#no one mourns the wicked. need i say more? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aris-ink · 1 year

Note

more ddlg jk please im so obsessed

ily <3

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: manipulation, big corruption kink, dd/lg, hints of size and spit kink, lots of kissing, slight dub con, allusions to con noncon, intoxication, drugs (marijuanna), dirty talk, groping, bondage (ropes), praise, free use kink, loving humiliation (verbal), possessiveness, creampie, aftercare

Coming back from work, Jungkook found your sleepy form curled up on the bed, the nightlight setting a faint glow over the room. He crouched down on the floor and leaned in to kiss you, the affectionate greeting making your eyes flutter open. You tried to blink the drowsiness in them away, but it didn't seem to be quite working, and Jungkook felt his heart melt in his chest.

"Are you okay, princess?"

You breathed out slowly, your answer coming out mellow.

"I feel so weird, daddy."

He examined you with concern, the dull glaze of your eyes the first thing to catch his attention. Whatever he was about to say died in his throat, and he found himself stroking your cheek with his thumb. You looked so small like this; barely holding on to consciousness, gazing into his eyes with all the love and trust your precious heart had to offer. It stirred something in his soul, something primal and sinister, instantly triggering its protective instincts.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He coaxed gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. "Did you eat properly?"

"Dinner," you nodded, sighing, "and some snacks."

Your answer was just as expected, but the innocence of it further provoked that thing in the shadows of his mind, and a pierced eyebrow raised at you cluelessly.

"What snacks? We ran out last night, baby. I got you some on the way home today."

You frowned at that, confusion seeping into your expression.

"No, we... still had some left... they- they were in the shelf... in the kitchen."

"Oh baby..." Jungkook sighed then, and lowered his lips to your forehead. "There's a reason daddy keeps those hidden. You probably shouldn't have touched that."

For a split second, when your eyes raised to meet his, he thought you had realized what happened, what he did, and his heart reacted in tandem with his cock, jumping. But then your small hand moved to reach for him. You couldn't have been cuter if you tried. Even now, seeking his protection, whether it was the drugs muddling your brain; or just love.

Because hidden wasn't exactly the most accurate word here... not since a while, at least, but there was a sadistic need rising up in Jungkook to slip further into his role, murmur reassurances that would have made angels weep for you, had they ever existed and mourned for lost souls.

"It's okay. Just rest, baby... The feeling will pass soon. Just..." he brushed his nose against yours, "close your eyes and let go. Daddy will take care of you. Yeah?"

You followed his instructions flawlessly, letting your eyes fall shut, your body relaxing as he spoke. But your hand still squeezed at his bigger one, like you were nervous that he'd disappear. There didn't really seem to be many coherent thoughts left in that pretty, little head of yours. No wonder the weed hit you hard; it wasn't something you've tried before. You've always rejected any blunts Jungkook offered, trembling and stilling his hands when he whispered all the depraved things he knew would make your cunt leak as he touched you. Now, after the drug has entered your system - and in large amounts, too - you were left so... vulnerable, in every way. Helpless against the warmth flooding your senses, making your nerves tingle as Jungkook climbed on top of you. Helpless against him; his wicked hands soothing you, exploring your waist, their touch your only connection to your earthly existence in the warm, fuzzy haze pulling you under; stripping you off your inhibitions.

"Relax, sweetheart. Just like that."

There was a repressed desire lurking in the softness of his palms sneaking under your shirt. When his lips inched towards yours, something almost innocent laced the action; a soft peck, testing the waters. Too lightheaded to think straight, you let Jungkook do the thinking for you, because that was what daddy was there for, wasn't it? To catch you when you fall. To look after his little girl, kiss her and hold her. And he did just that, throbbing at the whine that slipped past your lips as soon as his touched your neck.

"Sensitive, angel?"

His hands explored your tummy, butterflies erupting while the rough pads of his fingers inched upwards. His voice was as soft as any devil's leading their prey astray, a seduction too great to resist with your guard lowered and brain muddled. Sweet, little thing, so putty in his hands; an adoring kiss warmed your cheek, followed by a sigh, a sound of feigned sympathy. Poor, little baby, so dazed under him; back arching softly when he began to rub your nipple, eliciting a gasp. Good thing daddy knew exactly what you needed. He was going to make it all better, he whispered. Daddy would never hurt you, he promised. And then he slid down your underwear.

He was sure that even with how high you were, his brain was running on the same kind of adrenaline, releasing endorphins, heart beating fast and blood rushing, his kisses sloppy and slow. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, or rather, like he wanted to pour himself and his love into every nook and crevice of you, body and soul; a suspicion he made far too easy to confirm when he pulled away, dark gaze immediately drawn to the string of saliva connecting you for a second too long. It was enough for his thumb to reach upwards and rub the remains of the wetness into your bottom lip, hypnotized by how swollen and shiny it looked.

There was no other sound in the room besides the mingling of your labored breathing and the soft moans his touches encouraged, igniting a kind of fire within you that, had your mind and heart been sober, would have been considered humiliating. The willingness to be defiled, the trust that this was your caretaker just doing his job. And in a twisted way, he was. Fueling all the forbidden desires and needs you kept locked up, deemed too dark to ever leave the twilight zone of your soul. And once again, whose job was it if not Jungkook's to show his little one that not all dark things were frightful?

Floating, you briefly felt your arms being raised, cool air hitting your skin as he slipped your shirt off. The bed dipped then, and more kisses were lovingly left on your shoulders, the silky heat of his lips lazily trailing up to your neck. Time seemed to be passing by in a blur; you could feel Jungkook trapping your wrists above your head, slight shuffling coming from somewhere beside you.

Another kiss. More shuffling. You were disoriented up to the very moment you registered the fact that the noise stopped, and something was being wrapped around your hands.

No, not wrapped; tied. You whimpered, akin to a little fawn that realized it was ensnared.

Jungkook cooed at you, his lips brushing your collarbone, leaving your skin on fire.

"Such a good girl..."

He made his way down your stomach, presumably to continue to comfort you. Yet his deft fingers landed on your foot, the caress sending your heart jumping to your throat. Because even though it lasted only for a moment, you could hear more rustling, the final kiss landing on your ankle; right before the loving gesture was replaced with the lewd intentions he has had all along. His hands were gentle as they secured the knots, tying both of your ankles to the bed posts; leaving you spread open and defenseless, just the way he wanted.

Even without the restraints, even if your pussy wasn't dripping for him, it wasn't like you would have been able to fight back. Not after the edibles. And in the moment, not many things made sense besides the ache that built up inside you, the smell of Jungkook's skin, invading all your senses and making your thighs start to tremble. But one fact was pretty clear; you were nothing but a toy for him. He wasn't even bothered holding your legs open.

"All good?" He asked sweetly, his arms on either side of your head as he hovered above you again.

Your breath came out uneven, head spinning, but you nodded, lost in the darkness of his eyes staring into yours, giving into its entrancing depths, a bottomless pit that seemed to be asking: There, isn't this so much better? Doesn't it feel good to let daddy make the decisions for you? And he didn't need you to say a word, because your body provided all the answers, keening as you heard him undo his zipper. There was another layer of vulnerability attached to the fact that he was still fully dressed while your skin burned bare underneath him. Another layer of power Jungkook clearly relished in, if the way he twitched against you was anything to go by.

"You're so wet," it was a breathless statement, his eyes threatening to close when his heavy cock finally pressed in between your thighs. "So fucking wet."

Perhaps it was twisted, how lovingly he took advantage of you, degraded you, like you didn't quite belong to yourself; only to him. But your hole was clenching around nothing, trying to suck his cock right in any time he nudged the tip against it. And just like that, all the self control he had exercised so far was beginning to crumble. He could feel himself slipping, the words weighing on his tongue getting harder to hold back.

"So good for me... Just stay like this. Let daddy take care of you."

You moaned weakly, hips trying to seek more friction. Jungkook's cock twitched at that, spurting more precum in between the soft folds of your cunt. You were so divine. His little girl, his property, waiting to be used, craving it. And Jungkook could never deny you. This was all you've ever needed; to be stripped of your identity, no daunting responsibilities, no thoughts. All you had to do was lie there and take his cock like a good girl, your head fuzzy and cunt well fucked.

He rocked into you slowly, pushing an inch forward only to slide out again, the stretch combined with the pressure quickly making your stomach knot up. You didn't realize you were begging until you felt Jungkook's tongue over yours, his lips cutting off your soft whines.

"Fuck," he breathed out weakly, his hips arching into you off their own accord. "Doing so good for daddy." A kiss. "Gonna take care of you." A whisper. "Gonna give you all you need." A dip of his head, soft lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Little miss free use slut."

His tummy clenched at how sharply you inhaled, at the warm pulse beating around his cock as he sank deeper inside you. You were so tight, moaning into his ear, but too out of it to move, too out of it to do anything but feel the thrill of the pleasure he forced into your body. It was intoxicating, how perfect you were, all his to taint and love, his marks so deep no holy water could scrub them off your soul. He groaned, at this point running on pure instinct, fucking you harder as your cunt clenched around him, struggling to accommodate all of his girth and yet aching to be filled up with more. It was too much to handle; the combination of you, the rush of power, and the heavenly heat he was rutting into tipping him dangerously close to the edge.

"Yeah..." His voice came out as a needy, shaky whisper, an inked hand tightening around your breast. "Fuck." His forehead rested against yours, eyes hooded. "Feel good?"

A hiss escaped him when you clenched in response.

"Oh yeah? Little, slutty hole feels good?"

Jungkook's lips were on yours again before you could process it, muffling the loud moan you let out. You were already falling apart, and there were so many ways he wanted to ruin you and leave you shaking for more. All he could focus now on, though, was the vice grip of your wet, abused cunt, and the obscene sounds it made.

"Oh baby, you gonna come? Look what a pretty, little fucktoy I have here. Only good for one thing, hm?"

His hips stuttered at the shiver that ran through you. He gripped your jaw, the mattress protesting under the force of his thrusts. But the noise was nothing compared to the way you cried out for him, your walls spasming around his cock and drawing a loud, desperate moan out of his pretty mouth. Just like that, he followed you right over the edge, spilling his cum deep inside you, and shamelessly fucking it in even deeper. Eyes scrunched, he let his head rest in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

"Ohh fuck-" His groan broke into a drawn out, raspy whimper. "Yeees."

He came so hard, white spots dancing behind his eyelids, unwilling to stop grinding until his knees felt weak. He tried to catch his breath, his head swimming. You were limp beneath him, your heart still pounding hard against his. Despite the dreamy exhaustion weighing down his bones, he lifted himself up to check up on you, press tender kisses into your lips.

"Are you okay, baby?"

A nod was all you could manage.

"Such a good girl. You did so well."

His fingers reached to work on untying the knots binding your wrists, his dick twitching at the sight of you before him. The spit still shining on your lips, the glow of your flushed skin, the cum dripping out of your sensitive hole. So blissed out, ruined and pretty. All his. But rather than acting on the shivers of arousal that still haven't died down, flowing through his body, Jungkook focused on sitting you up and getting you to the bathroom.

He sat you in a tub filled with warm water, then discarded his own clothes to join you. The snacks he bought you earlier were placed on a tray, within arm's reach. He held you against his chest, fed you a little. He knew you were tired; you needed rest, you needed time to sober up, because you couldn't keep your eyes opened nor move as he washed you.

He rested his wet cheek on the crown of your head, taking a moment to just feel you close, immerse himself in the warmth.

"Baby," he whispered, his arms tightening around your waist, though he wasn't sure if you were still conscious enough to hear or understand him. "What have you done to me? I love you so much all of my soul is gone."

Gone where? Lost in yours, perhaps, the only heaven that actually mattered.

A moment passed in silence, your breathing soft, until an almost incoherent whisper broke him out of his stupor.

"Love you too, daddy."

Jungkook glanced down at you, a fond smile lighting up his face. It was time to go to bed. Tomorrow, he was off work, and he couldn't wait to spend the day with you. Cooking, kissing, watching movies, then rolling a joint. He had a feeling you wouldn't resist this time; you tended to like the games Jungkook chose. He was good at it. He had to be; that was also a part of his job, wasn't it? Making sure playtime with daddy was fun.

And how could he ever do anything but his best for his little girl?

💌 taglist: @baalsgurl1913 @kooktrash @glowunderthemoon @era-genius @sweetempathprunetree @bucketofhiros @iceprincessviviane @imnotlauriane @silv3rswirls @httpsbts @osakis-gf

#yandere bts #jungkook x reader #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts x reader

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cryptictongues · 8 months

Text

184 Days

pairing: Clive Rosfield x Flower!Reader Series rating: Mature (angst; tw listed below) word count: 13.6K summary: You have a hard time grieving after Clive's passing, even when you didn't need to grieve at all.

warnings: reader-insert (sorry lol), angst, hurt/comfort, reunions, grief/mourning, slight suicidal ideation, slight self-harm, depression, panic attacks, happy ending (yay!) - this is part of the Flower!Reader series! You don't need to have read the other two but there are references to them if that interests you.

Spoilers: This is post-game stuff. If you haven't played the game, beware.

TW's: This fic contains major themes of grief, so it is heavy. There is minor suicidal ideation and self-harm, not graphic in nature, but it is there. Depression and panic attacks are more common in this fic. If these topics don't sit right with you, please be cautious when reading. You may also reach out if you want to know specifics if you are worried!

Songs: I just want to share that I was constantly listening to When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, Thick Skull by Paramore, and Wicked Games by Chris Isaak.

LASTLY, I am sharing this on my birthday! My birthday gift to you all <3

[AO3 link]

Day 1

The Hideaway is full of people. People from all over Valisthea arrive in droves, coming to grant supplies, donate gil, and help around the Hideaway because today is the day; the day everyone here sends off Dion, Joshua, and Clive for their leave to Origin.

You are working overtime, helping with the final preparations before they take off. The biggest reason, however, for the hard work is the ever creeping anxiety filling your body as the time ticks closer to Clive’s departure; from his friends and family, and from you. This day has been a long time coming, yet now that it’s here you can barely stomach the thought of him leaving. With that thought lingering, every moment together has been even more precious than the next.

Every moment of free time has been spent together. With today being the day of departure, your last moments together were last night. You both made love all night, and in between sessions would talk about what you two will do once he comes back; creating the life of your dreams together. Yet, in the back of your mind, all you could think was those thoughts were just that: dreams. You don’t know what will happen during Clive’s mission. But it’s fun to play pretend, and to envision what life could have in store for the two of you.

The sun was in its golden state before its colors showed, telling you it’s almost time. You see everyone gathering on the main deck, Clive and co included, talking with one another as they say their farewells and safe travels. You start your way there, walking slowly as if it would prevent the inevitable. You know the moment you reach Clive, it would only be a matter of minutes before he is no longer within your grasp.

You see Clive talking to Jill, bringing her in for a tight hug as he continues. You see a shake in her shoulders, telling you she feels the same way you do. Just as hard as it is to wish your lover away, it must be just as hard to watch the man who has become a brother figure leave. They grew up together, after all.

You give a farewell to Prince Dion and Joshua once on the deck, giving Dion a firm handshake and a bow, while Joshua brings you in for a hug. You didn’t know Dion for long, but Joshua is a different story. Getting to know your lover’s brother has brought you closer to the both of them. Seeing how happy Clive was with Joshua around made your heart swell. You wonder if Joshua ever felt the same about you two.

Joshua let’s go of you, a melancholy smile drawn on his face. “Thank you, _____. Thank you for taking care of my brother.”

You shake your head. “No, thank you for finding each other again. I will be praying for the three of you to safely return to us.”

“I appreciate that, my lady.” Joshua thanks, yet his eyes shift, and he nods. “Here he comes.”

You turn to see Clive approaching you, and you already feel your chest growing tight and eyes water. He is standing before you, looking as beautiful as he always has, but with a sorrowful look that says everything you feel. It’s unfair, really. It devastates you that he is the one to stop all the madness, when in a perfect world he would stay. You keep telling yourself this isn’t the end, yet your gut keeps telling you otherwise.

“____.”

“Would it be selfish of me to ask you to stay? To ask to let the world go to hell?”

Clive smiles, solemnly chuckling at your suggestions. “Never.”

You reach for his left hand with both hands, holding it as you rub your thumbs into his palm. “I know it would be futile, all the same.” You utter. “There would be no life worth living for anyone. I just wish things could be different.”

“I am doing this for a better future for everyone. It is what the world deserves.” Clive’s other hand covers your hands in full. “I must do this, so you and I can live the future we’ve always talked about.”

“I wish I could take your place, so I could guarantee your safety.” You choke out, the waterworks starting.

Clive is quick to react, pulling you into him as you sob softly into his chest. “Knowing you will be safe here will be reason enough for me to make it back to you.” Your hands squeeze his sides, his statement making you want to sob harder. Clive pulls back, taking one hand to lift your head to get a good look at you. “I promise I will be back. Wait for me.”

You nod frantically, sniffling as you take deep breaths to calm down. Clive’s forehead leans against yours, his thumb brushing continuous strokes on your cheek, before pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. You accept his kiss, giving it your all knowing the outcome is unknown. Both of your lips linger, not wanting to pull away because once one of you does, he will be on his way.

Clive pulls away slightly, his lips still lingering near your own. “I love you, ____.”

“I love you too.” You whisper, placing one more kiss to his lips before pulling away. “I have something for you.”

You reach into the pouch you keep attached to your corset belt and pull out a lily. You thread the stem in between the crease of his corset and tunic, the tightness of his uniform keeping the flower in place. You brush his chest, stalling him a little longer before you accept it is time. “Lily represents reunion. With this flower, you shall come back to me.”

Clive sucks in a breath, releasing with a shutter as if he was on the verge of tears. “I will, no matter what.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to see Jill still sniffling with watery eyes. She smiles at you before looking at Clive. “We will take care of each other.”

You feel something rub against your thigh and look to see Torgal rubbing his head on you. You smile, rubbing behind his ears. “Torgal will look out for us too.”

Clive hums, appreciating the sight before him. “This is farewell for now. Till then, we have a god to kill.”

Everyone has now formed a semi-circle around the three dominants about to depart, watching as they walk towards the end of the deck. They pick up their pace, all of them running until they are no longer in sight. A bright light goes off and the next thing everyone sees is Bahamut carrying Clive and Joshua towards an event that will shape the world.

You are sitting on the main deck, legs dangling off the side as you continue to stare off into the horizon. You haven’t left since Clive left, the golden hour long gone and twilight having come and gone, dusk now settling in the sky. It feels like it has been hours since his departure, when in reality it has only been a few. You wonder if they have made it to Origin yet, if the battle has started, if Ultima has been defeated… if they have met their maker for good. That thought makes you shiver.

You hear footsteps coming from behind you before a presence sits right beside you. You don’t look, but the aura alone tells you it’s Jill and you smile slightly. She puts an arm around you, pulling you into her as you both continue to look into the distance, like they would be back any second. She twists your hair, which comforts you in a way, and you hum. It is silent for a while, watching the sky continue to grow darker and darker until the sky is black with its pearls.

“Have you prayed to Metia today?” You break the silence with a question. Jill’s fixation that Metia answers prayers is comforting in these moments, especially when every prayer she has spoken through her heart has come true.

She shakes her head. “I haven’t, but only because I wanted you to join me. Our hearts combined will help, no doubt.”

You nod your head, and you both move into a position that faces Metia herself, kneeling before her with hands clasped together. You bow your head, and say your prayer in your head, letting your heart translate it in a way that only Metia understands. You pray for everyone’s safe return with little to no injury. You pray they come back healthy and happy. You pray for the dawn of a new age where you and Clive help build a world you two can grow old in. You pray for everything to be okay. You raise your head as you finish, and you admit that some weight has been lifted off your chest, but an uneasiness still sticks. You turn your head to see Jill finishing her own prayer, and she looks towards you with her hand reaching for yours. You give her your right hand and she grips it with a smile. “Metia has listened to our prayers. Now, we wait.”

“Jill, your faith that everything will be okay is admirable. I wish I had your confidence.” You confess, the sour feeling remaining deep in your body.

“For the longest time, I thought Clive was long dead. I believed that Metia hadn’t listened. And next thing I know, there he is. Granted, it was years later.” She squeezes your hand, and turns so your knees are touching hers. “That’s why I have faith that they will return to us.”

“Maybe your faith will rub off on me, and not the other way around with my worries.” You chuckle, trying to make light of the night.

“No matter what happens,” Jill reassures, “I will be here for you. We will be here for each other.”

You nod, and bring her in for a hug, squeezing her tightly which she returns. “Thank you, Jill. For everything.”

You both stay there for a minute, until next thing you know you hear running on the deck. You pull away to see Gav running towards you two, panic clear on his face. “Ah fuck,” he breathes in and out as he approaches. “Edda is in labor. All hands on deck.”

You and Jill gasp in unison, both jumping up to run to the infirmary to help bring new life into this world. And hopefully, a new one.

Day 2

“Alright, one more push, Edda.”

You are sitting behind Edda, letting her use your hands for her death grip as she continuously pushes and wails out in pain. You, Jill, and Mid are giving her words of encouragement as she continues her labor, and after one final push Tarja fully delivers the baby. A cry echoes throughout the room and the atmosphere is full of happiness and relief.

“Can I come in yet?” You hear Gav yell from the other side of the door.

“She just gave birth, Gav. Give us a minute.” Tarja yells, eyes rolling hard at Gav’s common sense.

“He’s just excited,” Jill chimes in. “As we all are.”

“Congratulations, Edda! It’s a boy!” Tarja finishes cleaning off the baby, kneeling beside Edda as she passes him off to her. You watch Edda admire her baby boy for the first time, her smile brightening up the room as she talks to him.

Seeing them interact stirs you with an emotion you wish to experience directly. You and Clive have talked about having children, making it clear you two wouldn’t have any until the world has been set straight. But you two would talk about what it would be like to have a little you or a little him running around or both. You imagine cradling a little boy in your arms, giggling as you shower him with kisses. You imagine Clive holding a little girl, swaying her around while singing a melody. Two giggly children to call your own with the man you have fallen madly in love with. You feel as if your heart could burst from the thought.

“_____, can you go up to the rear stacks to grab more towels off the lines?” Mid asks, taking you out of your sappy daydreams. You snap out of it, humming in the affirmative before moving away from Edda and heading to the door. You could barely get out the door before almost being trampled by Gav, running in like a mad man. “Let me see! Let me see!”

You chuckle to yourself, exiting the room and heading to the linen lines. Even when things seem dark, you can’t help but keep smiling at everyone’s high spirits tonight. You suppose new life being brought into the world will do that to people because it sure as hell is doing that for you. It’s a good distraction, and you accept it with open arms.

You grab some towels from the line, cradling them in your arms securely as you make your descent to the main deck and up the stairs to the infirmary. You reach the infirmary doors when you are once again almost hit by a body, except this time it was Jill. One quick look at her made it apparent she was crying. She doesn’t spare you a glance as she runs down the stairs, sobs fading as she goes further down. You turn to the open door, shock clear on your face. “What happened?”

Gav and Mid look at you like they don’t know what to say. You look at Gav, tears streaming down his face, and it’s like everything hits you all at once. Towels drop from your arms, your arms no longer working as your body starts to erupt. “No,” you shudder. “No.” You kept repeating yourself, not quite believing what’s happening. No words spoken, and yet everyone is saying your worst nightmare out loud.

You could see Gav wanted to say something, but before a word could break the glass box you were building around yourself, you ran. You ran right out the door, and ran as fast as you could to Clive’s chambers. You slam the door shut, starting to pace back and forth with your fists yanking your hair. You turn to the balcony doors, and run to them, slamming them wide open before looking out into the distance. You see the moon, as bright and big as ever, yet Metia no longer shines in its vibrancy. You hear a howl and see Torgal and Jill, Jill’s head tilted down as her body continues to shake. Jill’s connection with Metia was enough to tell you that something terrible has happened: Clive is dead.

You back away from the door, utter disbelief and pain seeping into your lungs. He promised. He promised he would return to me. Your mind keeps reeling, and next thing you know you find yourself in Clive’s bed, wrapping yourself in his covers tightly to encapsulate his lingering scent. Sobs devastate your body, almost to the point of not being able to breathe. But you embraced it, for you wish you could stop breathing all together in this moment.

You fall asleep with choked up airways and puffy eyes, dreams full of a future that’s no longer possible. You dream of him and him alone. You fall asleep in the dead of night, missing the sun greet Valisthea into a new era.

Day 5

Clive would’ve thought he was dead if it weren’t for the loud thumping in his head. He slowly comes to, the first thing he sees being light. It takes him a few seconds to adjust, his eyes working overtime against the strain. He feels sand, and hears the sound of waves. He goes to move his fingers when he notices he can’t move the ones on his left hand. He brings his left arm to his view and sees his hand is completely petrified. He couldn’t see the rest of his arm, but could feel the lack of blood and flesh ending right above his elbow. He pushes himself up with his good arm, hunching over in his spot as he breathes the salty air deeply.

Origin. He had defeated Ultima. The crystal in the sky was destroyed and now he finds himself here on this beach. Based on his surroundings, he concludes he is on the coast of Storm, even though the dark coast was no longer dark, but bright. It could have easily been mistaken for a coastline off of Valisthea, but behind him were still the dead brush of the continent.

He wonders how long he’s been out for. He vaguely remembers waking up, but not long enough to recollect anything. He reaches up to his face to touch his facial hair, feeling the scruff that has grown out slightly. A few days, he thinks. It was a mere few days ago when he left the Hideaway with Dion and his brother, and now he is the only one left. It burns him up inside knowing he couldn’t save them, and the fact he watched his brother die not once, but twice weighs heavy on his heart. Especially because if Ultima hadn’t chosen him as his vessel, he most likely would have become the Phoenix and Joshua would be alive and safe. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but alas.

Clive knows it does no good to think this way. Just like he would have done anything to save Joshua, he knows just as well Joshua would’ve done everything to save him. He knew Joshua would want him to help bring Valisthea and Storm into a new age. And most importantly, he knew Joshua wanted him to be happy, and deserved as much. I cannot delve into what was, but what can. And what he can focus on is the future, especially one with you.

Clive suddenly remembers the lily you had given him, and scrambles to retrieve it from his pant pouch with some difficulty due to one available hand. He felt its petals, still smooth and soft, and pulled it out to see it still looked brand new. He lets out a stuttered breath, eyes watering slightly. He almost couldn’t believe that after everything it had managed to stay in one piece, but he knew it was because you had blessed him with it. You had grown it, cared for it, and plucked it for him, and it was his turn to care for it. Just as well, it was time to keep his promise: to come back to you. He has been away for too long, and he must make haste now.

Clive sighs and slowly starts to stand up, gathering his bearings so as to not get too dizzy. He stands still for a moment, breathing in deeply once more to ensure he won’t collapse before assessing his situation. He will need a boat. He thinks he could find a port somewhere, and worse comes to worse he travels to Waloed to get one there. He will need to eat something to gain some semblance of energy to do said travel. The biggest obstacle for him will be his arm, a heavy weight on his body that doesn’t help his fatigue. He will have to find something to make it more manageable until he can get back to the Hideaway.

He starts to walk up the beach towards the woods; body heavy from his wet clothes, stone arm, and tired eyes. But he will move forward, for you are waiting back home for him and his safe return. No matter the cost, he will make it home to you.

“Darling, wait for me. I’m coming home.”

Day 14

It has been two weeks since the end of Origin, and to say you haven’t been grieving well is an understatement. You have a hard time getting out of bed these days, and your motivation to do anything is abysmal. You know your numbness is unsettling to other Hideaway members, many not knowing what to say when they see you. It’s like they saw you change overnight; your happy, go lucky self now tainted with expressionless reactions.

Gav has officially transitioned as the new Cid, but has yet to move into what will be his new room. He only comes in to do some paperwork, and read his latest messages. Oftentimes he will come to you, asking if he can get you anything, and he gets the same response from you every time: a subtle shake of your head. You are grateful that he lets you stay here as the smell of Clive’s sheets is the only thing keeping you from breaking all together.

You had forced yourself out of bed today to go to the Backyard. You sat beside the flower bed, staring at the flowers hoping for something to happen. Flowers were your comfort for a long time, and now it is like they have no effect at all. You look at the lilies that are off to the side, and all you can do is scoff. Reunion my foot.

You hear footsteps and paws coming down the stairs. You know it is Torgal and Jill, especially when Torgal has been stuck to Jill’s side for the last two weeks. You can’t blame him. You wouldn’t want to be around you either.

“You came to pay the flowers a visit. They’ve missed you.”

“They aren’t very good at showing it.” You shrug. You have been here for a few hours, and your mood hasn’t changed. You feel empty.

“Hortense is holding a sewing class for some new arrivals. You should come and say hi.” Jill says gently, not wanting to make your mood shift further south.

Deep down, you know you’ve let Jill down. You had promised to be there for her like she had with you, yet your own self pity refuses to acknowledge your lack of empathy. The demon residing in your brain just tells you that no one understands. It doesn’t matter if everyone is grieving about the three’s passing; your happy ending relied on your lover coming back to you. Everyone else can move on, keeping him in their memory. You can’t because a part of you is now dead with him.

You move to stand up, not wanting to bring her down with you. “They won’t want to see me. I’ll just make a fool out of myself.”

You move to head upstairs when Torgal blocks your walking route, and Jill gets in front of you. She grabs your shoulders, looking at you intently. You can see she is trying hard not to break in front of you, making that deep part of you scream to get over yourself. “Please, _____. You are an important asset to the Hideaway; the Jack of all Trades. I know they would love to meet you. The more kind people like you they meet, the more comfortable they will be here.”

Even since the end of Origin, new arrivals have continued to come in, many wanting to help with the cause. Even though bearers no longer have the power of magicks, it has led to more violence against those with the mark. This has led to everyone working more tirelessly to make strides for a future with new hope reinstated. You have yet to meet many of them, the motivation to do so never in your favor.

“Clive would want you to continue his legacy.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream how his legacy has taken him away from you. You know your way of thinking is irrational, but the rational part of you is a mountain ready to avalanche. With the last bit you have, you take a deep breath, knowing she is right. He would want you to continue living, even without him.

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll meet them. I can’t promise I’ll come off as kind. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the strength.”

Jill smiles, brushing hair from your face. “All I ask is that you try. We miss you.”

You three ascend the stairs, Jill locking arms with you as if you’d run away. You make it to the main deck, seeing Hortense and a few new faces sitting in a circle. Hortense waves, signaling you three to join in. “_____, it is so good for you to join us!”

“It’s, um, great to be here.” You say, trying to come off as happy.

You, Jill, and Torgal join the circle, quick introductions being passed around before Hortense starts her lesson. She is doing a lesson on basic sewing techniques using cross-stitching circles, showing everyone different patterns, styles, and methods for different types of fabrics. One of the new arrivals, Greta you remember her name being, was looking at your stitching constantly. You turn to look at her, and she quickly turns away. You look at her work, and you can tell she is struggling a little bit.

“Hey,” you say slightly above a whisper. “Try this.”

You show her a trick when it comes to tightening the thread, making it so it won’t want to fall apart. “Okay, now you try.”

Greta follows your method to a T, going slowly as she does it from memory. She smiles, seeing how well it worked. “That’s genius! Thank you so much!”

You nod, going back to your own work with a subtle smile on your face. You remember when you first learned how to sew, and how difficult it was for you. You remember when you had to learn on your own, Hortense having too much on her plate. You forgot how good it was to help others, and even if this feeling is for a moment, you feel lighter. You face Jill to see her glancing at you, a grin on her face as she continues messing with her circle of fabric. You know she is punching the air in success in her mind right now.

The session lasts for roughly an hour, and Hortense puts it to a close. “I’ll hold another class next week. Feel free to practice in the meantime.”

‘Yes ma'am’ is said in unison, and everyone departs to get ready for supper. You and Jill stay behind, helping Hortense put stuff away and create small chatter. As you all finish up, you pull Jill aside, feeling the need to say something. “Jill, I want to thank you. But most importantly, I want to apologize for not being there for you as well. I promise to do better by you.”

“Oh, _____,” Jill coos, bringing you in for a hug. “It’s okay. I understand your pain. We will get through this.”

You two continue like this, and all you can think is maybe this is a new start. Maybe you can start grieving in a better way than you have been. You know it won’t happen overnight, but after days of feeling like you’ve been dragged into a hole, you sense you can see the light.

Someone is yelling from afar, and you pull back to see a woman walking quickly to Hortense, a basket of what looks to be freshly clean linens in her hands. You and Jill walk over to see the commotion, only to see another new face. Hortense motions you two over, grinning from ear to ear with the woman beside her. “Ah, _____! I don’t think the two of you have met. This is Willow. She’s been helping me a lot with many of the laundry duties.”

“Oh Lady _____, it is so lovely to meet you.” Willow says, bowing her head slightly. “Also, lovely to see you again Lady Jill.”

You bow slightly, not used to such formalities towards yourself. Jill chimes in, glee in her tone. “You as well. Thank you for helping Hortense during this time. I know she surely appreciates it.”

“Of course!” Willow chirps. “I was coming over here to tell her the linens for the beds are done. Lady ____, I was able to clean your sheets as well so you will have a freshly made bed for tonight.”

You stop breathing, your ears deceiving you. “W-what?”

Willow was still smiling, not catching on to the atmospheric shift. “Your sheets! Hortense got me to get all the bed linens for a wash, but I went ahead and had your bed made as a good gesture.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and your vision is starting to blur. She cleaned the sheets. She cleaned Clives sheets. Not yours, but Clives. The one thing you had left of him, the one thing that still smelled like him, the one thing that made it feel like he wasn’t completely gone from the world, vanishing right before your eyes. You are starting to breathe hard, everything around you is no longer real. It is just you being thrown back into your suffocating glass box, and being thrown back into that dreaded hole. You can hear voices, but can’t distinguish what is being said. It’s when you feel a hand on your shoulder that the glass shatters, leaving you bloody in the dark, dank hole.

You collapse, the flood gates opening with shrieks and agonizing sobs. You are hitting the wood, small splinters digging into your fist as you continue. You didn’t care because no pain was more painful than what you are feeling right now. You hear running, and more commotion in the background.

“There is nothing to see here, take your leave.” It’s Gav. It fucking Gav.

“_____, please get up. What happened?”

“This is my fault.” Hortense says mortified. “I didn’t tell Willow that room was off limits.”

Your breathing is now rapid, sucking air and pushing it out because it isn’t enough. Arms wrap around you and you thrash around, yelling and screaming to let you go. “Get the fuck off of me!”

Gav has you upright and the rage you are now feeling bubbles out, turning into hitting his chest. “You are the only other person that goes in there, and you didn’t notice the fucking sheets were gone?! How could you let this happen?!”

“Please, _____. I just got back from Lostwing. I haven’t been there since early this morning.” Gav reasons, getting a grip on you with your arms secure so you wouldn’t do something you regret.

“That was all I had left of him.” You wail. “All I had was his scent and now it’s gone! It’s all fucking gone! He’s gone!”

“I got her from here. You three go have dinner.” Gav picks you up bridal style, walking up the main deck stairs. You are still crying, and your vision is blurry but you can still make out what is behind you. Willow is hugging Hortense, both visibly upset. But then you see Jill, who is standing there looking at the ground, none moving. Torgal is nudging her, but she won’t budge.

I’m sorry, Jill. I broke my promise.

Day 31

One month. It has been one month since Clive’s death, and you are no longer alive; a living corpse that lays in bed for days and days on end. You only get up to use the privy chambers, but other than that you lay there. Nothing is enjoyable anymore. The idea of going to the Backyard, to the Shelves, or even the Ale House is unappealing. Gav usually brings you food, sometimes Jill, but you barely touch it. You eat a little, but your appetite is non-existent; you eat only when your stomach tells you to.

People don’t visit you like they did. Sometimes Jill, Tarja, and even Jote would come in for a short time. They would try talking to you, they would rub your side to bring comfort, they would brush your hair, yet you wouldn’t react. Those visits have slowly dissipated, and you can’t blame them.

You hate what Clive’s passing has turned you into. You never thought grief would transform you so poorly. Grief isn’t new to you, just as it isn’t new for most people in the realm. You grieved when your parents passed, you grieved when Hideaway members didn’t return from missions, you grieved when Titan and his Dhalmekian goons killed so many innocent people in the Old Hideaway. But Clive is your one true love; the one man that was able to intertwine his soul with yours. They say once the soul has been torn into two, it never fully recovers.

You get up from the bed with all the strength you can muster. As you stand, you face the mirror from across the room, and what you see makes you shutter. You walk over slowly, not quite believing that it is you in the reflection. Your fingertips drag along the cool surface, slightly dissociating in the process. What was once full and bright features were now hollowed from lack of sleep, crying, lack of appetite, and the grief that’s swallowing you.

“By the Founder, I look dreadful.”

You want to heal. You want to get better. Your soul is waiting for your shell of a body to hatch, so it may continue to live. But how can you do that in a place where everywhere you look, you see him? Every corner of the Hideaway is covered with Clive’s aspirations, dreams, and ideas. If you want to move on, to grieve healthily, you can’t stay here. You need to be somewhere that takes you back to a time before Clive.

The moon shines brightly in the room, giving you enough light to maneuver around. You pack a small bag of your belongings, only with things that would benefit your travels, and dress yourself in clothes to protect you from the elements. Once situated, you walk over to what was once Clive’s desk and sit down. You grab the quill and a scroll, and look at the blank paper. Your eyes start to water, knowing this decision will ruffle some feathers, and will create a form of worry you won’t be here to satiate. You think about getting back into bed and forgetting about what you are about to do, but you know this is a must. You are holding everyone in the Hideaway back, and you can’t support the cause if you aren’t getting better.

You must do this, so therefore you write.

“What do you mean she left?” Jill raises her voice, the shock clear in her tone.

Gav had come into Clive’s old chambers to send some letters out to town leaders when he saw the bed was empty and made, with a scroll lying on top of the pillow. When Gav opened it, and read the words on the page, he immediately called for an urgent meeting with the main Hideaway members.

“She left this on the bed.” Gav states solemnly, passing it to Otto who is on his right. “Long story short, she doesn’t want to be found. She didn’t give a direct location to where she was heading. All she said is she will send word when she is ready to communicate.”

“She isn’t in the right state of mind to go out by herself!” Tarja says with irritation. “What is she thinking?!”

“How would she have even left? We only have one boat, no?” Tomes questions.

“We have a second boat in case the one Obolus uses is in need of repair.” Otto mutters, looking at the scroll a tad longer before passing it off to the next person.

Jill stands up from her seat, huffing as she turns to take her leave. Gav stands with her, already reading her mind. “Where the bloody fuck you think you’re going?!

“Rather than us wasting our breath, I’m going to go find her!” Jill shouts, frustration built into her face.

Tarja stands up quickly to grab Jill’s arm. “Now wait a damn second. We need a plan before we start going out willy nilly.”

“As you said, she isn’t in the right mindset to be out by herself. She could be dead in a ditch for all we know.” Jill seethes, pissed that nobody seems to be as fearful for her friend as she is.

“She is strong, Jill.”

Everyone turns to Jote, who is never one to chime in unless need be. She is holding the scroll, looking at it as she speaks. “I don’t know her as well as you all may, but from what I do know she is very resilient. She wouldn’t leave unless necessary, and this letter proves as much.”

Everyone is quiet, thinking caps on as they process Jote’s words. The first words spoken after the pregnant silence is Otto, turning to Gav seriously. “Gav, you are the leader of the Hideaway now. It is your call.”

Gav ponders for a moment, a bit torn of what action is best to take. You are family and he wants to know you are safe. He also doesn’t want to get in the way of what you need to do to get better. He fears sending Hideaway members out to find you will make things worse.

“I think,” Gav pauses, sighing in the process. “I will alert town leaders around Valisthea to keep their eyes peeled for her. If she doesn’t want to be bothered, we shouldn’t intrude. Getting a location on her though would be beneficial for us to ensure she is at least safe.”

“Gav is right,” Otto agrees. “She will need to go into towns for essentials and will probably pass through a few.”

“If we don’t hear anything within a month's time, we will start sending out some search parties, but as I said we cannot bother her if we find her. We have to hope she will reach out to us when she is ready.” Gav continues, giving everyone a once over to see if his words are reciprocated.

Agreements are shared, some more hesitant than others, before Gav dismisses everyone to their daily duties. When the last person leaves, Gav collapses into his seat, taking deep breaths as he runs his hands over his face.

“May Greagor be with you, _____.” Gav whispers to himself.

Day 40

You can’t sleep, constantly shifting under the covers with no sense of relief. You feel hot, which is abnormal for this cool night. You start to burn up, skin flaring until it starts to burn. You sit up, panicking as you throw the covers off of you before you freeze, breath caught in your throat. In the moonlight, there is a figure sitting across the room from you, head bowed down with arms in their lap. You panic in silence, not knowing whether to fight or flight.

“You’re awake.” That voice. You know that voice all too well.

“C-Clive?” You stutter, not trusting your voice to break the quiet.

Silence suffocates the room. You wait for a response, but he just sits there. You move off the bed and walk towards him slowly, feeling off about what you are experiencing. He’s dead. Metia’s star went out. This can’t be real.

You are standing in front of him now, your bare toes touching his boots. He still doesn’t move, so you move your hands to his head, messing with the strands of hair from his head. “Clive, is it really you?”

“You left.” You pause, his tone off. Is he not happy to see me?

“Clive, I thought you were dead. We all did.”

“And yet, you still left.” He growls, finally moving his hands to grip your waist tightly, on the verge of pain. “You promised to wait for me. You broke that promise.”

“Clive,” you choke. “I’m sorry I-”

“You broke your promise to Jill.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You abandoned the Hideaway, my legacy, like it was nothing!”

“Clive, you’re hurting me.” You are crying now. His fingers are digging into your side hard, and you look to see he is shaking with anger.

“This is nothing in comparison to how you have hurt me!” He yells, and he lifts his head, causing you to gasp. His eyes are orange, glowing bolder and bolder the more worked up he got. You try to pry his grip off of you, but to no avail.

“Please, Clive!” You cry harder. “I love you, I'm sorry for leaving! I should have stayed!”

“You are too late, _____.” He seethes.

“Because I don’t love you anymore.”

You shoot up from your bed, screaming in a cold sweat. You look around the room like a mad woman, trying to gauge your surroundings. A wave of nausea overcomes you and you fall to the floor, vomiting from the absolute madness that occurred in your head. You dry heave on the floor, waiting for the next course of nausea to arrive but it never came. You sat up so your back was against the bed, relieved you weren’t going to be sick again, yet frustrated all the same.

You arrived in Dhalmekia four days ago. Originally, you set out to find your childhood home where you grew up with your parents, but when you arrived at the village off to the left of the Northern Velkroy, it had all but been abandoned. Your home, that was left with memories of your old life, ravaged from what you could assume to be bandits. So you kept going, hitchhiking a few rides before traveling on foot. That is when you found a small, two room cottage down in the Fields of Corava, a place you weren’t aware of, having never been south of Dalimil. There was minimal damage; a broken window and some chipped flooring. It was a better place to stay for the time being.

Ever since arriving, however, your mind has conjured terrible dreams with it being the same every time. It was always you and Clive in this room with him degrading your worth. The first night didn’t feel real, knowing that Clive would never act as such with you. But tonight, after having it for the fourth time in a row, your heart is waning.

You stare at the chair you saw Clive in, an increasing amount of anguish washing over you as you look. He’s gone. Your fingers dig into your thighs, trying to ground yourself. He’s gone. You start to choke on air, not wanting the cries of grief released from your lungs. He’s gone.

He’s gone.

He’s fucking gone!

The shell cracks, the quiet night becomes piercing as you scream. You shoot up to the chair, taking it and bashing it into the floor. You keep screaming, the splinters from the chair and the floor growing with each smack. No matter the ache your body is having, the adrenaline rushing through your it has given your grief new purpose; a cathartic event that is shaping your mentality.

The chair is nothing but wood; the bare bones of it. You get up to open the door, chucking the wood outside the door with rage. The splintered wood digs into your hands, your emotional distress covering any semblance of physical pain. Your screams have turned into wails, angry tears dripping from your face to the floor.

This rage inside of you stirred by grief makes you feel like you're dying. If anyone told you that Clive’s death would make you transform into the living dead, you’d laugh. How could anyone make you feel dead when you were the cheerful jack of the Hideaway?

The wood is now dispersed all across the field before you, bathing in the pure light of the moon. You sink into the cottage where the dark swallows you, slamming the door shut and sliding down it as your body continues its assault. Your bloody hands grip at your hair as you rock back and forth, chanting the same two words over and over.

He’s gone.

Day 70

The atmosphere at the Hideaway was the same like any other day. People were up doing their tasks or simply enjoying the day; it has been the same old, same old.

That is, until the bell on the pier sounded off.

“What is going on?!” Jill yells, everyone looking over the main deck to see the commotion. The bell is only used for emergencies, like if an enemy were to approach the Hideaway. However, Jill sees that people weren’t panicking, but rejoicing.

Gav runs up to Jill alarmed, trying to get a sense of what’s happening. “Oh fuck me! What’s going on?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Jill says, her and Gav picking up the pace as they walk to see the situation at hand; both ready to take action. The two of them push through the crowd, finally reaching the railing that sees over the pier. The first instant Jill looks down, a gasp is let out with her hand covering her mouth and eyes bulging.

“No fucking way,” Gav whispers, not quite believing what he is seeing.

But their eyes do not betray them, for the bell has rang not for an emergency situation, but a message that he is alive. Clive is alive.

“He made it… Great Greagor he fucking made it!” Gav cheers.

“Clive!” Jill yells.

Clive looks up to the main deck to see two of his cherished friends, and right as he makes eye contact with them, he makes a run for the lift. Gav and Jill follow his lead, running in the direction he is to come to officially greet him. The minute Clive steps out from the lift, Gav and Jill are on him, hugging him tightly to make sure he isn’t here to haunt the place.

“You’re alive!” Jill elates.

“I apologize for my late return. I didn’t realize I’d be sorely missed.” Clive jokes, watching as more people gather around them.

“Are you kidding? This place has been falling apart without you!” Gav exaggerates.

It makes Clive chuckle, placing his hand on Gav’s shoulder as he pulls back. “Seeing all the new faces, I doubt that. And that is thanks to you. Thank you for keeping the Hideaway safe.”

Clive feels something rub his leg, and looks to see Torgal rubbing his head against him. He bends down, using his good arm to rub behind Torgal’s ears. “Torgal, have you been a good boy since I’ve been away?”

“Clive,” Jill gasps. “You’re arm.”

During Clive’s travels back home, his arm had become more of a nuisance if anything. He is a strong man; he can wield swords made of the heaviest metals, no problem. But to have an appendage weigh more than the other, well, that is a whole different situation. He had ripped part of his cape and created a sling to keep his arm in place, making travel more bearable.

Clive stands up straight, rubbing his stoned arm. “Yeah… I didn’t get away completely unscathed.” Clive draws out. “But nevertheless, we won.”

“What of Joshua and Dion?” Jill asks, even though the look in her eyes tells him she already knows. All he could do was shake his head.

“I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do.” Clive says, having much to tell.

“You will, but not before we get your arm sorted out.”

“Of course,” Clive chuckles, and turns to see Tarja with her arms crossed and hip out. He is so happy to be back amongst friends and family, ready to truly cherish his time after a battle where he could have easily perished. But most importantly, he is ready to see you.

Truth be told, Clive’s travels back to Valisthea were consumed mostly by you. All he could think about was how he craves for you to be in his warm embrace, giving him kisses and caresses that would heal him for a lifetime. To be away from you for so long is agony, and what has kept him going was knowing the future is now his and yours; one where you both can live lives worth living.

He looks around and sees a bunch of familiar faces approach, his original crew gathering around him as they welcome his return. He scans the crowd, nodding to everyone and granting a smile. However, he doesn’t see you within the sets of familiar faces.

“Where’s _____?” Clive asks, scanning the crowd once more for your face.

Everyone goes silent, glancing at one another trying to communicate. An uneasy feeling settles in Clive’s pit, not liking the reaction he got with his simple question.

Tarja is the first to speak up, diverting the question quickly with urgency. “We can talk about her later, but first we need to do something about your arm straight away. Jill. Gav. Take him to the infirmary. I’ll be up there shortly.” There was a look in Tarja’s eyes that told Clive she wouldn’t be there for a while, which made that uneasy feeling grow bolder.

Gav and Jill suddenly hook arms with Clive on either side, walking fast so he had no choice but to follow. Clive could feel himself getting frustrated, having wanted to see you for days upon days and not being granted that wish immediately upon his return.

He leans down to Jill’s ear, needing an explanation immediately. “Where is she?”

“It is better we explain once we are upstairs.” Jill reasons, although there is a shake in her voice.

The four of them get into the infirmary, Jill and Gav situating Clive on a cot. Gav whispers to Jill, her nodding in response as he jogs out of the room. Clive looks at her, a million thoughts running through his head at their peculiarness.

“Jill, what is happening?”

Jill twiddles her thumbs, taking deep breaths as she prepares herself. She looks down at the floorboards, and Clive can feel the tension in the room. “Some things happened while you were away, Clive.” Her breath trembles. “You aren’t going to be happy with what I’m about to say.”

“You are worrying me, Jill.” Clive says, trying to stay calm. “Please tell me what’s happened.”

Jill looks up, eyes starting to gloss over. She places her hands over Clive’s right hand, squeezing it gently. “The night of Origin. Metia’s star went out, and I couldn’t feel you anymore after that. I thought you were dead.

“Jill,” Clive says in a low tone. “I apologize for causing so much grief.”

“We all thought you died.” Jill laughs solemnly. “Seeing you right now doesn’t feel real.”

Clive squeezes Jill’s hands as a means to comfort her, as well as to urge her to continue. She shakes her head, tears as icy Shiva’s magick slipping down her face. “We all took it very hard. Some held hope, but after weeks of no signs of your return, everyone had accepted it.”

Jill’s breath stutters. “But Greagor, Clive. _____ took it so hard.” The tears started to fall, Jill shaking as she continued. “She wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat… oh Greagor she wouldn’t talk to anyone. She would just lay there no matter what we tried to do.”

Clive thinks his heart just tore. The thought of you like that made him ill. And the past tense of Jill’s words make the air all the more suffocating.

“Where is she, Jill? Let me see her, please.” He pleads, needing to show you that he lives and has come back to her.

“I’m sorry,” Jill cries, her head bowing onto their intertwined hands. “I’m so sorry, Clive.”

“Jill talk to me, please!” He begs before hearing the door to the infirmary open, only to see Gav with a small scroll in his hand.

“Gav, you need to tell me what has happened.” Clive says sternly, knowing another second longer with no answer will send him into a frenzy.

Gav shows him the scroll, making Clive gently let go of Jill’s hands to reach for it but before he could grab it Gav backed away. “When you read this, know that we have plans enacted.”

Gav hands it to him, taking another step back to give Clive more space. Clive unravels the scroll quickly, the need for answers strong. And he gets his answer, but that answer makes his skin run cold and go hot at the same time.

Gav,

I apologize for putting this on you. I know your transition as the new Cid has been a lot, and I am sorry for making it much harder for you. This space is yours now. Not Clive’s, nor mine.

You know as well as the others I am not well. A part of me died the day Clive passed, and being here has made any progress of healing not happen. Truth is, I see him everywhere. Everything here reminds me of him, and it’s killing me because one moment I see him and the next I don’t. The grief that has consumed me has become everlasting.

By the time you read this, I will be far gone. Please, I beg of you, do not come find me. Do not send anyone to come find me. I will not come back, at least for now. Any chance of me getting better is for me to go out there, not stay here. I know this will cause worry, and I apologize for being a nuisance, but I have no choice. It’s either I die out there trying or I stay here rotting.

Tell the others I’m sorry, especially Jill, and take care of her. Once I’m ready, I’ll send word of my whereabouts. Until then, please let me grieve in peace.

Much obliged,

_____

Clive is seeing red. His fist starts to squeeze the paper, crackles and the sound of a tear coming from it. “When did she leave?”

“It’s been about a month.” Gav mutters, and everything that happens next is a blur. Clive shoots up from the bed, charging towards Gav before slamming him into the door.

“Clive, please don’t!” Jill cries.

“She’s been gone for a month?! And you have yet to find her?!” Clive yells, his fist gripping tightly onto Gav’s leathers.

“We have notified people on the outside to keep us posted.” Gav tries to reassure. “That is what the Hideaway members have agreed on.” His words do nothing to soothe him. If he still had his magick, he is sure hellfire would rain on the Hideaway.

“She needed time, Clive.” Jill rests her hand on his shoulder. “We chose to respect her wishes.”

He scoffs, backing away from the both of them, disbelief clear on his features. “You agreed to this too?”

“You were not here to witness what we did!” Jill yells agitated. “Clive, I understand your frustration, but if you saw how she was you wouldn’t think twice.”

He wants to stay angry, put the blame on someone selfishly. You’ve done so much for the Hideaway, the cause, everyone involved. How could they let you leave? But all he feels is defeat. He came too late, and now he needs to make up for lost time.

“Excuse me,” Clive mutters, walking towards the door Gav is still leaning against.

Jill shoots herself to grab the upper half of his petrified arm, a grunt forced out at the pulling tension. “Clive, you need to stay right here so Tarja can do something about your arm.”

“No, I am going to go out and look for her! She needs to know I’m alive!” He tries shaking her grip off his arm, but to no avail as she holds on tighter. Panic is starting to set in, not knowing where you are and if you are safe freaking him out. It is almost as if he is experiencing firsthand what you went through.

Gav steps forward, putting his hands on Clive’s shoulders shaking him slightly. “We have cursebreakers looking for her daily now that the month of her leave has passed. We will find her. And now that you are back, we will bring her home.”

“Once you are better, we will go with you to search for her. But for right now, you need to rest. Let the cursebreakers do what they’ve been assigned to do.” Jill reassures. “Let’s get you ready for Tarja. The sooner she can fix you up, the faster you can go out.”

Clive takes a deep breath before nodding, and lets Jill and Gav guide him back to the cot. He sits back down, and all he can do is look down at the floorboards. Anger and defeat have turned into a sadness he cannot fully comprehend; a feeling he hasn’t quite felt before. “Do you two mind giving me some time alone? Please.”

“Of course, Clive. We will be outside if you need anything.” Jill says, before the sound of four feet patter across the floor and the creak of the door opens and closes, leaving Clive completely alone.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that; unmoving, eyes glued to the floor. All he thinks is he should have found a way to send a message to you so you knew he had survived. Deep down, he knows there was nothing he could have done given his circumstances, but that doesn’t stop the blame game he is putting upon himself. So he sits there, wallowing in his heartache as his shoulders shake and throat lets out faint sobs.

The letter is still held tightly in his grasp.

Day 71

Waking up early in the morning before the sun makes its greeting isn’t abnormal for you, not when you dream constantly. Sometimes your dreams would startle you. Sometimes they would make you wake up crying. Sometimes they would wake you up with a smile on your face. But the time is always the same; the moon is always there to tell you the time of the morning and you fall back into a deep sleep before the sun shows itself. However, this time is different.

In recent days, you’ve had nothing but wonderful dreams. Not ones like when you first came here, or ones about a future no longer possible. They were dreams of the past, deja vu in nature. Fond memories of you and Clive ranging from the first time you laid eyes on him to the last. What’s different about your calling back to the real world is your eyes open to hues of yellow and orange shining through the window. It is not the moon’s beams that greet you, but the sun’s rays.

You get out of bed and go to the door, opening it to step out onto the field. The early morning air hits your skin, the grass licking at your feet as you continue forward. You trek to the spot between the elevated land, a v-shape displaying the rising sun as it continues its ascent. Your hand goes out in front of you, watching your skin transform as the sun’s colors grow brighter. You can’t help but smile at the sight before you because all you feel is peace. For once since Valisthea changed forever, you felt like everything will be okay.

You think about the first time you and Clive watched the sunrise together, holding each other tightly as you both talk about how it is a new day full of hopes and dreams. You remember him telling you how he has never felt more alive than he did in that moment, and you can understand why; you understand because you feel the same.

You know Clive would want you to live to the fullest, for that was what he wanted all along. Even if things didn’t turn out the way they should have, he would have wanted you to live for him, but most importantly for yourself. He would want you to remember your time together fondly, and that it wasn’t for nothing. It was everything.

You inhale deeply, the scents of the morning filling your airways before you exhale. You continue to look out on the horizon, mesmerized by the beauty of a new day; a new start .

“I deserve to be happy, right Clive?” You whisper to yourself. “I will continue to live for you and for me. Starting now.”

This is the start of your new life.

Day 172

“These are absolutely beautiful, my lady. These are so hard to find in Dhalmekia.”

You smile brightly, watching the woman before you admire your handy work. “I’m pleased that you love them. Morgenbeards are native to the swampy waters in Rosaria, but I was able to get my hands on some seeds.”

“You must know your stuff to get them to grow here.” The lady continues.

You shake your head, grinning at her. “I have my ways.”

To say things have gotten better would be the greatest understatement in history because you are thriving. It is as if everything has fallen into place. You fixed up the small cottage you are residing in so it felt more like a home rather than a temporary visit. You did a lot of prep work to ensure you’d live comfortably. The greatest thing, however, is you found a way to make a living for yourself, the one thing you do best: grow flowers.

You noticed how flowers grew in the fields, yet you could tell they needed help; the Dhalmeky dirt too dry to keep them alive for long. You were able to get some books on flower gardening, along with different kinds of seeds, all imported from merchants who graciously accepted the little gil you had. It took some time, but those things helped you open a flower shop out of your home. And thus far, it has been a wonderful success.

You had taken a flower cart to Dalimil to get your name out there, and to let people know where to find your business. You eventually want to move your business within the inn’s market, but when you had come to propose the idea, you found out Lubor had been gone on an expedition. The cart will have to do, you recalled thinking. The people there have been nothing but supportive, offering their business in exchange for theirs: vases, business signs, gardening supplies, etcetera. It was a good system that benefitted you and them. You were grateful.

You are sitting at the kitchen table, having closed shop for the day, sipping on some hot tea as you write down your daily earnings. A hard day’s work is rewarding, and knowing your flowers have made your customers happy makes you happy. To be doing things that feel worthwhile feels good, and the last time you felt this way was when you lived at the Hideaway.

The Hideaway. You stop writing as you reminisce about those times. It really wasn’t that long ago, yet it feels like a lifetime. Have I changed that much?

You miss everyone dearly. You miss Tarja’s tough love. You miss Mid’s inventiveness. You miss Otto’s gruffness. You miss Tome’s stories of his travels. You miss Jote’s coolness. You miss Gav’s banter. You miss Torgal’s way of comforting you. You miss Jill’s faith. You miss everyone. You often wonder if they miss you too.

You are surprised no one has come looking for you, or have found you if they were. You think about what they must have thought when you left that letter. Were they angry? Sad? Worried? All three? Did they listen to you when you said you didn’t want to be found or did they nonstop look day and night for you? You couldn’t tell. Not unless you find out for yourself.

You set the daily earnings paper aside, and lay out a fresh one, your quill hovering over the paper as you think of what to say. There are so many words to say, yet you don’t know where to start. Do you share everything? Do you just tell them you are okay? Do you tell them where you are? So many questions to answer with little paper to write it all out. So you write something simple, hoping it gets the message across.

I hope this finds you well. Come see me if you wish. You all know where to find me.

Day 179

Clive’s search for you has been non-stop, days and nights spent looking for trails only to find dead ends. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how you could have disappeared without a trace. But that will not deter him. He will not stop looking until he finds you.

Every place that Clive could think of they checked. Areas in Dhalmekia were the first places they looked, knowing you knew the area better than others. The very first place they checked was your childhood home near the Northern Velkroy, but it didn’t look like there were any signs of life there. Different towns within the area were checked but no one had heard or seen you. Hell, they were more surprised to see him alive and well to focus on the whereabouts of a lost woman. He understood, but it grated his nerves.

Every other place in Valisthea had been scouted and marked as they went, but every location and mark was the same. So here he was, writing letters to town leaders of the cause again to be his eyes. You have to show up somewhere eventually, if you haven’t already.

As every day passes, his heart wanes further. It yearns for you, calling out its other half to be complete again. When he does rest, granted not for long periods of time, he imagines you are lying with him. He holds a pillow close in his arms, picturing it to be you to subdue his crazed heart and mind. It was nice to pretend, but then he wakes up and is sorely disappointed to see what lies in his arms is just that: a pillow. It’s a cycle because the same thought crosses his mind each and every time: the day you are back in his arms will be a momentous day. That day has yet to come.

He keeps writing the same words over and over on different sheets of paper when he hears commotion from beyond his doors. The fighting instinct in him shoots up, running to the door to see what was happening when he sees Otto, Jill, and Gav running towards him.

“Has something happened?” Clive asks, alarmed.

Otto reaches Clive first, shoving a piece of paper into his hand. “She has communicated with us.”

Clive couldn’t read the paper fast enough, not quite believing this day had come. He rings out the paper to straighten it before reading her handwriting. “She is staying in a cottage in the Fields of Corava.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get the lass back!” Gav expresses with full excitement, springs basically on the bottom of his feet with how bouncy he is.

Jill pats Gav on the back. “Gav, let’s let Clive go alone.” She then turns to face Clive, an understanding smile greeting him. “They will need some time together.”

“Thank you, Jill.” Clive says softly. “I thank all of you.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” Gav draws out, approaching Clive before slamming his hand on his shoulder, “you better get cleaned up! You have a lady to see.”

Clive laughs at Gav’s antics, and turns to ready himself; ready himself to return to you once and for all.

Day 184

It’s late in the morning as you gather flowers into your basket, trimming and cutting the ones that have bloomed beautifully. The flower gardens in the field were flourishing more and more every day. The more you work in the gardens, the more fulfillment you feel. You felt this when you helped out in the Backyard, but what you built here is from your own doing. You believe it to be a testament to your growth, showing that you made the right decision all those months ago. You’ve created your own little utopia, and to share it with others is a beautiful thing.

As you cut fresh flowers, you start to wonder if people at the Hideaway got your letter. You would love for them to come visit, and see what you have done with the place. You wonder if they will ever come to see you or if they will send a letter back. It could be any day now, and you will be ready.

You have a full basket of flowers ready to be put in vases, and before you can get up to head inside you see a shadow lingering above your form. “I’m sorry, but I won't be open for another couple of hours.”

There is no reply, and the shadow remains as still as a statue. You sigh, standing up to turn and be more clear with your words. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I still need to se-”

The flower basket falls from your grasp, tumbling out and falling into a heap by your feet. Time has frozen, not feeling real as you look at the person you have longed to see for months. You question if you are hallucinating, having had moments where you would see Clive one second and the next he was gone. This, however, was different.

The man before you was not in uniform; just a simple white tunic that displayed a few of his chest curls at the v-cut and regular black trousers with his leather boots. His face was clean-shaven, the facial hair he had kept for so long absent from his face making him look younger. The biggest difference, however, was his left arm; from his elbow down was gone. How could this be hallucination?

“Am I dreaming or is this real?” You breathe, blinking a few times to see if he’d disappear. He didn’t.

He takes a step forward, grabbing one of your hands to place it over his heart. He is warm, his heart fluttering quickly. He is looking down into your eyes, where you see his baby blues grow glossy. “This is real.” He murmurs. “I’m home, sweetheart.”

Something about his words break you, your hands latching onto his shirt to hold yourself to reality. He’s home. My Clive is home.

You can’t help the sobs that leave your mouth as you bury your face into his chest, making him wrap his arm around you as you both collapse down into the flower beds. You are feeling every emotion under the sun, and you can tell Clive does too as he holds you in his lap. He cries with you, sharing a reunion so pure that it is overwhelming. You lift your head and bring his face to yours, kissing him so deeply that your lungs shake. Exchanges of small words come out between the two of you as you give each other kisses that have been longed for.

“I never thought I’d see this day.” You say with a wobble in your tone, kissing him again and again. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Clive croaks, and goes back in for your lips.

There you both make up for lost time; holding onto each other in a field of flowers where kisses and touches are continuously exchanged.

You and Clive eventually went inside. You turn the sign on your door to ‘close’, so no one can bother you two. You watch Clive look around the place, taking in your little set up of flowers on the kitchen table.

“I apologize for the mess. I’ve had a lot of requests over the last few days believe it or not.”

Clive looks at you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. You’ve always had a way with flowers. Speaking of which…”

He reaches into his pocket, only to pull out the lily you had given him all that time ago. You gasp, surprised he has kept hold of it. “You still have it? But how?”

“I protected it with my life.” Clive sets it onto the table. “You gave it to me with the wish that I’d return to you. I wasn’t going to lose it easily.”

“You are so endearing.” You say, but you have so many things you want to know and that alone puts a small frown on your face.

Clives sees the shift immediately, grabbing your hand to console you. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“What happened at Origin, Clive?” You ask, needing to know what he went through for the time he was gone.

Clive exhales, seemingly knowing that question was coming. He pulls your hand towards him as he walks to your bed. “We should sit down. It is a long story.”

The two of you sit down and Clive still has a tight hold on one of your hands. “Forgive me, for this may take me a second. Thinking about certain events there still hurts.”

You bring your free hand to his face, which feels smooth under your touch. His head leans into your palm, turning slightly to kiss the delicate skin. “Take all the time you need. I am here.” You murmur.

And so, he tells the tale of Origin. He tells you about Dion’s sacrifice. He tells you about what he found out about Ultima’s plans. He tells you about Joshua’s passing, something he had a hard time conveying without his voice breaking, but he pushed on. He tells you about Ultima’s demise. He tells you about how he woke up somewhere off the Shadow Coast of Storm. And he tells you how throughout his journey back to Valisthea, all he could think about was how he couldn’t wait to come home to you. All of it was hard to listen to, hearing what he went through from Origin till now.

“So, Metia going out was a sign that magick has been lost…”

“Mmm,” he hums, the both of you lying down now.

“So that’s why you didn’t become wholly petrified? You stopped it in time.”

“Tarja did a great job removing it and ensuring my stub was healed properly, despite my stubbornness.” He jokes, but you don’t laugh. All you can think about is the past.

“If only I waited a little longer,” you start. “I would have saved us so much grief.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself.” Clive shushes, kissing the top of your head and pulling you closer into his body. “Jill told me you had a very hard time grieving. I will not shame you for doing something you felt was right.

You bury your head into Clive’s neck, breathing in something that is so undeniably him. “You know, when I first got here, I would have these dreams. Nightmares really.”

Clive stays silent, letting you continue. “It would always start and end the same. I would wake up with you in the room, and the next thing I knew you were telling me I had betrayed you… and that you no longer loved me.” You start to sniff, not liking to recall those dreams. “For such a long time, I felt I didn’t deserve to be happy because I had left part of your legacy behind. It felt like your ghost was haunting me day and night.”

“Oh, darling,” Clive pulls you into him so you are on top of him with legs on either side of him. Clive brings your forehead to his, his thumb coming up to swipe the tears building up in your eyes. “I could never not love you.” He looks deeply into you, burning the truth of his heart into you. “I am yours even beyond death.”

His words overwhelm you, and you lean down to kiss him with every passionate fiber in your being. Your hands go to his torso, running your fingers up and down the sides as you continue to show him how much you love him. He grunts into your lips, his arm holding you down to him. Your hands start to slide slowly under his tunic, your fingers slowly ascending until they reach his chest only to go down again. The delicate touch of your fingers makes his hips buck right against your heat, a grunt and a moan echoing together simultaneously. Your hands go back up again, only this time you bring the tunic with you.

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for.” You say against his lips.

Clive smirks at your boldness, only to flip you over on your back so he is hovering over you. “That we do, darling. Forgive me, though. Having one arm gives me less leverage.”

You hum, bringing him back down to you by his hair. “I’m sure we can manage.”

You two make love into the night and into the morning, not getting enough of one another; making up for lost time.

Day 200

Since you and Clive’s reunion, he had decided to stay for a while. He had sent a letter to the Hideaway to let them know you were well and that he would be staying for the time being, making Gav in charge.

“He’ll love that.” You had joked.

“He’s his own man. I have all the faith in him.”

These last few weeks have been sublime. When you wake up, you see Clive snoozing away beside you on your right; always the right so he can wrap his arm around you in his sleep. He has also helped you with the flower shop. You two would go out in the morning before the heat set in to work the ground and water the flowers. You don’t know if the yearning in your body has yet to be satiated, but there have been times when you would come outside to gather more flowers to see Clive with his shirt off, sweat glistening on his burly chest as he works. It takes every bone in your body not to jump his own. Most times, you are unsuccessful.

You also found out Clive is quite the salesman. When you two would go out to Dalimil to sell from your cart, the way he is able to convince people to make a purchase is astounding. Is it the charm? The looks? A combination of both? You could guess, but it didn’t matter. Every time you made a sale, he would turn to give you a quick peck.

“I would kiss you for every individual flower we sell, but we don’t want to scare them away now, do we?”

After a long day out in Dalimil, you two are now inside the cottage finishing up dinner. You are cleaning the dishes when you feel him behind you, wrapping his arm around you pulling your hips to his. You hum in a laughing manner, his friskiness showing as he places kisses on the side of your face. “Clive, let me finish these.”

“They aren’t going anywhere.” He hums, his kisses lingering below your ear.

You sigh but continue cleaning. Clive, on the other hand, was not having it. He pulls you away, soap and water sloshing from your hands as he pulls you to him. He plops down onto the kitchen chair, bringing you into his lap. “Hmmm, I got you.”

“You are such a horn dog. Are you sure Ifrit still doesn’t linger within you?” You laugh, then squeak when he pinches your side.

“In all seriousness,” he murmurs in your ear. “I want to talk about something.”

“About?” You hum.

“About our future.”

“Go on,” you urge. “What about our future?”

“Well,” Clive starts, “living the way we have the last couple weeks, my mind can’t stop wandering to what I want for us.”

Your hand reaches up to his cheek, only for him to nip at the tips of your fingers causing you to giggle. “Such as?”

“To start the life we’ve always talked about.” He places more kisses on your neck. “One where our lives are strictly ours. One where I come home to my beautiful wife.”

“I like the sound of that.” You mewl, his kisses making you squirm in his lap.

“One where I get to see you bearing our child.” His hand goes down to your tummy, rubbing just above your uterus.

“I’ll be surprised if I’m not already with all the love making we have done.” You giggle.

He chuckles along with you, his hand squeezing your flesh. “You’d look beautiful. You always do.” He continues, “one where I get to raise a little me, a little you, or both.”

“It all sounds so wonderful.” You purr, feeling all warm and fuzzy at his remarks.

“Then let’s go ahead with step one.” Clive says, lifting you off of him only to sit you back down. He kneels before you, both of your hands in his one. “I don’t have a ring, but I can’t wait a moment longer. _____, will you do me the utmost honor of marrying me?”

You hum, smiling brightly at his question. “Would you have me in a wedding dress? A big ceremony?”

“Anything your heart desires.”

You shake your head, laughing at his insistence. You look at him, letting yourself get swallowed by his eyes. “I’d marry you with just the clothes on my back.”

Clive grins, bringing your left hand to his lips as he kisses your ring finger. “I cannot wait to marry you, future Lady Rosfield.”

Lady Rosfield. It has a nice ring to it.

#clive rosfield x reader #clive rosfield #ffxvi x reader #ffxvi #clive rosfield angst #clive x reader #final fantasy xvi #my fics

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storiesbyrhi · 3 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: The promise of snow in the shadow of a falling curtain. 2172 words.

Note: The scenes in this chapter starring Ev were co-written by her IRL counterpart @vintagehellfire.

1986

November came with a cold that promised snow soon. Still, the coven continued to build and grow. While magic shimmered outward, you, Eddie, and Ev spent hours poring over grimoires and speaking with the Witches Who Came Before. If you were going to empower Eddie with some sort of supernatural ability to see the worst in people, the work had to be sound.

Ev was the natural choice to help. She worked close to death and had an affinity for darkness and transformation. It felt so good and right to be practicing witchcraft with a sister again.

“Are we still thinking touch is the best trigger?” Ev posed.

“It has to be,” Eddie answered. “This cannot go wrong. We cannot be wrong.”

You slid off the armchair and kneeled in front of where Eddie was seated on the floor, piles of books and parchment around him. “You will always have the final say. You will always be able to ignore all this.”

So as not to curse Eddie with the sight 24/7, it was decided a charmed object would suffice.

“We could use a necklace?”

“What about one of his rings,” Ev suggested, pointing to the cross ring already adorning Eddie’s hand. “We could let it charge in potion,”

“Under the next full moon,”

“Yes,” Ev nodded at you.

“Okay, so now we need the potion… Black-eyed Susan for justice and gladiolus for moral integrity and a strong sense of character,”

“Horehound for revealing the truth,”

“You have horehound? Where did you get it?” you asked her.

“I cultivated it before we came to America. I’ve had some stashed since then,”

“That’s convenient… Okay, next… Splinted fir tree wood, also for truth, but determination and hope for the future too,” you said.

“I think this may need to be a bit viler. Something more substantial too,”

“I take it you have an idea for that?”

Ev looked from you to Eddie. He grinned as he saw the wicked smile spread across her face.

“Well… In my line of work, I have access to certain things others may not…”

You blinked hard at her. “You mean… dead bodies?”

“Yes,”

“What have you done?” you asked her seriously.

“Nothing a few simple cloaking spells and glamours can’t hide,” Ev said with a casual shrug. She smiled. “If we want this magic to work, we need offerings. I can offer the ground bones of evil men,”

“Of course you can,”

“You’re not judging me, are you?” Ev teased.

“No. Nobody is. But everyone judged me for what I did, but you’ve been skulking around with dead men’s bones and a wolf boyfriend for ages.”

She laughed. “Whatever. The point is, using the bones will call a stronger power. We need to be careful,”

“We will,” Eddie said.

“And we can add our blood. Offering witch blood will prove that our magic walks in the light. That we seek to do good,” you said.

Eddie and Ev nodded.

Next was workshopping the spell.

“By the bones and branches, I call to thee. Reveal the evil that lay beneath?” Ev proposed.

“Oh, okay, I like that. Let me write this down.”

When wordsmithing and potion brewing were done, you stored all the work away. The next full moon was on the sixteenth, so casting would be postponed until then.

You walked Ev back to her house, listening as she told you about how she met her wolf.

“It was organic. The first thing we talked about was music. He loves The Misfits. I love The Misfits. Danzig over Graves. Rollins era Black Flag. Even when we disagreed we agreed. Like about when our Iron Maiden cut-off is,”

“You know, Eddie is really getting into that kind of music. Maybe they would actually get along,”

“Well… Eddie’s mortal enemy was meant to be you, so I guess next in line might be exempt too,”

“Double date?”

Ev laughed. “Double date.”

…

Finding Max Mayfield and healing her had not left your mind since the Halloween party. When you set off on your mission, you left Eddie behind. He didn’t like that you were out beyond the limits of Hawkins alone, but he understood why it had to be that way.

When the sun went down, Eddie walked to Kelsey’s house. She welcomed him in and let him sit while she pottered around, doing things that seemed very sweet and domestic, even if Eddie wasn’t sure what the purpose was.

“Can I ask you something about the coven?”

“Of course,” she answered him.

“However… you cannot tell anyone that I asked.”

Kelsey turned and looked at Eddie. She narrowed her eyes. “Anyone?” Even her?

Eddie nodded. “Anyone,” he repeated. Even you.

…

On the night of November the sixteenth, you, Ev, and Eddie took all you’d need through the woods and out the other side. Upon a small rise, you blended the Black-eyed Susan and gladiolus flowers with horehound and fir in a bowl made from oak. Ev sprinkled in her dead man bone ash.

“Blood,” you said, holding your hand out to Eddie.

Gently, he took it, biting just below your thumb. You felt his tongue swipe over the puncture, tasting you just a little before letting you go. As you let the blood drip into the potion, you glanced up at Ev, her pupils blown.

“Rude not to ask me to join in,” she quipped.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Ev,” Eddie replied just as quick.

“Gross. Stop it. Both of you… Eddie, give me your ring.”

You dropped Eddie’s ring into the bowl and nodded to them. Standing in a circle, holding hands, you all recited the spell. Eddie knew that his contribution to the incantation may not add any magical strength, he felt that it was the right thing to do.

“From Veritas, from Aletheia,

To Themis and her scale.

By bones and branches,

Reveal evil, let light prevail.

Under full moon,

By blood of coven,

Give this immortal power,

To morality govern.”

The wind picked up, the cold seeping in. You dropped hands and watched as the potion began to move, almost like it was alive. A bowl of sentient sludge. Writhing eels.

“What now?” Eddie asked.

“We leave it here. In the morning, the bowl will be empty save for the ring. It will be charmed, and you will have the sight,” you answered. You looked to Ev, she nodded.

“May I escort you ladies back home then, before the cold kills you?”

You let Eddie hook an arm through yours.

Ev hesitated. “I’ve actually got some other plans… I’ll see you tomorrow…”

“Plans on a full moon?” you teased.

Ev pulled a face and set off back into the woods in the direction opposite to the coven.

When you and Eddie got home, you disappeared into the apothecary. After making you tea and lighting the candles that helped you sleep, Eddie came searching for you.

“What more is there to do on this night?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You turned to him. You loved him all of the time. You loved him when his eyes were wild and his lips stained with blood. You loved him when he was charming and wooing your coven sisters. You loved him when he was washing dishes and engaged in his on-going battle with figuring out the right settings on the iron. But like that, sweatpants low on his hips, scars and history on display… Hair with knotted curls and messy bangs… Doe eyes and gentle movements… You loved him most.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back, opening his arms in invitation.

You took a jar, the object of your search, and went to him. He held you safe while you explained.

“We never finished the spell. Your spell.”

Eddie thought back to the black hellebore and apple. How the night had melted into adoration and sex. How, come morning, Forest Hills Trailer Park suddenly didn’t seem like the type of place to cast a spell about the future. You had both decided to save it for when it felt right.

Eddie held the jar of powder and, with a blanket wrapped around you, you followed him outside. Sitting side by side on the front steps of the house grown with love and magic, you said nothing.

The night was quiet and bright, the moon gloriously round and high. Hawkins was peaceful and the coven were dreaming of new beginnings.

Eddie twisted the lid off the jar and poured half the dust into his palm. He closed his fist around it. He looked as if he were making a wish. It was a brief moment, then he uncurled his fingers and blew the dust into the fall air.

“Your turn.”

He tipped the rest of the dust into your hand and you copied what he had done. You watched the dust swirl in the breeze, twinkling with an unnatural glint.

“Thank you for the spell,” you said, your sentence punctuated with a yawn.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

…

Three things happened at the same time that night, on the eve of December. Max Mayfield returned to Hawkins, healed and full of questions for her friends. She vaguely remembered a visitor. Vaguely remembered a miracle. Vaguely remembered threatening her mother if she didn’t let her return to the small shitty town. She was different. Made both stronger and softer by what she’d been through. There was something else too, something not even Lucas could put his finger on.

It would take years for the magic to bloom in Max. When it did, your coven would be waiting.

A far more somber event was taking place just down the way from you. Steve Harrington’s ghost had begun to fade. Mel noticed it before he did. He was hardly there at all now. “This is a good thing,” she told him, but her sad eyes made him ache.

“I don’t want to go,”

“You’re meant to. There is more out there for you now,”

“But what about you?” he asked. Death had not changed Steve. He thought of others first.

She couldn’t put it into words. The feeling of being loved by Steve. The feeling of a soul ignoring death and instead, letting themselves be pulled to her.

As Steve moved on, a definitive moment, Mel crawled into bed and cried. She’d let herself grieve and she’d do it alone. Of course, you would notice her sorrow. You’d find her in the darkness and pull her back to the light of the coven. But not then. Not on that cold night.

In your house, you tried to distract yourself from Eddie’s absence by reading, then spell writing, and finally – television. MTV had a feature of new films being released soon. You made note of The Lost Boys, deciding it would be good for a cinema date night. Eventually, you retired to bed and waited up for Eddie. He’d be home from Chicago soon.

Eddie could smell it on them. Hear it in the spitting syllables of their words. And now, graced with his charmed ring, he could see their sins too.

One touch and he saw the entire span of human guilt. Not keeping off the grass. Gum stuck under desks. Fake IDs. White lies about going to the post office but actually going to eat a cheeseburger in peace. Unpaid fines, unreturned library books. A little weed in the back pocket. Teenage pranks, stolen stop signs, the accidents they caused. Running red lights. Running away from a crime scene. Running away from everything.

It was almost sweet, Eddie thought, what made some people feel shame.

Almost.

Unlicensed firearms. Running cons on elderly people. Animal cruelty. Methamphetamine cooking in a back shed. Dosages of medication that were not what the doctor prescribed. Setting fires. Hidden disks of child exploitation material. Manifestos by white men who knew how to build a bomb. Battery. Trafficking. Home invasion. Aggravated assault occasioning bodily harm. Sexual assault. Assault resulting in death.

It was easier than ever finding someone to drain. Eddie followed him out of a bar and towards the L. In a blur nobody would remember, the man was pulled into the darkness. As it happened, as the shock turned to paralysing fear, your skin broke out in goosebumps. All the way in Hawkins, you watched the hairs on your arms stand up straight.

Eddie’s teeth punctured skin and you yelped, a stab of pain coming from somewhere in you. Doubling over, you fought to breathe.

The man was tense, then limp, then dead.

Forcing deep gulps of air in, then out, you were more worried when the pain suddenly dissolved. Slowly, you got to your feet and blinked tears from your eyes.

If Eddie had felt your suffering, he’d mistaken it as the man’s.

Max’s homecoming, Steve’s final goodbye, and Eddie’s justice balanced by the price you’d always pay. Events that were determined long ago. Fated to coincidence. And would echo through time forever more.

End note: Shout out to @neonghostlights for helping to brainstorm types of sins.

THIS IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER. Yep. Only one more chapter after this and it is not quite finished. So, any last requests or ideas need to be sent to me ASAP if you wanna find yourself in the story.

The Grimoire and timeline are updated. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, especially now in the final hour.

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @pastel-pillows @moviefreak1205

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Witch!Reader

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slytherheign · 11 months

Text

DAYLIGHT | charles leclerc

PART 2/3 OF LOVER: THE TRILOGY.

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

SUMMARY: amidst the dark nights, you find that one glimmer of hope—the light that shines and the one who stays. it’s morning now, and you only see daylight.

WARNINGS: angst, hate, cheating (past relationship), doubts, and hints of smut. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. dedicated to @paperplane93, i hope you’re having a great day!

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO TO TRILOGY MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

Love was as cruel as the cities you lived in.

It was a journey you'd been on countless times before, but each time, it seemed to slip through your fingers like sand, leaving you feeling like shattered glass. Past relationships have taught you bittersweet lessons, dousing the flames of hope and leaving behind a trail of broken dreams.

Everyone looked worse in the light—everyone, including you. The town’s kind, innocent, smart, pretty little girl who turned into a rebel once she packed her bags, left the door, and stepped into the light given by the outside.

There were so many lines you have crossed unforgiven. You left everything behind and never looked back as if you didn’t care. Your old friends and your family have finally called, you answered them but once they said what they wanted to say, you ended the calls and blocked them all. The conversation was always the same anyway—them trying to convince you to come back and warning you that what you were doing would lead to failure.

There was also someone you loved before Charles, someone you loved truly and sacrificed a lot for. It didn’t end well when you saw him kissing your old best friend. He apologized and begged for your forgiveness, and because you loved him so much, you gave him another chance. It took you a long while to realize he was blinding you with lies. When you caught him cheating again, you ran away, never to turn back to him ever again. The luck of the draw only draws the unlucky. And so, you became the butt of the joke.

You were mocked for your naive gambles, ridiculed for your missteps, and left with a haunting regret that you wounded the good and trusted the wicked. It seemed as though every step you took to clear the air, to make things right, only lured you further into the haze of smoke, choking you with the consequences of your choices. You have moved on from your past, never wanting to remember it again. The only thing you took with you were the memories and lessons of your mother you held dear. Your mother would be so mad if she knew you were choosing to forget where you came from, but it was what you needed to do if you wanted to be free. In clearing the air, you breathed in the smoke.

You believed that love was a journey, a rollercoaster of emotions, where the highs were exhilarating and the lows were heart-wrenching. But as time passed, the uncertainties crept in, weaving doubts within your mind like persistent cobwebs. You began to question if love was nothing more than a shimmering illusion teasing you from a distance.

You've mourned over shattered hopes and dreams, clinging to the emotional debris of past relationships. Each heartbreak left you more hesitant, more fearful of falling again. You became convinced that love was a game of chance, an unwinnable lottery that mocked your attempts at finding happiness.

But then, just when you had resigned yourself to a life of solitude, someone unexpectedly entered your life. His name was Charles, and he carried a light that danced within his eyes—a light that you hadn't seen in years.

You didn't want to look at anything else now that you saw him.

His presence illuminated the shadows within you—dissolving your doubts and fears. He saw beyond your scars and unraveled the tapestry of your soul. His patience and understanding breathed life into your broken spirit, assuring you that love could be different this time.

Slowly but surely, Charles guided you through the remnants of past hurt, showing you that vulnerability wasn't synonymous with weakness. Together, you wove a delicate tapestry of trust, honesty, and shared dreams. With each passing day, the walls you had built around your heart crumbled and exposed your true self to him.

In his arms, you discovered a love that was both gentle and fierce, a love that healed past wounds and ignited a sense of hope within you. He listened, truly listened, to the tremors of your heart, and matched them with his own desires. Your love wasn't perfect—no love ever was—but it was real and authentic.

You didn't want to think of anything else now that you thought of him.

With Charles, the idea of true love shifted in your mind. It was no longer an unattainable fantasy but a tangible reality—a reality that blossomed when two souls found solace in each other's embrace. He reminded you that your worthiness of love wasn't determined by your past failures but by the relentless hope you held within.

Through him, you learned that true love isn't a fluke or a mere stroke of luck. It was a conscious choice, an endless commitment to nurture and cherish a connection beyond what society deemed acceptable.

You'd been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night.

In the past, you've allowed your vision to become clouded by the remnants of failed connections and relationships. You wandered the murky path of love with blinders on, seeking validation and approval from old friends and family. You desperately tried to fit into molds that suffocated you.

And now you saw daylight.

With Charles, everything felt different. His arrival into your life was like the first rays of sunlight after a long and relentless storm. You realized that all the heartbreaks and disappointments were not indicators of your worth. They were simply stepping stones, guiding you towards something that rose above anything you've ever experienced.

You've stormed out of every single room in your old town, left it without even saying goodbye. And you knew he wasn't perfect too. He had a past full of pain and losses. He made his career his focus, because every time he was racing, the voices in his head were drowned out by the noise of his car. He ran with the wolves and refused to settle down.

You found solace, understanding, and acceptance with each other. The dark nights were over the moment you found him and he found you. You threw out your cloaks and your daggers because it was morning now. It was brighter now.

You were laughing so hard as Charles tickled your stomach. He pressed kisses to your neck down to your chest to where your heart was. He looked up at you, his eyes full of love and desire.

“Can I have you tonight, chérie?” he asked.

You nodded, eyes mirroring the desire in his. “You can have me any day and any night.”

You could see it all.

All of him, all of you, intertwined.

You once believed love would be black and white.

But it was golden.

“I love you,” he said in between his breaths. His forehead touched yours, a hand caressing your cheek as you both danced to a rhythm of love.

You opened your eyes to stare at his. “I love you too, Charles.”

You could see it all in your head.

Back and forth from Monaco, sneaking into his bed.

You once believed love would be burning red.

But it was golden like daylight.

It was morning now. It was brighter, it was better, and it was worth the 20-year dark night you experienced before. You were learning and growing together. He defined you by the things you loved, not by the things you were afraid of or the things that haunted you in the middle of the night. For him, you were what you loved.

You were only seeing daylight.

And it was him.

It was Charles.

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, carlossainz55, and 998, 753 others

charles_leclerc Happy 2nd year anniversary, my daylight. @yourusername

view all 267, 890 comments

pierregasly a hard launch, finally

leclercsainz HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN PIERRE

pierregasly a couple months after they met

leclercsainz WHAT

cl16lover I JUST WOKE UP HELP

redleclerc NO CAUSE SAME

chilisainz CHARLES HARD LAUNCHING A SECRET 2 YEAR RELATIONSHIP WAS NOT ON MY 2023 BINGO CARD

forzaferrari i’m more surprised he was able to keep a secret this long tbh

chewie1644 MY DAYLIGHT EXCUSE ME GOODBYE

chilisainz fr i need someone to call me their daylight too

c2defender WHO IS THE GIRL

leclover someone on twitter posted a thread about her and it’s not looking good, yikes

c2defender omg why?

leclover apparently she abandoned her family or something

lestappensz yall should check the twitter thread about her

carlossaints drop the @ bestie

lestappensz i think it’s @charlesleclairs

simplylovely stop we don’t even know if any of those things are true

lestappensz girl i’m pretty sure her brother commented and confirmed everything was true

charlesleclairs LEAVE HER BEFORE SHE LEAVES YOU LIKE SHE LEFT HER FAMILY

You stepped into the daylight and let it all go.

The sky was painted with hues of hope, and your hearts were filled with a newfound understanding.

You just hoped the afterglow would be the same.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

FORMULA ONE TAGLIST: @dreamingofautopia @lpab @matildrry @fangirl125reader @tall-tanned-tattoo @aundercover @stevesworld9 @princessria127

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

andar conmigo ~ part 12

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: death of loved one, misogyny, violence. we're getting into it now my dudes, beware! chapter map

-You did not expect your father’s death to affect you so brutally, and without Paul at your side you are not sure how you would have gotten through the week that followed his passing. The funeral mass and the burial went by as a blur, and it feels like he carried you through it all. He lets you cry on his chest, and holds you through your lengthy silences.

It takes a long time for you to realize that the thing you might mourn most, are the parts of your father you were never allowed to know. The free way he spoke with you in his last days, reminiscing about your mother when he was young–it all suggested a very different man who you would have liked to have the acquaintance of. That the loss of his love destroyed him so completely scares you, true, but also…you pity him in a way you’d never thought possible.

You wonder if maybe you are more like him than you want to admit, and you rise from the ashes determined not to be such a coward with Paul.

You never did finish that sentence for him, but you will. When the time is right, and you are not a tearful mess clinging to him like a limpet. You tell yourself that he deserves better than that.

-”Is it really that much better than this out there?” asks your sister Anjélica. It is a fine sunny day, a breeze cutting through the mountains. You are sitting beneath the shelter of a massive oak, watching the children of Las Nubes play with Paul. She is one year older than you, and already has two, with one on the way.

“It’s just different,” you say diplomatically. “You’re welcome to come visit me anytime you want a change of scenery.”

She laughs goodnaturedly at the thought, rubbing her rounded belly. “I’m afraid if I left my children and husband would starve and go feral,” she admits. You know it’s more than that, though. Her husband would never let her go to the city, just for a fun little break. There’s always too much work to be done. Good women are martyrs who do not shirk their responsibilities, no matter their own needs.

“Heaven forbid Julio be bothered to cook something for himself and his own children,” you say with an eye roll.

Knowing you all too well, Anjélica just smiles. She is, perhaps, the most forgiving of you and your strange ideas. “I know you think I’m trapped by marriage and children and housework…”

You make a grumbling sound in your throat, picking at a knot on the top of the wooden table.

“But have you ever considered that I do it…because I love them?”

You blink at that, not proud of how this perspective does kind of blindside you. She chuckles at your owlish look. You think you’re so goddamn smart, and she always does this to you.

“I know you’re still just settling in with Paul. But you’ll understand what I mean soon.”

You burn to tell her the truth–but you can’t. The ruse must go on.

Worse yet…you’re afraid she could be right, if you and Paul do make a life together after this. You haven’t really decided what you’re going to do…but the thought of being apart from him hurts.

Your attention is drawn back to the children as a joyful yell echoes across the field. Paul has the littlest one on his shoulders, and they are running–though not too fast, from some imaginary entity. Little Lucia’s peals of laughter are, in fact, the sweetest sound on earth.

“He’s good with the children…”

You make a warning grumble to this, only winning yourself more laughter.

You love your nieces and nephews, but you truly have no interest in making children of your own. Is something broken in you?

Anjélica just giggles at you, a wicked glint in her eye. “Look at that man God has given you! Are you telling me you are not making love to him every chance you get?”

Your mouth twists into a reluctant smile at that. “Maybe. But you know they make these marvelous things called…” You lower your voice to a dramatic whisper. “Condoms.” If you could just fucking get your hands on some… And, diaphragms too, of which a woman was not allowed access to without the permission of her husband. Unmarried women…were just screwed, literally and figuratively. The disconnect between reality and morality in medicine was vast, and you hoped someday things would be better for women.

Anjélica waves you off with an eye roll. “See how long he wants to wear one of those things. You’ll get tired of it too. It does not feel right, for something to be between you and your mate. You’re going to be ripe with a baby by next year. Just you wait.”

The thought makes your skin clammy somehow despite the warm summer day. Your sister, who knows your every tell, reaches across the table to you. “I’m not trying to scare you, muñequita. It’s just…life. What happened to Mama…that’s not what it’s always like.”

Maybe it isn’t…until the one time it is, and that’s all it takes to break everything.

-You and Paul decide that you will accompany the crew of Las Nubes to the fiesta of the harvest, partake in the festivities, and from there you will return to the world on the other side of the rabbit hole. A part of you will miss the slower pace of life in the countryside. But a part of you is eager to get back to the excitement of the bustle of the city, back behind your desk in San Francisco, and back behind your typewriter in your little rented room.

You are still not sure yet, where Paul is going to fit into all this.

He isn’t either, and you can tell that he is maybe experiencing an opposite reaction to the thought of returning to life outside. It’s been like living in a fairytale, carrying on like husband and wife here. Las Nubes has been home for several months, and you understand how it grows on you.

If don Juan was not master there…maybe things could have been different.

-After your period of mourning, you are looking forward to the bright spot of the fiesta on the horizon. Everyone dresses in their best. You don a ruffled dress you have not worn for years, and silver filigree earrings that belonged to your mother.

Paul looks so handsome in his uniform, and you watch him dress for what you realize is the last time, in this room that has been your sanctuary.

All packed and ready to go, the two of you look around the space in each other’s arms one last time. Such grand things happened in this tiny room–with any luck, it’s just the beginning for the two of you. You smooth your hand down his tie, straightening his medals that don’t really need it. This man is so humble, but the story of his bravery is written in shining metal upon his chest.

“Ready?”

He pays you a sad smile, and you understand his reluctance to leave the bubble the two of you have made here. He has carried you these past dark days, and you decide that now you will do the same for him.

“Today will be fun,” you try to assure him, holding his cheek.

He leans into your touch, but you see the question in his eyes. And the day after?

You don't have an answer to that, so you kiss him sweetly, and lead him outside.

-You try not to admire don Juan out the corner of your eye, in his short embroidered charro jacket and a silver belt cinching his slender waist. But the moment you fully look his way he makes a sweeping bow with his sombrero.

He’s been on his best behavior since your father died, but you can’t help but feel like he has something up his sleeve, especially now that you’re leaving.

Juan and his entourage will ride to town, and the rest of you will follow in the farm truck.

-You mill around the fair with your arm linked with Paul’s, your head on his shoulder as you look at the displays and crafts and food and farm animals. Napa county has become such a melting pot. There is music, and later there will be dancing. You introduce Paul to churros and hot chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at the way his eyes light up after that first bite. You can’t stop yourself from kissing him, your lips sweetened with cinnamon sugar.

His mood has lifted a little, though you still sense the weight of melancholy upon him. You think to yourself that maybe today will be the day you tell him how much he means to you. Not to cheer him up–but because it’s the truth, and you’ve known it for a while now. He should too.

“Paul…”

He turns to you with hope in those soulful dark eyes, after hearing that certain note in your voice. He knows you so well. Almost like…you were made for him too.

“I–”

Of course, Juan and his entourage choose that very moment to enter the fair, greeted with shouts of, “It’s the Aragóns!” as they ride under the stone arch. You have to admit that they do cut a dashing picture, dressed to the nines upon their fine horses. You feel a reluctant kindling of pride in your heart. Juan winks at you as he trots by, but you give him nothing, except for resting your chin on Paul’s shoulder.

You all watch as the Padre invokes the blessing of the wine–a thing you’re sure he's happy to do, as he is a notorious lush.

After watching some of the horse show, you sit down to eat with Josefa, Anjélica, and their husbands. The levity of the fiesta has been good for all of you, after losing Papa. In the distance, you see Juan with his head bent, speaking to a severe looking anglo man in a dark suit. Juan is nodding to whatever the man is telling him, a terrible smile curling his lips. Dread settles like a stone in your gut, all your joy siphoned away in a matter of a second. You just know something bad is going to happen.

The bus to the train station in the next town has already gone. But before you can suggest to Paul that the two of you go back to your hotel to hide, don Juan swaggers up to your table, his two worst henchmen and the man in the suit in tow.

His eyes are all for you.

“My dear, sweet, y/n. What a naughty girl you’ve been.”

You frown up him. “¿Perdón?”

“Oh, don’t play the innocent now.”

Where this man gets his nerve, you’ll never know, but you begin to have an inkling of what he’s about.

“Don’t speak to me as though you’re my father,” you hiss, standing. “Come on, Paul.” Suddenly you know that the two of you need to get somewhere that don Juan does not feel as though he owns. You fear you won’t reach it until you get all the way back to San Francisco.

“I may not be your father…but I will be your guardian, now that he’s gone. This man is not your legal husband.”

You shake your head, even as your heart falls to your feet. More Old World nonsense. Yet it matters here…because he says so. That is the true measure of power.

“Of course he is.”

“Oh no. I’ve had it looked into. May I introduce Mr. Smith of the highly reliable Pinkerton Detective Agency. He has found zero record of your legal union anywhere in California.” You shift your glare to the man in the suit.

“Good for him.”

“Prove us wrong? Where’s your certificate?”

“I don’t have it with me.”

Because it doesn’t exist…

Juan smirks, that low-banked fire in his eyes you remember all too well from when he knew he was winning an argument. That familiar rage fills you, that this man thinks he has any right to tell you anything, just because he is Man.

“This is ridiculous. We’re going.” You take Paul’s arm to lead him away, but more of Juan’s men block your exit. Eyes wide with panic, you look to your sisters. Anjélica is shocked, and Josefa’s jaw is set with disapproval. By the steely expressions on their husband’s faces, you know they are Juan’s men, no matter how much they came to like Paul. In the conservative, patriarchal world of Las Nubes, you have committed a terrible sin. Perhaps even an unforgivable one.

Juan’s smirk only widens, and he holds his hand out to you. “Be a good girl for once and come quietly, y/n. We’re going home.”

This is when Paul steps in front of you. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Stay out of it, gringo. You have no standing here, and none of this concerns you.”

“I’m not letting you take her.”

Don Juan makes a sound through his teeth like the hissing of a snake. “You don’t have a choice, cabrón.”

That is when all Hell breaks loose.

You don’t really see who throws the first punch, but suddenly the two men are on each other like mad dogs in a furious exchange of blows. When Juan’s lackeys try to go to his aid you are quick to pick up the heavy ceramic water pitcher on the table, breaking it over one of their heads. A strong arm grabs you around your waist, trying to drag you off. You flail and screech and scratch and bite, until whoever has you drops you with a string of curses.

You see that Paul is straddling Juan on the ground, delivering punch after punch.

That is when the Sheriff himself arrives, flanked by two deputies. They drag Paul off of Juan, the latter of whom is laughing with blood in his teeth.

You realize he must have arranged all this ahead of time, paying off anyone he needed to, to be sure his will was done.

“Lock this madman up!” declares don Juan, spitting out blood. “He attacked me with no provocation! These soldiers are like wild animals, thinking they may do as they please!”

In the end it takes four men to subdue Paul, who fights like a trapped bear to get free, shaking off one of the deputies as he tries to put the soldier in handcuffs. “Y/n! Get off me! Don’t let him take her! Y/n!”

You try to go to him, but Juan’s biggest minion has you in his grasp again, your arms twisted behind your back.

“Señor!” you beg the sheriff, even as you know it’s futile. “He has done nothing wrong! Please don’t hurt him!” The moment you say it one of the deputies hits Paul hard in the temple, and you see him slump in their grasp. “No!” You are crying, angry, ugly tears streaming down your face. “No, this isn’t right!”

Smirking like the devil, Juan gets to his feet, making a show of brushing himself off before fixing his attention on you. He steps in close, speaking just for your ears. “Behave yourself, and he’ll just sit in a cell for a few days to cool off. Make trouble…and I’ll make certain they hurt him.”

You slump in Borrachio’s iron grasp, your knees going out from under you.

You look to your family, who have watched this exchange wide-eyed, but made no move to help you. You understand. Their homes, their whole lives, take place on don Juan’s land. He is their master. You are just inconvenient–and you always have been.

“Please don’t hurt him.” You sound as defeated as you feel, and Juan clicks his tongue, chucking you under the chin.

“Pobrecita. That’s up to you, now.” He wipes a bit of blood from his split lip, then turns to his minions. “Put her in the truck,” he instructs Borrachio. “I’ll be there shortly.” You behave yourself, until Borrachio gives you an opportunity while he is opening the truck with one hand. You nearly twist away, fighting again like a hellcat. Losing patience with you, the big man cuffs you across the face, hard. It knocks the lights out of you, and when you come to again you are trussed in the back with your hands tied and a gag in your mouth.

________

*muñequita - little doll **¿Perdón? - pardon? *** pobrecita - poor little girl

#writing about women's healthcare in 1940 feelin' like today...#fukin hell man #pleeeease vote tuesday my USA peeps #AND in november!#for the love of god we gotta fight these women hating fascists #paul sutton wants YOU to fight modern nazis too!#paul sutton #paul sutton x reader #a walk in the clouds #paul sutton x you #paul sutton x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #andar conmigo paul sutton fic #don john x reader #don john #don john x you

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ourgalaxiescollide · 10 months

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"Dolly?"

The large cat yawned and looked up sleepily, looking for her boy in the dark. Callahan was upright in his bed, rubbing his eyes and patting the bed in a search for his pet. Shaking herself and stretching lazily, Dolly hopped up to the bed and purred loudly, rubbing against the man's chest and face.

Trembling hands smoothed out the cat's fur, Callahan laid back and closed his eyes, unable to remember what horror had woken him, but feeling its effects still in the waking world. Dolly did wonders to soothe his racing heart, but his mind continued to spin and whirl as it tried to make sense of this fear he felt.

Anxiety tied knots in his chest cavity, and although Dolly tried her hardest, Callahan needed someone to talk to.

Sighing, the man reached over to his bedside table and opened his phone, shooting off a text to the only person he knew may be able to help at this hour.

'Can I come over 🥺'

Quiet, but poppy music played in the background of the brunettes apartment, bring a fun buzz to the air. The dim fairy lights filling the small living room just enough for the shadows to be lingering in the corners. Candle wicks flickered on an off, filling the space with a cozy smell, one reminding her of the old pines back at the summer camp.

Gods, she loved her nights off!

She got to say inside, throw on her dramatic robe that SCREAMED 'i totally killed my husband but act like the mourning widow' with cute little fuzzy pjs and work on her cottage core puzzles!

Humming along to a song she long since memorized, she feels the slight vibration from her phone as it dings against the wooden coffee table.

"Huh..?" The brunette reached over, flipping over the phone and watched as the screen lit up once more. Her eyes widen in surprise, but quickly soften as a quiet giggle escapes her.

'Of course!! You better be bring Dolly tho! Thats your ticket in here ;P'

#rp with cal!!#riake the separated satyr

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aaronontherun · 5 months

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Okay, there are two things about the ending of GO S2 that I cannot get out of my head after finishing the rewatch:

1. Gabriel's descent to earth

2. Aziraphale's reaction to the offer of Metatrash

(The rest under the cut)

The thing about Gabriel's descent to earth is that when he comes down to earth, he has not been fired yet. He decides to come down.

What's interesting about this is that in the last few minutes of the last episode Gabriel says his original plan was to leave heaven to go to hell, to join Beelzebub.

The quote goes:

Beelzebub: "Silly, silly angel. Why?"

Gabriel: "I was coming to you, but I... I forgot."

So... he had not been fired yet (because he left heaven before Michael and the lot could get a hold of him again). And he had originally planned to go to Beelzebub ("oh, you're sending me to hell, aren't you?" -> he was kind of counting on that). But after hearing he will lose his memory and go down to earth, he decides to ditch that plan and make himself forget all of it to go to earth (where he did not really intend to go in the first place) to give a box to Aziraphale that says "I am in the fly", that he knows will make him remember.

Why?

My working theory is that since he was the highest ranking angel, he knew about the plans of heaven. He knew about the second attempt at Armageddon of course and he did not want that to happen, because of his love for Beelzebub and the war that would break out. But I reckon he also already knew about the Second Coming.

And by wiping his own memories, he deleted that knowledge for all of heavens associates. But by storing it in the fly and transporting that to earth instead of hell, he brought it to the safest place he knew.

"The Second Coming will be a fearful, mournful time for the wicked, but it will be a day of peace for the righteous."

I don't know if I am reading something into it here, but to me it also sounds like a clue. The only other pair that kind of unites the powers of heaven and hell like Gabriel and Beelzebub is Aziraphale and Crowley. And we know that connection to be quite a strong one (as seen by the "teeny tiny miracle" that ended up sounding every god damn alarm bell in heaven). Crowley is a fallen angel and does not particularly care for heaven or hell and Aziraphale is still an angel and also does not conform with everything that heaven does. And Gabriel knows that.

BUT as far as we know, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley have had contact with the fly or the memories. For now we only know Gabriel kept his memories out of heaven by going to Aziraphale and that he probably knew more than he let on.

The question is, does the fly still exist or did it get destroyed when it went into Gabriels eye?

Also, given the CLUE that takes up almost half an episode - the part of the song that we don't really get to hear is this:

"Everyday seems a little longer,

Every way, love's a little stronger"

Everything we have seen points to an ending where you don't have to choose a side. Where there is no need to categorize into black and white, but to just accept shades of grey. Which is obstructed by heaven (the big corporate agenda, that needs people to think in black and white) and hell (which holds the outcasts that could not keep up with the agenda, but still cling onto it in their own competitive way).

Okay and this is the perfect transition to Aziraphales reaction to the Metatrons offer.

Because after years (or millennia in Aziraphale's case) of being oppressed and silenced and having to be careful around everything he says, I think Metatrons offer to put him in charge of heaven is in Aziraphale's eyes the only perspective of ever getting out of his misery while still doing good.

He *could* have given up heaven and fallen like Crowley, joining him that way, but instead he takes the route of trying to take Crowley with him to the very top of heaven.

Which, in my eyes, is a very very clear sign of the abusive relationship he has with heaven.

I don't think he realises that he is still just a pawn in a big chess game, also and especially as archangel of heaven.

As both Beelzebub and Gabriel said: "As if we make the rules..."

That is not how it works.

(I also find it very interesting, that the voice of god (basically the manager of heaven) asks if anyone ever "asks for death" (I mean, come on) whereas god, talking to Job, is genuinely fascinated by him and his goodness.)

I don't know if I can put this thought process into proper words, but I feel like the problem is that Aziraphale is still clinging to the whole concept of "doing good" and preserving his own status in the organisation. I don't think he is going up there to "change it from the inside" with a wicked plan in mind. When the Metatron made the offer, he told him that he would be "such a good leader, kind and honest", "be able to make a difference, be put in charge of everything". Which is exactly how they get you. He did not tell him he would be in charge of the second coming right off the bat. He lured him with being able to make everything better for everyone (which is all Aziraphale really wants) while keeping and continuing to receive approval from above (which Aziraphale is so afraid of losing).

Which is also what he tells Crowley about. The trust he is being given, the opportunity to make a change, the opportunity for Crowley to regain validation from heaven.

And only when he has accepted the offer, the Metatron specifies the details of the deal and that "doing good for everybody" means initialising the Second Coming, that has already been well planned (and that is everything Aziraphale never wanted to be a part of, but he won't disappoint them by saying no now).

"We could have been us" feels so powerful in that context, because I feel like what it really meant was "we could have been us without the approval of anyone". Without the need to justify their actions, think about right or wrong in the sense that heaven or hell would have categorized them. The freedom to work as a team, as the shades of grey they naturally are, containing both "good" and "evil" in a way that they balance each other, not desperately trying to put one of them out. (Also worth noting here, that throughout the seasons Aziraphale *has* done "evil", but only if he could somehow twist it to be "good" (see the episode with Wee Morag, right?), which showcases the pointlessness of categorizing again).

"I forgive you" from Aziraphale is such a heartbreaking line here, too. Because it is not him speaking, really. It is him already speaking in place of the organisation he is going to work for. "I forgive you for not regaining approval. I still love you."

"Don't bother", Crowley says and his whole posture drops. "For me it was never about that."

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens meta #good omens fan theories #metatrash #good omens gabriel #good omens 2 #good omens s2

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 months

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The Ladies Whistledown - chapter ten

Pairing: Eloise x Penelope Rating: T Word Count: 3225

As Marina Thompson, Penelope’s cousin had been a dangerous acquaintance for her to have. As the widowed Lady Crane, she was quite safe, quite respectable, and quite welcome back into the bosom of the Featherington family. It had not taken half a minute for Penelope to see this was not a welcome Marina particularly craved. Certainly, she was not needful of it, not now.

They had come in mourning, of course: Penelope, her mama, and Prudence. Philippa and Mr. Finch had joined them for the funeral, but Philippa had never had their mother’s scheming mind, and so lacked the wiles or inclination to hang about the Crane estate, waiting to see if Marina might find a use for her—and what that use might be worth.

Penelope had never felt so ashamed of her mother as in the first days of their stay. It was all too obvious that the woman who had once treated a young lady in precarious circumstances so shabbily was now attempting, sickeningly, to ingratiate herself with the titled, landed widow Marina had become. Penelope did not blame Marina for her coldness, or think her wicked for failing to shed a tear over her husband’s body in their presence. She owed them nothing, to Penelope’s mind. It was not their business whether Marina’s reserve was due to shock, the absence of grief, or simply not wanting Penelope’s mama to see her cry.

Following a week of nearly threadbare civility, Penelope’s mama took their hostess’s hint and departed with Prudence. Finally, Marina warmed a little. Penelope was there to receive it, and to stoke the faintly glowing embers of the girl she remembered as best she could.

“They are beautiful children,” Penelope praised.

They were in the nursery, watching over Marina’s babbling twins. This had been Penelope’s excuse; she would stay to help with Amanda and Oliver. As she was the younger of the unmarried Featherington daughters, her offer had been a logical one. Her mother did not require her for anything. She was easily spared. Still, Penelope had exhaled in relief when Marina accepted. It did not take long for Penelope to recognize that she had not been kept for her assistance with the children but as a companion for their mother. This was perfectly alright with her. She was only too eager—after she had used Whistledown to decimate her cousin’s marriage prospects, almost ruining her life—to make reparations where she could.

“They are caring and sweet. They are their father’s children,” Marina remarked, and Penelope guessed it was not to the late Sir Phillip her cousin referred.

“Do they…” Penelope bit her tongue, holding herself back from asking the impertinent question which had arisen all too quickly in her mind.

“Please just ask,” Marina said. Her voice was tired, her plea honest in its weariness. This was part of what she had hidden from the rest of the family.

Penelope took a breath.

“Do they miss Sir Phillip, do you think? Do they feel his loss?”

They had been standing, but Penelope’s questions compelled Marina to guide her over to the settee. For a moment, they watched the toddlers play.

“They are young, but they are more sensitive than you might imagine,” Marina explained. “Though his memory will grow a little dimmer for them each day, I do hope they retain something of it. Phillip was always most kind to them.”

Penelope eyed her cousin’s profile cautiously.

“…And to you?” she ventured.

Marina turned to gaze at her straight-on. Her expression was proud, challenging. She would not be pitied.

“As kind as I allowed him to be,” Marina said.

Penelope nodded to acknowledge this. She assumed that was to be the end of the conversation. Though Marina had not volunteered much, she had been frank and patient with Penelope. She did not say, Penelope, you could not understand. You have no husband, you have no children. Your ignorant inquiries are a trial. She did not say, Go home to your mama, little girl. She did not say, Penelope Featherington, what could you know of love?

Penelope did not presume love was their subject—except when Marina spoke of her children. She knew her cousin’s marriage had been pure practicality, and could see easily enough that tenderer feelings did not seem to have blossomed during Marina’s two years with Sir Phillip. She was a little surprised when her cousin spoke again, but not at the practical bent of her words.

“We have a comfortable house,” Marina said, gesturing about them, “and Phillip made provisions to ensure our continued residence. My son is a baronet.”

Smiling, Penelope momentarily bent to stroke the small back of this little baronet as he played with his wooden blocks.

“I am so glad you and the children are secure,” Penelope said. She was—more than Marina would ever know.

“We are deeply fortunate. I should not wish for more.”

“But you do.”

“Is it so easily guessed?” Marina wondered.

The question was not asked harshly. Penelope smiled gently in return.

“I knew you before,” she said.

Before—such a word! Every passing moment became a “before,” and even the “before” to which Penelope referred had not been so very long ago. What she meant by the word was the season Marina had passed with her family at Featherington House. When she said “before,” she knew she conjured for them both nights of secret camaraderie, letters passed between them which amounted to a sustaining correspondence, half-comprehended hints regarding the genesis of Marina’s condition. Sitting with Marina now worked to take Penelope back there, to that bedchamber and time. During that brief period, Marina had come to feel more like a sister to Penelope than Prudence or Philippa ever had. She could not help longing for a renewal of the confidence they had once shared. More than that, she wanted to be worthy of it.

“All I wanted then was my great love story,” Marina said.

“And you had it,” Penelope promised her, reaching for her hand and clutching it hard. “You may yet have another.”

“What if Phillip was the only other chance I will get?”

At last, Marina wept. Penelope held her close and felt the silent tears her cousin cried on her shoulder, the swaying rack of her body. Penelope’s eyes were wide with a mix of confusion and sympathy. She marveled at both Marina’s dread and her huge capacity for love—for these tears were surely for George, Sir Phillip, and herself, all at once. Much as she had done with Oliver, Penelope rubbed Marina’s back and tried to understand. Marriage, love, devotion—all of it was so much more complicated than Lady Whistledown ever properly made it out to be. What of the older eligible ladies, like Cressida Cowper? What of the once-engaged, like Prudence? What of the widows who had tasted love (whether in their marriage or elsewhere) and now stared stoically ahead at a future which seemed to promise only loneliness?

“I shall love you,” Penelope avowed fiercely. “Whatever else may happen, you shall have me.”

Though it was likely not enough, it was the truth, and for once, it was a truth that would not do Marina harm.

—

With one thing and another, and with not being in Mayfair, Penelope and Eloise did not see each other for a while, and in the meantime, summer fell deeper and deeper into autumn until a day came when the breeze no longer bore the heady scent of flowers. The breeze was no longer warm either. The days grew steadily shorter, and more and more often brought rain, October’s purplish-grey clouds swaying across the sky like windswept violets of May.

Penelope did not mind this dark, wet weather in the slightest as it was the perfect weather for writing. Her mama did not make her go out, rather bemoaning the lashing rain herself and shutting herself up with Varley to confront the family accounts instead of sashaying her way to teas and bridge parties, which would only have risked the ruin of her fascinators and silks. Prudence—staying with the Finches for a spell—was likewise occupied, so Penelope felt quite free to sit at her desk and scribble the hours away. There was nothing so pleasant, in her opinion, as the certitude of not being interrupted.

She put to paper idle thoughts and organized bits of gossip about unsavory gentlemen. She was compiling an account on each one; none of it need be published, unless a man should attempt to take in a debutante and her relations—at which point, Lady Whistledown would reveal all. This act of preparation was a satisfaction in itself, and one of the items Penelope made sure to keep Eloise apprised of in their frequent letters. Letters to Eloise were, naturally, Penelope’s very favourite things to write.

However, Eloise’s replies were not always wholly pleasing. There was nothing so awful as a portent of another violent rending of their friendship. No, their friendship was as firm as ever it had been, for which fact Penelope remained grateful every day. Unfortunately, Eloise’s generous and forgiving heart seemed to have lately made room for another—not another best friend, not a rival, but another. Penelope might not have been so troubled by the connection had it not been with Cressida Cowper.

Not unpleasant—that was how Eloise had described an afternoon recently spent in Cressida’s presence. Evidently, they had not come together by design, but found themselves neglected in the same drawing room corner. A conversation that had been struck up for perfunctory politeness had unexpectedly, Eloise had written, become almost delightful after she had made a dry joke which provoked an unexpected laugh from Cressida. Penelope had frowned reading this. Did she want Eloise to be lonely? No. Did she wish for Cressida’s misery? Rarely! But Penelope could not help it, she did not like the thought of Eloise and Cressida becoming friends. It gave her a sick feeling she quickly recognized as jealousy.

But as the letters continued to come, Penelope learned to endure mention of Cressida. It was Penelope Eloise was writing to, Penelope with whom Eloise shared her feelings and impressions. There could be no doubt that they remained first in one another’s thoughts. This cheered Penelope through every thunderstorm, her nib scratching across yet another page of their rich correspondence.

Penelope grew so used to her solitude that she was surprised the day Varley poked her head through the door to announce a visitor. She wondered if it might be Marina, though she could not imagine her cousin returning to this house with much eagerness, or shepherding the twins hither. Perhaps something else had happened and necessity compelled her to come, putting Oliver and Amanda’s wellbeing above her own feelings. Perhaps they were to be turned out of the Crane estate! It had not been terribly long since Featherington House had nearly been snatched from Penelope’s family as easily as a dollhouse from three garishly-dressed dolls; she remembered very well thinking she had been about to lose her home right after losing her papa. She remembered the fear.

Coming out from behind her desk, Penelope hurried to the door of her bedchamber, but Varley blocked her way. She touched Penelope’s arm and spoke softly: “It is Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Colin?”

Varley nodded.

Well, that was… Penelope was glad it was not an emergency. She presumed it was not, though it was odd of Colin to visit her. Here. Alone. For the briefest moment, as Penelope strode to the drawing room, she suspected Eloise must be with him. But no, she knew Varley would have said.

Sure enough, Colin stood alone in the room. Penelope felt deeply relieved that, for once, her mother had ventured out, despite the rain. When she entered, Colin turned and greeted her with a smile. Penelope returned it, then looked back at Varley.

“It is only Colin,” she said.

“Yes, Miss.”

It took no more than that to convince Varley to leave them unchaperoned, even closing the door on her way out. Penelope had never found Varley to be an unkind creature, but the woman certainly thought very much as Penelope’s mama did on most subjects, not excluding the eligibility of a certain youngest daughter. Colin was no danger to her, they clearly believed, and this was because she was not the sort of young lady he would be dangerous with should they find themselves shut in a room together. Penelope would not dwell on it. She received her visitor with pleasure.

“Shall I call for tea?” she offered.

“No, thank you,” Colin said. “I would prefer we remain undisturbed.”

He took a seat on the chaise and looked expectantly at her. As Penelope moved to join him, she felt a soft flutter in her chest. It was not the butterfly sensation she had once experienced when he made her laugh or pressed her hand or caught her eye with a certain mischief in his. It felt more like that sensation’s echo. She had not thought about his words to the other gentlemen about her in some time. When she prodded the memory now, Penelope discovered it did not ache the way it used to, and her image of Colin, while no longer the faultless golden portrait it had been, had not been razed. It was simply more complete.

“I am surprised by your visit,” she confessed once seated. “Your sister mentioned you were to embark on your travels.”

“Eloise does not mislead you.” Colin smiled.

“I imagined you might already be away.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “I meant to be. My plans… changed.”

“Do you now not intend to go? You once expressed such a desire to see Spain!”

Penelope could recall that particular conversation almost in full; the special affection she had held for Colin previously had seemed to make her memory of each encounter brighter than other memories. And what she had most loved to hear him speak of had been his travels—past and intended. It had not only been his vivid descriptions of places, foods, and peoples she had enjoyed, but how his face lit up when he was speaking of them.

“I do,” Colin assured her eagerly. “I will. It is only a delay—but, I believe, a significant one.”

“Whatever could you mean?” Penelope wondered.

She had spoken slightly woodenly. Between Colin’s words and his look, something alarmed her. If things had been different, if they had retained the closeness Colin might not yet be fully aware they had lost, she might have suspected the next words from her guest would be a proposal.

“May I tell you something, Pen?” he inquired earnestly. At Penelope’s faint nod, Colin revealed, “I mean to see Marina—Lady Crane.”

“Oh.”

She was still digesting this news when he went on, “Needless to say, I will need to allow some more time to pass, for propriety’s sake. Her husband’s death was so sudden—”

“You mean to ask Marina to marry you?” Penelope fairly blurted the question, and it was hardly a question, more a rush of understanding that escaped her brain through her mouth.

If the question was rude, Colin did not show it. He appeared far too caught up in his own plans, anxious and awkward, and yet determined—determined as Penelope felt she had never seen him before.

Indeed, he was blushing as he confirmed, “Yes, I think I do.”

“But why do you speak to me about it?” Penelope cried out.

She could not help her heightened emotional state. Here was Colin, who she had once wanted for herself, who had himself once wanted her cousin, whose chances Penelope had dashed in Whistledown. And now—and now!—Penelope no longer dreamed of being his wife, but she had seen Marina’s loneliness, and now saw before her Colin’s fervour for exactly the second chance for which Marina had seemed to pine. It was almost overwhelming. A feeling rose in Penelope which reminded her of how she had felt when Colin had been on the brink of proposing to Marina before. But it was only a memory of a feeling, and it subsided after a moment, and Penelope was able to avert her eyes from Colin’s face; she feared she may have been regarding him with something like horror.

“I suppose I thought…” Colin trailed off. “I…”

“Please, Colin.” Penelope heard herself, and thought it sounded like a plea for mercy for her younger self.

“I felt I had to come to you to… check it is alright before I proceed. I cannot quite explain, but I feel… I feel I need your blessing.” Penelope looked up at him then. His eyes implored her. “Do you know, I don’t believe I can do this without you.”

Penelope took a deep breath.

When she spoke, she said, “Of course you can.”

“Then perhaps I do not want to.”

“I think your pursuit of Marina would be most natural,” Penelope granted. “Circumstances”—me, she thought—“were against you in the past. If Marina is truly who you want, then you must try for her.”

“I have wanted no other,” Colin said. “Except…”

He looked Penelope in the eye for a moment then. She saw their shared history, and how, for one of them, a childhood of laughter and closeness had matured into dearer feelings. For the other, this had not happened, but the friendship had been rewarding nonetheless, the trust never knowingly breached. There was a flicker in Colin’s eyes that suggested there might have been a time—or even just a moment, a moment like this one—when he had seen what else they might have been to one another. Penelope blinked and Colin smiled at her in nothing more than friendship.

“I wish I knew if I had any chance,” he said. “Nothing is ever sure.”

“No,” Penelope agreed, “but it is not hopeless. Far from it. I think Marina will be most happy to see you.”

“And to receive my suit?”

Penelope smiled.

“I cannot speak for her.”

“If she does not discourage me—and I shall know at once; your cousin can be quite blunt—I will make Marina a promise before I go abroad. Our engagement may begin upon my return, when she is out of her mourning period. Does that seem…?”

“Entirely appropriate,” Penelope promised.

“Good. Thank you, Pen.” He put out his hand to her and they shook. When their hands dropped, Colin gave her a very serious look. “If I can ever do anything for you, you need only ask.”

“I ask only that you write to me during your travels. I do enjoy your letters.”

“That I can readily agree to, as I believe your enjoyment in reading them is surpassed only by my enjoyment in writing.”

Penelope understood this completely. The ink stains between her fingers and on the side of her hand were testaments to her own love of writing. While her pages did not contain adventurous tales of far-flung locales, they probed the human heart and mind, attempting to puzzle out some of their complexities. This study was a great undertaking in its own right.

When Colin departed to speak with Marina, Penelope returned to composing her latest letter to Eloise.

#my writing #The Ladies Whistledown #Bridgerton #peneloise #Penelope Featherington #Eloise Bridgerton #Penelope x Eloise #Marina Thompson #Marina Crane #Colin Bridgerton #Bridgerton fic #peneloise fic

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kanzakurawrites · 4 months

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Hi I really like your descendants fic and your posts, so I have a question. If descendants was a pg16 show that actually did it's worldbuilding what elements would you ADD, which elements would you remove and what would you expand on?

Oooh, this is an interesting question. I'm sorry it took so long to get this answered! (and apologizing in advance for any rambling that takes place)

First things first, I'd want the show to switch between the Isle and Auradon. I am PERFECTLY fine with the main cast staying the main characters from the first three films. So it would be eye-opening, and good for the characters, for the show to have switched between the Auradonians, the Core Four, and the Sea Three.

I'd also want at LEAST the entire first episode, preferably first two or three, to have the Core Four on the Isle. Working with THEIR gang. So we can see what it is like for them to live on the Isle, what its like for them to be around their parents, and how they interact with others, before going straight to Auradon.

Now, Isle-related things.

I definitely know I'd want to add more elements of abuse on the Isle. It's implied in the movies, but they also seem to backtrack at times. (Dizzy's "wicked step-grandmother" comment, and then suddenly portraying Lady Tremaine as caring - the Vk's running to the Isle to see their parents.) It would need to be shown that the Isle is a HORRIBLE place. Physical, emotional.... and other forms of abuse. These things HAPPEN, and they are going to happen on the Isle.

As much as I hate to say it, there is definitely teen pregnancy on the Isle. There's also a lot of death for ALL ages.

Remember Mal's comment about gang activity? Let's see it. Show us the gangs, the fights, the rules, the alliances. Show us the politics on the Isle, and how these are CHILDREN fighting for their lives. Which also means injuries and scars.

There are all sorts of HORRIBLE crimes that people get sent to jail for (I really don't want to type the words since it makes me sick to my stomach), and those people are ON. THE. ISLE. It's not just the villains from the fairy tales on the Isle, its all the criminals as well. There's a lot of reasons the VK's have gangs, and keeping each other safe is one of them.

With that said, not all the VK's are going to be good either. Some of them will end up bad in the end. Just like there are going to be bad people in Auradon.

And then with the barrier, are seasons a thing on the Isle or does the dome mean that the temperature stays relatively the same? Are the summers scorching and winters freezing and dirty, given the pollution over the Isle? Things can't even grow!

How DID the Isle get approved? Was it better in the beginning? Did they just not think that villains could have children? These are questions that need to be answered, because even without purposefully trying to make it dark, the things we know about the Isle are sickening to think about. Nothing can grow, food is always rotten, everything is crumbling, and there is horrible pollution.

What is illness like on the Isle? It can't be good, it would run rampant. I want to see how it's dealt with.

And finally, how does the Isle affect the magical people there? Witches could probably be okay being cut off from magic, but fairies? They are inherently magical. Magic is apart of them. Same goes with Ursula, Morgana, Hades (though he's probably not affected at all). Trolls, dwarves (there have to be some), goblins, pixies, etc. Any on the isle, and their children, how are they affected here? Does Uma feel a loss in her chest when she's near the sea? Does Mal mourn her horns and wings? (and will she ever get any?) Is it painful? Do they get sick when they're in Auradon and finally around all this magic? Because you can't just... get rid of magic. It's going to be there.

Auradon Things:

I would really want to expand on how Auradon came to be. Along with the, likely, war that happened when rounding up the villains cause there's no way that was peaceful.

Politics. I want the politics. How do all these kingdoms work? What political parties are there? How are views on the Isle handled?

Arranged-Marriages are a thing. Not everyone does it, but I feel like we can all agree that some people (*cough*Leah*cough*) believe that they are superior to "Falling in love." I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Audrey and Ben had an arranged marriage.

Abuse. It's not just a thing on the Isle, but it's in Auradon as well, just in a different way. While there's a lot more physical abuse on the Isle, there's verbal and emotional in Auradon. Leah and, though I hate saying it, Beast are perfect examples. Leah constantly puts Audrey down, she makes her feel inferior. Beast made his sixteen year old High King... I'm sure I could find more examples for him but I think that's a pretty big thing right there.

Another thing to expand on is the equality issue in Auradon. The "sidekicks" got the short end of the deal, even though Ben tried to make it better, as the dwarves and animals weren't being PAID. They just worked all the time for the Royals. Magical people have seemed to be pushed aside, like Beast wants them all gone. Jane couldn't even train her with her magic! And she's Fairy Godmother's daughter! The three good fairies and other fairies from Aurora's kingdom are actively having to not use magic. How do Kingdom's like Corona (Ruby has the 70ft hair, so some semblance of magic had to be passed down. Magic is also canonical in Tangled the Series, along with things like DRAGONS), Arendalle, Agrabah, etc. function?

How do things with the gods play out? What is there contract with Auradon, cause I am NOT convinced that they would just let these mortals walk all over them forever. It's one of my biggest issues with Hades on the Isle as well, and why I think there has to be some bigger reason he's on the Isle. (Whether its them waiting for Beast's term to be over, or perhaps something the Fates said)

I'd want to add in how religions play out in Auradon, because all these stories come from different places. There are characters who are canonically religious in their films, good and bad. It's not something you can just erase.

How did Auradon as a whole react when the VK's came over? Were there protests? Was Ben under a lot of heat, or was Beast for letting Ben do this? How were the VK's treated at first? Not everyone was going to be welcoming. Who stood beside Ben, who was neutral, and who went against him?

Then with relationships. Honestly, I really like Mal and Ben, but I'd want to see them develop a relationship. Maybe mention their dreams and hint to the true loves, have them work through the love spell issue, show them dealing with cultural differences. Give them a realistic relationship with more depth.

With Evie, show the expectations her mother would have put on her. Did she have flings? Was she pushed to try to be with any "higher up" Isle male?

Harry and Uma... yeah their together. With the rating up, there is no reason to pretend they aren't or only give small hints. We get to have this relationship and yeah, you know, they are just Harry and Uma.

And when the VKs do come to Auradon, who are their foster parents? Because they have to have someone, right? How is that handled? How are they taken care of?

Then with the abuse they went through, show us the hints. Flinching when there are yells, or when someone goes to touch them. Maybe blank looks, disassociation, just not knowing how to handle relationships! Friendship or with adults! How they see themselves. That stuff does a number on you, even after years. And I understand why Disney didn't go deeply into this, but it also shouldn't just be brushed away. Acknowledging it could have helped just explain some of the VK's actions. (Such as Mal in the third movie, wanting to please the ultimately parental figures around her.)

I really don't think there's much about Descendants that I'd remove, I'd just want to expand on the world and make it... darker, I guess. More realistic vs. sunshine and roses.

(Also. Adding seasons. Seasons EXIST Disney.)

#disney descendants #descendants #my asks #my answers #mal bertha #ben florian #isle of the lost #auradon #i know i rambled #i just have feelings on this #i probably could have come up with more #but i really just need to sit down and sort through some of this #the isle #specifically #it could just #it is so dark if you think about it

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pepsiiwho · 5 months

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I've been re-listening to Brandy's Cinderella and I am, unfortunately, incredibly weak for the Cinderella story now that I'm older and done being an edgy teenager at all times. Now that I am an adult who is drinking and mildly tipsy, I can combine my favorite current thing (HADES 2) with my favorite princess trope right now (CINDERLLA)

So theres the Hypnos version and the Melione version. Honestly, I'm a bit more taken by the Mel version right now because reverse love stories just move me horribly. So that'll be the focus.

WaxWitch under the cut, no spoilers for Hades 2 other than characters who appear and possible canon interactions compared to this au. Long post WOOP WOOP...

So obviously Cinderella in this au is Icarus and The Prince, now Princess, is Melione. Icarus wouldn't really be the step child under the wicked step mother but just because I'm iffy on the actual lore of the myth and his canon relationship with his father during life in the game, I'll be taking to liberty to say it wasn't great and he very desperately wants to get out of his house and 'spread his wings', so to speak (crowd loudly cheers because I said the thing).

Anyway so similar to the plot of the film, Melione is the princess and daughter of the king and queen. This could be a simple, "Mom, Dad and Brother are back and life is good" set up or "Mel is all that's left of the royal line with her tutor/ god parent turned Adoptive mother as queen" either works, doesn't reeally make a difference. whatever,

So they meet in the main square and Melione is instantly taken by the tinkering boy who dropped his basket of apples or whatever he was doing. They get to talking and eventually one of them has to go but they promise to meet again.

So they do. Again and again and again. For years they continue meeting once a week, every week, regardless of everything else. Melione finds someone soft and kind, someone with a mind that never stops moving and expects nothing from her in terms of revenge or strength. She finds someone painfully mundane and it's refreshing, at first, to be around someone so simple. As they grow together she wishes her dearest Icarus could have more, could have everything this world has to offer. Everything he deserves and more.

Icarus is instantly in love with her. First because the pretty young princess is talking to his pitiful self, both of them the tender age of 15 with nothing to show for it but difficult personalities and a need to prove something, but his love for her just grows and grows with each passing day. He pushes himself to create more and more to amuse Melione with little bobbles and simple wooden figures, then to help Melione ease the day to day humdrum of her classes with paper weights and dynamic knife sheathes, then to aid with her trainings then to help rest her mind. He loves how she laughs and how humble she is even though she of all people need not be humble. How she insists on cleanliness and everything being in its rightful place. How she's such an ass about gardening and how specific soil must be and how seeds are placed. She has a mole on her wrist and she always blushes and groans when her aid called her 'minnow'. How she would have these moments of contemplation, of grief and mourning for a family she never knew. Everything about her entranced him and it somehow just got worse with each years they knew each other. And with that longing came the gap between them widening. Eventually her royal training lessons began, to prepare her to take the throne one day, and that only solidified the distance between them. Maybe that's why things went wrong.

Shit hit the fan during their last day together. He flew too close to the sun with one project, inviting on strengthening himself with her help. Maybe he knew, even then, that he was too weak to be hers. Maybe he was just a headstrong child. Doesn't really matter either way. She got hurt, lost and arm, and he made himself scarce. It was pretty cut and dry (ha) by that point.

A few years later and Melione is at an age to find a consort. Continue the line. No one catches her eye, no one can after the one boy who had her heart left her without even a final goodbye.

So her mother plans a ball to find her a consort. Any and all eligible youth in the kingdom are invited. It's a massive affair. Icarus wasn't going to go, how could he in his ratty ruined inventor's clothes and scorned name. Why, the guards would probably pierce him dead the moment he walked up to the steps of the palace. Rightfully so, of course, but he can't shake this feeling that he needs to go. To see her again.

That's when his fairy god mother appears, [I am not at all picky about who, I think Aphrodite because LOVE idk, but anything works] and she convinces him to go even though he thought it was impossible. He's dressed to the nines, perfectly clean and gorgeous. He barely recognizes himself without the grease one his clothes and bags under his eyes. He rides a wax carriage, and is warned that by 12 everything made for him will melt, leaving him bare, wanting and painfully himself. He sets off at once.

Somehow, Melione doesn't either. A few years and a change of clothes does a lot clearly. But the moment they lock eyes as he comes down the stairs, clad in blue and glass slippers she's entranced. They dance and dance and almost struggle to share words because they're too busy basking in each other's company. It's just so easy. Melione hasn't felt ease like this since... well.

After hours together they escape to the garden, to enraptured with the other to allow another suitor to steal a glance, let alone a dance. They begin talking about their lives and what they want from this ball, and they get close as they speak in hushed whispers between them. Eventually the moment gets too tender, too sweet and they kiss, lulled into each other. Its heavenly.

But, it's late. Too late, even. Icarus can't bare to say who he is and Melione can't bare to let him go. Time, unfortunately, cares for neither. With a final kiss Icarus leaves and Melione is left watching as he runs away, leaving nothing but a single shoe on the steps...

#the funnies #hades 2 #waxwitch #hades melinoe #hades icarus #god guys I like them down bad I do....#I love you princess aus I LOVE YOUUU

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inlovewithquotes · 10 months

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“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was dreaming about…about…”

He patted my back, and reached under the pillow for a handkerchief.

“I know. Ye were calling his name.” He sounded resigned.

I laid my head back in his shoulder. He smelled warm and rumpled, his own sleepy scent blending with the smell of the down-filled quilt and the clean linen sheets.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

He snorted briefly, not quite a laugh. “Well, I’ll no say I’m not wicked jealous of the man,” he said ruefully, “because I am. But I can hardly grudge the him your dreams. Or your tears.” His finger gently traced the wet track down one cheek, then blotted it with the handkerchief.

“You don’t?”

His smile in the dimness was lopsided.

“No. Ye loved him. I canna hold it against either of you that ye mourn him. And it gives me some comfort to know….” He hesitated, and I reached up to smooth the rumpled hair off his face.

“To know what?”

“That should the need come, you might mourn me that way,” he said softly.

I pressed my face fiercely into his chest, so my words were muffled.

“I won’t mourn you, because I won’t have to. I won’t lose you, I won’t!” A thought struck me, and I looked up at him, the faint roughness of his bread stubble a shadow on his face.

“You aren’t afraid I would go back, are you? You don’t think that because I….think of Frank…”

“No.” His voice was quick and soft, a response fast as the possessive tightening of his arms around me.

“No.” He said again, more softly. “We are bound, you and I, and nothing on this earth shall part me from you.” One large hand rose and stroke my hair. “D’ye mid the blood vow that I swore ye when we wed?”

“Yes, I think so. ‘Blood of my blood , bone of my bone….”

“I give ye my body, that we may be one,” he finished. “Aye, and I have kept that vow, Sassenach, and so have you.”

He turned me slightly, and one hand cupped itself gently over the tiny swell of my stomach.

“Blood of my blood,” he whispered, “and bone of my bone. You carry me within ye, Claire, and ye canna leave me now, no matter what happens. You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want me or nay. Mine, and I wilna let ye go.”

I put my hand over his, pressing it against me.

“No,” I said softly, “nor can you leave me.”

“No,” he said half smiling. “For I have kept that last of the vow as well.” He clasped both hands about me, and bowed his head on my shoulder, so I could feel the warm breath of the words upon my ear, whispered to the dark.

“For I give ye my spirit, till our life shall be done.”

-Dragonfly In Amber

#quotes #book quotes #literature #books & libraries #life quotes #relationship quotes #love quotes #grief #diana gabaldon #outlander #outlander series #dragonfly in amber #claire fraser #jamie fraser #jamie x claire #claire x jamie

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dendroaspis-viridis · 7 days

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Proclivities

Bad behavior begets punishment, as Katareth is all too happy to discover.

Rating: E (+18) This is just more smut, y'all.

Read it on AO3

Tags: explicit sexual content, impact play, praise kink, table sex, aftercare, PWP, porn without plot, smut

9:53 Dragon

Emmrich pressed a hand to Katareth’s sternum, hastily undoing the buttons of her shirt as he guided his lover backwards towards the black marble slab that sat in the corner of his study.

When the backs of her thighs bumped against the edge, he coyly confirmed, “You remember our conversation regarding our respective proclivities all those months ago, correct?” His eyes remained focused on undoing her buttons and pins.

The qunari could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks. It was something Emmrich had insisted upon if they were going to continue being intimate with one another. Everything from favorite kinks to hard ‘no’s’ was covered, with both Mourn Watchers squirreling the information away in the back of their minds for later.

“I do,” Katareth’s hands landed on his narrow waist, hooking her thumbs through belt loops.

“Just making sure…” The professor’s smile was innocent, though the seductive trail of his fingers as they pulled the scarlet bow from around her neck was anything but. “And do you also remember how terrible you were during our meeting the other day?”

“I do…”

All of the members of the Veilguard convened at least once a week to regroup and review their findings over dinner. Their most recent meeting didn’t cover anything particularly groundbreaking, giving the qunari a bit of freedom to cause some mischief.

While Emmrich attempted to explain some of the issues that were arising within the Necropolis due to the thinning of the Veil, the reaper sat to his right, with her large hand resting firmly on the inside of his thigh under the table. He’d been a professor for decades, so he was more than capable of lecturing while ignoring distractions, though the tantalizing graze of her fingertips so close to his groin certainly put the necromancer’s poker face to the test.

“And one last question: do you remember our safeword?” Emmrich pushed her waistcoat and shirt off her shoulders.

“Mesentery.”

A wicked smile spread across his face. “Good girl,” he husked.

Katareth sighed shakily as additional warmth simultaneously flooded her face and pooled low in her gut at his praise.

“Now, I’ve thought long and hard about an appropriate punishment for such abhorrent behavior, though I believe I may have my answer…” Long fingers plucked at the laces of her brassiere before shucking the article as well, unceremoniously tossing it on the same heap as the rest of her clothes to leave her breasts bare before him. He held her gaze for several long moments, drawing out her anticipation before reaching up to quickly pinch at a pierced nipple and command, “Finish stripping—but leave your smallclothes, turn around, and bend over with your hands flat on the table.”

She stared down at him a bit bewilderedly. Emmrich very rarely needed to assert himself, so to get this rare glimpse of his stern side in a more erotic context was, ah, stimulating to say the least.

“As much as I love staring at your beautiful face, I do believe I’ve given you an order, my heart.”

With a start, Katareth hastily peeled off the specified layers, kicking aside the offending garments with her foot. Turning away from Emmrich to face the marble, she was dismayed to feel just how cold the surface was on her palms as she leaned down. Surely, he won’t expect me to lay directly on it…

“All the way…” he taunted. Damn it.

When she hesitated, the necromancer placed an encouraging hand on her back that trailed up and down a few times before firmly pressing between her shoulder blades. “Down you go…”

She hissed a quiet, “Vashedan…” at the rather abrupt introduction of her warm breasts to the freezing marble.

Emmrich hummed patronizingly. “Oh, are we feeling a bit of discomfort? Good. This is supposed to be a punishment, after all.”

The reaper felt exposed. Well, she was exposed, quite literally bent over a table in naught but her underwear—and the fact that Emmrich hadn’t removed a stitch from his own person only emphasized the disparity. But she also felt safe. She knew he wouldn't push her past what she couldn't handle, and while he may play the role of an imposing dom every so often during more intimate pursuits, it was entirely for their mutual gratification.

Standing directly behind his partner, Emmrich quietly groaned as he pressed the front of his trousers against her covered core. “Now, the rules are simple: until your punishment is concluded, keep your palms flat, your chest against the table, and count each strike aloud. We'll start with twenty after I've finished warming up, however failure to comply will result in further discipline. Before we begin, do you have any objections, love?”

“No, I’m ready.”

“Perfect.”

The qunari felt as his hands came to rest on either side of her hips, one bare, the other covered in a soft lambskin glove. The gloved hand left her skin for but a moment, returning to deliver a light smack to the center of a cheek.

It was quickly followed by another, then another, very gradually growing in intensity. They never landed in the same place, smacking and stroking everywhere from the backs of her thighs to the top of her glutes. Throughout his preparations for the main event, Katareth didn’t bother attempting to hide her pleasure, as she knew the necromancer fed off her breathy little mewls and moans.

He paused to stroke and massage at her flesh, reveling in the heat that radiated from it. Satisfied with their current progress, Emmrich hooked his fingers through the band of her smallclothes, tugging them down to bare the pewtery expanse of her backside now tinted a dusky rose under his ministrations.

He also revealed the ivory curls between her thighs that glistened with arousal. “My, my, what a mess you've made… Such a shame you won’t be getting any relief until your punishment is over, isn’t it?” he taunted, inspiring a frustrated rumble from the reaper. “Luckily for you, I’m ready for you to start counting.”

A frisson of anticipation lanced through her. Pointed ears caught the whoosh of air as his hand approached, landing with a sharp smack against the center of a plush cheek that echoed off the walls of his study. Katareth had forgotten just how firmly his long, bony hands could strike. Fuck me. This’ll be rough.

“One.” She huffed. The gentle caress of a hand across her already reddening skin eased the worst of the sting.

A second impact landed in the same spot on the opposite cheek.

“Two.” She could do this. He wouldn’t set her up for failure.

The next two swats were gentler, landing closer to her hips.

“Three.” “Four.”

She winced when the fifth landed on the tender spot where one of her thighs curved into the swell of her ass.

“Five…” she hissed.

“Six.” Katareth correctly anticipated him mirroring his smack on the other side. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Emmrich massaged the pads of his fingers into her sore flesh. “You’re taking your punishment so well, my dear...”

The seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth landed one after the other, though she dutifully counted each one. With each rhythmic smack, she slipped deeper and deeper into that warm, fuzzy space where she knew she could let go, safe in Emmrich’s capable hands.

“Eleven…” she moaned in response to a stinging clap on her outer thigh. “Twelve.” The multitude of rings that adorned his fingers only heightened the experience, contrasting perfectly with the slight give of his hands as they bit at her skin.

“Very good, Katareth… Are you ready for more?” the necromancer purred.

She nodded eagerly, pressing her forehead to the cool marble in anticipation.

“Tsk,” his disapproval was evidenced by a swift strike to her ass atop a blooming handprint. “That’s for forgetting I require verbal responses.”

It wasn’t entirely that she’d forgotten, but it was just so hard keeping track of everything… Counting, following his instructions, not rutting against the marble despite how badly she wanted too—it was a lot for her sex-addled mind to manage. “Sorry, thirteen! Yes, I’m ready,” she panted.

Through her lustful haze, she heard the gentle clinking of his belt unbuckling behind her. Moments later, the cool, polished strip of leather trailed lazily across her skin. Starting at the nape of her neck, it grazed along her spine, tickled at her ribs, and danced upon the tender red skin of her backside.

“You’re already over halfway done—barring any more unfortunate missteps, of course,” he teased. Emmrich leaned over, getting as close to her ears as he could to whisper, “But that won’t be an issue, now will it. After all, you’re my smart, brave reaper, aren’t you?”

The adoration that laced his words further melted her brain, though the qunari wasn’t sure if this was a rhetorical question or not. It was best to not take any chances now that the real spanking was getting underway, however. “I am…”

“Good girl,” he cooed.

Katareth jolted against the marble when leather cracked against the backs of her thighs, but she still managed to keep her chest and palms flat, exhaling a shaky, “F-fourteen…” into the table.

“Fiftee—SIXTEEN!” The reaper panted through clenched teeth following the next two rapid strikes. She could feel little beads of perspiration forming at her hairline.

“Seventeen,” Katareth huffed. He struck the same tender spot at the top of her thigh he’d stung before. “Eighteen.” Blunt nails scratched at the polished marble.

Nineteen and twenty were slightly easier to manage, snapping around the plush meat of her thighs. And if she hadn’t forgotten to respond verbally, that would’ve been the end of it. Instead, she-

“F-F-FUCK!” Katareth bellowed when one of Emmrich’s hands slapped her exposed core and his fingertips whipped upon her swollen clit with pinpoint precision. She took a few moments to collect herself before whimpering, “Twenty-one…” Her breath puffed across the stone.

The necromancer felt his reaper flinch under his hands when they made contact with her abused flesh, massaging soothing circles and being mindful of the crisscrossing cherry-colored streaks left behind by his belt. “Shhhh…” he mollified, “You did so, so well, my heart. You took your punishment so perfectly, and I couldn’t be more proud of you, dear.” When one of his hands lightly scratched along the dip of her spine, she arched up into his touch like a cat, releasing a low, rumbling groan that could easily be mistaken for a purr.

“How’re you feeling, love? Would you like to continue or take a break?” He let the smug, domineering persona drop for the moment. Though his erection strained against the inside of his trousers, Emmrich would let her decide how they proceeded. Besides, if he really felt the need to take care of himself and she was uninterested in participating, she was more than welcome to watch, as they’d occasionally take turns doing.

Evidently, she had no intentions of slowing down when her hips sought his, pressing her dripping core onto the outline of his clothed erection and moaning wistfully when she made contact. “I want to keep going,” she exhaled, uncaring of just how shamelessly she begged for his cock. “Please please please don’t stop now, Emm! I need to keep going—I need to feel you inside me…”

“Well, how could I say ‘no’ to such a convincing display?” If she wanted to continue—and have Emmrich maintain his metaphorical hold on the reins for their coupling—he certainly wouldn’t leave her waiting for long. A quick unbuttoning here and unlacing there, and his erection sprang forth, already dripping precum and eager to be enveloped by her warmth. He dipped two fingers into her dewy folds. Not enough to satiate, but enough to collect a bit of her essence along the pads of his fingers and give his cock a few wet pumps before lining himself up.

With a long, satisfied groan, Emmrich slowly pressed between her delicate folds, inch by delicious inch. His eyes were trained on the salacious sight of his length as it sank into her slick heat. Katareth rose to support herself on her outstretched arms and release a high, keening whine, taking the far edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip at the sheer relief of finally being filled by her lover. When he fully sheathed himself and made contact with her bruised backside, her whine morphed into an aroused growl at the dull lance of pain.

After several long moments of luxuriating in the absolute bliss of their union, Emmrich slowly retreated. Not entirely, but enough to stroke the head of his cock against her plush walls before doubling back to prod at her most sensitive spots. He took things languidly, easing in and out as he saw fit and using the qunari’s wanton moans as a guide.

Looking across the toned planes of Katareth’s back, the necromancer watched as her muscles bunched and relaxed under her skin with the ebb and flow of his hips. Maker, he’d never tire of seeing her in the throes of passion. And to know he was the cause of the euphoric wails bouncing off the walls of his study? Intoxicating. Every time he took on a more dominant role during their lovemaking, Emmrich was struck by just how much trust she placed in him. Katareth rarely relinquished control to anyone else—for good reason, given her past—but time and time again she bent to his will, followed his requests, moaned his name to the heavens.

“You’re absolutely perfect, do you know that?” His fingers dug into the crease of her hips, pulling her back onto his girth with each building thrust. “So willing to submit to me… To take your punishment so perfectly… To take me so perfectly…”

The reaper preened under him before breathlessly begging, “Could- could you spank me again? Not too hard, just… enough?”

He swatted at a plum bruise and was rewarded with both a low purr of pleasure and the absolutely sinful squeeze of her velvet walls around his member. Emmrich punctuated each sheathing with a light smack, resting his forehead in the dip of her spine. “You feel absolutely sublime…” he groaned. His breath tickled as it brushed along the small of her back, cooling her sweat-slicked skin.

“Just like that…” The dull jolts of pain from both his hands and hips smacking against her abused flesh were divine, and the way it juxtaposed so perfectly with the exquisite drag of his cock along her sensitive walls had her melting. She could feel the initial constrictions of her orgasm coiling low in her gut. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop, kadan…” she gasped.

Emmrich was well beyond words by this point, grunting and groaning into her back as he sought their simultaneous rapture. He knew he was dangerously close, biting at the inside of his cheek in a last-ditch effort to stave off his own orgasm for the moment. His gloved hand maintained its ironclad hold on her hip while the other snaked around her body to dip below the platinum thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

He found her swollen clit slick and dripping, caressing it with the pads of his fingers to drive her closer to completion. She saw stars at his touch and couldn’t contain the long, gravelly moan that poured from her lips, ending in his name spoken in that tell-tale fevered pitch that heralded her orgasm. “Emmrich—I’m so close!”

“Good, that’s it—let it happen, let go for me,” he panted.

“Fuck… fuck… Eh—Emmrich!” Katareth wailed, reaching behind herself with one hand to grab at her lover’s waist as she reached her zenith, squeezing her eyes shut as her decadent, dripping cunt constricted around Emmrich’s throbbing cock in waves.

Following a few quick, hard thrusts deep into her tight heat, his own rapturous cry caught in his throat, coming out as a whispered, “Katareth…” instead when he emptied himself, painting her walls with his hot seed in several thick spurts. One of his hands reached to grab her hand clawing at his waist while the other continued stroking along her clitoris, drawing out their mutual ecstasy for as long as he could.

When the final pulses of their orgasms subsided, neither moved for several long moments, catching their breath. Eventually, Emmrich withdrew entirely with a quiet huff. He watched with a sort of boorish, masculine pride as their combined essences dripped from her core and down a bruised thigh. Acting almost on instinct, he asked Katareth to turn around and sit atop the table. She complied, tired but curious to see what the necromancer had up his sleeve.

He kneeled to catch the drip as it reached the back of her knee, dragging his tongue up and along the whitish trail it left in its wake, concluding with his nose buried in the coarse curls around her sex. His tongue dipped between her sensitive folds, gently tasting and teasing but being mindful to not cross the thin line into overstimulation. A low rumble of appreciation came from above. The necromancer looked up into the twin eclipses that were Katareth’s eyes to wordlessly express his adoration.

Kat brought a hand to card through his soft hair while she watched her clit disappear between his lips, whispering a sigh. Two of his fingers slowly worked their way inside, gently petting at her velvety walls while he licked and sucked at her dusky pearl. Slowly, gradually, she was guided to her second orgasm of the evening with a moaning shudder under his expert ministrations.

Emmrich rose with the intention of stepping away to gather a few supplies for aftercare, but was halted by the qunari’s hand on his bicep, pulling him into a kiss that was really more of a lazy dance of their tongues.

He pulled away with a smile, “I’ll be right back, love.” Collecting the required materials, he returned a minute or two later to Katareth laying on her back atop the slab, head propped up by her arms to watch his movements. Emmrich set two cups of elfroot tea on the edge of the table before tenderly wiping the evidence of there lovemaking from both Watchers. Satisfied, he doffed his own clothing and crawled onto the black slab to feel the reaper’s warm skin against his own.

“So: yea or nay?” the necromancer surveyed, tangling his legs with hers.

“Yea. To everything.” She took a sip of the offered tea and elaborated, “I’ll always love hearing you call me yours… Leaving your rings on this time was a nice touch, by the way.”

Emmrich hummed in affirmation. “And I wasn’t too rough, was I? I know it’s not the first time we’ve used the belt, but still…” He twirled a lock of platinum hair around his fingers.

“Not at all,” she shook her head for emphasis. “Besides, there are few things more erotic than feeling the evidence of a scene days later…” Cupping the side of his face, she pulled him in for another languid kiss, licking into his mouth. She turned the question on him, “Anything I could do differently?” she whispered against his lips.

"No, just keep being you." Emmrich placed a quick peck on her cheek before resting his head on her sternum, listening to the deep, steady thump-thump of her heartbeat.

With a contented sigh, Katareth closed her eyes as she trailed the pads of her fingers along his back, outlining each bone and muscle group she could feel.

"I think I can do that."

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich x qunari rook #dragon age fanfiction #katareth naletski

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realmackross · 2 months

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PARTIES:@longislandcharm; @realmackross (Brody) TIMING: Takes place while this thread is happening. SUMMARY: Brody visits Winter to ask a big favor and to say goodbye. WARNINGS: head trauma tw

In the blink of an eye a regular day in Wicked’s Rest could change from just that to a life changing experience. Winter knew that. She was well aware that she could be in the middle of searching her cabinets for her missing oreos when the most unexpected thing could happen. The cold chill ran down her back and she assumed that Henry had come back from wherever he’d been in the house, her voice low as she grumbled. “First my eggs, now my cookies? What? Is there some sort of snack fairy in town that thrives on stealing my food?” It wasn’t beyond the possibility, she didn’t think anything was anymore, but it had only been a fleeting thought spoken out loud so that Henry could weigh in if he wanted to. There wasn’t a reply though and the medium turned her head to question why he was so quiet.

But it wasn’t Henry standing behind her. Her body went completely cold as she took in the ghost standing there. His clothes were torn, bloody, but everything else in her vision was almost exactly as it had been before he’d died. His skin was perfect save for it being more translucent than when he was alive but even if he still held all of the marks of his death she would have recognized him anywhere.

Her heart sank as Winter slowly turned from the open cabinet, afraid to take her eyes off of the man standing in front of her in case he decided to disappear. Why was he here anyway? They had been friends, yes, but he should have been going to see someone else and she was sure she would have heard if he’d paid a visit to her. They were both silent as if waiting for the other to speak, to break the tension that was lingering between them, until she couldn’t keep it in anymore. She needed to know what was going on but for once in her life she could only think of one lame question to ask as if she didn’t already know who he was.

“Brody?”

—

“Hey, Winter.” The words were somewhat raspy and soft as a small smile crept over his features. It had been what felt like a lifetime ago since Brody had spoken to her. Though, just like with Mackenzie, he had been watching her from a distance. Trying to know when to make the right move. To make his presence known. But now was the time, “I know this must be a shock huh? Seeing me like this?” He didn’t dare turn around. Most of his appearance he had managed to nurse back to something less shocking, but there was still a small place in the back of his head that hadn’t fully “healed”, if you even wanted to call it that.

The night Brody died had been one out of pure violence and torment. It wasn’t anything he had ever fathomed the love of his life could do, and when his spirit had separated from his body leaving him as nothing but a mere spectator to his own demise, Brody was left in shock. But it was the way he watched as Mackenzie had immediately felt remorse when whatever trance she had been in soon disappeared that had kept him from harboring an immediate rage, and possibly the biggest thing that had saved him from wanting revenge on the woman he loved.

From then on he lingered with her seeing the coverup, the move to Wicked’s Rest and everything that had taken place over the course of the year with Mackenzie. He had seen her lose control. He had seen her and the immense remorse she carried from the night she had killed him up until recently when he watched Jade try to end Mackenzie’s undead life. He had been there for all the nights alone when she had mourned her future without him, without the possibility of kids, and even watched as she began to form a relationship with Elora. Brody had seen it all, and he knew the one thing that was holding her back from living a full life, as much as that was possible, was her guilt for his death.

“I need your help. I want to talk to Mackenzie.” His eyebrows raised in a pleading sort of manner, “I know I could face her on my own, but I want to ease her into this interaction. And I think you can probably help with that.” Brody motioned towards the living room of her house in reference to Henry.

—

She took a shaky breath when the ghost answered her, tears springing to her eyes. Had she ever really mourned Brody? Thinking back on it, Winter didn’t feel like she’d had a chance. At first, she had been too worried about Mack to fully process his death and then the actual ghosts showing up in her life took precedence. She hadn’t even been able to process it all when Mack told her she had been the one to kill him, too busy trying to avoid her best friend and work through the fear that had suddenly plagued her. No, Winter hadn’t been able to mourn him because she hadn’t had the chance but she also wondered if she would have even tried or if she would have buried the emotions away like she usually did. The surprise of him showing up out of the blue took her off guard, gave allowance for one tear to slip down her cheek before she wiped it away and did just what she expected would have happened to that grief when he’d first died; she buried it deep within herself.

“You mean without the teeth marks?” The harshness in her voice surprised her as well, remnants of that grief pushing her towards anger as if it was his fault her best friend was a total mess now. Rage was her default after all. “I assume you know what…or I guess who did that to you.” She gestured up and down the length of his body with a shaky hand, Winter hating that it was giving away how fragile she seemed to be. Even in death she didn’t want anyone to think of her as weak. “Or have you completely hidden in the shadows of wherever you guys go to when you’re not around?”

She was just about to tell him to go to who he really needed to go to when he started to explain why he hadn’t yet. Again, her anger flared inside of her, the reliability of it so comforting. “I really hate when people so close to me put me in such weird fucking positions. Do you know how upset she’s going to be knowing you came to me first?” She really wasn’t sure if Mack would appreciate being eased into this or not but this aggression building inside of her had to be directed somewhere. He was just the unfortunate recipient. It was just like a human to blame their grief on the dead.

—

Brody hadn’t expected the welcome he had gotten from Winter. In all honesty, it had surprised him. She figured the woman would’ve at least been mournful, but not outright angry at him. And while he wasn’t here to play the blame game, something he did have to work to come to terms with, he had at least expected Winter to be, well…not so Winter. But she was right in one thing. He was coming to her and not Mackenzie. And maybe there was some part of him that was afraid to face his former love. After all, his death had been such a violent one. A death that anyone could rightfully expect a vengeful spirit to come out of. But not Brody. Brody was the exception, because of how much he loved Mackenzie.

“Retract the claws, Winter. I’m not here to argue with you. And yeah, you’re right, I should be going to Mackenzie, but considering how angry you are with me, what do you think she’s going to be like?” Honestly an unfair question since Mackenzie wasn’t anywhere around to defend herself. “Look, I don’t want to cause any problems, okay? And you’re her best friend. The one who's always been there for her. If you don’t want to be any part of this, then that’s fine. But just be there in the aftermath, okay? Please? That’s all I’m asking. I’ve been watching her since the night…since I died, and I know that my death is eating her up inside. I just want her to be happy. To find peace and move on with her life, since she still has that chance as a zombie.” It sounded like something out of a movie he had been in. Calling his fiance a zombie. And he was a ghost. It was ridiculous, but somehow this had become their fate.

—

“Yeah, they don’t do that. Claws are there for a reason, why hide them?” Winter crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes boring into the ghost at his question. A stupid question. “She may have a bark, Brody, but we all know I’m the one with the bite. She couldn’t be angry at you if she tried.” Mack could never. She was the reason he was dead and she was well aware of that so how could she be mad at having him back, and not as a vengeful spirit at that? No, she would feel that heartbreak, that sorrow, that guilt all over again and maybe lash out but never any anger. And really, Winter wasn’t even angry at him but she couldn’t stop the hostility coursing through her.

The realization of why dawned on her. This appearance after so long was going to be too much for Mack. She was already going through it with everything that had happened since becoming what she was. She was already struggling with her actions and the consequences of them. She had already loved and lost again. Did she really deserve another heartbreak? Winter wouldn’t meet Brody’s eye when she voiced the thought aloud. “You’re going to break her.” Which he knew. He wouldn’t be asking her to pick up the pieces he left behind if he didn’t. That made her anger so much more tangible.

In the back of her mind she knew. She was well aware that Mack’s former fiance telling her he still cared for her despite everything was a need, not a want, but she still wasn’t ready to be the one sitting in the aftermath of it. It was hard enough now, hard enough to let Mackenzie feel the things she needed to feel while being by her side for it, and Winter couldn’t imagine how much harder it could get before things started to get better. Worse, living Mack’s grief with her would force the medium into it herself. There was no way she would escape it all without her own emotions clawing toward the surface. She was being selfish with all of this and she knew it but didn’t it matter if she wasn’t ready to grieve Brody herself? “I don’t know how to do this, Brody. I’ve walked through this process with so many people but never with someone I was close to. Never helping them with someone…I cared for too.”

—

“I’ve missed you, Winter. And your sassiness. No wonder Mackenzie loves you so much.” In life, he had always loved to pick on Winter. Get the so-called claws she was talking about to come out just a little. But banter had been something for the living. For Brody, he had one mission to complete, and it was more important than shooting the shit with Winter. No, this was something that he needed to do, because Mackenzie’s undead life depended on it. And if he had to do this alone, then so be it.

“Look, I'm sorry. I didn’t ask to be put in this position either, Winter. It just happened. You know that. I would love to be back in California right now breathing, spending the rest of my days and starting a family with the woman I’ve loved for most of my life. But, not to be cliche in such a delicate time, you can’t always get what you want.” He paused and looked down.

Brody knew none of this was fair to Winter, and he felt genuinely bad for it. But he couldn’t be there for Mackenzie like he wanted to. There was no way possible, and if he were able to move on after approaching the woman he loved, Mackeznie would be left alone again, and that was the last thing he had wanted for her; the thought causing his spectral heart to break all over again.

—

Her eyes softened just so at his words but she was still in that position that clearly stated her walls were up. Even knowing that he probably wouldn’t be around for long she couldn’t allow herself to show a different side. Why couldn’t she do that? Why was it so hard to show she cared? Mackenzie seems to have been the only one to break through those perpetual walls, getting a side of Winter that no one else ever could. She wanted to know how she allowed herself to be real with her best friend but couldn’t bring herself to do the same with other people she cared for. Even when death had their claws in them.

Shit. Maybe she really did need therapy.

She raised an eyebrow at him, mouth set into a thin line with his Rolling Stones reference, but she said nothing. Sometimes the way she showed that she cared was by keeping her lips sealed. Winter knew Brody would know that. She also knew what he needed from her. Rolling her eyes, she lifted her hand so that she could inspect her nails, the act of nonchalance broken by the words she finally spoke. “Ask me again.” Ask her to stay by her best friend's side. Ask her to pick up the pieces of a broken woman that they both cared so deeply for. Ask her to be a human being for someone who would never hesitate to do the same for her. “Ask me again, Brody.”

—

He watched as the expression on her face softened, but he knew exactly what she was doing, when she requested him to ask again. She wanted him to beg. Wanted Brody to really feel what he was doing. And though ghosts couldn’t feel physical pain, he could feel the pain of heartbreak and grief. Regret and remorse. All of which, he knew she knew a thing or two about as well, but because this was Mackenzie’s life at stake. Her morality. The belief that good things could still happen to her, so he gave into Winter’s request without any second thought. He even stepped in closer and got down on his knees.

“For you, Winter, I’ll beg, because this is for Mackenzie. Not me. I’m not going to lie and say it was never about me, because if none of it had been, I would have revealed myself the day she killed me, but she was already putting herself through enough, and she didn’t need the reminder of what she had done by a mangled corpse struggling to adjust to the afterlife.” Brody looked into her eyes pleading, “So please, will you be there for her. If me revealing myself to her sends me off to wherever ghosts go when they’ve completed whatever unfinished business they have, I don’t want her to be alone in this. In grieving my death all over again, because I can’t stay with her. Because we both know our girl is just ambitious enough to believe in a future with a ghost.” He laughed softly, but there was a sadness laced throughout.

—

Eyes widened as he got on his knees, Winter’s arms falling to her side. She was a little insulted that he would think she wanted him to beg for this but at the same time she couldn’t really blame him, could she. She was a cold one sometimes, it was why her name was perfect for her. “I’m not asking you to beg, asshole.” Her voice was low but there was humor lacing the words. “I can’t believe you think I’m that petty.” Yes she could. “I just wanted you to ask me again so I could give you a proper answer.” She’d already made up her mind, after all, but now she wanted to prolong giving him the answer to see how far she could take this.

‘It isn’t the time for this, Winter.’ No, this was supposed to be serious. He was dead, Mack was hurting and needed to grieve, it was not the time for her to tease the hell out of him and string him along. She rolled her eyes at him and gestured for the ghost to get up. “Have some dignity, damn.”

She laughed with her last comment but all the humor started to fall away. In a rare occurrence, Winter grew quiet while she looked Brody over. There had never been any question as to whether or not she would be there for Mack. It was inevitable, like the tides. Winter would never have left the woman stranded while she worked to bring back a better version of herself, to heal, even if she would be terrified the whole time. Maybe that was another reason she had been angry with him. that he would even dare question her loyalty with something like this was an insult to the friendship she held with Mackenzie. Still, it was kind of sweet in a way she supposed. “I’m going to be there for her, okay? It shouldn’t have even been a question. But I know you wouldn’t take any chances when it came to something like this.”

—

If this had been their life before, like when Brody had come to Winter needing her help planning his wedding proposal to Mack, he would have laughed. Let her carry on this charade of making him beg, but this situation was entirely different. It was one that he had both longed to finally put into action, but one he had so greatly dreaded. And as he continued to stare into her eyes, he knew that she realized the gravity of the situation.

Closing his eyes and letting out a breath of relief, Brody slowly stood back up; a small snort escaping his lips when she told him to have some dignity. And as he found his footing again, he looked back into Winter’s eyes, “For the record, I don’t think you're petty. I think you have a lot going on in your life too, that unfortunately Mackenzie hasn’t noticed, because of her own stuff, and I know if she wasn’t so lost in herself, she would be there for you.” He reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, making sure not to press down too hard. “And I know you will, Winter. I have no doubt about that, but you needed to know what was about to happen, because we both know how much of a wild card she is, especially when it comes to running away from things.”

—

She swallowed, her eyes on the hand that she should be feeling the weight of on her shoulder as the lack of it seemed to make things so much more real. Of course she’d known he was dead, saw the aftershocks from it all, but it was a different thing entirely to see his immaterial body. “We all have shit going on.” Her heart wasn’t in the comment, Winter looking away from him towards a random spot in her kitchen just so she didn’t have to see the evidence anymore. “Don’t worry, okay? I’ve got her back and she’s not running away from me again. I chewed her out so much the last time I’m sure she won’t want to hear my mouth again.”

She took in a breath as she thought about what was coming. This conversation was ending sooner than she wanted it to, the girl not having realized how much she missed him through her anger from earlier. This was the part she hated. Facing the emotions that came with goodbyes, allowing herself to feel the hurt that she so desperately didn’t want to feel. But if it was the last time she would see him then she had to, didn’t she? She could already feel her eyes welling up but she willed the tears back. Just because she was doing this didn't mean she had to cry. “I miss you.”

Gritting her teeth, Winter finally looked at him again. “You always saw things that others didn’t. You may misinterpret my meaning with certain things but you always seemed to know when something wasn’t right with me even through all my bullshit….I hate this, Brody.” And she knew that he did too. He’d much rather be sitting next to her in her kitchen talking about his next movie or listening to Winter roast him as much as she could. Instead he had to go give his undead fiance a pep talk before possibly disappearing forever. “It’s right, though. I mean, that you’re doing this. You shouldn’t stick around longer than you have to.” Winter bit into the inside of her bottom lip, hiding behind a roll of her eyes. “I love you, you idiot.”

—

Brody could feel the shift in Winter. He knew that what she had been fighting was coming to the surface. He had so greatly wanted to spend more time with her. Shoot the shit like old times. Tease Winter about Spirit Speak and some of the people who seemed so gullible, but now that he knew it was all real, he had felt kind of bad. But despite it all, he had loved Winter like a sister, and saying goodbyes had never been an easy thing for him, but in this moment, he knew he had two coming. Two he wasn’t ready for, but had to be.

“I miss you, too, Winter. Even through all your teasing and snake bite attitude. You keep that about yourself okay? Don’t let that go, and don’t ever let anyone try and take advantage of you. Not like they’d ever get a chance to, but I won’t be around to kick their ass if they do.” He could feel what felt like tears of his own coming to his eyes, and when it had first happened, the night he saw Mackenzie wracked with guilt, he couldn’t understand what was happening, but now he could, “I love you, Ice Queen. You take care of our girl, yeah.”

With a smirk and a nod, Brody quietly left Winter’s house. And as he stood outside on the sidewalk looking back in, he recalled all the moments he had with the woman. The laughter, the tears, playing jokes on each other, dinners, parties, and even playing peacemaker between her and Mack. An entire lifetime's worth of memories flashing through his mind in the single beat of a heart. But as much as he loved Winter, he knew the real test was coming. And whoever said a ghost’s heart couldn’t break was full of shit.

#para: ghosts that we knew #para: winter #longislandcharm #head trauma tw #pov: brody #{chaos angel; plot}#relationship: brody stevens

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