Hoseok’s mom had provided the necklace adorning your neck.
It was a beautiful silver necklace with a dainty leaf design, leading to the main piece in the centre which was dotted with tiny diamonds. Each leaf spreading out had either amethyst or an aquamarine gem in alternating order. She’d ordered it specially made for your wedding, matching your engagement ring with the gems and fulfilling the ‘something blue’.
You’d been amazed at everything they’d given you, understanding now why they’d all told you now to buy any jewellery for the day. They’d all decided to make sure you had everything you needed anyway.
But you knew that your mom’s need to keep straightening out your dress or brushing away unseen dust was just to keep herself preoccupied. She’d already cried once when you’d come out in your wedding dress, makeup and hair all done. That had earned her an exasperated sigh from the makeup artist.
“Mom, mom, come on,” You coo to her, smiling before taking her hands and squeezing. “You gotta go out there, go get your place.” 
She hesitates for a moment, unwilling to leave you before nodding. After a few words of reassurance from her to you, telling you that you’re going to do well and it’s all going to go fine, she turns and hugs your dad tightly before kissing him. You’d feel embarrassed at the sight of it, never quite being comfortable with your parents' displays of affection, but it just causes you to laugh softly.
Once she’s out the door, you hear the music begin from outside, the notes flowing through the door faintly. Everyone inside quietens and you can almost feel the excitement ramp up. It just makes you feel more nervous though, particularly when they start to head out in their pairs slowly.
“Are you ready?” Your dad asks, his eyes already going glassy with tears as his lip wobbles slightly. Giving him a concerned look, you immediately reach up to wipe the tears as they start to fall, feeling your heartbreak at the sight of your dad crying. He never cried.
“Dad! Don’t cry, oh my god. I’m sorry.” Cleaning up his face quickly, you’re stopped by the gentle way he grasps your wrists. For a moment, you think that he’s going to push you away but instead, he pulls you closer and carefully hugs you.
It’s a little awkward as you’re trying not to ruin the carefully done hair and makeup, but you can’t deny your dad a hug. Especially when you’d never really been much of a hugger growing up. You would be cruel to deny him one, especially on your wedding day. Your parents were feeling emotional that their little girl was getting married today.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just your old dad getting sappy. You look so beautiful. Hoseok is so lucky, you better remind him of that every day.” He’s pulled back now, giving you the softest smile that is still a little watery. His hands move to your shoulders and he stands back to examine you fully, his eyes taking in everything.
Before you can respond to him, Yoongi is disappearing out of the door and heading towards the aisle. He’s alone, as you’d planned, but in one hand is the bouquet that Hoseok’s sister would’ve held had she still been alive. It had been his suggestion to hold it, symbolising the family member that Hoseok didn’t have anymore and you’d been more than willing to agree.
You wondered what Hoseok thought when he saw it as neither of you had told him that Yoongi would be holding it. Hopefully, he was happy with it, along with his parents.
Turning back to you, your dad squeezes your shoulders reassuringly before smiling at you. Ironically, all it does is make you more nervous as you realise that now you’re the one who’s going to have to walk down that aisle next. 
“Come on, it’s time to make your fiancé cry.” His words in a teasing tone, your dad turns to face the door before offering you his arm. Standing there, you stare at him before looking at the door with trepidation. Nerves roil in your stomach as you hear the faint sound of music playing, knowing that everyone out there is waiting for you.
Which in turn means everyone will be staring at you.
Those nerves quickly turn to anxiety and your breath comes faster, chest feeling a little constricted by the tight bodice of the dress. Without even realising it, your hands start to shake and the bouquet in them shudders visibly.
Quickly, your dad takes the bouquet from you to make sure that you don’t accidentally deflower them or crush the stems. The last thing you needed was to ruin your perfect bouquet only minutes before you were supposed to walk down the aisle.
It frees up your hands and you find yourself flapping them as you stress, trying to shake out the negative emotions as you pant. Your dad’s eyes widen, obviously panicking himself at your obvious distress. He’s never had to deal with you struggling like this before and he doesn’t know what to do but his paternal instincts kick in quickly.
“Hey, come on, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe. Take a big breath in, come on, that’s it. Not let it out slowly. And again, that’s right.” Talking to you in his comforting voice, tone level and low, you follow his instructions and start to feel a little calmer as you force yourself to calm your breathing. It’s hard, and you still feel the anxiety but it feels a little more manageable now.
Closing your eyes, you run through all the tips your therapist had given you for how to cope with anxiety attacks. What worked for you was to sing in your head, the lyrics, whatever song you were loving lately. It probably takes longer than you’d have liked but finally you feel like you can cope with your emotions enough to carry on.
When you open your eyes again, your dad is giving you an expectant, yet worried, look. Shaking your hands once more, you reach out and take the bouquet from him before taking a deep breath. Linking your arm through his, you straighten your shoulders and lift your chin before smiling at him.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”
-
Walking down the aisle is surprisingly less stressful than you’d imagined. The famous wedding song plays through the air as you walk slowly and the whole atmosphere feels almost like a fairytale. The soft lights twinkle even in the daylight while the gentle, warm breeze makes the ribbons on the chairs flutter delicately.
Along the floor, the white and purple rose petals that Namjoon’s daughter had spread in her role as flower girl were strewn haphazardly. A few of them caught the breeze and rolled delicately to a new place, making it seem like the floor was consistently changing. You liked it, smiling at the sight of how beautiful everything looked.
Everyone was staring at you, as you’d expected, but surprisingly it wasn’t as intimidating as you’d thought. You didn’t exactly enjoy it but it wasn’t terrible. Probably because you were more focused on initially admiring how perfect everything looked. How months and months of thought and money had finally accumulated into the perfect wedding.
But mostly, you weren’t as bothered by the staring because you were focused on the end of the aisle. There was no real altar here, given that it was being held at a hotel and everything, but the metal garden arch at the end had been decorated in delicate flowers, ribbons and lights to make an even better end.
And beneath it stood Hoseok.
If you’d ever thought Hoseok looked handsome before then it paled in comparison to him today. His black tuxedo made him look tall and slim, every part of him looking perfectly put together and elegant. The deep purple waistcoat beneath his jacket contrasted with the white of his shirt perfectly; the colour combination making his skin almost glow with health and happiness.
There was only the slightest hint of tattoos at the edge of his collar, leaving to the imagination the artwork he had permanently on his body beneath his clothes but you didn’t need to imagine. You’d seen them all, traced them delicately into your memory over the years until you could point out where they were without even seeing them.
Finally reaching him, you paused to look at your dad and gave him a bright smile of gratitude before giving him a second hug. This one was a little tighter than before and when you let go of him, you saw that he was crying once more. He didn’t give your hand to Hoseok, instead just gave him a stern look while trying to surreptitiously wipe away his tears.
“You look after her, Jung Hoseok. You make sure she’s the happiest woman.” There’s iron in his voice, telling Hoseok that it wasn’t a question but more a command. But there’s also love and affection in it, something Hoseok can tell as well by the way he nods his head.
Handing your bouquet to Chungha, you take Hoseok’s proffered hand. Up close, you can take in the details of his face better and you take a moment to simply admire him and imprint him into your memory.
The sides of his head had been shaven, the undercut short and seen with the style he’d chosen to wear today. His hair had been styled back, pushed away from his forehead. It was a look that had made you weak in the knees many times over the years and you’d practically begged him to have it for the wedding, knowing that he’d blow everyone’s mind with how handsome he looked.
Hoseok had a face that looked like it had been hand-carved by the gods from the finest marble anyway and this hairstyle showed off all the highlights of his face. The high cheekbones that made his smiles so animated, his cutting jawline, the clean slope of his nose, the heart-shaped smile that lit his entire face and the dimples that made him seem so human. 
His lip ring was still in, the silver shining in the sunlight. He’d been unsure whether to wear it but you’d told him to embrace himself and keep it. You’d fallen in love with him as he was, and you wanted him to show himself how you saw him. Which included his piercings and tattoos.
Your heart clenched though when you looked into his eyes finally. Hoseok’s eyes were one of your favourite things about him. The crescents they turned into when he smiled brightly, pushed into the shape by his cheeks and the way his eyes could practically dance with delight when he was happy.
Today though, those beautiful and expressive eyes were watery with tears. The wet streak on his cheek told you that he’d already had some of them fall and you frowned at the sight of them. Everyone had been right; Hoseok had cried upon seeing you down the aisle.
“Baby.” You whisper, unsure if you’re meant to talk to him. Deciding you don’t care, you reach up to wipe away the tears and smile when he kisses the palm of your hand before nuzzling into it, uncaring of everyone else.
“Meeps, you look perfect. I read your letter, I love you too.” Before you can stop him, he’s leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. There’s a murmur in the crowd, alongside some laughter and he looks over at everyone with a raised brow.
No one says anything though and he gets a satisfied look, ignoring your shy expression as you turn away from everyone.
“You’re not supposed to do that.” Keeping your voice low, you give a hesitant smile to the official who will be taking you both through your ceremony. Hoseok lets out a snort of laughter as he squeezes your hand tight, letting his thumb run along the back of your hand lovingly.
“I don’t care. It’s our wedding, I’ll do what I want.” And before you can stop him, he turns you and gives you another kiss, this one lingering a little longer. Eyes widening, you can’t help but giggle as you hear yet more laughter.
You should be annoyed at him, but you know he’s a force of nature. Plus, you don’t care. It feels nice to know he can’t help himself.
“Okay, let’s get married, Meeps.” He grins at you before facing the officiant once more. Staring at him a moment longer, you smile at him and nod.
“Let’s get married.”
-
Hobi Hobi,
We’re getting married today! Are you excited? I hope you’re reading this when I told you to, if not then you’re cheating >:[ it feels weird to write a letter. I don’t even know if I’ve ever done this before, so I’m sorry if it sounds really cheesy and lame. What do people write in these normally? I’m just going to write what comes to mind so if it ends up sappy then you’re not allowed to tease me later about it. 
Anyway, I want you to know that I’m sorry that I suck so much at telling you how I feel and my emotions. I wish I could be one of those people who’s telling you every moment how handsome you are and how much I love you but I can’t. I’m sorry :( I’m trying, I swear! Even if I don’t get to tell you as often as you deserve, I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world.
Don’t ever forget that, okay? Even when we’re arguing over something silly or we go to bed mad at each other, don’t forget that. I know we’re pretty good at talking things out but there’s always that chance that we could have a big blowout. So I want you to remember that I love you. 
I’m still not entirely sure what I did to deserve you, but I don’t regret sending you that message. If anything, I think I should send the Flower team a big bunch of flowers or something for creating the algorithm that brought you up as a match. Imagine if it hadn’t and I’d just deleted the app, we’d have never met and I’d still be lonely and sad.
But we did meet, and I took a chance on you by sending you that embarrassing message. And then you took a chance by actually meeting up with me and going on that date. I still remember it, and I don’t know if I ever told you but I still have the ticket for the escape room. I know you still have yours in your wallet :) Thank you for giving me your time, even if I wasn’t your type. I hope I’m your type now.
I’m not sure that I will ever be able to tell you how important you are to me. Not only myself but my life. You’ve helped me to embrace myself and learn to love myself over the years through kindness. I know my limits in terms of my mental health now and you’ve helped to support me with the medication and the therapist. Neither of those were things I’d been comfortable with doing before your encouragement. But you also gave me a safe space to break down in; somewhere that I knew I could be at my most vulnerable mentally without having to risk being hurt even more.
You held me when I cried, you comforted me when I panicked and you calmed my anxiety over the years. I can never thank you enough for helping me to understand that these aren’t deficiencies and I’m not broken. I just need a little help to get through things sometimes. At the same time, I hope that I’ve become that safe space for you as well. I know that you’re not as emotional as I am, but I feel that you’ve opened up to me about things that hurt you. I’ll keep your secrets safe and I’ll always be here for you!
I hope you’re happy with your life now. With me, and our home and our furbabies. I hope you stay happy, and if you don’t then talk to me. Please. I don’t want us to ever realise that we’re making each other unhappy and I don’t want to ever be the reason for negativity. I want to spend the rest of my life with you in our little home, growing old together as we play board games and dote on our animals while you increase your tattoo collection even more. I know that people like to say that they can’t imagine their lives with their significant other, but I really do feel like that.
My life without you would be hollow and monochrome, as you bring colour to my world and fill it with joy and happiness. I’ve never laughed as much as I have these last few years with you and I know we’ll keep that in our relationship if we try hard. 
I don’t really know where this letter is going and I’m babbling now. But I guess the main thing is just that I can’t wait to marry you. It may not be very feminist of me but I can’t wait to take your name and be your wife. I can’t wait to call you my husband. I’m going to be terrified in the ceremony and so nervous but I’ll be happy too, I promise! I still can’t believe that you picked me, out of all the women you’ve seen, to be your girlfriend and then decided that you wanted to marry me.
Jung Hoseok, I solemnly swear to treasure you for the rest of your life and make sure you know how much I love you. I might not be able to tell you all that much, but I’ll show you. I’ll make you smile and laugh, I’ll buy you things that make me think of you, I’ll hug you tight and cuddle you until you’re complaining.
So in case it wasn’t obvious enough, I love you. I just want you to know because I know I suck at telling you, like I said. I’m also bad at writing letters but what’s new? I’ll finish this off quickly so you’re not spending too long reading this. Don’t want to make you late for our wedding after all.
I love you. I love you, Jung Hoseok. I love you, Hobi. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Lots and lots and lots of love, your soon to be wife <333333
425 notes · View notes
rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years
Text
heart of gold (chapter four)
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pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)
warnings: allen being a weirdo as usual, fluff, angst and friendship :’)
words: 4.3k
summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.
author’s note: folks!! this took a lot longer to write for a number of different reasons but hey!! it’s here now :) not much to say in this one cause i don’t wanna spoil, but if anyone has any theories, feedback or suggestions please let me know! hope you enjoy <333
chapters: 1 | 2 | 3
masterlist
playlist
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“Dear angel, I hope you are faring well. This note, unlike the rest, is rather short. I felt I should be quick, and frank, too. If you happen to find yourself at the Bennett manor for the upcoming ball, I will be present as well. Perhaps, if fate allows it, we may meet, finally. I will be wearing a silver gown, with chiffon detailing. Look for me, and I will do the same. Forever yours, stranger.”
Stunned silence fills the elegant dressing room as Robert reads the short letter over once more, his fingers tracing the letters as though the action would reveal a devastating brand of trickery. For all intents and purposes, however, the letter seemed to be perfectly earnest; a fact that Bonzo, sitting next to him with a cigarette dangling from his lips, enjoyed reminding him of.
“Robert, she wants to meet with you. You want to meet with her. We must go to the ball. I’ll even help you pick out a suit,” he drawls, lazily throwing his head back against the plush cushioned chair as he gazes over at Robert. “I am convinced this is the longest you’ve gone without talking, to be quite honest.”
The blond sat unmoving, eyes never straying from the slip of paper clenched in his hands. He hasn’t spoken a word since reading it, and his eyes roam over each line as though he was unable to fully take in the words that flow across the page. Slowly, the man's eyes raise from the letter, meeting Bonzo’s as shock swims in the cerulean pools.
“Bonzo.”
“Ah, he speaks!”
“She wants to…”
“Meet you? Yes, she does,” Bonzo finishes the man’s sentence with a hearty chuckle, and his arm raises to pat Robert on the arm. The chestnut-haired man continues, shaking his head at the blond’s nervous antics. “We need to find you a suit; an expensive one, at that. The Bennett’s are just short of nobility after all. We might have to cut your hair, too.”
“What? Why would we do that?” The blond’s hands fly towards the tips of his golden ringlets almost unconsciously, and he cards long fingers through them. Uncertainty is painted upon his handsome face, and Bonzo smirks, a chuckle leaving his mouth.
“Just because you’re an actor, Robert, does not mean you need to look like one. Long hair signifies that you’re loose. Easy, if you will. Even if it does have a kernel of truth to it…”
“And you’re definitely sought after, are you not, Bonzo? Quite suave, if memory serves.”
Bonzo huffs out a laugh, and gazes over at Robert, as he blows a gauzy cloud of smoke into the air. A smirk graces his features as his lips twitch in an attempt to hide it, and he shoves Robert’s arm amicably. “All in due time, my friend. All in due time.”
“I’m sure.”
“Regardless of how I am faring in that particular department, we were talking about you, were we not?” Bonzo replies, locking eyes with Robert, earnest now, as he searches the man’s face. Seemingly not finding what he was looking for, his dark brows furrow. “Why are you so nervous in the first place? Women almost flock to you, yet you’re quivering at the possibility of meeting this one.”
Robert sighs, shifting uncomfortably under Bonzo’s penetrating gaze. He was as nervous as he is, because this woman… it’s as if she had known him all his life. She was charming, and intelligent, talking of wonderful novels and intricate poems. To Robert, whenever he read a letter she had written, he could almost hear her twinkling laughter, and see her smile that sparkled in his mind. Her soul was utterly beautiful, and it seemed to have entwined with his. Robert can only hope, however, that she feels the same.
“I… I do not know what she looks like, or how she is in person. That’s all,” Unable to let those thoughts linger in the tense air of the dressing room, Robert comes up with the best excuse he could muster under the circumstances. “I do think it is a cause for concern, is it not?”
“Well, Plant,” Stilling the shaking of one hand with the other, Robert returns Bonzo’s stare, until the moustachioed man smirks once more. He had obviously seen through the ruse, and it was only a matter of time before Robert became the laughing stock of the entire theatre. The two are locked still in a staring match, without a single movement from either. Oddly enough, though, Bonzo looks away first. The smirk still dangling from his lips proves that the conversation will be continued eventually. “I wish you luck, then. Truly, I do hope it goes well tonight.”
“Thank you, Bonzo. I appreciate your support. Truly I do.”
“I’m sure. Now,” Bonzo stands with a huff, stretching an arm out towards Robert. The blond takes it and raises from the comfortable chaise, and the two friends saunter out of the room, laughter following them. “How about we get ready for the ball? You must look put-together, and oftentimes, you’re not exactly the picture of elegance…”  Bonzo’s voice trickles out past the crack left in the door, and Robert’s squawk of offense rings across the empty room.
-----
Florence steps in front of the floor-length mirror that decorates her room, and she feels beautiful, for what may very well be the first time in years. In the beginning, Allen had showered her with compliments, and made her feel truly loved. His words soured, eventually, and she bore the brunt of his treatment ever since. Finally, though, she was doing something for herself. To make herself happy. If you ask anyone that truly knows her, they would point out that Florence was altruistic, almost to the point of self-effacement. She had lived much of her adult life playing an impossible role. Tonight, she meets her beloved actor.
Appearing suddenly behind her in the mirror, almost like a mirage, Emma takes in the way her friend is fiddling with the dress they had picked out together. It was a beautiful silver that gleamed in the dusky moonlight, with accents of soft chiffon that could only add to the ethereal quality. Dressed in her own gown, a canary yellow that made her eyes gleam like gemstones, Emma dares a smile of her own.
“Florence, you look lovely. Are you excited?”
“Oh!” Florence turns, dress swaying with the motion, as she finally notices Emma standing behind her. A fair blush rises on her freckled cheeks, and a carefree giggle leaves her cherry-red lips. “You look wonderful, Emma! James will not be able to tear his eyes away, I reckon. As for your question, I’m… incredibly nervous. I will be honest with you.”
“Nervous? Florence, this could be an incredible night. It will work out.” says Emma, purposefully not touching on the first half of Florence’s sentence. She didn’t want to think about James at the moment, or she would get distracted.
“I can’t help my nerves, because… what if this is all for nothing? What if he isn’t nearly as kind as he seems, and I am trapped once more? Emma, I do not know if I could bear it.”
“Ever the pessimist,” Emma sighs, a smile growing on her tanned cheeks. She grasps the other woman’s arm, thumb rubbing circles into covered skin, bringing Florence much-needed comfort. As soon as she lets the arm fall, Florence begins to pace around the room. Emma sighs and moves closer in an attempt to still the woman’s frayed nerves.  “Luckily for us, I am quite the optimist. Florence, he cares for you, and that is plain to see. You proposed that he wouldn't be quite what you imagined, but what if he’s more? In addition, if he is treating you unkindly at any point, you have the right to leave.”
“I… suppose you are right, Emma.”
“As always,” Emma scoffs jokingly, as she saunters closer. Her hand brushes a tendril of hair, which had fallen in Florence’s face in the midst of her panic, back into the sleek bun of golden brown. “Now, as much as I hate to subject you to this, Allen is waiting in the main hall. He needs you for the grand entrance, after all.”
“Oh, goody.”
“Ah, some sarcasm to start off the night.”
The women chuckle softly as they make last-minute adjustments in the clear surface of the mirror. Satisfied, they lock eyes, and arm in arm, they walk out the door and down the winding staircase to the main floor. Allen is leaning against a carved column, and, detecting the disruption, he scoffs and pushes to stand straight.
“Finally. I thought you would never be finished. Come, Florence,” Allen, seemingly for the first time, notices his wife’s companion, and the sneer that was almost permanently etched onto his face appears yet again. “Always a pleasure, Ms. Weston.”
“Likewise, Mr, Bennett.”
A tense silence permeates the room, until Allen clears his throat rather impolitely, and whisks Florence away with a final smrk drowning derision, and they’re gone. In the stillness of the room, Emma whispers, “Good luck, Florence.”
The woman reckons that she’ll need it.
-------
As Florence steps into the ballroom, her mouth falls open, a gasp tumbling past her lips. Flowers of every shape and tint decorate the gold-gilded walls, and lanterns pour faint yellow light across the room. The magnificent chandelier, crystals twinkling like stars, casts faint shadows across the faces of the guests, who promenade across the dance floor, mingling and laughing. Sets of double doors lead out onto a beautiful, moonlit balcony, the glow of bright starlight filtering in through the windows.
Stopping at the entrance, arm in arm with Allen and Emma at her side, she marvels as she takes in the sights. The ballroom, of course, was always as elegant and luxurious without the celebrations taking place, yet it seemed that Allen had wanted to go the extra mile. For what he lacked in kindness, Florence thinks, he makes up for in his apparent prowess regarding interior design. A quiet laugh flutters involuntarily past her lips, and Allen looks down at her, confusion drawing his dark eyebrows together.
“Florence, dear, what is it now?”
Caught, she shakes her head, a pliant smile gracing her features. Apparently satisfied, Allen looks back to the crowd that had gathered to celebrate him, propelling her forward with a hand that sits dangerously low on her lower back. Disgust souring her expression for a split second, she recovers, and plasters on that ever-present smile that feels like a lie.
“Welcome all. I am truly grateful that we could all gather, to celebrate…” Allen’s words seem to simply evaporate before they could reach Florence’s ear, as the woman’s gaze roams around the ballroom, searching for a head of perfect golden curls. Unable to spot the man she’s been writing to for the better part of a month, she sighs quietly, holding onto the sliver of hope that he had really come. Wrenched out of her thoughts by the hand at her back slipping perilously lower, she registers how Allen coaxes her to move, and she steps forward, staring at the scowl full of irritation on his lips. Locking eyes with Emma, who had moved further into the crowd, she is greeted by a comforting smile, and Florence nods her head in gratitude.
Allen, his hold firm, almost bruising on her arm, leads her around the room. She greets guests, many immersed in the same secret lifestyle as Allen, and Florence knows that she will forget their names completely come morning. Their smiles always seem to be too wide, and their eyes hold an intense look that Florence has spent years trying to decipher. She’s used to her role by now, pasting on a beaming grin that almost hurts the longer she holds it, and curtsying at every man they greet. Oftentimes they are ‘dear’ friends of Allen’s, no doubt just as sycophantic as her husband.
An hour or so passes, though it feels like an eternity to Florence, as Allen pulls her off to an unoccupied corner of the room. His hand slithers to land at her shoulder in what was possibly meant to be a loving gesture, though it sends chills down her back. Tilting her head up with a thick finger, Allen leans closer to her, his hot breath fanning across her face.
“I must go speak to a very important friend of mine. Roam around the ball, if you wish, but Florence, dear?”
“Y-yes, dear?”
“One wrong move, and this night could be ruined. Do try and be careful. I do hope you haven’t forgotten our previous conversation.”
With the thinly veiled threat hanging heavy in the air, he is gone, navy waistcoat fluttering behind him. Florence, shoulders falling from their tensed position around her ears, gazes out at the sea of faces, amusement and glee etched onto their features as they twirl around the room. The atmosphere is suffocating, and the woman glances back at the festivities, shaking her head solemnly as she slips out of the ornate French doors. Safe under the soft, starry cover of moonlight, Florence allows herself a deep, almost world-weary sigh, as her eyes sweep across the immaculately-tended gardens that decorate the back of the manor.
She’d lost Emma around the time Allen had paraded her around like a prize, and, come to think of it, she hadn’t seen James for quite some time, as well. He and John had busied themselves with serving beverages and appetizers on shining silver trays, but it seemed as though James had slipped away. She hopes Emma and James are together, finally working out the feelings they so clearly have for each other.
The clipped sound of footsteps against the cobbled floor of the balcony brings Florence out of her thoughts, and with another heavy sigh, she addresses the intruder, face still turned upwards to gaze at the glowing crescent moon.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that I am simply not in the mood to—” The sentence trails off, words dying in her throat as she finally turns around. Familiar golden curls sway in the light evening breeze, and cerulean eyes send ice water pooling in her veins. The slight smirk that sits elegantly on thin lips seems to waver slightly, as though the man was nervous, though he seems to recover quickly. He takes a step closer, and Florence can smell the soft, irresistible scent of sandalwood.
“I’m… It’s… It’s you.”
“Astute observation, love. You did tell me to look for a certain silver gown, did you not?” The smirk that her actor is sporting only serves to set every nerve on fire, and Florence sputters, all semblance of confidence leaving her, already lacking as it was. Her indignant expression only serves to make the man chuckle and shake his head fondly, silken ringlets swaying with the movement. His hair is much, much longer than what was thought to be socially appropriate, yet the man does not seem to care. He looks comfortable, rather easy-going, and his relaxed smile sends her stomach aflutter.
“It seems you take instruction well. That is certainly good to know.” Florence recovers enough to reply, her smile growing as she takes in the amused look on the tanned, handsome face of the man in front of her. Somehow, he was even more attractive, almost magnetic, to her the closer she looked.
“One of my many talents, I assure you,” Robert chuckles, eyes gleaming like jewels in the dim evening light. The stars were reflected in those deep blue depths, and if Florence stepped any closer, she swore that she would drown. “That is a lovely gown you’re wearing. The colour, especially, is remarkable. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you, inside.”
“You… noticed me?”
“You act as if that is difficult to do. If I’m honest, I was waiting for the right moment to steal you away. When you stepped out, I knew it was my only chance.”
“I-I must say,” Florence starts, chancing a look up at him through her eyelashes. She, hesitance clear on her face, steps closer to him, finally, and the beaming grin that lights up his face is the reward. “I’m glad you took that chance, then.”
The music that filtered, muffled as it was, through the doors seemed to swell and grow louder. Robert’s hand raises, ghosting his knuckles across her cheek as though he were afraid of breaking her, and he smiles, charming as ever.
“May I have this dance, love?”
Florence can only nod, as her hands slip into his, the friction caused by the warm, calloused feel of his palm somehow exhilarating to the young woman. He pulls her closer, placing his free hand on her hip. He was tall, much taller than Florence, and he gazes down at her as they sway together. Being here, in the arms of this stranger that she swears she had known her entire life, she feels content.
Hopeful.
Robert, subtle control in the way he leads Florence through the dance, is graceful in his movements, and perfectly respectful. His hand never strays from its place on her hip, and with a light squeeze to the hand in his, he spins her around, perfect synchronicity in their movements.
Florence’s eyes lock on something behind the man, then, and her lips turn up in a subtle smile. From her place on the balcony, Florence could see the staircase in the grand hall, just out of view of the ballroom. Through the window, hidden behind a carefully-carved pillar, she spots Emma and James, locked in a dance of their own. Emma’s hand, resting on James’ shoulder, rises to trail across the man’s cheek. Traces of the bruising that had marred the man’s face still remain, and Emma’s face contorts in a look of sadness at the sight. James shakes his head, lips moving with no sound to follow, and Emma gazes earnestly back at him. Slowly lowering her head onto James’ shoulder, they continue to rock back and forth. A beautiful private moment, for sure.
“What is it, love?”
“It was nothing. You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?”
“This is but a perk of being an actor, I’m afraid,” says Robert, twirling her around once more. Moonbeams dance around them as the light fall wind whistles in harmony with the music. “You know, I must say that I was quite surprised, that a single performance of mine endeared you enough to send me a note. Was it truly that enjoyable?”
“You are a wonderful actor, but that smart mouth of yours might get you into trouble.” Florence replies, a giggle marking the end of her sentence. Her eyes light up in bliss as blue meets muddy hazel, and they are alone, everyone inside fading into the background; simply an array of colours in a painting.
“My smart mouth? You are not exactly innocent in that respect. Speaking of… your letters. They were incredibly poetic. I enjoyed each one, I will admit.”
“A childhood dream of mine, if you can believe it, was to be a poet, or perhaps an author.”
“I would read every volume.”
The blush that blooms on Florence’s freckled cheeks makes Robert smile, and the laugh that tumbles from his lips makes Florence wish she could simply stop time, and live in that moment forever.
“You know what they say, love.” The confusion clear on the woman’s face brings a satisfied smile to Robert’s face, which Florence frowns at. She had never enjoyed not knowing, and the man had taken full advantage of that.
“And what, pray tell, do they say?”
“The shortest poem is a name. May I have yours?”
“I-I don’t simply give my name out to strangers. Perhaps if I knew your name, however…” The smirk that plays across Florence’s rosy lips makes Robert laugh, and unconsciously, he pulls the woman even closer. The music continues, ebbing and flowing, and the couple continue their dance, both physically and verbally.
“Hm, you are very cunning.”
“One of my many talents, I assure you.”
“And witty, too. It’s quite refreshing,” Robert squeezes the woman’s hip lightly, playfully, and she smiles up at him innocently. As beautiful as she was, which, in Robert’s opinion, could not be overstated, the actor detected a hint of sadness that hung around the woman like a shroud. He could see the way her smile never lasted for as long as he’d like, and how her eyes seemed to dim, a faraway look replacing the gleeful expression he had put there. Despite this, she seemed to have an inner strength that often remained under lock and key. She had shown a glimpse tonight, and he longed for another. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts clouding his mind, Robert continues, smiling easily. “My name, love, is Robert. Robert Plant.”
“Robert…” Florence repeats, almost testing the name out on her tongue. “It suits you.”
“Now that we are no longer strangers, may I put a name to that beautiful face?”
“O-okay, I suppose it’s only fair. My name is Florence… Bennett.” The moment of hesitation was long enough that confusion paints Robert’s features, until recognition, and not long after, shock, wipes it away.
“Bennett, as in…”
“Yes.”
The couple had stilled, now, though Robert’s hand still warmed the skin of her hip through the gown. Florence, gaze firmly on the ground, refuses to look at Robert, whose mouth opens and closes, stunned.
“Robert, I-I’m sure this has changed everything, and… maybe it is better if we leave this here. I—”
“Florence, it’s—”
“I should go.” As soon as the words leave Florence’s mouth, she disentangles herself from Robert, and moves to re-enter the ballroom. Almost to the door, she feels a warm hand settle on her wrist. It’s soft; the hold. She could easily slip out of it, if she had wanted to. But she hadn’t.
“What—Where are you going?” Florence is still facing away from him, but she didn’t pull away, and Robert counts this as a good sign. He takes a step closer, the hold on Florence’s hand never wavering, and she winces when she hears the tap of his pointed shoes drawing closer.
“This is not fair to you… I hurt everything I touch, it seems, and… I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, Robert. Please understand.”
“I don’t care.”
“Robert, I’m serious.”
“And you believe I’m not?”
“I will break your heart. Don’t do this to yourself… I’m not worth it. Please.”
Robert scoffs, then, and Florence doesn't have to look at him to see the determined line of his lips. She doesn't have to look at him to see how he is shaking his head almost bitterly. His thumb traces over the fine bones of her wrist like a feather, and as much as she wished with all her heart that it hadn’t, it brought her comfort.
“Break my heart, then. It would be worth the pain, being close to you. You, Florence, are worth everything. Anyone that says otherwise is delusional.”
At this, Florence turns around abruptly, and the storm swirling in her dark eyes is clear to see. A droplet of salty water trickles down her red cheeks, flushed with conviction, and she struts closer to Robert.
“You don’t know what Allen Bennett is like, and you do not deserve to. I will beg, if I must. Please, don’t do this.”
“Love, you will not sway me on this. I feel a genuine, special connection to you, and this month of writing to you has been… truly perfect. I am not giving up on you… on us, because I could get hurt.”
Florence knows that if he insists once more, she could not stop him. She wants Robert, and everything that comes with him; of course she does. She would be irrational not to. But she knows how Allen is. How possessive he is, even as he revels in the arms of another. Robert is an amalgamation of everything that is good in the world, it seems to her then, with a heart of gold to drive the point further. She could not forgive herself if anything changed that.
“Robert…”
The man in question slips into her space, a long finger lifting her chin to face him. A traitorous tear trickles down her cheeks, and Robert wipes it away with a thumb, looking into Florence’s eyes all the while. Enraptured with each other, they press closer, and Florence can feel Robert’s breath fan over her face. His hand caresses her cheek lightly, and her eyes flit down to his lips. Their noses touch, and then, as if divine intervention, the door opens. John steps onto the balcony, smirking into his hand as he watches the couple spring apart.
“Terribly sorry to interrupt. Florence, your… husband is looking for you.”
“T-thank you, John. I will be right in.”
John nods, and disappears back into the ballroom, with a private smile directed at the woman. Looking back at Robert, Florence takes in the hint of a flush on his own face, and knows that she must look the same. Tentatively taking his hand in hers, she interlocks their fingers in a loose hold, in case they are forced apart once again. That is as close as she’s willing to get in such a public area, now that she knows Allen is on the prowl, but Robert smiles at her all the same.
“When can I see you again, Florence?”
“Allen is… I believe he is out often, this coming week. I will write to you.”
Robert nods, and squeezes the hand resting in his, a smile playing about his lips. He pulls away, then, and moves to the door, when a hand curls around his once more.
“Robert?”
“Yes, love?”
“Be careful.”
With that, she slips around him, opening the door and stepping through. The scent of her perfume, something light and floral, dances around him as she passes.
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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx @sophiazeppelinchick @reincarnated70sbaby @grxtsch @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @thebeatlesuniverse @dreamersdrowse (let me know if you want to be added!)
38 notes · View notes
aliypop · 3 years
Text
It’s All Greek To Me 2
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wordcount: 1,524
Warning: None
A/N: NEW CHARACTERS
"She's hurt..." Sif looked at Thor, looking over the features of the young woman. She was pale with dark brown hair, Greek and Roman face structure, a marking on her wrist, and a necklace of Egyptian gold around her neck. "See to it that she's well." Thor smirked as Sif blushed at the unconscious woman, "Thor, I don't understand what you..." she groaned, seeing that the God was gone. 
"This is Asgard..." Adonis gasped, his eyes focused on all the golden fixtures and deities who passed by now and then. "It's close to Valhalla, so the Aesir take pride in it." Aron laughed. As they walked through the crowded city, maneuvering through people, they could hear the distant voice of Hermod. "Hear me well, Aesir's!" as he then saw Aron, "And Vanir..." Adonis looking at him as he looked similar to Apollo, which was odd considering that he, for the longest time, thought that the mere concept of higher deities existing were merely just fairytales parents told their children to never worry.
" Asgard will finally have his king!" Hermod smiled as another God whispered in his ear, "We will have two kings... One from Midgard and a Vanir queen..." Aron chuckled as Adonis stood in confusion, "My sister and her two lovers are to rule, to translate the situation."  Back in the palace stood Astrid studying spell books left by Frigga, her emerald ring glistening under the nightfall stars as the sound of wind blew by her ears, causing her to shiver. As her amulet sparkled, she flicked her wrist, pinning what she hoped to be her opponent down.  "Someones, been practicing their spells..."
"Mother..." she kept reading, "What are you doing visiting from Vahalla?"  her tone still cold towards the woman, "I heard the news," Amidala broke from the grasp of the spell. "Isabasia, Thor, and Stark are ruling as Asgard."  she sighed, "It was bound to happen. " she laughed, 
"Just as you dying and I never getting a throne, but..." 
"Astrid, you're the next ruler of Vanaheim." Astrid dropped the book as her body nearly froze, 
"I've watched you conduct yourself at the realm gatherings, and it's time I gave you credit." she sighed,
"Oh my, the woman with so little faith waits until death to appoint her daughter, which she lied to about nearly EVERYTHING!"
"And I am sorry..." Amidala sighed, "I should have trusted you more than I should have-"
"Listened to me, never locked me away in a tower, never lied about me being the oldest, protected Aron, and never sent Isabasia away!" her eyes violet. 
"I shouldn't have... and I am sorry." Amidala approached her daughter for a hug. Astrid sighed, taking in her mother's scent of roses, 
"Tell Loki Odin sends his best wishes as ruler of Jotunheim." disappearing into the Bifrost back, Astrid watched in disbelief at the news. 
"Astrid... are you alright..." 
"You're a king..."  
"Who are you... and why am I here..." the warrior woman asked, her sword drawn at Sif's neck, watching as she flipped it out of her hand, "Lady Sif of the warriors 3, you were wounded." she smiled, "Your turn."  the young mortal smirked, "Ethereal you are... I am Katina Fausta of Athens, protector to Andonis, faithful servant of Athena and lover of women." she winked watching as Sif's face began to flush,
 "And my has Saphos and Aphrodite blessed you so,"  Katina remarked, watching the other warrior falter for words, "Do you drink?" 
"Is Dionysus a party God?" 
"I'll take that as a yes." 
The Taverns of Asgard were cozy with a fireplace Gods and Goddesses and people alike all enjoying mead and ale feast fit for kings with the view of New Asgard, some areas still being built others held together by magic. 
"So, have you enjoyed your stay in Vanaheim..." Aron asked, waving his hand around ordering two drinks, "That I have." Adonis smiled back at the prince, kissing his hand, "Your people have been ever so kind." he laughed, his Greek features soft under the flames that lit the path. "Are yours not so kind," Aron asked, holding onto his hand.
 " it's complicated... my father wants me to be this warrior and this king, and my mother is this gentlewoman, and my rightful mother is a Goddess, so I don't know who I'm supposed to be. Adonis sighed, looking away from Aron, his eyes falling upon a warrior woman drinking what seemed to be her troubles. 
"Oh great..."  Aron groaned. A tight pain in his heart formed as the memories of the pair began to flood, "Is everything alright." Adonis asked, his deep voice bringing the Vanir back to reality, "Oh, just my ex... Valkyrie." he laughed, "Who broke my heart..." he nearly chugged down his goblet of mead. "Sounds lovely... excuse me for a moment." Adonis got up, making his way towards the infamous Valkyrie hiding behind a wooden pillar that was until he heard the voice of,
 "Katina Fausta of Athens..." she walked towards Valkyrie, dressed in Asgardian leather. "May I buy you a drink." her voice smooth like silk, "I don't know, how many are you willing to buy," Valkyrie asked, eyeing the foreigner, 
"Enough to get a taste of this Valhalla everyone speaks of."   
"Deal, but only if Sif joins." she gestured the warrior over as Katina nodded, "Three is but a party and close to an orgy," she smirked, wrapping her arms around both their waist. Adonis waited at the perfect moment to attack, hands reaching out two blades pointed at his neck. 
"He means us no harm." Katina smiled, "He is but my friend." she stood up to hug him. Both Valkyrie and Sif nodded at the man as the two went back to their drinks. "Excuse us for a moment..." Adonis said, ushering Katina away. Dolding two cups of ale in hand, Katina kept her eyes focused on Adonis, 
"Why are you here..."
"Why are you here?" Katina smirked, her eyes on the prince, "Did you chase another pretty woman as she tricked you and sent you here or..." she looked over his shoulder as she noticed a handsome young man waving at her friend, 
"Oh, I see..." 
"You see absolutely nothing." he blushed, "I won't tell if you don't tell." she patted him on the back, "Does Artemis know about this..." he stiffened up, 
"You knew about that..." 
"I'm a servant of Athena. I know everything..." she winked, fixing her sword on her hip holster. "Then does your mother know about them..." he asked back as Katina stood there in silence. She knew her mother was a traditionalist when it came to weakness, and her love of women she hated it, but on Asgard, it was as if they were praised for being a warrior with flaws and a sharp tongue. 
"No, and I hope that she'll never find out Tripolakis..." she huffed, "Now, if you'll excuse me... I should head back." she sighed, sitting between her newfound lovers. 
"Perhaps we should see the palace." Adonis whispered in Aron's ear as Aron laughed, "And still have no peace from my sisters and their betrothed. " Adonis shrugged, " I don't mind an audience." he laughed, hearing Aron sigh, "Not like that, Adonis... " 
"Darling... please try to slow down.'' Loki sighed, kissing his beloved Astrids hand. "My mother told me to tell you that Odin well wishes you luck as king of the Jotuns."  she looked up at him, sitting in between his legs, as he chuckled, "And only moments away from our wedding." he laughed, "I've ahold to my birthright.'' he kissed her cheek as Astrid laughed, "I'm the next queen of Vanahiem... I'm the next queen..." Astrid gulped as feminine hands rubbed her own, "You'll be devilishly good at it." she whispered in Astrid's ears. Loki watched as the blood rushed to her cheeks,
 "You rule my heart. surely you can rule a kingdom." She smiled, her long black hair draping over Astrids,  "Brother- Sister, we have company." Thor barged in as Loki glared, "Must you not know what knocking is..." she grumbled, using her magic to conjure up both Astrid and her a more presentable wardrobe of outfits.  Thor sighed, sitting on his fathers' throne, the memory of him still there.  "I see you are better." he smiled as Katina nodded, "Sif took care of me well." she smiled, as Adonis laughed, "She took care of Sif too... And your Valkyrie," he mumbled under his breath as Isabasia fumbled refraining from laughter.  Katina then smirked as her eyes reached the view of the Goddess in green accompanied by who she thought was perhaps a friend. 
"Aren't you beautiful..." she covered her mouth, as Loki chuckled at the young woman's words, "You are a pure vision of lust and beauty." she kissed her hand as Loki looked at Thor annoyingly, 
"My pet, as much as this flatters me... My beloved would have you beheaded." She smiled as Adonis pulled Katina away, "Your lover, well, he  sounds toxic..."
"Oh, I'm the absolute same for her," Loki smirked, transforming back as he pulled Astrid closer. 
"Oh, a shapeshifter..." Katina smiled,
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atypicalsenerio · 3 years
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【 You find yourself the recipient of a letter that could never be unassuming if it tried.
The royal purple envelope is a backdrop to gilded lettering, lovingly rendered with a steady hand. It shines when you hold it up to the light; to say nothing of the wax seal that sits heavy in a contrasting deep red. Burned into your memory is the Gloucester rose, the summertime fancy and the lovers’ flower, the signature of one noble son.
Should you choose to open this envelope, there is crisp parchment awaiting you. A practiced hand has sent you a missive, and then some. All the words legible, cursive immaculate, but aside from the flourishes, it is, as some say, a lot to unpack.
At the very top, lettering bigger than the rest, begins this invitation—ah, yes, you see now, it is an invitation—with the setting of intentions: 】
❝I, LORENZ HELLMAN GLOUCESTER, am sending you a formal invitation, extending you the distinct honor of attending the Ethereal Moon Ball as my esteemed guest…❞
【 … 】
【 You quickly realize that the letter goes on. And on. Was there ever an end in sight, or was that the twinkle of your golden name?
You will be here all night, should you read the whole spiel, so you skip to the end: 】
❝SOREN: whisperings of what a shrewd tactician you are have reached even my noble ears, and it would be a grievous error on my part if I did not give you your dues. Should you accept my invitation, I would love to spend a good deal of the evening picking such a tactical mind! I, too, find myself with an interest in strategy, and no doubt your rather unique background offers a perspective unseen within Alliance borders.
YOURS, ❞
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This was... unexpected. Generally, it was Soren putting on airs and flattering to get something he wanted out of someone else. To find a similar tactic used on himself (since he didn’t think for a moment that any noble, much less one like Lorenz, had some genuine fondness for him enough to warrant a scented invitation to a dance), stunned him for a moment.
That, and the fact that he already was going with Ike.
Soren stared at the letter, open on his desk, unable to believe it’s purple existence in his dorm, and again, that he was actually spoken for in regards to the night in question.
He wouldn’t be outdone in a little game of prose, however. Not if he could help it.
Already, he was dipping his quill in ink and pulling out a fresh parchment to deliver to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester himself.
It was, quite literally, dripping with sarcasm in the cursive swirls across the page.
He delivered it that night, slipped under the door.
Dearest Lorenz, my lover to never be </3,
I must ask you to sit down as you read my correspondence, as I fear for your noble’s heart if there is no fainting couch near. Tragically, you have waited too late to ask for my hand. Observe- someone who didn’t see me as a last minute resort has already made the proper arrangements to have my company on the night of the Heron Ball.
However, to soothe the indescribable pain you must be in, I will give you a short tactics lesson.
When you are unobservant and late, and take for granted that you will win the heart of your beloved or the head of an enemy, your chance of suffering a most grievous injury goes up by quite a bit. Do keep this in mind in all your extracurricular excursions.
Please do refrain from throwing yourself sobbing at my feet the next time we pass each other in public. Tempting as it may be, you will not win me over. Nor will flattery. Even half decent flattery that praises my intellect is not enough. You are clearly not captivated by my every aspect of being, and that is unacceptable.
I feel as though you have not successfully won over many women, but I do not care to teach you that.
Regards, Soren
P. S.
I’ve been to your estate.
Wasn’t impressed. :(
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poetofthedyingstars · 3 years
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okay so here are some facts about moi <3
i am a libra, an infp-t, and a gryffindor (but i was a hufflepuff before....). i love to read and writing occasionally too. some of my favorite movies are dead poets society, the perks of being a wallflower, and little women. i love making playlists for absolutely no reason. a phrase that i often have used to represent my view of this odd world is "i woke up and the world was still there". i like to write at very odd hours of the day (actually night cause it's like 3 am when i usually write??). i stress bake and baking is also the way that i show people love. i am a gifted kid burnout who relates a bit too much to sirius, remus, and todd anderson. i don't believe in vests unless they are sweater vests and also sometimes i don't believe in spoons. like any other respectable gay hooman, i have a crush on my best friend :) back when covid wasn't a thing and i did mun (model of the united nations) presentially, when i walked into a room or spoke people would always say "awwww" and "you are so cute". oh and last but not least, i name all of my plants, the last one has been named "albert".
'Margo'
tw: mention of death (it's an orbituary)
Margo, a beloved running candidate for the club called Dead Poets Society, officially became a member this afternoon. Although, it might sound like a happy news, the world wouldn't be the same without her. During her happy days, she was known to be wonderful star who is full of surprises. She was many things; she has an eye for fair judgement; she was the muse of the flower graffiti; she was the shell on the shore that you would want to get close to just to hear what it says; she was a best friend a masochist lover; she woke up the sleeping dragon everyone was afraid to wake. And now, the lions would roar from the east, for they lost yet again a daring soul. Her fingertips were like the fingers of God for she gave life through many forms. Baked goods that many stomachs would surely remember and her green family who will be weeping as they patiently wish their Nurturer would come back and shower them with love. Jo March would greet her with a smile on her face and would asked her how she did it. She was an ethereal being who found comfort in books and writing. The afterlife literature club would be happy to have her and would love to gossip about vests and spoons. She used to say, "I woke up and the world is still there", she's never waking up and the world is still here but to homes like her friend, Ace, she was the world and they're going to wake up with a big piece of it gone.
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arch-venus25 · 3 years
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The Head and the Heart, Part 3
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Hello everyone,
I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1….You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.
This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online– or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly–I created the title art–LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go…
Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart
Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies– or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.
Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires
WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair– you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.
Word Count: 4200
Part Three: Delmar Hospitality
        Antha slowly raised her hands in surrender. It was the best she could do in this unforeseeable situation. Beads of sweat rolled down her chest and back. The searing chill sobered her instantly. “We—we—” She found her mouth desert-dry and unable to form a coherent sentence.
        “Well, are you trespassing or are you lost?” The silken voice demanded.
        “We’re—we’re lost.” Antha panted. A light tumble sounded in the wooded brush as Tessa’s mouth fell open with a gasp, only her teeth could be seen. She fainted.
        “Oh.” The voice sighed. Before Antha understood what was happening long cool fingers wrapped around her wrist and brought her up to stand. “Here.” Those same fingers handed her the gun. She violently shook, her nails impulsively tapping against the metal of the barrel.
        The clouds shifted intermittently, splashing eerie washes of light across the blackness. Long, ethereal white arms appeared out of the dark as the stranger pushed up his sleeves. These bodiless limbs wrapped about Tessa. Am I watching Fantasia? Antha thought—it didn’t even occur to her that she was now armed and could defend them, though she was hardly capable in her muddled state. She stepped back to see him lift her unconscious sister.
        The moonlight poured over something akin to a roman statue come-to-life, with a long column neck and limbs. It frightened Antha to see this otherworldly man peer down from his full height—his great silver-colored eyes burning amidst the night. Despite logic, she had the distinct feeling that he could see more of her than she could of him. “I presume you’ve spoken to the police?” He asked calmly.
        She patted her legs instinctually and realized her sundress had no pockets. Somewhere far, far away her cellphone was nestled in her messenger bag, in the back of Tessa’s car. She shook her head ‘no’ as she was still at a loss for words. “Well, come along then,” replied the stranger. His accent was clean; obviously he wasn’t born of this slower-lower side of the world but seemingly mimicked their colloquialisms.
        Like a white knight he led Antha from darkness and into a comfortably lit yard in the middle of the woods. The well-kept grass stretched in front of them toward a darling little house. There were candle lights in every dormer window, a white-slatted porch with rocking chairs and a sign that said “No Vacancy” to greet them. The stranger turned, “Welcome to Hollow House,” he stated neutrally, not exactly instilling hospitality. Antha clutched the gun in her arms, scanning her surroundings when she could manage to tear her eyes from him.
        Tessa looked like a beloved ragdoll, her long braids swinging peacefully with every step. The stranger held her tenderly as if an appendage of himself, her head cradled to his chest. Why couldn’t I have fainted? Why am I always the one to sort everything out? Antha thought. He carried her with ease up the porch steps and hesitated. He hovered over Tessa’s face for a moment as if he was going to plant a magical kiss that would awaken her from slumber. Then he turned to Antha, brows knitting together for a brief moment.
        “You’re twins.” He chuckled to himself as if something about that was charming. “Would you please?” He motioned to the screen door. She stood frozen in place as if the simple instruction was too much to fathom. “Antha,” he crooned, “when I take you inside, I will lay your sister down, get you cleaned up, and then we will call the authorities. I will help you sort everything out in no time.”
        Thick waves of auburn hair tucked behind his ears and one errant curl falling in his eye line drew her in. His excellent hair aside, he seemed normal enough. Given the monsters she encountered thus far, the normalcy of the house and this stranger were beyond comforting. Additionally, the fact that he held Tessa to his chest made him simply irresistible to deny.
        She shook as she reached for the screen door and held it for him, then he swooped Tessa over the threshold into a lovely foyer. A lean spindle-legged table held brochures for Hollow House Bed and Breakfast. The simple cottage layout and plate of cookies at the door all confirmed for her that she was in fact standing in a bed and breakfast. She followed slowly and watched as he laid her sister down in the Hibiscus Room, right off the foyer and overlooking the back patio. The peach tapestries, brick fireplace, and mahogany wooden furniture framed Tessa, making her nothing short of a sleeping beauty with her mane cascading across the crisp pillows.
        Antha paced backward as he turned to her, leaving the guest room door cracked open. “I assure you she is fine. How about we set this down?” He carefully approached her to take the gun but she clenched it as if she suddenly couldn’t imagine parting with it.
        She didn’t like how he filled up the foyer, frame blocking the dim ceiling light the way an oak tree does the sun. “I’m very sorry about how I approached you before. I heard you two stomping through my woods—and you alarmed me.” He said coolly, not an ounce of excitement in his eyes or face, not even a flush in his cheeks. “Tell me what happened.” When he asked she strangely felt beholden to him. She couldn’t help feeling that he was reading her mind—she knew that was a stupid thought—but something about the way those big eyes held her in place.
        “There was a fight, and, and Tessa ran and so I chased after her—we fell and you found us.” She spilled all of the highlights as if she were reading a teleprompter. The prying feeling lessened when he broke eye contact.
        “I see. Well, please come sit down, allow me to help.” His voice dripping like honey down the back of a spoon. He went to the small dining room off the foyer, pulled out a chair and politely beckoned her to sit. She wagered the risk for a moment but ultimately leaned the gun against the table—within reach—when she accepted the offered seat.
        Feeling naked without the weapon, she held herself as he explained he would bring water. He did everything he said he would and within seconds she found herself staring bewildered into a glass of tap water. Antha felt more at ease when he finally removed the gun from the table and promised to put it away. The kitchen was right off the dining room and she listened as he retreated to the phone, setting the gun down. “…two young women—yes, here at Hollow House. Yes, this is Mr. Smith… Mmm-hmm… No one is harmed. Yes, of course, I understand. Thank you.”
        Antha heard the click of the landline phone being holstered and thought about how long it had been since she had heard such a noise. Since her grandmother’s house she supposed. Her eyes continued their investigation as she waited. Trying to remind herself that she was just on-guard from the hellish night Tessa had put her through.
        The cottage was fine, everything in place. A fruit bowl on display, frills on every corner, the carpet vacuumed. He did everything he said he would, she reminded herself again as she sat on her shaking hands. She was fine. They would wait for the police. They would be fine, she convinced herself.
        He returned to the table with a plate and towel in hand. The plate was placed in front of her and then he bent with a damp cloth and pressed it to her forehead. For a moment Antha found herself quite overwhelmed, quaking in her seat, the adrenaline threatening to keep her on the run until her heart gave out.
        “I believe your story checks out Miss Antha,” he said humorously, “the police said that there was an awful scuffle at the bar out by the road. Once they’re done cleaning that up, they will come to get you two.”
        “Mr. Smith, how did you know my name?” She asked, just over-hearing his from the phone call.
“I could hear you calling to each other.” He explained. “You two created quite the ruckus out there.” He was leaning closer than Antha would have preferred. She never recalled Tessa calling out for her. She also didn’t think she told him about the bar either—stop being stupid Antha, the police told him about the bar, obviously, she chastised herself, her paranoia getting the better of her.
        After pulling the twigs from her braids, wiping the dirt from her forehead and neck he bent to one knee to clean her hands. She sipped her water and stared down at him. His hair was a bit longer than how most men would wear it now, wing-tipped behind his ears and lending to the romance of an Edwardian fashion. The long bridge of his nose and well-placed lips made him truly worth staring at, like the classical paintings in her textbooks.  When he wrapped the cloth over one of her palms his nostrils flared. “That’s a nasty scrape.”
        Antha didn’t realize she was bleeding from when she caught herself on the pavement of the parking lot. Before he sat, she observed his dark button-down shirt partially tucked into slacks; his musculature was not consistent with his occupation. This guy works out for serving cookies and delivering extra pillows, she thought and continued sipping her water. Those great nocturnal eyes never left her, even as he reached toward a bowl on the table, his eyes stayed with her.
        “Here, you must be starved,” he showed his hand to reveal a whole pomegranate. Before she could deny the fruit he tore it open between his large hands. The leathery skin shredded apart as the sanguine juice dotted his pale fingers, the table, and the plate in front of her. Antha could hear herself swallow as the little massacre happened right before her eyes. “Eat, Persephone, and never be released from my palace.” He laughed.
        “I know that myth,” she forced a scoff despite how anxious she felt. She was compelled to be still, attempting to plan her next moves. She wasn’t sure if she was still out of fear or if he was willing her to sit. There was this scratching at the back of her mind again, like a dog at the backdoor, relentlessly trying to get into her subconscious.
        “I had a feeling you would.” He replied knowingly. He leant into his palm on the table, as if fearing she would be too far from him. His offering seemed forced as if he had just read a beginner’s manual of cordiality. Nothing felt organic or friendly. Everything is fine, was what she thought, but something in her gut told her, but not safe. As if an ocean could not quench her thirst Antha finished the water and jolted upward from her seat.
        “I need more water,” she stated blatantly and made her way to the kitchen before he could offer. She felt she could breathe for a moment without those curious gray orbs on her. The kitchen was outdated, but appeared older due to the orange cast of the overhead fan light ticking away, struggling to cool the space. She clutched the sink as if it was her last anchor to the earth. Her eyes kept shooting upward to the dark window in front of her. All she could see was her reflection and the open doorway to the dining room behind her; she was trying to watch her back, making sure nothing suddenly moved.
        While the tap poured foggy water into her glass her eye caught a picture on the counter with a little old white-haired man and woman, their wrinkles holding their sunglasses in place, with Rehoboth Beach in the backdrop. “When are the cops coming?” She called weakly, trying to appear conversational and unsuspecting.
        “Realistically tomorrow morning, not long from now.” His voice carried. He was still at the dining table. Good, stay there, she thought.
        “Oh, we couldn’t trouble you for that long!” Her voice broke against her will, unsure why panic was suddenly rendering her immobile, holding white-knuckled to the sink. Why was there an empty room for Tessa? The sign said ‘no vacancy’.
        Staring at the picture, she saw it said The Smiths 2016. The water was streaming over her hand, overflowing from the already full cup. Her eyes found the reflection of the gun leant up against the ancient landline phone on the wall in the window; it wasn’t the phone itself that made the blood drain from her face, it was the severed phone line dangling from the receiver like a noose. Her heart plunged into her stomach as she pieced together the clues—they were in very real danger.
        “I insist you stay,” the rich-timbered-inflection was too close, and cold breath trickled down the back of Antha’s neck. There was no reflection of the man behind her in the window, all she could see was the terror on her face.
        Glass shards and water exploded against the sink as her hand lost her cup. Her feet left the ground as she found herself turned, and lifted to the counter, her back against the cabinetry. “There’s no possible way we can stay—you see—I, I have misplaced my wallet!” She stammered, attempting to rationalize the situation.
“I’m positive we can agree on an alternate arrangement.” He wedged himself between her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, his nails growing and sinking into her lower back like meat hooks. She had never seen someone so malevolent and beautiful in equal measure as he loomed over her mouth.
        “—Please, I must take my sister home—” she begged, not knowing what was to come. “I can’t leave her—we have to go home!” Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to pull away from the stranger, but found herself latched to him with nowhere to run. His hands held strong as his lips reached the shell of her ear.
        “I wouldn’t dream of separating a pair—she will follow you shortly.” He promised. “Stay.” He told her as if commanding her soul. She found herself unable to fight, her muscles waning as if under a spell. The cold of his cheek dragged across hers as he pulled back to look over her face, his feral irises dilating, impersonal and hungry. His grin displayed a mouth-full of pearly teeth as he sunk to the floor and splayed open Antha’s legs. He hummed gluttonously when he kissed the inside of her knee. His canine teeth grew outward, revealing pristine fangs the closer he drew to her apex. This isn’t real—what is he doing? Her mind raced, her fingers searching blindly on the counter for aid. He threw one of her legs over his shoulder and Antha mustered the last of her will to kick him in the face before she could find out.
        She launched herself from the counter clumsily as the stranger recoiled, her muscles waking up from their enchantment. After snapping his broken nose back into place, he caught a second wind and lunged for her neck. Instinctively, her wrapped hand shoved the stray piece of glass from her broken water cup into the corner of his mouth. He leant against the counter, retracted his fangs and smiled through it, as if he had been pleasantly surprised.
        She snatched the gun as she darted to a nearby door in the kitchen. Her hands frantically locking the door and then searching for a light. Rickety wooden stairs bowed under her feet as she followed carefully forward, her gun-hand sliding down a railing and the other on its mission for a light switch. She could hear him groan as he pulled forth the glass and the blood spilled to the linoleum floor. “Antha, darling,” that same penetrating voice hummed above her as he gathered his bearings, “stay and fight me off—I do so enjoy this.” She could hear him gagging and spitting—she could only hope the glass shard spliced his gums.
        Finally, as if her prayers had been answered, her hand found what it had been seeking. She flipped the light switch on to find one lone dangling bulb above her. For the third time of evening, Antha’s feet left the earth and she toppled over a pile of laundry at the base of the stairs. She saw nothing to defend her, no place to hide. When she scooted back from the heap, she saw fuzzy white tufts. To her horror she recognized old Mr. Smith crumpled atop other bodies, their throats and wrists torn out, blood pooling across the floor.
        Antha covered her mouth to stop from screaming. Her tear ducts working hysterically as she distanced herself from the carnage. How did I end up here? This can’t be happening! The cautious twin thought to herself, why me? The rattle of the door knob broke through her shock as the perpetrator tried to gain access to the basement. The foundation shook as he began ramming himself into the basement door—BAM—BAM—BAM—the door and frame failing under his inhuman force, the wood splintering and the drywall crackling.
        Searching again for anything to save her, as if she was swarmed in answers that her brain could not comprehend in its panic—Antha finally noticed a cellar door. Rushing to it, she undid the inside latch and pushed upward to get out. She could hear the basement door explode, the skittle-like bounce of nails and screws as it finally gave way under his might. Throwing the door back down she jammed the handle with a nearby shim.
        Scrambling through the backyard she hid behind a tree, knowing that it was only a temporary delay for him. The stranger was much too keen for her to outrun she guessed, she definitely couldn’t fight him—perhaps hiding would give her a moment to develop an escape path back to Tessa, an element of surprise—or anything—against him. Antha’s pulse hammering, the vein in her neck thick like an anaconda as the adrenaline coursed through her. She cocked the gun blindly, praying she did it right—worst case scenario she was going to go out swinging the damn thing. How will I get to Tessa?
        Antha pressed her back into the large tree, her gun readied. Trickles of blood ran hot down her legs from his vicious claw marks. She tried to control her breath, but his fury found the cellar doors faster than she wanted. The slamming began again until one of the cellar door’s peaked upward, his elbow bending it as if mere tinfoil. Seconds later the door flew into the yard, mangled.
        “I imagined Tessa to be the runner!” He laughed as he emerged from the ground, taking his time. “Antha, come back to me.” His voice fell into a low growl as he scanned the yard. Her hands shook with resentful readiness.
        Then there was silence, abrupt and oppressive. Her ears strained but could not hear his panther like steps. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping it would aid her hearing—but she was met with complete nothingness. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer, and the faint hiss of her exhale trumpeted amongst the stifling stillness. It must have given her away as the lean, wiry fingers found her throat and ripped her up from the ground like a dandelion.
        She shoved the gun tip to his chest, ready to take out his heart. But to her unfathomable dread, the gun failed her. The dead click of an ammo less shotgun became nothing more than a toy prop in her dire moment. She did what she could to wield it like a bat, but was unsuccessful as he caught it and crushed it in his other hand. Suffocating in his grip she tried to break free.
        “You’re insufferable,” he sneered, his mouth growing its tissue back and reconstructing the damage he endured moments prior. “Did you think I would leave it loaded?” His bright steely eyes scouring over her struggling frame. “As enjoyable as this was, our time is unfortunately over. I will make you a promise.” He pulled in closer, “I will take my time with Tessa.”
        Without cue a wet, meaty sound cut through the woods. The stranger gasped, full of horror and rage as he reached to his chest. A fire iron pierced through from his back. His eyes, nose, ears, and mouth began to bleed. Antha pushed out of his grasp when he lurched forward to the ground. She was on the brink of unconsciousness as she wheezed for breath. She found Tessa was the great impaler. “I’m—not done with—you foolish girls…” He hissed like a deflating tire, his immortal sinews collapsing like a bowl of spaghetti dumped onto the lawn.
        Tessa skirted the rapid decay and pulled Antha into her arms. Stock-still they watched. They bared witness as he writhed, his porcelain skin dripped with taffy-like stretch and slid off his bones. He melted into a puddle, with nothing recognizable left except lumps of clothing and two silver eyes. Tessa reached toward the eyes, but her sister stopped her.
        All that could be heard was their panting and the fizzle of a creature dissolved. They looked to each other, wordless and beyond repair. After a moment or two they drug themselves around the side of the house and toward the driveway. Hearts still punching against their ribcages, the girls numbly followed the long-wooded drive.
        When they finally made it to the main road they found the next street lamp was another mile off. All that could be heard was the rustle of the surrounding crops. They followed the road back toward the light of civilization. Antha couldn’t shake the horror of the Smith’s being slaughtered by that thing. She shivered again, feeling the stranger’s eyes on her. She tried to push the thought down. It’s dead, she thought.
After sometime Tessa began to speak, “I woke up and saw a little old lady on the side of the bed. Her neck was covered in strawberry jam,” she paused strangely, “but I knew it wasn’t jam Ant.” She whined.
        “I know, I know.” Antha stopped to soothe her. Tessa buried her head into her sister’s neck and they held strong for barely a moment before weeping. Antha had never been so relieved to have her sister. She couldn’t believe Tessa was the one to save them. From now on she would abandon her role as the babysitter. All of her safe-keeping and methodical avoidance of danger had failed them both. It was Tessa’s wild heart that saved them.
        “I couldn’t believe you kicked him in the face.”
        “You saw that?”
        “I almost lost my shit—hey, what was he doing down there?” Tessa finally asked.
        “The femoral artery is—well and when you factor in gravity—” Antha’s analytical side kicked in but then quickly dissipated from the stress. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” She finally sighed, unable to comprehend the fact that she was almost drained by her crotch. Both of them smirked but within a breath were crying again.
        “I’m so tired.” Tessa grumbled and then called for Zoey three times, wishing she would appear to take them home.
“Doug… Doug… Doug…” Antha whispered to herself.
        Just as they thought the night would never end and their blood-stained clothes would never dry, they heard the familiar wheeze of Doug’s old Buick.
        After a deluge of crying, embracing, and the erratic retelling of the whole evening, the twins found themselves buckled in the backseat on their way to the emergency room. Tessa finally sighed when Doug stopped looking at them in his rear-view mirror. He must have mumbled to himself “…vampires?” at least a dozen times as he drove. She sidled into Antha, holding her hand with an iron-clad grip and closed her eyes. Antha couldn’t relax. Her nerves were beyond frayed and she grew uncomfortable under the weight of her sister’s weary head. Something blunt was stabbing into her backside and she shifted in her seat.
        The bright lights of the emergency room entrance burned the teary-eyed passengers. Doug pulled up and jumped out of his car, opening the door for them. “What the hell is in this car—you got rocks back here?” Antha sassed him about cleaning his Buick as she dug out the troublesome object in her seat. Tessa did the same, unbuckling herself and wriggled in discomfort.
        “I just vacuumed, like last year,” he defended, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. In the commotion of the two digging around and shuffling old coke-a-cola bottles and vintage DVDs, they suddenly ceased. A strange silence fell between them. “What is going on back here?” He stared anxiously at them.
Each twin opened a hand to find one silvery, gleaming eye.
Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @myraiswack @wolfpawn @plastic-heart​ @confusednerd09​
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krispyweiss · 3 years
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Todd Rundgren in “San Francisco” (from Chicago), March 19, 2021
As the pandemic moves into its second year, Chicago is a relative ghost town.
Downtown is essentially empty. Millennium park is wide open. Food and entertainment options are few. But Todd Rundgren has been there since Valentine’s Day beaming his virtual Clearly Human tour into 25 cities around the country.
On March 19, it was San Francisco. This meant a 10 p.m Central starting time - 8 in the West - and a 23-song concert that bled into the early-morning hours of March 20 in Chicago, where 30 lucky concertgoers from Ohio, Florida, New York and other states shared a 5,000-capacity venue that shan’t be named (shhhh, it's secret) with tiles showing the faces of people streaming at home.
Negative COVID tests and masks were required for entry. Water and soda were free. And there were no beer sales, hence, no drunks.
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Things being as out of whack as they are, entry for the show cost more than two nights in a locked-down-in-Chicago hotel room. But Rundgren and his outstanding, 10-piece band - two keyboardists; two horn players; three background singers dubbed the Goddesses on Mount Olympus, guitar, bass and drums - played as if the hall was packed with adoring fans.
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Canned crowd noise helped with the illusion; however, the band wisely kept volumes below their typical eardrum-shredding levels.
Centered around 1989’s Nearly Human - eight of its 10 tracks were played - this big-band tour is reminiscent of the treks in support of that album and 2nd Wind.
What’s changed is the passage of three decades, some of the band - which featured long-time collaborators like drummer Prairie Prince, bassist Kasim Sulton, the two-saxes-at-once Bobby Strickland on woodwinds and percussion and Michelle Rundgren - Rundgren’s 72-year-old voice, which is deeper and less nimble and 21st-century songs like “Sweet” and “God Said,” that didn’t exist when those earlier tours took place.
And you will kill in my name and heaven knows what else/when you can't prove I exist, so get over yourself, Rundgren sang on the latter.
Pandemic and social distancing - and Bay Area banter from a Chicago stage - notwithstanding, it seemed like a Rundgren concert from the long-ago before times. He hasn’t toured with a band this size since 1990 and is unlikely to do so again unless this type of thing becomes the norm.
The men wore gold, sequined jackets and ties; the women, silver, sequined skirts. There was choreography. And Rundgren prowled the stage in loose, brown clothing, occasionally playing his beloved sea-green Strat, “Foamy” - as on “Unloved Children” and Utopia’s “Love in Action” - and explaining the guitar’s moniker is gender-non-committal, like a Pat or a Chris.
Opening with 1975’s “Real Man,” Rundgren made the looking-back nature of the show clear at the outset. In keeping with that theme, he segued from “Secret Society” to “Something to Fall Back On” as in the days of yore.
There was Broadway - and a joke about the band being the San Francisco Symphony - on “The Smell of Money.” There was “booty-shaking funk music” - and a joke about streaming - on “Love Science.” And there were references to COVID-19 and masking in “Hello it’s Me.”
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By the time the late-set “Hawking” rolled around, the stage was filled with smoke and the large screen behind the band that added glorious eye candy - such as waves moving backward during “Lost Horizon” - all evening, was showing images of a San Francisco venue. Rundgren’s ad-libbed vocals pleading for pity for all living creatures wrapped around Strickland’s saxophone to create ethereal sounds to match the otherworldly atmosphere in the theater.
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For the encore, Rundgren donned a blue preacher’s robe and gave a sermon about time on the uplifting Baptist-church vamp that is “I Love My Love.” Fans were encouraged to stop obsessing on the news and love on their pets instead. The pandemic has given people time, Rundgren sermonized, and he encouraged them to use it wisely.
Catching a Clearly Human show, virtually or in person - and the Sound Biteses have done both - certainly qualifies.
Grade card: Todd Rundgren in “San Francisco” (from Chicago) - 3/19/21 - A
See more photos here and here.
Read Sound Bites’ review of the Feb. 19 “Virginia Beach” stream here.
3/20/21
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islamicrays · 4 years
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I attended a dars (religious lesson) with the ethereal Ustadha Eiman at my mom's good friend/neighbor's house in SoCal today. The topic for discussion was "sabr" (patience). She talked about how Allah (swt) has guaranteed that we will ALL be tested -- either through our wealth or through our children or through our health or through fear. We are all going to experience tribulations at some point or the other, and the mu'min (believer) doesn't respond with "aaaah!" but with "la Ilaaha ilAllah" (there is no god but God) instead. The believer can feel grief/depression, but he/she doesn't complain about the Will of Allah and instead uses the trial as an opportunity to draw closer to his/her Lord. This way, even the tribulation becomes a means of benefit. She gave personal examples of feeling fear along with the eventual realizations that Allah (swt) was both the Bestower and the Remover of hardships and one had to find comfort in the Divine Decree instead of falling into the trap of constantly asking "why me?"
I looked around the living room at the circle of ladies -- my mother's friends -- many of whom I had known since I was a young girl in high school and college. On first sight, these were elegant and refined ladies, dressed in silk and diamonds with designer bags on their arms and luxury cars parked in the street. Most would think that these were the privileged few who had been spared any "real hardships" in life.
Yet, one after the other the women stepped forward, thanking Ustadha Eiman for her important reminders and wise advice, sharing their own very real experiences with grief and patience.
"Time is a healer -- time and Allah," one beloved auntie who lost her 2-yr-old son to a tragic drowning told my sister and me. "It's easy to only focus on the one great thing you lost and not see the countless blessings you have around you. You MUST be grateful; you HAVE to see all the blessings that still surround you even through all the pain."
Another lady overheard us talking and joined our little group. "The pain never ever goes away, does it? It only gets easier to bear, but it doesn't ever go away," she smiled at our auntie while squeezing her shoulders. Then she asked me, "Do you remember my son So-and-So?"
I blinked for a moment and then suddenly recognized the face of a young boy I taught in Sunday School (back in the early 90's) in her own sweet face. She told me that he died 18 yrs earlier at the age of 12.
"After his death, this life is like a mirage to me. Nothing is real. Nothing is permanent. What is the point of attaching your heart to anything so completely when that thing can be taken away at any moment?"
I squeezed her hand and couldn't trust myself to say anything.
She continued, "My son belonged to Allah, and Allah took him back. He was never 'MINE' to begin with. I bargained with Allah for a long time. I told Him He could burn down my house, cut off any of my limbs...but now I find patience and comfort knowing that I will be reunited with my son one day in a much better place. THIS place is just a mirage."
Another auntie began to weep and said, "I don't feel that I passed my test when I lost my child. I didn't show patience. I dressed myself, I ate food and drank water and talked and smiled and went on with life, but I went through a lot of depression. I asked, 'Why me?' I thought, 'If only...'"
"But you have your imaan (faith) in your heart," my sister told her. "You're still standing here as a believer. You HAVE passed the test."
"Not getting depressed, not feeling sad, not bargaining, not playing the 'what if?' game -- THOSE aren't signs of passing the test," I told her. "Not lashing out at God, not being angry with Him -- THOSE are the true signs that you have been patient."
"All I have is my faith," she said through tears. "If I didn't have my spirituality, I don't know how I would have gotten through the years. Only Allah can get you through a grief as great as this. This life is a test. It is nothing but a test."
I watched another auntie on the other side of the room as she smiled and hugged her friends. She lost her father at a young age, then her brother when he was a teenager, and -- only a month ago -- she lost her 30-yr-old son without any warning. If you looked at her, you would never guess the heartache her fragile frame concealed -- not just over the past month but over the past few decades.
Then I spotted my mother's best friend who is busy day and night taking care of (and praying for) her loving husband who has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Her back was straight and her smile was tired (but sincere as always) as she warmly greeted the community members who surrounded her.
I approached an auntie whom I had never met before as she sat on the sofa and picked at her lunch. All I knew about her was that she had buried her 23-yr-old daughter only 3 days earlier. I knelt in front of her and introduced myself and gave her my condolences and prayers. She smiled and listened to me and then -- holding my hands -- said simply and succinctly: "God...is...Great."
These women carry battle scars no one ever wants to earn. They are our teachers and our examples. We have so much to learn from their embodiment of the deen (religion).
One of them said to my friends and me, "You young people are so much better than us. You are learning and practicing so much at such a young age. We didn't know anything when we were your age."
I tried to control the tears from springing to my eyes as I felt my face flush with shame. "All we know is theory," I told her. "You are the ones putting what we are learning into ACTUAL practice. None of us knows how we'll react to a real test. You are our teachers who have earned wisdom the hard way, at a great price. Wisdom doesn't come easy."
She grabbed my hands and said, "You know, I always say that no one can understand what we have been through unless they actually experience it. But my foremost prayer is that NO ONE ever has to experience this kind of pain in their lives. May Allah (swt) protect you all AND your children."
Aameen.
I am posting this as a reminder first to myself and then to others -- we have NO IDEA how people are being (or have been) tested and tried. EVERY single person is experiencing some kind of pain -- if not today, then tomorrow (may Allah make it easy). We must treat each other with mercy and compassion and love even if we don't know each other's stories. Today was a real eye-opener for me.
Hina khan-Mukhtar
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Daelynn Commission #3!
Here it is, my friends, the third Daelynn commission in a row, courtesy of my generous Patreon patron, Jenna!
This one is sfw, and it shows a little glimpse of what can happen if you get DaeDae jealous!
Enjoy!
~*~
You are sitting at the bar, nursing your drink and idly watching the bard singing in the middle of the room. Morkai and Straasa have already retired to their room, and Eledwen is, of course, nowhere to be found.
The one you’re looking for is not gracing your eyesight with her radiant beauty either, though. Daelynn took off a couple minutes ago, placing a soft kiss on your forehead and sending you a flirty wink before promising she’d be right back.
You know that, realistically, it hasn’t been that long, but you can’t help yourself—you miss her presence the moment she is gone, are drawn to her like a woman dying of thirst to an oasis. Her smirking lips, her golden hair, her chiming laugh…
The love that is mirrored in her grey eyes when she gazes at you, strong enough to drive you delirious with longing, thirsting for every single moment you can get with her. A thirst she is more than willing to slake.
You long to smell her fruity scent, feel her soft hands grasp you tightly, possessively, like you’re the most important thing in the world. And you are.  You have never doubted that, not for one second.
Daelynn loves you absolutely. She would do anything for you. This you know with perfect clarity—just as you know you’d do the same for her.  This ethereal, untameable creature that barged in and took hold of your life—you can’t imagine living without her anymore.
You are so lost in your enamored thoughts that you fail to take notice of the body that comes to settle next to your own, pulling up a chair and getting it as close to yours as possible. What registers first is her odor—hay and alcohol mixing together to make one distinct cocktail of smells.
A far cry from the cherry scent you’ve been imagining. You uncomfortably shift away from her, not wanting to stay in contact with her any longer than necessary. Which is to say, not at all. But instead of getting the desired result, the situation turns worse.
The woman plasters herself to your side and slurs a drunk “Heeeey…” in your ear as she leans heavily against you, her warm breath sticking to your skin as her full breasts push against your arm. You turn your head to glare at her and come face to face with a surprisingly beautiful face.
The woman is voluptuous, her green eyes enchanting despite being glazed over, and her chestnut brown hair glimmers prettily in the light of the torches—if you were inclined to pay attention to anyone other than Daelynn, you’d have been intrigued. As it is, the woman’s presence is a nuisance. Not to mention, DaeDae sometimes gets… possessive.
And an angry Daelynn is not something you want to inflict on anyone other than your enemies—the woman batting her eyelashes at you right now is annoying but a far cry from an enemy. Your lover sometimes has trouble seeing the difference between the two.
“All alone here, honey? Don’t you know… hicc… that pretty girls alone are a target?” the drunk lady purrs at you, leaning closely to bathe you once more in her drink-laced breath. You lean away and consider your options: engage with the woman and try to get her to leave, or simply move away and sit somewhere else.
Both plans have advantages and disadvantages. Talking to drunk people is usually an exercise in futility, and walking away is liable to get her following you. You need to be careful, get her away swiftly, before your elf has time to… A sugary voice laced with poison puts an end to all hopes of resolving this quickly.
“Got a new friend, my beauty?” Daelynn’s lyrical voice pipes up from behind you, the tone airy and light—one might even say it is flirtatious were it not for the steely undertone to every single word spoken. You slowly turn around at the same time as the drunk woman does, coming face to face with your golden mistress.
Daelynn is leaning against the bar, her long hair draped over her shoulders as she gazes between you and the interloper with hooded eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. A malevolent smirk, the kind she gets when she’s about to crush something under her dainty boots and enjoy herself doing it.
The brown-haired woman still leaning against you is too inebriated to realize that the beautiful elf smiling at her is anything but friendly, however—she makes a drunken sound of satisfaction and tilts her head at Daelynn, licking her lips delightedly at the prospect of having not one but two pretty women at her sides.
“Are you two… together? So beautiful…” she giggles in a stupor, her unfocused gaze jumping from you to Daelynn, and then… she does the unthinkable. She touches you possessively, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you as close as she can before you think to put up any resistance. And does all this in front of Dae—oh ,Gods.
“Maybe the three of us can…” the poor fool starts to say, but her words are abruptly cut off as a soft hand grabs her by the back of the neck with the speed of a striking snake. Daelynn’s fingers wrap around the woman’s neck alarmingly tight as she roughly yanks her away from you, her usually laughing face now entirely blank and emotionless.
The air grows heavy with magic as she makes the other woman lean backward, staring her dead in the eye with anger shining bright in her grey eyes, her full lips twisted in a sneer. The drunk brunette is not moving or saying nothing, just staring transfixed and terrified into Daelynn’s glimmering eyes, caught in whatever spell the elf is casting on her. She is shaking, though—quite violently so.
“You think it’s so easy, hmm? You see a pretty thing and decide you want it for yourself, you touch what’s mine…” the elf spits between clenched teeth, a low snarl building in her voice, her fingers tightening to the point of harm on the other woman’s flesh, making her whimper in pain—but she still can’t move, trapped and helpless in your lover’s thrall.
The next moment stretches into eternity as you realize Daelynn is about to strike—the how of it is not important. You can feel the murderous intent, the static building up. You need to intervene. Now. Without a moment to lose, you reach out with your hand and grab onto Daelynn’s sleeve, making a distressed sound in your throat.
It has the desired effect—your love’s eyes snap to you immediately, locking with yours as she scans you from top to bottom, checking to see what’s wrong as you knew she would. She always puts your needs first, focusing on you entirely at the drop of a hat, the world ceasing to exist if you ever call out to her.
“Dae… please, my love, let her go. She’s drunk and not important—I just want to spend a quiet night with you. No scenes, please,” you murmur quietly, knowing that your beloved hears every single word. Her eyes are still boring into you, but she doesn’t immediately let the other woman go, locked instead in a heated stare-off with you. Time to bring in the big guns.
The hand you have on her sleeve moves up sensually, reverently, going all the way to her soft cheek, cupping it in your palm and stroking your fingers over the smooth skin. Daelynn immediately leans into the caress and closes her eyes, reaching up to cover your palm with hers and rubbing her beautiful face against the hand petting her.
The drunk woman that was about to be eviscerated is dropped unceremoniously on the floor, the heavy thud and distressed yelp barely registering in your mind as you get lost in Daelynn’s heady gaze, her deliriously silky skin gliding under your fingers as she surges forward, plastering herself to your side, all her sinful curves molding against you, her lips going straight for your mouth.
You hungrily meet her halfway, burying your hand in her golden tresses as her arms cage you against her, stealing your breath and making your world tilt with the strength of her need and love for you. You suddenly feel dizzy and warm all over, your heart hammering in your chest, your lungs burning as your goddess swipes her tongue over yours again and again until you’re drunk and light-headed with it.
When she finally pulls back, you can barely remember your own name—all that exists is her. Her strong body is caging you against the wooden counter, her powerful hands pressing bruisingly against your hips, her ravenous desire eradicating all thought as the two of you breathe each other’s air, lost in a love so powerful that the world stops spinning and takes notice for one stock-still, perfect moment in time.
“Kelsey… You’re mine, aren’t you? Just mine—now and always,” she demands against your kissed lips, her tone proprietary—but also vulnerable, oh-so-very vulnerable. You swallow thickly as you raise your hands and take her beloved face in them, making her gaze straight into your eyes, going deep, deep, all the way into your heart and soul. A heart that beats only for her. A soul that only burns so that you may see her in its light.
“Daelynn… Yours. Now and forever.” The world fades away as the two of you get lost in each other’s arms, mouths and fingers and hearts connecting and eclipsing all else in the path of your love. You and Daelynn against the world. Now, and tomorrow and every other day after. Together.
Now and forever.
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