#this man has been chasing his dream from day one so i had to draw him enjoying it to the fullest
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Golden Salvation
Pt.1 Pt.2
Cowboy!ghost x m!reader
A/N: The final part is here !! This series has been so fun to do that part of me wants to do another cowboy AU but with Price. I might do some smaller fics first, we’ll see. Anyways! Enjoy my loves! Mwah mwah
Simon slept late into the next morning, lost to the world in a rare moment of utter relaxation. Skin scrubbed clean of its usual dirt and stubble, he looked almost boyish - troubled brow smoothed, dense frame gone lax in your arms. An image of vulnerable peace you’d wager few had witnessed in all his storied years.
Stirring faintly as you subtly moved, Simon nestled closer with a contented sigh, arm reflexively tightening its protective hold around your frame as if even in his sleep he sought to shield you from further harm.
Exhaustion had etched itself deep in him, but in the dull light seeping past lowered lashes you could see shadows beginning to fade from his features. A sight to lift even the most wounded soul’s spirit, seeing one who guarded others so staunchly finally finding solace in another’s care.
You would smile softly as you ran your thumb across his brow, smoothing away the rest of his worries as you cupped his cheek. You were careful not to wake him with the gentle touches, content to just watch him slumber for as long as he chooses.
You felt lucky to see him like this, and a large part of you thought taking a bullet was worth it. To be able to see him so relaxed and content was something you never thought you would be able to witness. It was like the eighth wonder of the world seeing him so…at ease.
You were hopelessly in love with this man, feelings that ran so deep it almost ached to feel them entirely. Your heart was filled to the brim with absolute adoration for Simon, and it was the one thing in your life you knew would never change, you would always be his.
Simon began to stir slowly as if sensing your tender gaze, even submerged in dreams. Blearily his eyes flickered open to meet your smiling face, and for a moment he simply blinked in bemused confusion - as if certain this couldn't be real.
But no, you were there. Warm and soft and smiling down at him like he was some kind of miracle himself. It still struck him dumb sometimes, the purity of your emotion shining through despite all he’s put you through. That you could look upon a wreck of a man like him and feel anything close to what swelled in his own heart.
Wordlessly, Simon reached up to lightly brush calloused knuckles against your cheek, drinking in every beloved feature like a dying man granted water. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness. Didn’t deserve the love shining in your eyes, warming him through like sunlight, but he'd be damned if he wasn’t going to spend every last day making sure you never regretted giving him a place beside you.
“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he rumbled, voice sleep-rough but smoldering with intent. Leaning up to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, Simon silently swore to spend his every waking moment showing you just how much you meant to him.
You would smile softly into the kiss, languid and slow in order to make up for lost time. It was only when you both needed to breath that you pulled away, a smile on your lips and eyes crinkled in happiness as his taste lingered on your tongue. You ran a hand through his bed tousled hair with a soft hum.
“Good morning, Si. Slept well, hm?”
Simon stretched out with a groan, nuzzling into your gentle touch like an oversized housecat. Your presence alone was enough to chase the last clinging shards of dreams from his mind, grounding him fully in this blessed moment.
“Mm, best sleep I’ve had in ages, darlin’,” he rumbled, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm.
Meeting your gaze steadily, Simon spoke softly, “from here on out, you’ll have me guardian’ your rest same as your safety. Ain’t no one gonna lay so much as a finger on you again, not while I still draw breath.” A gentle brush of calloused thumbs swept away imaginary tears, etching promise into your skin.
“Im settlin’ down for good, if you’ll have me,” always cautious of hoping, but trusting you to see straight to what lived beneath scar and grit.
Your heart stuttered at his words, nearly stopping as you took a minute to take in his statement.
“If I’ll have you,” you laughed softly, “as if I’ve ever wanted anything more.” Your words were firm, no space for him to think twice about the truth behind what you were saying.
Simon’s brows hiked in delight and disbelieving relief at your response. A brilliant, boyish grin broke across weathered features - for once unburdened by ghosts of his bloody past.
“Then I’m yours, darlin’. Mind, body and soul.” He pledged fervent promises between peppered kisses. “Gonna make you so happy you’ll forget I was ever nothin’ but a no-good outlaw.”
Rolling fluidly, Simon maneuvered your form beneath his bigger one, caging you safely in rough hands and walls of corded muscles. Gazing down at your beauty with something akin to wonder in whiskey eyes, he pressed his brow to yours.
“My light. My home,” he rumbled, pure affection sending shivers down your spine. Happiness felt strange on features so used to scowls - but by God, Simon was going to savor every sweet moment for all he was worth.
You giggled softly at his words and the ticklish feeling of his hasty kisses on your skin, a warm smile near permanent on your lips as you soaked up all the love you had missed out on these past years.
With a brain too fuzzy with pure affection, you spoke words you’d been wanting to for years, “I reckon we head North.” You said, heart once again speeding up as you realized the gravity of your words, you continued, though with waning confidence, “We could find a small plot of land - build ourselves a nice little home and a small barn and coop.” You were rambling as you reached under his arm to grab an envelope tucked into the bedside drawer, “these past couple of months without you here..I’ve been takin’ extra shifts at the saloon. Reckon I’ve got enough here for all that if we’re careful,” you said, hands shaking with fear of rejection as you held out the envelope as if worried he wouldn’t believe you.
Simon’s eyes widened into saucers at your proposition, heartbeat stuttering to a gallop in his heaving chest. For a long moment he could only stare in disbelief - scarcely daring to hope this was real. But then your shy explanation sunk in, washing over him with such a profound surge of pride and love he thought surely his seams would burst. All this time spent in your light, you’d been preparing your future without him even having a clue of knowing. Trusting that in hope when he’d scarcely trusted in himself.
Without warning Simon was clutching you tight against his pounding heart, raining desperate kisses across your sweet face near frantic with tender emotion. “Darlin’ you- this is more’n I ever dreamed could be mine,” he choked, rough thumbs wiping away tears he didn’t remember shedding.
Pulling back just enough to claim your lips in a long, slow glide of unbridled joy, Simon poured every ounce of reverence, gratitude, and love into the kiss for your blessing him so. “North it is, my light - and I’ll spend the rest of my days makin’ you proud of me.”
You would gasp at his sudden movement, holding on tight to him as he peppered kisses across your smiling face before eventually catching your lips with his.
With a soft, relaxed sigh you melted into the kiss, body melting in his hold as you looked up at him with shining eyes. You would cup his face, his cheeks squishing under your hold to create an almost laughable look as you moved your thumbs gently across scarred cheeks with loving ministrations.
“Was hoping you’d say that,” you whispered, giddy with the thought of starting a new life with this man.
Simon grinned unrepentantly down at you, “and what would I say but yes to the sweetest darlin’ this side of creation?” he rumbled, nuzzling fondly into your palm like some great, affectionate bear.
“North we’ll go then, just as soon as you’re on your feet,” Simon declared, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow. His hands swept reverently down your sides, lingering protectively over the slowly healing wound before tipping your chin up to meet his steady gaze.
“I’ll start preppin’ for the trip straightaway, and you just focus on getting your strength back, y’hear?” Low and intent, brooking no argument - but shining with a tenderness to disguise any threat in his words.
You would nod at his firm words, tucking yourself under his chin, “Can’t wait to see the mountains… and the pretty trees.” You said with a happy sigh, “oh! And snow! We’ll have to get cold weather gear - add that to your list.” You said as you grinned up at the man.
Simon listened with rapt attention, holding you close as vision of your bright future danced before his eyes.
“Snow, eh? Can’t say I’ve seen much of that white stuff before…” He mused thoughtfully, already calculating additions to be made to your little home to withstand Northern winters. Wool blankets aplenty, a sturdy chimney, thick oak doors - he’d ensure not a single draft could creep past your cozy walls.
“We’ll have the warmest cabin this side of the mountain, darlin’ - not a soul we’ll envy, I promise ya that.” Calloused fingers carded gently through your hair.
“Cabin or not, there ain’t a soul I envy as long as I have you, Simon.” You said almost immediately, words tumbling out so fast you didn’t remember even thinking them first.
Simon huffed a soft, affectionate laugh at your sweet words, cupping your cheek to brush a grateful kiss to your lips.
“And I you, darlin’. More’n any future this wanderin’ soul coulda dreamed.”
He would follow you to the end of the earth.
“Now, you just focus on healin’, Sunshine. I’ll go rustle us up some supplies proper,” with a soft parting kiss Simon crawled out of the warmth of the bed. With a soft promise to be back quick he left the cabin, boots crunching surefooted trails into the dusty streets. Townsfolk surely sensed the change in their resident outlaw.
True to his word, within quick hours supplies were stacked neat as you please - all necessities for your healing, the journey north, and simple homestead pleasures. Duty was done. Gently slipping back into covers rosy with sleep-warmth, he curled protectively around your rested form, home again at last where he belonged.
The next few days were spent with careful planning, mapping out safe routes and stops for supply refills should you need them.
The morning you were set to leave you were giddier than a child in a candy shop. While the wound still had tender healing to go through, the worst part had healed. There were a few aches here and there should you move too quickly, but nothing like the searing pain it once was.
“I’m ready, Simon!” You said, nearly skipping over to where he was packing the carriage.
Simon grinned wide as a cheshire at your bouncing excitement, spirits lifting further at your every sweet sound. You shone brighter than the rising sun, lighting his heavy heart like dawn breaking on winter’s gloom.
Gently steadying the horses with practiced care, he turned brown eyes alight with warmth and promise upon your rosy face. “Then let's be off to our future, Sunshine - I got a feelin’ It’s gonna be brighter’n any we left behind”
Kicking the team into a steady amble after climbing on, Simon settled back with a content sigh, surveying the dusty trail unfurling ahead like a red carpet rolled out just for their feet. Nothing but open sky and promise as far as the eyes could see - and each mile would bring them closer to simple joys he’d never dared dream.
Calloused fingers found yours, tangling together in bonds stronger than any chain. With your light to lead him true, Simon swore not a demon from either hell nor earth would tear him from you.
The journey was tiring - days spent riding along dirt roads and nights spent tucked away in the back of a little cart, straw bedding doing little to cushion against the splintered wooden planks.
Yet you wouldn’t trade it for the world - not with Simon by your side to keep you warm and safe, to regale you with tales of his past life and adventures.
As you made your way through the northern mountains your body seemed to relax even more than it had been, gazing out upon the sacred land as you inched ever closer to your destination.
Each mile marker fell away like shackles, yet still Simon was loathe to see the journey end - if only to keep your radiance shining beside him a moment more.
Nights found him awake long after your restful breaths smoothed to dreams, watching over your slumber as stars wheeled endlessly beyond paper-thin walls. You were here, smiling still as dawn kissed snow capped pines in greeting, two weary souls near to their destination and all the hopes therein.
By mid-morn a cheer went up as a familiar clearing broke through evergreens. Turning brown eyes bright as brandy, Simon rumbled softly, “ Welcome home, darlin’.” He said, voice near a whisper as he took in the magnificent sight in front of him.
You would gasp as you finally reached the little plot of land, eyes wide as you took in the scene of gorgeous mountains behind and trees abound ahead.
The plot had been cleared just enough for all you talked about, including a little garden. A perfect dreamy homestead just waiting for your caring hands to create.
Simon let loose a rare, boyish whoop of delight at your awestruck expression, every hardship and dark deed weighing his heavy soul suddenly justified a thousand times over.
“I know it’s a sight a bit rougher than your sunny smile, but just you wait’ll I get my hands to work!” Brown eyes gleamed with fierce passion and promise, already thinking about feats of forestry and framing his calloused fingers itched to create.
With care belying his bulky frame, Simon quickly began unpacking essentials for a cozy camp - sparse but sufficient until more permanent lodgings could be raised from rich wood.
“For now let's get you fed and rest all proper,” he rumbled, pressing a doting kiss to your cheek.
After a humble meal of game Simon caught and red wine from a nearby town, you both fell asleep that night happy and looking forward to the next day when you could find helping hands to start making your perfect home.
It was about a month and a half later when you were done, with the help of many new kind folk, there standing proud and bright was a quaint cottage big enough for the two of you with a bit of extra room for hobbies. It was painted a soft shade of blue, a red wood door adorning the front and a cute little wrap around porch protecting your new shared home.
You stood outside, hands now rough and calloused from hard work resting on your hips as you stared at the building.
Simon slotted the final beam true, wonderment stealing his breath away as months of toil melted beneath the aching brilliance of your smile, every callus and strain of muscle well repaid.
Striding to your side, broad hands gently encircled your waist until foreheads met in shared bliss, eyes aglow with all the tender hopes this home’s thick walls now sheltered.
“Darlin’, I do believe we’ve gone an’ built us our own corner of heaven here,” he rumbled softly, thrilling to feel your heart swell against his in answer. No finer reward than seeing the light in your face nourished by comforts his hands had wrought.
Too choked with tears to respond, you took his hand and stepped inside the new home. The fresh scent of cedar and pine filling your nose as you explored each and every room with child-like wonder. Simon watched with a gentle smile as you explored your new domain, following dutifully behind as he too studied each detail with a sharp painter’s eyes, mentally furnishing each bare space with memories and comforts yet to be.
Turning you gently in well worn hands when the tour came to an end, Simon gazed upon your sweet face with all the devotion of endless skies.
You all but smirked up at him, planting a soft kiss on his lips before encircling your arms around his neck to press warm bodies together.
“Reckon we need to uh… christen that new bedroom of ours, hm?” You teased, a hint of something mischievous in your voice as you batted long eyelashes up at him.
Simon let out a low chuckle, eyes already turning dark as rich barley fields at your siren’s song. Fingers trailing feather-soft along the flawless planes of cheek and jaw long dreamed of, he peered deep into eyes overflowing with all he once believed himself unworthy of.
Scooping you up with practiced care, never breaking contact save to brush a reverent kiss to willing lips, Simon turned towards the bedroom with a purposeful stride.
“An’ why darlin’, I reckon that’s the finest idea I’ve heard in many a year,” gently shouldering through freshly hung door to deposit treasure of beyond calculating worth amidst downy rumples waiting to cradle your joinings, Simon gazed upon the angel fate had seen fit to place within his blessed and devoted keeping.
The night was spent with soft moans filling the room, Simon near worshiping your body as he pulled every whine and whimper he could out of your sweet lips. He was intent on showing you just how deeply he loved you, no doubt leaving you nearly unable to walk the next morning because of it.
As you lay in the bed, the only furniture in the house, you gazed out the window with a weary yet blissful gaze - body content with the pleasure it had been blessed with before you fell asleep with a happy hum, spent bodies pressed against one another as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber. The next days and weeks would bring their own hardships, but here in this moment you were safe and full with love. With Simon holding you close and protective in his arms you were happier beyond belief, and you felt more than lucky that you would get to feel this same way for the rest of your new shared lives. You had saved Simon from damnation, your golden light pulling him from the dark. You were his salvation, his everything.
end~
#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#cod fanfic#cod x male reader#cod imagine#male reader#fanfic#ghost cod#ghost x male reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x male reader#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley x you#ghost#ghost x you#simon riley x male reader
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୨♡୧ UNDER THE FESTIVAL LIGHTS — bakugo katsuki x f!reader. 1.6 wc. sfw. fluff. royalty au. knight!bakugo and princess!reader. inspired by the floating lights scene in tangled.
the air beyond the castle walls feels lighter, less stifling, as you inhale it through your nose. it isn't often that you find yourself in town and away from the restrictions put on you by your parents—and alone, at that. maybe the fact that you were given strict instructions to not leave the castle today is what makes it so liberating.
pulling the hood of your cloak over your face, you start down the main road. the path is bustling with people—small children chasing after one another, young girls twirling to show off their festival attire, and more vendors lined up than you can count. you imagine that every other stand is selling lanterns in addition to their regular inventory.
your eyes wander between each of them in search of a booth that has one in your favorite color but before you can get a good look at any, something is blocking your way. something tall, metal, and pointed at the tip—it's a spear. you sigh at the sight. without even looking at the hand attached to the body that wields it, you're positive you know who it is.
"i have to give it to you," a deep, familiar voice starts. the spear is lifted from the ground and replaced by a person, that being the knight assigned to you—katsuki. "you made it pretty far this time, princess."
"why are you here?" you ask, exasperation lacing your voice as your eyes shift to see if the man's presence is earning you any stares. the entire point of your cloak was to remain hidden, to not look like the princess of the kingdom. having a highly regarded knight speak to you so casually seems like it would be enough to blow your cover.
"i should be the one asking you that," he retorts. his carnelian eyes bore down into you with a hard stare. you stopped finding it intimidating a long time ago. "i thought your parents made it clear that you weren't to attend."
you cross your arms and groan. of course you were aware of your parents' wishes, they had spent nearly the whole day reminding you that you did not have their permission to leave the castle to go to the annual festival of lights. you met their demands with grumbled words of understanding that you had no intention of sticking to.
sneaking out had been risky but you were sure that by the time you made it past the gates, you would have enough time to see the lanterns before someone was sent to retrieve you. it seemed as though your absence was noticed far sooner than you anticipated, if bakugo's presence was any evidence.
"come on, then. i'm taking you back." katsuki's fingers close around your arm as he begins, presumably, to where he left his horse.
"wait!" you plead with him in a hushed tone, careful to not draw any unwanted attention. begging isn't very becoming of you, but since you put in so much effort to get here, and because it's him, you meet bakugo's eye with a stare that you're sure is brimming with desperation. "please let me stay a while. you of all people know that it's been my dream to be a part of this."
for a split second, katsuki's resolve wavers. for a moment, he doesn't see the princess; he sees the girl he grew up with, the one who he considered a friend before royalty. he quickly clears the thought from his head, remembering that he was sent here with specific commands—ones that didn't involve personal feelings. "i was ordered to find you and take you home."
"can't you just tell a little white lie and say that it took you a while?" bakugo clicks his tongue at your continued attempt to persuade him. you pay his subtle show of annoyance little mind when speaking your next words. "it's almost dark. they'll be letting them go any minute now. i swear we won't be here long."
he's getting ready to repeat himself when he catches sight of the expression painted on your face. it's not the grin you wear when you're poking fun at him or the frown you sport when he does the same. it's one that toes the line between hopeful and dejected. a sparkle of optimism glimmers in your glassy eyes but the smile pulling at your lips looks as though you've already accepted defeat. katsuki kicks himself for being at your mercy. he hopes he won't regret this. "ten minutes. if they don't start in ten minutes, we're leaving."
you gasp and nod your head enthusiastically. "deal!"
the joy that lights up your eyes is brighter than any lantern, katsuki thinks. maybe it's selfish and a little unprofessional, but he's glad he didn't deprive himself of the image before him. it's rare to see you express such delight these days.
"i have to go buy a lantern." you take a step back and gesture to the endless stalls set up alongside the road. "you stay here."
the skin between bakugo's eyebrows creases with a frown. "absolutely not."
"people will recognize me if you're tailing after me," you try to tell him but you know how seriously katsuki takes his duties as your guard. it's a miracle he isn't dragging you back to the castle. you know now that he's found you, he isn't willing to let you out of his sight.
you figure that since he is going against direct orders by allowing you to stay, you can meet him in the middle.
"fine, you can come with me." you point an accusing finger at his armored chest. "just keep your distance and try not to make it obvious, please."
he breathes out a laugh at your demand. "as you wish, your highness."
despite bakugo's interruption, the buzzing atmosphere of the town persists. the crowds are thick and navigating them as you go from booth to booth is a new experience. you're used to people clearing the way for you. as strange as it may sound, bumping shoulders with the masses is oddly exhilarating. it makes you feel as though you aren't some untouchable, fragile being. for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like the princess; you just feel like yourself.
katsuki can see it in the way you easily converse with the vendors and offer kind smiles to the children who accidentally knock into you. the practiced poise you've been carrying yourself with since adolescence is slipping. he's sure it'll be back by the time the two of you return to the castle, so katsuki decides to enjoy the glimpse of this you and your unbridled excitement while he can.
you think there are around five minutes left on your clock by the time you've acquired a lantern and begin to look for a somewhat secluded spot to light it and let it go. a patch of grass near the water catches your eye and you point it out to bakugo before starting toward the site.
your dress bunches as you sit on your calves and you're sure that the damp earth with leave stains on the fabric but it's the least of your concerns. you pat the space next to you in a silent gesture for the knight to sit. he does, although, he sits in the opposite direction with his back to the water so that he's facing the town.
you fumble with the pack of matches you bought in addition to your lantern in an effort to get one of the wooden sticks out quickly. when you're finally able to pluck one out from the rest, you strike it on the side of the box, the red tip turning dark as the flame erupts. as you bring the fire to the wick of the candle housed within the lantern, you ask your companion, "does it look like they're starting?"
bakugo's eyes flit up to the darkened sky in search of any lights. he's about to tell you no when the first one appears, slowly and lazily drifting through the air. another follows and then two before he loses count of the glowing lights. "they are."
you're tempted to turn around so that you can see them while you wave out the flame but before you can, your gaze stops at the water. a reflection of the lanterns in the sky glistens on the soft blue waves. you couldn't fight the smile growing on your lips even if you tried.
over his shoulder, katsuki watches you take in the sight reflected on the water. he notices that you haven't let your lantern go yet.
"aren't you going to let yours go?" he asks.
you look down to your hands as though you had forgotten about it—and with the view ahead of you, part of you had. the lantern is light in the palms, so much so that you have to hold it down to be sure it doesn't sail away before you're ready. you take a moment to give it one last look before you tentatively release your grasp on it.
the wind picks up the lantern and carries it through the brisk evening air. you follow the path it takes as it soars through the sky, joining others like it on their journey to who knows where. the image is one you've only ever seen from the balcony of your bedroom. it's different being so close to the beauty and having contributed to it yourself.
you turn to look at katsuki over your shoulder. his vermilion gaze is already locked on you. another smile, a real, genuine one, stretches across your lips. you hadn't planned on it, but you're glad that you were able to spend this moment with bakugo. "isn't it so pretty?"
katsuki hums in agreement, although, he wonders if you know that he means you.
thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎
#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: my hero academia#bakugou katsuki#bakugo x reader#mha x reader#bnha x reader#bakugo fluff#mha fluff#bnha fluff#bakugo drabble#mha drabbles#bnha drabble#mha imagines#bnha imagines#mha scenarios#bnha scenarios
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angel | park seonghwa
pairing: fem!reader x non idol!park seonghwa
genre: soulmate au
word count: 3.5k
warnings: mentions of food, fluff
playlist: inception - ateez, francesca - hozier, unknown/nth - hozier
networks: @cromernet
author’s note: happiest birthday to my lovely star bai @hwaightme , i love you more than words can say <3 i hope today has been filled with nothing but happiness and laughter and love. thank you for being a precious friend and my partner in delulu. ilysm, sending the biggest warmest hugs <33333 please enjoy this delulu frankenstein
masterlist | navi
“Are you quite sure we should be doing this?”
The night was drawing to an end, and so was your wit. You could no longer stand to be in the suffocating ballroom, the amount of people spinning around was making you dizzy to the point of nausea. That was when he offered you a way out, seeing you struggle to maintain composure while sitting all alone.
“Absolutely not,” you heard the smirk in his voice while he led you out to the garden, sure you were following after him.
“How irresponsible of you to draw a young lady away to a dark secluded corner of a garden,” he laughed. “Should I be fearing for my life?”
When he stopped walking you almost ran into him, looking around to see you standing in the heart of the English Garden of the palace. During the night it was almost dreadful, as opposed to its beauty in the daytime, if it weren’t for the few scattered lights.
“Not at all,” he turned, but you couldn’t see his face. The thought confused you only for a second, for you knew this man. You trusted him with your life. He reached for your hand, holding it in his warmer one. “Not long, now.”
“Not long,” you whispered back, your surroundings slowly fading as he pressed his lips to yours.
Sometimes it was more than just a dream, you could feel it in your bones. It lingered during the day, the unshakable conviction that it was all true. That it had been true. It could not have been just your mind making up the ballroom dancing, whispered poems and a soft piano echoing during a sunny afternoon. So you wrote it all down in letters you kept under your bed. Most times the dreams had already escaped your memory, so all there was were jumbled thoughts scribbled quickly before even those could fade away. Other times, you woke up in the middle of the night, so convinced you were still there, still surrounded by warmth and love you never dared imagine could exist. Your hand blindly reached for the notebook you kept on your nightstand, chasing after the vivid imagery in your head.
The words you kept closer to your heart were the ones he whispered one night, you could hear vivid chatter from somewhere far away and the evening breeze making goosebumps erupt on your skin. But he was there, standing tall and faceless beside you, his hand guiding yours to his lips.
“Farewell, my angel,” he had whispered against your knuckles before you woke up.
In shades of dark and moonlight, you waited for the distinct feeling of the lingering feather-like kiss to vanish, both hoping it would and wishing it wouldn’t. Alone in your bed you hesitated to turn and reach for the notebook like you usually would; you had the feeling you could never forget the way his voice spoke the words that made every hair stand on ends.
And you never did, for each night you would be in his company in dreamland and, each night, he would call you his angel. He showed you a world of colors, of hushed whispers in the dark, a warm murmur by your ear as he enveloped you in his arms. It was all you ever wished to hear in the daylight rather than just inside your head.
It was another day waking up itching to know more, wanting to know if you were going insane or if this was the twisted way in which fate had decided to assign you your soulmate. All you had ever had were dreams that made no sense, yet gave you hope. Even when you did not know where to start, if to even dare at all.
There was little you could do, really, except live in a dream. Because even as you made your way down a busy street, en route to work, chopped away whatever you needed for lunch or dinner, every other thought was stuck on him. This illusion of a perfect man who faded as moonlight gave way to another day. Sometimes it felt so real that it was hard to discern from reality itself. The phantom brush of a hand, the faint memory of a scribbled note, of his contagious laughter. It was as if you could hear them, as if they refused to go and stay where they belonged.
But you couldn’t live in a dream, could you? You could hold out for however long it took, but you could not give up life in the meantime.
“I swear, just trust me!” Your colleague would not give up. The constant nagging had become almost unbearable, so much so that it made you want to give in. “One date and if it sucks, I’ll leave you alone forever, I pinky promise.”
The copier rapidly dished out the papers you needed to bring back to your desk, giving you the perfect excuse not to look up at San. You sighed, he had been on a mission to get you to go out with this guy for a while now. He swore up and down that you two were destined, but you usually were able to dissuade your colleague pretty fast. Not today, it seemed.
“Listen,” busying yourself counting the copies, you won another few short seconds before the time came to face San’s begging eyes. “Just one coffee?”
“Please, please, believe me you guys would be perfect togeth- hold up,” smile opening up on his lips, eyes shiny and wide, San almost did a double take. “Are you saying yes?”
Sighing again, you fiddled with the top corner of your papers - that you were now hugging to your chest - before nodding.
“One date,” you agreed, holding up your pointer finger right in front of his face. “And you have to stay near in case he’s weird and I need to escape.”
Proud of the conditions you laid down, you watched as San furiously nodded along, albeit a little offended that you’d think I’d set you up with some random weirdo. Thus, he ran back to his desk, murmuring about texting his friend. You let out one last sigh before returning to your station, too.
You hoped you’d made the right choice.
The first hints of autumn were making themselves known, a cooler breeze than usual surprising you as it caressed your face upon walking out the glass doors, the sun already on its way to set. You hid your face a little further into the scarf around your neck, walking out of your workplace beside San.
It had been a week since you gave into his pleading and he’d been very secretive about the infamous date. You were starting to worry. Maybe his friend had said no? Or was he planning something elaborate? Was he not saying anything because, really, this friend of his truly was just some weirdo?
You were pulled out of your thoughts by San himself, catching him wave and say something along the lines of there he is. He quickly found your elbow, gently hitting it with his, snapping you back to reality. You barely caught any detail of the man walking towards the two of you.
“Alright, that is the friend I was telling you about,” your head snapped into San’s direction, eyes wide as saucers. “Looks like you’re going on a date.”
Your friend was smiling his Cheshire grin, making you want to wipe it clean off his face.
“Choi San, this is an ambush!” You yelped, alarmed by his quiet giggling and eyebrow wiggling. “High treason even, could you not warn me at least-”
“Hi.”
Stood there, wrapped in a warm looking coat, was quite possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. His smile was timid but friendly and his eyes were just as bright and warm, reflecting the lights from the lamppost. A few strands of wavy, chocolate hair fell delicately just above them.
“Well, I’ll leave you guys now, have fun!”
Oh, you were going to kill San.
“Hi,” you greeted, eyes leaving the retreating figure of your friend to focus back on the man in front of you.
“I’m Seonghwa, San’s friend,” he smiled again, melting your heart a little just by the sound of his voice. “It’s nice to meet you and I apologize for the suddenness of this all… it appears he didn’t need help with document boxes after all.”
“He sure didn’t,” you tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice, for it was San’s brilliant planning that landed you here, not his friend’s. So, you introduced yourself as well, suggesting to go to your favorite cafè just around the corner and trying to take the surprise blind date in stride.
“It’s the only place I could think of,” you said, almost apologetic as you sat down. Truth was, the little hole in the wall cafè was special to you. It housed memories of tranquil mornings where you got there early enough to sit down for a coffee before work, joyous lunches with friends to celebrate achievements, quiet afternoons spent in the company of your favorite books. Your feet had taken you here on auto-pilot.
“It’s lovely,” his smile could melt snow, you figured right then and there, after he’d looked around with curious eyes to the unique decor and shelves of literature, poems and papers.
Seonghwa was just as San had described him, after all. He made sure to open the door for you as you entered the cafè, he asked your order so he could go up to the register while you found a table you liked and even offered to pay. He was charming and a great listener, and he had managed to make you laugh until tears pooled in your eyes. It was so warm to be around him, easy to talk to as if you’d known him your whole life, almost as perfect as two puzzle pieces fitting together.
When it was time to leave you almost didn’t want to. You wanted to stay there with him and keep talking, keep sharing your interests and favorites, exist inside the cozy bubble that had formed around you two. So, with the promise of another date and Seonghwa insisting to at least walk you to the nearest bus stop, you went home.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, taking you by surprise when he dipped down to land a kiss on your cheek before you could get on the bus. It stayed with you, making you feel like a teenager all over again.
You went through the motions of preparing dinner and getting ready for bed as if floating on a cloud, barely believing you had it in you to feel so light. And if, while laying down on your bed with the lights off, you had felt so full of hope for something good, happiness and giddiness enough to make you giggle to yourself, then you woke up the following morning as empty as ever. A foreign hollow in your chest, that you had trouble identifying, was steadily painting everything gray, from the breakfast you made to the commute home. It was only then, sitting on the bus staring out to the traffic, that you realized you hadn’t dreamt of him that night. For the first night ever, you weren’t chasing after his fading figure.
Each night you went to bed hoping to hear his voice and see on which adventure sleep would take you. Then, each morning you woke up well rested and clear-headed: no more piecing together the fragments of dreams you couldn’t remember, no more trying hard to see the face of the man that made you feel loved. Months of empty nights went by until, with time, you even forgot to remember him unless you stumbled upon your notebook.
“You seem quiet today,” Seonghwa piped up, still browsing through the vinyls in front of him.
“I was just thinking,” you shrugged, making your way over to him and taking his hand in yours. His smile, soft and contagious, made your heart flutter. Still focused on his search, now led with one hand only, he intertwined your fingers. It was at times like these, when he would kiss the back of your hand, that you wondered.
“About what?”
Finally, he looked at you, eyes bright and welcoming and saying what his words hid: you can tell me anything. You just shook your head, smiling back at him, shrugging as if the wandering thought didn’t lie heavy on your head whenever it knocked on the doors of your consciousness.
“Alright, then, I have a surprise for you,” he pulled you away from the vinyl stand, almost as giddy as you felt, and into the busier paths of the market. Under string lights that festively shone, between the other passersby, it was easy to feel like you were the only two people in the world. That’s how Seonghwa made you feel; in his presence, living life was easier. If he was holding your hand, you were sure you could face any hurdles that may come. It was a feeling so real that you could almost taste it in his sweet kisses, his loving embrace, and no longer only dream of.
As he dragged you - arm lazily thrown on your shoulders or hand on the small of your back if too many people forced you two to walk in line - remnant, persisting memories almost made you dizzy with deja vu. His hand squeezing yours to make sure you were still following, to tell you he was still there, his voice pointing out whatever caught his attention as you passed by, the wintry breeze and the cacophony of voices, laughs, faraway music surrounding you.
“Here we are,” you almost bumped into his back when he stopped and stood facing the cafè that held the memory of your first date.
“It’s closed,” you pointed out, hearing his chuckle shortly after.
“Good thing I’ve got the keys,” he jingled them in the space between the two of you, a proud smile on his lips. You cocked your head to the side, brows furrowed.
“You’ll see.”
Seonghwa made quick work of opening up and leading you in, turning on the softer lights, leaving the sign on “closed”. As if on autopilot, you wandered around the room to the one table that had caught your eye. On it, laid few of your favorite pastries and pictures of you together, a colorful bouquet in the middle.
“Seonghwa… what’s all this?”
“Happy birthday,” his arms embraced you, bringing you to rest your back against his chest, holding you close. Speechless, you turned around in his hold, ready to speak but the words wouldn’t come. “I know you said you were working and were probably going to go home and do something on the weekend, but I didn’t want to just text you happy birthday and go about my day. Today is your day and you’re very special to me and I wanted to do something to wish you-”
You kissed him - interrupting his rambling and pulling him closer - gently like his arms were around your waist, warm like your cheeks and slow as if you had all the time in the world.
“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, hands still playing with soft strands of his hair. “You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” he pecked your lips once again before sliding away from you and pulling out the chair for you to sit. As he did, another confused memory swirled in your head. You pushed it away. Sitting in front of you, Seonghwa asked about your day and let you ramble on and on, so you asked about his, too. He left his hand out on the table for you to hold, so you did, not missing the way he quickly hid a smile after you intertwined your fingers. Whenever he was close to you, Seonghwa wondered if you could tell how furiously his heart was beating in his chest; be it by brushing your finger against his pulse or resting your head against it.
When he deemed dinner over, he pulled out of its box a little cake and stuck a candle right in the middle of it for you to blow out - only after he’d sang happy birthday to you. Seonghwa found the way you covered your blushing cheeks with your hands the most adorable thing you could ever do. He seemed antsy, itching even, to give you your present, though. So you pushed the platter with your slice of cake aside.
“You could’ve finished,” he pouted, making you laugh over the rustling of a paper bag.
“You looked like you were about to explode, Hwa,” you accepted his present, wrapped pristine and precise, insisting that he didn’t have to. He kept on saying he wanted to (and also, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?).
A smile so bright it rivaled the sun opened up on your lips, seeing the art cover of your favorite artist’s album peeking from the torn wrapping paper.
“Is this why you were hogging the stand earlier?” You beamed at him, who sat with wide eyes hanging by your every word. You could tell his leg was bouncing.
“I couldn’t have you buy it when I got it for you,” he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his you’d noticed, with a sheepish smile. You stood and, on the way to the record player of the shop, you kissed his cheek, murmuring a soft thank you. It was a look you wished to forever have engraved in your mind, the one he gave you when you offered him your hand to take, asking if you could have this dance.
Seonghwa stood as if in a trance, nodding his head, only for you to guide him where less tables were. He pulled you close once again, slowly swaying to the beat of his fluttering heart or the music, he wasn’t sure. Time and time again he’d asked himself, in his time with you, how could he have been so lucky to meet you. To somehow hold your attention for long enough to make you see him, care for him. For you to want him to be this close to you. He hoped you’d allow him to be forever.
He twirled you around and waited for you to land back in his arms, feeling as dizzy as he often was when you found yourself there.
“Thank you,” you whispered, cheek resting against his chest.
“Please, don’t thank me, my angel,” he whispered back, freezing time.
The first time he’d called you angel, your heart had leapt from you. And yet, it wasn’t then and there, but back in your dreams. You didn’t know whether you were breathing still, all you knew was that when you looked up, Seonghwa was already searching for your eyes.
“Say that again,” your voice was barely above a whisper, just as fragile as a piece of glass.
“My angel,” his was too, broken by emotion and you had a feeling you knew just why. Seonghwa’s hands came to cup your cheeks, eyes drinking you in as if it were the first time. Perhaps it was, because you were looking at him like you finally found who you had been looking for. Like you could finally see the face that had populated your dreams.
“It’s you,” it sounded crazy, absolutely mad to say something like that, but when he nodded back with unshed tears in his eyes, you knew. Seonghwa’s arms were quick to hug you to him once more, holding close like he never had before. Both your figures were shaken by sobs, but your hearts were being mended. Behind your eyelids, scenes of you through time played; all your dreams finally making sense as memories of past lives spent together, consumed by a love so fierce that it found you in every life.
“I can’t believe I found you again,” Seonghwa whispered as your sobs died down. He was still holding you, in the middle of the cafè while the music played, as if he were afraid you’d vanish.
“I can,” you sniffled. “I dreamed of you for so long, I should’ve known…”
“I thought I was going out of my mind,” his watery laugh pulled a chuckle out of you. “I longed for the day I’d see you again.”The record had gone quieter, maybe because there was only so little you could focus on when you finally were in the arms of your soulmate. There was no need for words, not now. Not when you could feel the love pouring out of your fingertips. Not when Seonghwa was placing kisses on the tears running down your cheeks, your temples, your forehead, your lips. Not when his whispered my angel made up for the time you’d spent apart. All this running around in circles every night, chasing after figments of what you thought could only be your imagination had finally brought him to you. You both laughed at destiny for making you dream for so long, secure in the newfound conviction that you’d be together no matter where it brought you.
#cromernet#park seonghwa#park seonghwa fluff#ateez park seonghwa#park seonghwa au#park seonghwa x reader#park seonghwa x y/n#seonghwa fluff#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa fanfic#seonghwa imagines#ateez seonghwa#park seonghwa imagine#ateez seonghwa fluff#park seonghwa ateez#ateez seonghwa x reader#ateez x reader#ateez x y/n#ateez fluff
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A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.
-Zak Saturday-
Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.
-Zak Sunday-
Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.
Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.
-Zak Monday-
The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?
I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.
-Zak Tuesday-
The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.
However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.
-Zak Wednesday-
Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.
The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.
-Zak Thursday-
When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.
So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?
-Zak Friday -
In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.
But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.
#The Secret Saturdays#TSS#Secret Saturdays#The Secret Saturdays AU#AU#Zak Saturday#Character Design#Creature Design#My Art
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last day at the battle of red cliffs, and i am the coalition's top general in charge of the land assault. it is eerily quiet in the mountains, an easterly wind blows hard and cold. the skies over the river glow pink, like the blooms of a peach orchard in spring, but the sight brings me no joy, for i know it is fire that stains the heavens. tonight the red cliffs are ablaze with burning ships. the rivers run with the blood of brave men. after so many years of bitter fighting, we have finally struck a decisive blow against the Usurper and halted his war of conquest. tonight we emerge victorious from the quagmire, but my heart grows heavy at the cost.
Glaive in hand and sitting astride my steed, I lead five hundred crack troops towards the narrow mountain pass of Huarong Road, racing to cut off the Usurper's escape. the people say he is a vicious monster whose hunger knows no bounds. They are wrong. He is just a man, capable of love and honour--and is all the more dangerous for it. you cannot call a typhoon or earthquake evil, but it does not make it any less destructive.
I had tried to help him, once upon a time, but some men cannot be changed, only stopped. there will be no peace as long as he draws breath. the war must end here. he must end here. We might have been allies once, almost friends, two beans side-by-side in the same pod, but I will put aside our shared history for the sake of duty, bitter though it may be. I have sworn a sacred oath to my Liege Lord and Elder Brother, I will only live and die by his side.
hark! the enemy approaches. i order my men into formation and ride out to meet them. a tiger is most dangerous when it's teeth are broken. i must show no weakness or he will eat my heart.
an old man on a lame horse rides out to meet me.
"I trust you've been well, General, since we've last met," the Usurper croaks, swaying unsteadily on his saddle, and then; "might i trouble you for a drink of water?"
he bares his teeth in a rictus of a smile. while he has never been handsome, he had at least been stately, now exhaustion and desperation have robbed him of even that.
his soldiers fall to their knees at the sight of me, weeping and trembling piteously. I ride through a sea of haggard, mud-covered faces. half the men don't have saddles, most don't have weapons, one is, rather absurdly, clutching a clay cooking pot--none of them look capable of putting up a fight. all look ready to drop dead.
once upon a time, a foolish, kindly man found a snake on the ground, frozen and half-dead...
i give the Usurper my water-gourd. his hands are shaking, so I take it back and unstopper it for him. it is for the sake of expediency. our hands do not touch. i had half-suspected he might have been stalling for time, but the gourd is empty when he hands it back.
"I often dreamed of you, Yunchang--" he hiccups, and then continues in the strong, resonant voice i know so well, his words amplified by the stone walls, "we'd sit under the trees and drink a toast, for old times sake. How the years have flown. it is the greatest tragedy of my life that we are doomed to be on opposite sides of the battlefield, never crossing paths except to exchange blows. Oh, woe, to be dealt such a hand by fate. To be seperated from the man you desire most."
To be continued
notes:
ok! so in the middle of cao cao's Yackey Sack Chase Scene he stops and lets his men cook dinner...which implies that at least ONE guy was carrying a fucking pot with him. one of those heavy as shit honest to god terracotta pots. up and down hills while running for his life. i respect NO ONE except Random Wei Soldier and his pot. this man is my spiritual brother.
watch 2010 san guo tv show. that is all.
#i was thinking about guan yu/cao cao again and i think i entered a fugue state and write this in the span of 2 hours.#the power of homoerotic longing gives you powers many consider to be unnatural#san guo#guan yu#cao cao#my writing#it's just occoured to me that i've written so much stuff for cao cao but guan yu's character is always written on the periphery
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lol i am having some very feral thoughts about jeongin thnx to @woahfruity so uuuuuuhhhh hard thought coming through???
SMUT - MINORS DNI
yang jeongin x reader
genre: smut - MINORS DNI
wc: 1.4k
warnings: phone sex, mutual masturbation, mentions of oral, dom/sub elements, dirty talk. as always, not proofread. i'm a whore for this man i cannot-
taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @raspbinniecreme, @humayraaaaa
lying on his side, jeongin watches the city dance through his hotel windows. the blinking of a car's headlight, the dim streetlights, the sound of people outside chasing various highs. he looks into the windows of hotel rooms across from his own; some curtains drawn, the flashing lights of cable tv. what draws him in is the couple in the room directly across from his own.
one man sits with his back against the headboard, legs spread with his partner laying in between them. the other man has his arms wrapped around the other's waist, chin resting on their midsection as they stare up at their love. he says something, pulling a laugh from the other, who leans in a way that has to be uncomfortable to kiss the top of his head.
fuck. he misses you.
jeongin flips onto his back, reaching across the length of the bed to pick up his phone he ditched a while ago in favor of sleep that has yet to encapsulate him. no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get his brain to shut off. there's really no point in trying now; he might as well distract himself.
being away from you never gets any easier. he loves his job, loves getting travel and meeting new people, trying new things. it's like a beautiful dream he never has to wake up from, and there's nothing he would change about this life.
he just wishes you could experience all of these wonders with him.
there's a special folder in his phone, filled with photos and videos of you. he taps on the top of his phone screen, starting at the very beginning of it. it was the first picture he had ever taken of you; sat across from him at a wooden table, elbow on the table as you prop your cheek in your hand. your eyes are shut, a bright smile on your face. the next photo is similar to the first, taken on the same day, but instead of smiling, you're laughing, face scrunched in pure joy.
jeongin swears he can hear it, like you're right next to him.
closing out of photos, he opens his messages, typing before he can really think.
jeongin [01:46]: hey. awake?
you [01:46]: did you just "u up?" me?
jeongin [01:47]: ...it's endearing.
he watches as the text bubble disappears and reappears for the next few seconds until his phone starts to vibrate, your name flashing across the top of it. tapping accept, your face fills the small screen. similar to jeongin, you're also in bed, the warm light of the bedside lamp highlighting your face. he can see the exhaustion in your eyes, laced with a brightness when your eyes meet his through the screen.
"can't sleep?"
"not really." his voice is raspy and low from the overuse. "it's hard to sleep without you."
your soft laugh flows through the speaker, immediately filling the void that's been in his chest since he left for tour. "hotel bed feeling a little cold?"
"more than a little."
"yeah. mine, too."
it's a comfort to know that you long for him in the same way he does - he doesn't want to be around you all the time, he needs to. without you, he's like a fish out of water, flopping around and waiting for someone to return him to the place he feels the safest. instead of water, it's your arms. his breath, his heartbeat, the blood flowing through his body. you're his life source.
running a hand through his hair, he releases a deep sigh. "fuck, i can't wait to be home."
"me, too." you say, a hint of sadness in your voice. as happy as you are to support him and his career, the lack of time together does suck. "but you're having fun right?"
jeongin gives you a run down of his day, from the breakfast he ate that morning to detailed descriptions of the faces he saw in the crowd that night. you listen intently, asking questions with a smile on your face.
he watches as your blinks get slower, your yawns a little louder. "go to bed, baby. we can talk tomorrow."
groaning sleepily, you shake your head. "no, i can't."
"come on, you're yawning. it's time to sleep."
"yeah, but-never mind." you quickly shut your mouth, breaking his eye contact. he's confused for a beat; why did you stop yourself? but jeongin knows you. knows your tells. the way your breathing has deepened a bit, lips pressed together as you nervously play with your hair.
ah, that's why you can't sleep.
he huffs a deep laugh, wetting his lips as he narrows his eyes on you. "hey. look at me, baby." purposely drawing out his words, he watches you shudder, shyly looking back at him. "that's a good girl. why don't you tell me why you can't sleep?"
you tightly twirl your hair around your finger, struggling to maintain eye contact with him. "i just miss you, innie..."
"miss me how?"
the hand not holding his phone creeps under the cover, resting atop of his semi as he watches you stumble over your words. they're slightly whiny, causing a groan to build in his throat. when you get like this, it drives him insane. you're like clay, perfect to dig his fingers into and mold to his liking. using you the way he sees fit with little resistance.
"the-" you swallow, throat suddenly dry as you stumble for words. "the way you make me feel-innie, please don't make-"
"say it." he says firmly.
"i miss the way you make me feel good."
god. he's dizzy, head spinning and body aching. if he closes his eyes, he can feel your skin on his, body writhing beneath him as he whispers the dirtiest words in your ear. cock fully hard, he begins to palms him over his boxers. "aw, baby. you don't think i can make you feel good from here?"
"i-i didn't say that."
it's the way you get flustered, a small whimper following your words as you squirm a bit. "why don't you get one of your little toys and i'll show you how fucking good my words can make you feel?"
the way you quickly drop your phone, the sound of the bedside table opening in the background is like an ego boost, further proving his point. when you're back on the screen, he sees the little pink bullet he bought for you just for moments like this.
"take off your clothes. show me."
it's almost comical, the speed in which you strip out of your bed shirt and panties, holding your phone over your body and panning it across your exposed skin, showing off every inch of you. when you get to your center, he stops you.
somehow, you prop the phone up, the camera focusing in on your folds. they're glistening in the dim light, so damp jeongin is wondering how it didn't seep through your panties and wet the bed. he releases a deep, but quiet moan. "oh, my pretty baby. what a mess you've made."
it's cute, the way he can see your hole clench at his words. "h-help me-"
cooing, he slips his hand into his boxers and slowly begins to tug on his cock. "don't worry. i'll always take care of my baby. show me how you touch yourself when i'm not around."
jeongin feels like he's going to bust immediately when you start to tease yourself with one hand, holding the buzzing vibrator to the clit with the other. slowly you circle the tip around the sensitive nub, sweet moans of his name falling from your lips.
"does it feel good, baby?"
he takes your loud moan as a yes, watching as your legs start to tremble try to shut. it's a beautiful sight, something that makes him drool all over himself. he wishes he could reach through the screen, both hands on your hips as he holds your core flush to his face. he wants to drown in your cunt, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you as you ride his tongue.
fuck. fuck, the thought makes his balls tighten, breaths deepening as he tries to keep himself grounded. jeongin has to see your ruin the sheets before he can ruin the hotel's.
which, given the volume of your moans, won't be long.
jeongin hears you struggling for words, cries breaking up the pathetic excuse for sentences you keep trying to spill. his moans mix with yours, filling his empty hotel room with the beautiful melody.
"cum." he grunts out, trying not to roll his eyes back as the flick of his wrist increases. "show me how much you fucking miss me."
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I’ve been itching to ask but keep on forgetting to do so, but what was everyone’s reactions to finding out Diana and secondo we’re gonna have a kid (including the two of them)
I don’t know if this is awkward to ask as well, but from a world build standpoint how would that even work. I know that she was revived before her organs decomposed but it seems unlikely that Diana would be able to carry a child to full term without side effects
(Also I cannot stress enough how much I love this au but if I’m asking too many questions let me know)
You are not asking too many questions at all Bamboo!! I adore every single one so much!
I've been dying to answer this question for so long, and while there is definitely some stuff I want to draw for this, I couldn't wait and decided to answer it as a quick fic lol!
I did focus a bit more on the lore and how Diana managed to have a healthy pregnancy and child. I was a little brief with everyone else's reactions, but that's because I plan on expanding on that later!
For now, here is "Accouchement" 💐🪦
CW: mentions potential child loss
Word Count: 4060 🖤
The night was a blessing for them both.
Night brought a peace within their world that the light of the day chased out with discipline and obligations. Hushed words made conversations softer, more cherished, hanging onto every whisper in order to hear. Tall, black shadows shielded them from all but each other, hiding what was only meant for them to see. Yet even the comfort of nightfall could not protect them from all reality, even momentarily.
Secondo laid in bed next to his lover, staring up at the ceiling and the suggestion of a slowly moving fan in the darkness. Every once in a while his eyes would drift over her form beside him. The gentle curve of her hips, dipping down towards her waist. The bed sheets stopped at her chest, allowing him to see her bare shoulders and face, surrounded in short brown curls. Her ghoulish hand was resting on his chest, pressed over his heart. The chill of her flesh seemed to be the only thing calming its rapid hammering against his ribs.
Only an hour ago had Sister Diana, the woman beside him that had sunk her claws into his soul, told him that she was pregnant.
Both of their reactions had been quiet, allowing breath to pass lips slowly and hands to hold each other. Secondo has always been a confident and assured man. He was capable of both commanding and maintaining control. Yet now, he felt like he was falling. It was not that he didn’t welcome the news. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected such a warmth to form in his chest once the words had sunk in. He hadn’t expected to see Diana smiling, and feel one grace his lips as well. They equally shared happiness, as they did fear.
How this pregnancy would be kept to full term seemed implausible, despite the unbelievable fact that Diana had gotten pregnant at all. Her mind was still her own. Diana retained her humanity even after Secondo witnessed her claw herself out of the earth from her grave. Even after he watched her body pull itself from death, all while the towering presence of the Old One stood above her, willing her to rise from the tomb of the earth. The woman he loved was still here with him, but undeniably changed. The corpses she dressed before their journey to eternal rest now mirrored her pale face and icey flesh. The nun, referred to as the ghost of the mortuary by some siblings, now stands over her work like a reanimated body fulfilling her duties for her fellow deceased. Even now, as her chill calmed the raging fire under his skin, he could not see the subtle rise and fall of her breathing, simultaneously furthering his panic.
That would be something Secondo would have to learn to get used to.
Sister Diana was dead. The mere idea of her carrying life inside her was a miracle… one that would surely burn out like a weak flame. It was a certain fact, however, that he did not question, as the unholy mother had came to Diana in a dream to confirm it, as she does with many newly expecting mothers. Secondo was still a Cardinal under his older brother, Papa Emeritus Primo, and Sister Diana was not married to him, yet the pregnancy still received a blessing, not that that was an expectacion necessarily.
Secondo let in a very quiet, sharp inhale as the ring he wore on his finger sent a sharp pain across his entire hand and up his arm for the tenth time that night since he’d gone to bed. It felt almost like the golden band was biting into his flesh. The ring had been a gift on the day he had ascended as a cardinal, from Bishop Avarice… a friend.
He lifted his hand slowly to his face, and even in the darkness he could make out a thin trail of blood spilling down the palm of his hand and down his wrist, confirmed by the cool feeling of the liquid against his skin.
His eyes darted towards the clock on his nightstand. The “bites” had come every three minutes now, starting since three o'clock this morning. Secondo would have scoffed at how cliche that was, if he wasn’t so genuinely disturbed. He knew it must mean something, what, he didn’t have a damn clue.
Every gift, word, and look from Bishop Avarice, is one from the demon, Beelzebub. The infernal king of devils, and prince of gluttony, plague, war and… fertility.
Fuck
The Cardinal felt his heartbeat grow faster now than it did this entire night. Secondo rarely cared what the high clergy had to say or feel regarding him. While he did respect Avarice, he did not bat an eye at the idea of keeping him waiting. Beelzebub was an entirely different thing, one which he has kept waiting for half an hour at this point.
Carefully, Secondo pried himself from Sister Diana’s arms. It felt like he was removing himself from his own tomb in a way, leaving the comfort of death to face something far more terrifying.
Secondo spared himself a single glance in the mirror after putting on his cassock. He froze at the sight of the bottle of whiskey on his desk, staring back at him in the reflection. He turned and grabbed it, trying not to make an sound. It felt like an eternity and more as he crept through the room towards his door, making every step silent and controlled, slow.
The moment he shut the door behind him with a gentle click, he practically flew down the hallway towards the offices of the bishops.
***
The Cardinal’s rapid foot falls ceased abruptly as he rounded the corner and found himself at the entrance of the hallway he was looking for. Doors of each office faced eachother as the shadows warped and elongated their forms. The lights were small and dim, higher up towards the ceiling, and only served in making the darkness seem harsher by contrast.
Secondo took a slow and controlled breath. He needed to enter this space calmly and in control, not only for his pride but for his own well being. Best not to let a predator know you are scared, and he was about to walk into a cave full of hungry, hellish beasts.
The energy of this part of the church always felt different, no matter the time of day. However, at this hour, the air was thin, and would easily make you feel light headed. Every part of his exposed skin felt chilled, like he was in a cold sweat and feverish. His body moved itself to the right door, seeing the silver plate on the wall that titled the room to belong to the “bishop” he sought.
One hand clutched the bottle of whiskey in a death grip while the other raised itself against the door and knocked, once, twice, and then a final time. He didn’t breathe as he waited for that relieving click of the door unlocking itself. It was only once his lungs started burning did he hear it, which allowed him to inhale slowly once more before he opened the door.
The sight within the office was daunting, but not in the way you might expect. There was no hellfire or horrific sight of a demon crawling along the ceiling to devour him. Instead, what greeted him was Lord Beelzebub, still passable as human in appearance, reclining back in his chair. He looked relaxed, reading while he smoked. His coat was off and his collar was loosened. He also seemed happy, as the smile on his face was subtle but undeniably there. Secondo couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such a thing. The Reverend Avarice was an intimidating man, powerful as he was mentally, socially, and physically, who rarely smiled. From the way he dressed, to the intensity of his eyes, he made you feel helplessly small, as everything about the bishop was big. Given his looks, this was not something that the siblings necessarily complained about.
All the same, Secondo was aware of the opinions that circulated around the church regarding himself.
The source of his seemingly good mood, mysterious as it was, was taken as a blessing from Satanas. Secondo had been certain he would be angered by having to call to him ten times through the ring. This wasn’t something the Cardinal was necessarily aware of, thinking it only to be a simple ring, but the gift had been so obviously given to him for a purpose, from someone like Beelzebub. He should have known, yet was grateful still for the patience the demon showed.
“Your dark Eminence. Here I thought you were ignoring us.” Beelzebub’s tone was as leisurely as his posture, yet it made Secondo freeze and remain silent. Us? His eyes dare to move away from the demon and towards the other side of the room. He was astonished that he hadn’t seen the other man in the room.
Bishop Lucrum stood on the other side of the office, looking over papers that were laid out over a desk. A tall, thin man that somehow always managed to look animated, even when still. As colorful as his personality was, he held a fair amount of respect within the church, and a repuation that cautioned any one daring to cross him. He had a heavy amount of authority in the church’s financial board, and often worked closely with Bishop Avarice, his brother, delivering sermons and structuring lessons for the youth seminary.
In the same vein, he was known to work with Father Null regarding the same matters, and others that were a bit more hush hush. Between the two cheerful bastards that were Father Null and Bishop Lucrum, Secondo didn’t have a clue how Avarice didn’t tear his beard off in ire.
He could also himself the same, regarding Terzo.
Bishop Lucrum, who was really Lord Mammon, king of greed, wealth, and prosperity, did look up at Secondo after a moment, stealing him with a gaze that often unnerved most siblings. His left eye, replaced by a glass prosthetic, glinted in the light, as gold as a coin itself. The Cardinal suspected he chose it to be a little unnerving.
The personalities of these demons were simply unfiltered versions of their human guises. Whereas Bishop Lucrum was more of a showman and a talker, Bishop Avarice was a firm, steady authority, yet both brothers could be equally as threatening.
Two sides of the same coin.
“Lord Beelzebub…Lord Mammon. I’m sorry I didn’t come immediately when you first summoned me.” Secondo kept his tone controlled, not daring to break eye contact with Mammon until the demon spoke to him, yet he felt just as tense not having Beelzebub in his line of sight. Why? He’s worked with both of these infernals for several years now. He was not used to feeling so infuriating nervous.
“You can make it up to us by pouring us some Grappe and sitting down.” Hearing that, Secondo began to wonder if Beelzebub was being so passive deceptively.
“I would love to, but I actually brought you both a bottle of Whistlepig for us to enjoy. I know you both enjoy it.” The Cardinal sets the bottle on Beelzebub’s desk, still keeping his eyes on Mammon’s face. The sight of the whiskey finally makes the thinner demon’s lips twitch upwards into a smirk.
“For us? You’re really trying to get on our good side tonight, aren’t you, Cardinal.” Mammon’s statement makes Secondo finally feel releashed from that golden, hypnotic gaze that held his attention for so long. He could finally turn his neck, feeling an ache in it set in from how tense the muscles had been.
Damn, he’s getting old.
“Well pour the whiskey then, it’s already almost 4 am. We only have two hours like this.” Beelzebub puts down what he was reading and raises his cigar to his lips to inhale the dark, reddish looking smoke. As he exhaled, it slipped past his lips and sharp teeth, reminding Secondo of a fire burning inside his chest and release smoke.
Secondo grabbed three glasses from the small bar desk kept in his office, bringing them to Beelzebub’s desk and arranging them in a triad. The pouring liquor seemed to be enough to draw Mammon closer, as his footsteps behind him made Secondo tense up once again before relaxing as he simply goes to sit beside his brother, adjusting his suit jacket and resting an elbow on the table comfortably.
Secondo sits down across from them once he finishes pouring each glass, and there is a moment where the three of them just stared at eachother, none speaking or moving to grab their drink. Both demons simply stared at Secondo for a moment. With the two of them next to eachother, it was easier to see the similarities along with the more obvious differences. Siblings often liked to gossip over which one was the eldest brother, being as their was little to no information about them anywhere, and they could only go by the vague and disconnected information that the bishops would share verbally. Secondo knew these demons to be ageless, simply and unfathomably, and left it at that. The two men he was looking at now were no more than illusions of the horrors that they truly were.
“How did she get pregnant?” The question left his lips in a rush of quiet exasperation after who knows how long, as Secondo looked between the two other men. He could see them slowly look at eachother and spare looks of silent humor and mocking incredulously raised brows, as if his question really had been that obvious and simple.
“I think that’s obvious, Cardinal.” Beelzebub, in response to his shaken words, idly blows a light amount of smoke past his own lips.
Secondo found himself standing over the two demons before he started thinking, rage rushing through him like a dam that had finally broke. He stares down over them in a still bridled but dangerously tempted rage.
“You known damn well why I ask that! Stop playing fucking games with me and tell me how I can keep this child!”
The result of his outburst rewarded him with Beelzebub rising from his chair, easily matching, if not surpassing his height once he moved around the desk. Secondo was a taller man himself after all. The demon’s burning red and yellow eyes bore into him like brands of fire. So much for his good mood just a moment ago, though Secondo really could only blame himself for that.
“You can’t. You don’t need us to tell you that. I thought that would be somewhat of a relief to you, Secondo. Now you don’t have to worry about replicating your father’s neglect onto your kid.”
“You don’t have to give up your lifestyle either. Kids are expensive Cardinal, I can’t imagine you’d be able to keep having all those night outs anymore.” Mammon remained in his chair, leaning heavily on the desk as he rolled a coin between each of his fingers, watching him and Beelzebub idly, not batting an eye at the stand off.
“And you won’t have to be tied to a life long committed to Diana… perfect, right?” Beelzebub never broke his stare straight into his very skull. He held it all the while Secondo remained silent, unable to summon any words to pass his lips, much less form in his mind after that bombardment of…uncomfortable truths. As much as he loved Diana, commitment was something they both struggled with, and mutually agreed, for now, not to force any kind of decision between the two of them.
After a moment of silence, Beelzebub speaks again, somewhat less intensely.
“Why do you think I bothered to call you in here ten times if the answers were that simple?”
“... So that we can arrange a pact.” Finally, the Cardinal finds his voice. His fists clench for a moment at how easily Beelzebub had stolen that ability from him. Again, Secondo was in no way used to having the ease of control over a room stripped from him. Not that this is by any means an average room.
“So you do want a way to have it all? I won’t lie to you, I’m liking all this greed, Cardinal.” Mammon leans back in his chair as Beelzebub moves to go sit back down beside his brother.
“Accepting change, yet wanting nothing to change, all at the same time. Something has to give though, doesn’t it? What are willing to sacrifice?” Mammon pauses the movement of the rolling coin between his first and middle finger, staring at him with a deceptively nice face. His eyes looked ready to swallow him in golden flames.
“Anything. Whatever you both want, I will give.” Secondo remains standing, following the larger demon’s movements with his eyes, but taking care to respond to Mammon.
“Careful, Secondo. Be very, very careful with your words here…” Beelzebub leans forward in his chair a little, lowering his tone and slowing his words, willing them to grip the Cardinal by his throat.
“If you allow us to take anything, we will take anything.”
Secondo sat back down, slowly sinking into the furniture. He had such a grip on the arm of the chair he was sitting in now that it creaked. He felt like a child being reprimanded for speaking out of turn. He was not a young man, his behavior was foolish as minimum in this. It infuriated him almost as much as these demons… who were his friends. Why was this such a tense conversation? Why did this need to feel like he was fighting just to breath in this room, let alone have a civil conversation. Could they not just give him grace, just this once, after the past three months of his life have been destroyed and rebuilt in a haze of chaos.
Then Beelzebub’s eyes dimmed, pulling back the flame and instead fixing him with a colder stare that felt like relief to Secondo, where some may find it harsh looking.
“If I allow you to have this child, I want your full devotion to me. No more of this lenient bullshit, I’m not fucking around anymore. You will give me your entire life and practice, before during, and after you become Papa Emeritus Secondo. Do this, and Diana will have a healthy pregancy and deliver the child with no issue.” Beelzebub’s demand left no room for any kind of negotiation on that deal, despite the immense gravity of it. His tone left no doubt in Secondo that it was indeed a promise.
This didn’t stop the Cardinal from looking over at Mammon for his demand, “... What is your price, Lord?”
“You couldn’t pay me any amount of cash to cut a deal with you.” A light chuckle erupts from him as he leans back even more, knitting his claws together over his stomach. His smile showed off golden fangs, reflecting slightly in the light of the office.
“I will allow you to keep your lifestyle, your papalcy will be bigger than your brother’s in every way, and the ghost project is going to spike under your reign.” Mammon’s words came off so easy, just like his smile.
Secondo tensely waited for the catch. He already knew before he told him that he couldn’t simply pay the Lord of Greed, unfortunately.
“You’re going to use that time in the spot light to work your ass off for both of us. If I need a special favor, I need you to fulfill it, no questions asked. The work you put in won’t affect your time with your family, but it will be demanding. Your time working with me is payment. More importantly, it’s also paving the way for your brothers, and for your kid.”
Mammon adjusted the watch on his wrist to check the time after laying out his equally demanding expectations for the Cardinal.
Secondo was silent for a moment, letting this sink in. He knew this wasn’t something that was going to make him sink to the bottom, but it would test him, extremely so.
Perhaps that was the point of this being so difficult, to prepare him for trial. Is this what Primo has to deal with on a regular basis with these infernals?
Another reality just got added to his mind with that thought, among a mountain of others. The words of the demons blended together in his head as he stared down at his untouched glass of whiskey. The idea of working, not just for his debt to Mammon and Beelzebub, but for his brothers and unborn child did stick with him more than he anticipated it would. If he could give them even a slightly better chance at success than he and Primo had, he could feel like he did something for them. He could feel like he filled in as their older brother and father properly, unlike Nihil, who couldn’t be bothered to give them a single fair opportunity, much less the time of day.
This was his opportunity to pave the way for something greater than himself.
“... Shall we drink to it then?” Secondo looks up at them, his gaze steady and voice firm in his decision.
Mammon grabs his glass without missing a beat, but Beelzebub doesn’t move so fast. He takes one more moment to lock eyes with the Cardinal, evaluating something inside of him, before a small smile finally came across his own features again. Beelzebub reached for the glass and picked it up.
“Let’s drink to it.” The affirmation is back to a steady and lighter demeanor.
The three men tilt back their drinks and to take a sip, solidifying the pact and marking an eternal devotion to the sin of greed. Finally, Secondo felt like he could breathe once more, like the liquor had some how opened his lungs and throat to allow in oxygen, and his mind stopped racing so much. The two demons before him simply looked content and happy to knock back a whiskey that was really meant to be sipped, yet they downed it as easily as water.
“Congratulations, friend. You’ll be a wonderful father.” Mammon’s grin looked natural finally as he handed him that coin that was in his hand, possessing a slight glow to it. The seal of Beelzebub was engraved on one side, while the seal of Mammon was on the other.
***
Telling his brothers that Sister Diana was pregant was much easier, as he expected it to be. Their initial reactions had been shocked, concerned, and confused, much like he had been. Papa Primo and his Prime Mover, Elizabeth, had approached him the night that he had broke the news to them all. They were understandably worried. He knew they were checking to see if he knew the likelihood of the pregancy being carried to full term was slim, he knew that from the way Eliza’s eyes seemed glassy, and Primo kept trying to search his eyes. He also knew their concerns would eventually be diluted by pleasant hope and confusion once the pregancy reached five healthy months, and it did.
Terzo and Copia, who remained silent at first, began to grow a bit more anxious and excited as the prospect of being uncles. It was finally hitting them that this could be real.
Elizabeth’s joy for her beloved friend only grew with Diana over the next months, hope slowly increasing into full blown delight. Primo finally began smiling again when he saw Sister Diana with him towards the end of her pregancy.
On the day of the accouchement, the birth of his daughter made the ministry glow with pride and happiness. Cardinal Secondo Emeritus ushering in the continuation of the bloodline was nothing short of celebrated. The high clergy all sent their blessings and well wishes to his family. Bishop Avarice and Bishop Lucrum offered their assistance with the newborn if it was needed, as friends would.
Perhaps the jubilation was why Secondo agreed to allow his father, Papa Emeritus Nihil, to hold his newborn granddaughter, Bellamy, during her dedication to the Unblessed Mother and Father.
#the band ghost#ghost bc#ghost the band#ghost band#ghost#ghost fanfics#the band ghost fanfic#ghost fanfiction#the band ghost fanfiction#papa emeritus secondo#papa secondo#papa emeritus ii#papa ii#secondo emeritus#cardinal secondo#the band ghost oc#ghost oc#sister of sin oc#nun oc#demon oc#beelzebub#mammon#papa primo#papa i#papa emeritus i#papa emeritus#praeteritum au#cw mentions of child loss#cw alcohol#cw smoking
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For the bed sharing prompts: Mashwood for #1 and Stryfewood for #4 💙💙
Hii, thank you for prompting, love!
This is double hit of a prompt fill, because @bienchanter asked for "Things you said at 1am" & "Things you said when you're scared" for Stryfewood and it aligned so perfectly with your "you woke me up screaming from a nightmare, and I’m tired, so let’s cuddle so the nightmares don’t come anymore". Granted, it's not that to a T, but I hope you enjoy!
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The sandstorm chases them into a town for the night, a leap out of their planned route, but one Meryl doesn't loathe entirely as it's a chance to sleep in a proper bed. It's been a month of a rush, of a chase after a single red thread as it drags through the sand and lures them forward, where they haven't paused at any town long enough to rest.
They luck out and manage to get one of the last rooms at the inn and the sight of two single beds with their creaky mattresses and ratty blankets are wonderful enough to make her beam. Wolfwood's comment on that lacks the usual inventive bite as if he's just saying it for sake of saying. Funny that it would spark a concern in her, funny that she hopes after a good night's rest he will be snarky and sharp properly again.
Funny how the thought of cupping his cheek and smoothing out his tired scowl gently lodges into her palm and aches there.
It doesn't take long for sleep to come once they're done settling in. The day (the weeks, the months, the years of chase, of guilt, of loneliness that is briefly broken for when a motorcycle runs beside her van, of wavering hope and grief that draws its borders) melts away into dreamless darkness.
When she wakes from a muffled cry, it doesn't come rushing back in all at once, but her heart is pounding in her throat nonetheless as she sits up.
The sound repeats, followed by a whimper, and now Meryl is sure the source is Wolfwood. She calls his name as she turns on the light and sees him shrink away from it, shielding his face. Meryl makes out something alike no no nonono from his next noise and nearly rips the lamp off the nightstand with her hurry to turn it off.
She stumbles out of the bed and toward his. It's easy to climb in now that he has curled up, as small as his trembling body allows him. Gently, as gently as one can to move an adult man almost twice your size, she pulls him toward her, into her arms.
Or tries to, because he's rigid and straining away from her. Only when she tells him repeatedly it's her, it's Meryl, he allows to be embraced. Buries face into her with a broken sound that sends a spider web of cracks further across her heart from where it's already cracked in pieces. (For him, for Vash, for a barren field that used to be a city, for an obituary of lives and hopes and dreams that wouldn't fit into any single newspaper.)
Meryl cards hand through his hair, lets him press his burning forehead to her throat and keeps murmuring to him that she is here. He isn't quite awake, nor entirely in the nightmare-memory that has seized him. She doesn't know how to make it release him fully. The first time she had tried to shake him out of it and he had turned violent in response, growling and pushing her away as if his life depended on it. It probably did, wherever he was at that moment.
They won't speak of it in the morning, she knows. It happening alone is already going to quicken him turning Angelina into a different direction, splitting their paths once again. To speak of it would be sending him away the same day. But they might be so close now to the end of the red thread and she wants him, needs him to be there when that hope either crumbles to dust or blooms into a beautiful geranium. It has now become a race against time and hungry ghosts with additional odds.
She shifts slightly so her arm wraps around Wolfwood more comfortably and the shift causes another miserable sound to slip out of him.
"Please don't," he pleads and she doesn't know if he's talking to someone from the nightmare or her, but when he keeps repeating it, Meryl bites the bullet and ventures a reply. "I won't," she promises and hopes it's with enough conviction to change the trajectory of his visions. If she can lend her voice to the horrible doctor she should have shot when she had the chance and ease Nicholas's pain, she would be happy to.
It seems to help, somehow, and he relaxes a little in her arms, the hands that had at some point come to grip her so hard she is sure there will be bruises ease their trembling hold. She keeps saying it, reassuring him, like a broken record until her voice is going hoarse and her own arms are cramping from holding him so tight as if she could press every broken piece of him back together, until the morning paints an orange line at the horizon and he is still in her arms. Only then she quiets and presses her cheek to top of his head. Only then does she let a few quiet tears fall, for all she can't fix or even soothe, for the way that he will deny himself any comfort come daylight, for the jagged silence and space between them that she doesn't quite know how to cross.
Maybe once they find the red bridge that had brought them together. Maybe then.
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Heyyyy soap with a s/o that loves to draw/paint?
I know this man loves to draw and sketch on his journal 😸 hcs plz
hope you take this
Soap with an s/o who loves to write like him.
(sorry this took a while to write. my algorithm has been so messed up, which is why this took longer than it should have)I've been meaning to write for the rest of the guys, I just haven't gotten around to it with personal life. and this is just a breath of fresh air thank you! And I get to do my soapy boy🥺
Other works 👉Master list
Warnings| pure fluff, and little mentions of his anxiety.
(credit Google. I'm sorry but can we just talk about this for a moment. poor Riley 😭)
When you and soap first got together. he didn't know about your secret little hobby, because you would always get called a nerd for it. so when you saw that soap had the same hobby, you got so excited.
And when he eventually found out. THIS MAN BEGGED TO SEE EVERY ONE OF YOUR PAINTINGS/DRAWINGS, EVERYTHING. He'll even show you all of his just to see your work. Even if it's bad he'll admire it, this man does not care.
Now if you're a new drawer he'll help you out and give you little tips or trucks. But if you're a pro, he'll constantly ask you for tips and tricks.
He constantly asked if you want to draw with him. or go on little dates, which these little dates would end up being little picnics to the park/Beach or wherever you live and just letting your creativity out. and these are the moments he soaks up so much, and is in LOVE. the fact he has someone who shares the same love as he does for drawing. And it gets him away from life, missions, etc, he has to deal with.
Y'all's love languages for each other is drawing. what can I say y'all are a creative bunch.
Often while he's on mission, he'll send you little drawings he's made over the course of months/weeks. usually these involve a photo he has of you 2, or something he saw that reminds him of you. and it brings tears to your eyes every. single. time. And whatever the drawing is it always ends off with (in cursive) love from your soapy boy.
I'm going to say to probably be the first to say it. HE CANNOT PAINT FOR THE LIFE OF HIM, JUST DON'T LET HIM PAINT. IT ENDS IN ANGER AND HIM THROWING IT. (And tons of Scottish yelling)
Now depending if you draw on iPad or paper HE WILL BUY YOU THE BEST OF THE BEST IPAD/DRAWING SUPPLIES. (A literal drawers dream to put it lightly) he's not afraid to break his bank account over your hobby.
Let's all be honest here drawing is very therapeutic for him, and it helps relieve his anxiety. and if it is the same for you he'll notice it. and always check in to make sure you're okay, and if you want to talk about it or not.
Now this is for all the new drawers who can't draw. (aka myself) depending on how bad sometimes it comes out, he'll try his hardest not to burst out laughing. but once you notice it, it's game over. And depending on how you react to it. he'll chase you around and apologize, and say how good you did. for instance "Johnny it's horrible" you say pouting. "N- no hen it.. it's amazing. I just have one question though? why does his nose look like a dick." He can't help but burst out laughing, the final part. which just makes you feel worse but he'll make it up with cuddles, or maybe something more 👀
One time for a date he thought it would be a good idea! to take you guys to a painting class and let's just say...... (Never again.)
And if y'all have a pet together. trust me y'all have spent many quiet rainy days, sitting in y'all's living room watching your pet peacefully sleep drawing them in his/her sleeping position.
Oh yeah and by the way the 141 KNOWS ALL ABOUT IT. It's the only thing he talks about/if you go in his barracks room it is covered in your drawings/paintings. (He lowkey hopes some of the guys are jealous. because who wouldn't be. you're such a talented drawer, everybody deserves to know who you belong to.)
(this is just his own little head Cannon has nothing to do with his s/o) he does have his secret little notepad, that he keeps from everybody. that he draws all of his panic attacks/what happens in them, and the flashback he has. cuz in a way it helps him and it helps get the horrors out of his mind so them being on paper and away from him it helps him.
I feel like if you're really good at it, he'll sometimes ask if you can do a drawing of him and the 141 and they'll hang it up in the lunchroom. (Low key price stares at it like the dad he is. and is proud soap found someone who makes him happy, and is talented.)
You 2 have drawled each other naked before 👀. (Not going to lie you boost his ego when you did that the first time) rather you did it without him knowing, and let your imagination do the wandering. or he forced you to pay him like one of your French girls. when he saw it he cannot stop blushing.
(he's also low key amazing at hand cursive writing. and nobody understands it.)
And that's going to be the end for this. I've been having writer's block, so like doing this kind of help. anyways I hope you are having a good day/night wherever you are. reblogs. and comments are always appreciated 🖤
#call of duty mw2#modern warfare 2#cod mw2#soap mactavish#johnny mactavish#john mctavish#john mactavish#john soap mctavish#soap cod#john soap mactavish#cod soap#soap mw2#cod mw2 soap#soap call of duty#soap mctavish#johnny soap mactavish#mw2 headcanons#call of duty headcanons#head cannon#soap headcanons#soap hcs#johnny mactavish head cannon#request#ask
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thoughts on harrow the ninth (actual) chapter one and also chapter two
man i got confused. apparently i read parodos last time, not chapter one. also i hadn't noticed the prologue was the night before the emperor's murder. i promise i am paying attention now. also i accidentally read some of chapter two before chapter one because i mixed up what i had already read.
and as someone paying attention, i am noticing that at the end of the prologue, harrow says three syllables. and i am big time on the train of saying that some timeline (or memory) fuckery has occurred. so i think those syllables may be GI DE ON.
anyway onto chapter one.
lol harrow doesn't get it. you gotta listen to the sword. seems fairly, uh, literal, that she vomits when holding it, though. is the sword magic, or is this some kind of psychological issue?
it's a great sword. the kind gideon used. maybe harrow's body (lowercase b) recognizes gideon on some level and knows something is wrong.
i am also very curious about the line about the body making it so time can be relied to work right. hmmmmm.
now, chapter two.
god has SERIOUS gamer energy. i will not elaborate.
this man is very reasonable and sensitive. too much so. the vibe i get is that he could rationalize anything. he is happy to show his sensitive side because it makes you sympathize with him.
i wonder how many of harrow's secrets are out. we're sending a bunch of new people to her house. does god realize she puppeted her parents? is that water under the bridge?
i can imagine many reasons why the cost of resurrection might be too great. but i have to wonder why the cost of returning to the houses is also too great. that's a funky one.
there's a really interesting paragraph in here where i can't tell if it's just describing things in a fancy way or if it's implying that the Body is harrow's? then is harrow, say, in gideon's body? or does the Body just look the same as harrow? or am i reading the completely wrong thing from this?
this planet stuff is neat. so planets get converted from thalergic to thanergic, which is very confusing. is that why we lack much agriculture here? they turn the planets from something that can sustain life to something they can draw necromantic power from?
so big g resurrected everyone because the planets died and a bunch of Resurrection Beasts spawned. imma be real: this is extremely cool. like extremely fucking cool. incomprehensibly powerful beasts that are near-impossible to kill? fucking baller.
ah so they chase big g. so that's why he can't go to the houses. not even for a day? I mean, how far away are they. hmm.
all of this, however, might not be as true as it seems. that's the thing about this god fellow. he really does not seem like a liar. that makes it extremely dangerous if he is a liar.
okay. that was all fun and games but we're getting to the serious stuff:
what the HELL is with this body shit?
the body of the locked tomb had been with harrow for a long time. again, this really seems like something harrow would have acknowledged back during book one. the more details we get the less i can believe that this was going on all along. there is fuckery about.
the body has not spoken to harrow since the night her parents died. THIS IS NOT TRUE. we just saw the body said "This isn't how it happens" when Harrow was talking to Ortus. i repeat: there is fuckery about.
harrow walked with her? dreamed of her? there's all this history? tf????
what made harrow half a lyctor. she seemed a pretty proper one last time.
they're saying ortus died. like. tf???? that dweeb? he is not the one that made a sacrifice for harrow's lyctorhood. the suggestion that it was ortus makes harrow SICK!
what does mr. god suspect? he said the name a third time, almost like he was experimenting what effect it had on harrow.
there is absolutely fuckery about, of the major variety. the question is whether it's time fuckery, memory fuckery, or extremely clever fuckery i can't suspect. like this could be something like gideon jumped into a hole that makes her retroactively never have existed but the vestiges of her soul push into reality through harrow's perception and try to help her. or it could be that nothing crazy happened and this is just all one giant con that the narrative is somehow cleverly pulling on me. but it's gotta be SOMETHING. if the book tries to gaslight me i'm pushing it away and gaslighting myself.
the body could be gideon in some form, but it could also not be. what the hell would have magically associated gideon with the locked tomb itself, making her the Body of the Locked Tomb? it could be some incarnation of that girl harrow saw inside the locked tomb, too. man who fucking KNOWS what this shit is.
harrow names colors that the body's hair could have once been (she says in death, not in life) and does not mention red as a possibility.
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Tale As Old As Time... (Part 4)
Well the response to this fic continues to overwhelm. I cannot remember the last time my brain was producing this much seratonin and dopamine. I am over the moon, truly thanks to each and every one of you who has taken the time to read and comment on this story. All the love you are sending my way is being sent straight into my brain and converted into more of this story. I still do not know how long this story will be, but rest assured we are still very much at the start.
And before we go to today’s chapter, I just need everyone to please go and see @ssabriel’s absolutely insane and breathtaking masterpiece rendition of a scene from Part 1, which can be found here.
Thank you for reading all this, now onto the story...
Full work Ao3 Link.
(Previous Chapter) (Next chapter)
///
Bhairava dropped like a puppet with its strings cut as soon as the door slammed behind the King. He gripped at table’s edge as he tried to control his panicked breathing. What the hell had he been thinking?
He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his scalp pulled at the harsh treatment. He could feel phantom fingers still threaded through the strands.
He felt his heart racing, and saw his hands trembling. He covered his face, closing his eyes. Only to open them when those furious onyx eyes flashed behind his eyelids.
Since he had stepped into the dining room he had been unsure whether he was walking towards his death. Those eyes had rendered his mind blank, and he had moved out of habit.
God help him, what was going to happen next? He glanced up at the feast in front of him, barely touched. At his own plate, which did not look nearly as inviting. At the King’s full plate.
Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?
Those eyes. It had been those eyes. They were even darker than he had been dreaming about. He had felt stripped bare, utterly helpless and powerless against their fire. He had felt every inch the prey, but all he had wanted to do was tilt his throat in submission.
He reached his hand out blindly, finding the goblet the King had filled for him and downed it in one go. It was sweet and heavy, and made the world go woozy for a second.
His hands were still shaking when he set the cup down. He struggled to stand upright, to not let his knees buckle.
He looked to the door the King left through. He doubted the man would return.
Bhairava turned and walked through his usual entrance, keeping his head ducked as the guards silently took him up to his rooms. They switched the paths constantly, and the corridors looked just similar enough that Bhairava was not able to draw any kind of mental map about his route to or from his room.
The door shut behind him, and he stood lost in the threshold. He went to the balcony, biting his lip to keep from crying out as the cold wind bit into his skin. He was barefoot, and the stone floor was cold as ice. Still he walked to the edge. If he leaned forward he could make out part of the city. The tall gopura of the main Shiva temple. The walls that stretched between the small mountain pass which gave entry into the city.
All these days he spent waiting to see if the wolf would chase him, if the viper would strike him when he got distracted. And ultimately he poked the beast. Ultimately, he had been willing to be caught. He had practically offered himself on a platter. Was he to die tomorrow? Would the King start a war after he killed him? Would he keep him alive and make him watch?
He clawed at his face. He had taken a knife to a King! He was lucky the man hadn’t broken his neck then and there.
He paused. The King hadn’t broken his neck. He could have though. So easily. With his broad hands, each of which could easily wrap around Bhairava’s throat. Could have killed him with the strength he had displayed as he had yanked Bhairava up with barely a grunt, like he barely weighed anything.
Bhairava was a soldier, and young, and strong. He was fast and clever and confident in his skills.
But the King? Bhairava shivered for a reason entirely unrelated to the cold. In fact he felt warmth take over his chest as he recalled the way the King’s touch seemed to burn.
The King was …menacing. An aura around him akin to the most deadly predator. He was large, with shoulders that dwarfed Bhairava’s own, and a chest as wide as a tree trunk. His every move was filled with surety, and his attitude made it clear he knew he was the most powerful person in that room. There was no doubt he was also the most dangerous person in the room. In any room. He did not need a crown, or to be bedecked in gold and diamonds, wearing loud silks and heavy embroidery for anyone to recognize him for what he was.
Bhairava retreated into the room when his teeth started to chatter, his feet feeling like blocks of ice.
He wandered into the bathroom. The waters were lukewarm, but it was still blissful after the bitter cold of the balcony. He stripped out of his clothes, sinking into the waters with a groan. He inhaled a deep breath and dunked into the water.
Onyx eyes like a new moon night with no stars flashed in his mind.
He gasped as he shot out of the water, coughing as he tried to expel some water he had accidentally swallowed. He leaned over the marble stairs, staring at the distorted reflection that rippled as water dripped from his hair. For just a second, the reflection seemed to change to resemble the King’s face.
Bhairava dragged a hand down his face, ending by slapping it against the small puddle. He pulled himself out of the water, drying himself before entering the bedchamber. He pulled out one of the dhotis he had discovered in the back of the shelves, and a cotton kurta, dressing quickly. He rubbed the towel through his hair vigorously, wringing out as much water as possible.
The room was already cooling faster as a result of how long Bhairava had stayed out with the balcony doors open. He made his away across the room to crawl under the covers. Then stilled. He glanced at the silk rope that held the curtains against the posts. He untied them, breath still coming out in gasps as one by one the heavy curtains blocked out the world outside. Even the light seemed unable to penetrate the thick material.
He sat in the middle of the bed, hands curling into the soft blankets. He closed his eyes, despite not being able to see anything anyways. He shivered when he felt a palm threading itself through his hair. A finger running down his cheek.
And there, in a dark bubble of his own creation, Bhairava let himself reach between his legs, onyx eyes watching over him from inside his own head.
///
When Bhairava woke the next morning, it was to a pounding headache and complete disorientation. Sweat was sticking to his skin and the bed smelled of …
Bhairava shot up, mortified as the memory of last night filtered into his sleep-hazy brain.
What the hell was wrong with him? He crawled to the edge of the bed, misjudging the length and ended up nearly sprawling on the floor as he tripped on the bed’s canopy curtains. The sudden influx of light blinded him temporarily, as he blinked rapidly to adjust.
He clutched at the bedsheets he had dragged over the side, as he fought to orient himself, taking deep breaths till the world came into focus. The room… looked the same. The lights from the high arched mosaic windows radiated heat. Just how long had Bhairava slept?
He found his customary breakfast tray had been placed on the table instead of by his bed. Just as well, with what had just happened, that tray would have likely ended up on the floor.
Vigorously rubbing his hands against his face, he slapped himself for good measure.
Last night…last night were the delusions of a madman facing down the noose. Nothing else.
Onyx eyes flashed in his mind again. He whimpered. God help him.
He somehow amassed the will to get up and bathe again, changing into the usual cotton tunic and pants he had been left. Except this time there were accompanied by a sturdy pair of slippers. Since he had come, he had only been wearing the same soft-soled black slippers. He toweled at his hair.
A knock at the door startled him. Clutching at the towel, he approached the door. No one had yet knocked before.
He tried the door handle. Gasped when he found it swinging open.
The advisor stood on the other side. A tall man in a turban stood behind him. He raised an eyebrow at Bhairava’s state of dress, making the younger man blush. “The King has said you are to be shown around the capital. It is not a task that can be accomplished in one day, nor do I have that much time to spare as a caretaker. This is Tapan, he will be your escort. You will listen to what he says. If you attempt to escape, you will not like the consequences. Are we clear?”
For the second time in as many days, Kala Bhairava felt his head spin. He had been so certain he would not get to see sunset today, but now he was to see the city? What did that even mean?
A snap focused his attention back to Kaaka who let the slightest hint of annoyance slip past his impassive mask. “Get ready quickly. Wear something appropriate of a guest of a king.”
Kaaka turned sharply and walked away. Tapan was staring curiously at him, but maintained his soldier’s pose, straight backed and arms folded behind him.
He inclined his head. “My lord.”
Bhairava choked. “I am no lord! Just, just call me Bhairava. Please.”
Tapan looked confused for a minute, before nodding hesitantly. “As you wish my- Bhairava garu.”
Bhairava made a helpless sound and left the door cracked open as he stumbled to the wardrobe. What was going on right now? He stopped before the mirror.
He slapped himself once to make sure he wasn’t actually already dead and having some bizarre afterlife hallucination.
Damn it.
Bhairava removed the clothes he had been wearing, quickly changing into a long sleeved yellow kurta and white pyjamas. He grabbed one of the white scarfs to tie into a sash around his middle. Remembering the slippers he had been left that morning, he wore them, and went to the door.
Tapan was outside, leaning against the railing with his eyes closed. He was wearing a green kurta with a red and black vest, with a black sash tied around his middle. His turban matched the maroon of his vest. His pants were simple black cotton, and he wore similar study slippers. His black hair was completely covered by the turban. He had a handsome face, straight nose and sharp cheeks. Fierce look about it. Not the kind you would want to brawl.
At the sound of the door, he turned to see Bhairava, before frowning. “You will leave your hair like that?”
Bhairava ran a hand through his locks. “What do you mean?”
“It is customary here for men to tie their hair up in at least half a turban when they go outside. But if you do not wish to, I suppose you do not need to.”
“Oh,” Bhairava said dumbly. “I-uh, do not think I have any cloths to use as turbans?”
Tapan scratched his head. “Would it be alright if I checked? I can’t imagine Maharaj did not leave you some.”
“Maha…” Bhairava blinked as he stepped to the side, allowing the taller man to enter the room. As Tapan searched through the wardrobe, Bhairava’s mind raced. The King had chosen these clothes he had been wearing? Why? Did that mean these belonged to him? But no, they wouldn’t fit him. The jewellery then? It certainly was finer than anything he could have owned.
Bhairava was deep in thought when Tapan emerged with a victorious grin, a shimmering golden cloth in his hand. “See, I knew Maharaj would have left you a few pieces, there is a whole pile of them in the upper shelf. Do you want me to tie it for you?”
Bhairava flushed faintly as he grabbed the cloth. “No need, I know how to do it.”
Tapan shrugged. “Let me know when you are done.”
///
The last time Bhairava had stepped foot outside the palace had been to bid Mithravinda goodbye. The day had been gloomy and cold. Today the sun was shining down on them, a warm heat that made him want to curl up and sleep. In the light of the midday sun, the palace looked less menacing too, the black stone instead turning to a slate grey that gave the place a look of antiquity.
The guards stared at him as he walked with Tapan, but didn’t say anything. Bhairava glanced at his escort. He was taller than him by a good head, and obviously a trained guard, with the way his eyes were constantly scanning their surroundings. He held himself in a deliberately relaxed position, and his sash hung down his left side. Bhairava would bet anything Tapan was carrying at least a small knife if not a short machete.
“So, do you have somewhere you want to start?”
“Uh…Bhairava blanked. Start? He still had no idea what was the purpose of this whole charade. “Nothing in particular.”
Tapan shrugged. “Would you mind if we went to the market then? My sister’s birthday is coming up and I still have not bought her anything. Not had a lot of time.”
“Sure.” Bhairava agreed, relieved to not have to choose.
Tapan walked at a slow pace, not complaining as Bhairava trailed behind him, gaping at everything around him. Bhairava had just extrapolated his thoughts about the kingdom from the brief period he had spent hunting down the princess’s location. That had always been in the cover of the night.
But now, in the morning, the city was a thriving metropolis, filled with people haggling and joking. A few drunks being kicked out of a drinking establishment that Tapan shooed away. Kids shrieking with laughter as they chased after some equally delighted puppies. Mothers rocking their babies, and old men sitting in verandas, chewing pan as they gazed at the rest of them. Where was the miserable hell?
“Just around this turn.” Tapan mused before leading them into a massive open square. A long shadow fell over them, Bhairava leaning his head back to see the top of the magnificent temple gateway.
“Tapan garu?” Bhairava asked as they passed the massive wooden gates of the temple. He could spy a large horde of people stringing up flowers and positioning diyas around the temple scaffolds. “Is there a function about to happen?”
Tapan stopped, turning to look at him puzzled. “It will be Shivaratri tomorrow, Bhairava garu.”
“Shiv- already?” Bhairava muttered, mentally doing a quick calculation. He had already been here two weeks. “That’s what they are decorating the temple for?”
Tapan hummed. “King Raavan is as big a devotee of Shiva as the original King Raavana. He insists that Shivaratri be celebrated grandly each month. It’s also the one night a month he will come down to the city without fail. He leads the poojas.”
Bhairava felt stunned. “I…I didn’t realize he was so… religious.”
“No one expects him to be. He is a strong believer in Mahadev, but he doesn’t show it through vibooti or sindhoor. But you should see this city during the days leading up to Mahashivaratri. It is stunning.”
“Yes…I can see that.” Bhaivara agreed. “What else happens during Shivaratri?”
“There is always a feast at the temple, the King orders the palace cooks to help out and prepare enough food to feed the city. No one goes hungry on those nights. For the newborns, they are given a silver coin on their first Shivaratri. There are dance performances that last well into the night, as well as concerts. In other parts of the city, plays are performed.”
“And this happens every month?” Bhairava clarified.
Tapan grinned widely at him. “Only since King Raavana took the throne. In the start it was overwhelming and almost felt like too much. People were…suspicious of the reason, but now everyone looks forward to it.
Ah, here we are.”
Bhairava stayed quiet as he processed all these new revelations. Tyrant king or generous devotee? Terrifying man or kind ruler? Imposing stranger…or alluring … something?
Who exactly was King Raavana? And why did Bhairava feel so desperate to unravel the enigmatic man?
The questions continued to swirl in his head long after he had returned to the palace. Tapan had been a considerate guide, though it had been evident Bhairava’s mind was elsewhere. Bhairava had dreaded what would await him at dinner, and tried to tamp down the disappointment of being met with only the advisor sitting at his usual place, the King nowhere in sight.
He dreamed of onyx eyes and strong hands again. He let himself go where his heart wished, desiring an understanding of the situation above all else.
///
I guess this was more tension building than moving the plot forward. I promise Part 5 will be a lot more fun.
P.S I tried to catch myself whenever I wrote/referenced the Tamil name for something rather than the Telugu, but if there are other cultural things I have missed, please let me know.
Feedback is appreciated.
Tagging (Please please work, Tumblr I beg you): @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @junebugyeahhh @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @bluesolace1 @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @jrntrtitties @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @m3gs1mps4a @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally @ssabriel @jadebomani @stuckyandlarrystuff @veteran-fanperson @ohfuckoffpls
#rrr#jairava#jai lava kusa#jai kumar#jai x bhairava#kala bhairava#bhairava#magadheera#my fic#my writing#TAOAT
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Chapter 11 || Stolkhom
Reiner x reader
Previous chapter
Authors note: I hit an art block so hard it just knocked me off my motivation to get out of my room. And it’s still not back, but I managed to finally complete this chapter. Another one is coming and I’ll leave you guys to make an opinion of what’s happening. Thanks for all the support! It really helps me.
Warnings: age regression and violence
The letter had arrived faster than Y/n expected. In under a week. Reiner had better behaved this week so as she read the letter that proclaimed his eligibility for surgery, she hesitated.
He was playing with their puppy Pluto, holding the toy away from him and watching as the golden creature eagerly hopped up and down.
Observing the two, she wondered if he even needed help anymore. The night terrors slowly died down, and he doesn't get violent tantrums anymore- but maybe that's because she hasn't given him a reason to get mad or angry. Suppose if he did get angry while Mihai was living with them, what if he began to harm himself? Would he scream and cry? He'd never dream of hurting Mihai but the very sight would terrify his son.
There were equally enough reasons to not do the surgery as much as there were to do it. The doctor helped her estimate the cost and she could afford it... but was it worth it? Especially since this is brain surgery, something that is rarely done during these years. Does the clinic have enough experience? What if Reiner just gets worse?
"Hey, Y/n! Come play with us!" He giddily called over, waving the squeaky ball around. Y/n smiled and joined the two. It wasn't so bad to take a break after all that stressful thinking.
The three went outside to play. Y/n watched by the porch as the excited puppy chased after the childish man. She had never seen him so happy to be active before. He spun around to run backwards, teasing the dog with the desired ball in his hand. At last, he chucked it, distracting Pluto.
Reiner watched with a proud smile at the dog darting into a straight beeline towards the thrown toy before it had even landed. His hand went up to cover his eyes from the sun for a better view. However, he had missed the fast dog, only realising he was staring at the wrong area once a fluffy ball of excitement collided against his hip.
The tall man fell backwards onto his bum in shock, delighted to see the puppy panting on his torso, pawing his way up to his chest with the retrieved toy in his drooling mouth.
Observing all this activity made Y/n come to the conclusion that Reiner didn't need any help. He was strong and healthy, even after all that trauma, after all his injuries. Those scars on his body remind her that he's been through worse... but who's to tell if being betrayed is worse than having a whole nation despise you. For him, it's now two.
Whatever, she thought as she called him back inside, he still has her, and that's how it'll always be.
The routine continued for the rest of the days. Bathe him, feed him, go to work and then come back and hope he's eaten. Feed him, play with him and repeat. She kept going regardless of her constant fatigue.
By the time the appointment rolled around, she was ready to collapse. It was her break day. She'd usually want to nap, make small arrangements or knit small cute things while Reiner scribbles another one of his crayon drawings. Not today, perhaps the surgery may happen today.
This time, Reiner didn't fall asleep on the bus. He was watching the passing view, no matter how much a blur it was in. He seemed deep in thought, at peace with something inside of him. "I like birds." He randomly said.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm." He turned to her, "When I was younger, my mum had a lot of pet birds. A parrot. I got to name him Dieter, we had another pink one who died early- but, my favourite was the dove." His face would visibly soften the more he spoke about his old pet birds, especially once he mentioned the dove. Y/n knew about the dove since Karina would always talk about how inseparable the animal and her boy were, even going as far as flashing photos of her chubby son petting the soft bird.
"She was the nicest to me, and would be so excited when I came back home from training, you'd never expect an animal to be so happy."
"What was her name?"
"I just called her dove." He grinned in memory. "My uncle told me that doves represent peace and love. It made so much sense to me. Dove made me feel happy, after being picked on by everyone all day, she'd cheer me up just by being around me."
"She must've been your best friend at the time."
"Dove was like my guardian angel." His hand slithered its way to hers, his focus determined on their intertwining fingers, "The same way you are to me."
"Is that the reason?" Y/n inaudibly whispered, "I'm glad you can depend on me." She finally said. Her hand tightened around his. The soft connection of their skins put him to peace. He appreciated how she could help ease the burns of his memories. How they'd plague him at night, burying him further and further into fear and regret- until her soft snoring breaks him out of it. Her arms extended around him like an affectionate sloth.
Y/n was his dove. A reminder that maybe, the world is less harsh than everyone makes it out to be, perhaps things get worse and perhaps things become amazing. In either one of those outcomes, she'll be by his side, and he'll be by hers. Always.
≈≈≈
"Mihai!" Zeke called, worried the child would go to far off into the road, too immersed in his rolling soccer ball. "Don't go too far off, okay?" He finally caught up, hoping to lead him back inside without anyone noticing. However, his efforts soon proved to be useless.
"Say Zeke,"
The bearded man tensed up at the voice from behind. He clenched Mihai's shoulder. The touch seemed to transfer a warning concern from the man to the child who didn't even bother turning around to properly face the direction of the voice.
"What's Braun's kid doing with you?"
"Taking care of him while Y/n mentally recovers from the trauma of losing her husband." He said with irony strongly laced in his tone.
"Where is she?"
"She didn't tell me. She just said she'd come back for him... now if you'll excuse us"-
"I find that hard to believe."
"Well, either way, he has to go back inside." He hoisted the nervous boy up onto his hip, "Unless you needed something?" Zeke turned around to face his superior. Magath's gaze was glued to Mihai, yet he was tucked under Zeke's chin, hiding away from the 'scary man'.
"Yes, you didn't show up to the meeting today. I clearly instructed you to show up."
"That's because Mihai was feeling sick this morning, I couldn't very well abandon a child, could I?"
"Where was your partner?"
"Pieck had an urgent call, she insisted but I assured her."
With a sigh, he shifted his watchful glare and faced the floor. "Very well. I shall tell you now,"
Zeke resisted the urge to step back when he took a step forward. Some part in him urged that he was trying to seem threatening... and it was working. No matter how taller or stronger Zeke was than him, this man was like a snake, ready to bite at any moment.
"We're facing conflict with the mid-east." He proceeded to explain, even with the child listening to the details of possible war. Mihai restrained a scream. He knew his father was a soldier once, did the possibility mean he'd get sent again?! His mum was always cautious about living here... that war was as normal as taking a walk here, at any second, they could come and take his father away, to draft him off.
What would they do to uncle Zeke?! His chubby hands grasped a fistful of the man's shirt, alerting him of his anxiety.
As a response, Zeke palmed the back of his nephew's head, stroking his scalp with his thumb. Once Mihai gained the confidence to look up, he was met with his uncle's kind smile. Every wrinkle, and feature that he took in somehow soothed the absence of his parents.
"If that's all, Sir." Zeke carefully bowed.
"Da- uncle Zeke." He started, trying to pretend like he didn't almost accidentally utter the word 'dad'. The blond man hummed in response, "You won't go back out there... w-will you?"
A dry chuckle started up from within his throat, "Of course not," he pinched Mihai's nose. "They're only threatening us to give them what they want."
"Really?"
"Mhm."
≈≈≈
"No!" He childishly screamed, hiding behind his wife. "Sir, please-"
"Y/n don't let him take me! He's evil!"
"Reiner"-
"Please, you love me don't you?"
Stuck in a never-ending cycle of arguments, Y/n could only see a few outcomes. Security could come over to drag Reiner into the operating room but Y/n begged the doctors not to do that even when Reiner was swatting at every hand that tried to drag him away from Y/n. He clung to her like a needy child.
"We don't have much time, Mrs Braun we'll just have to call"-
"Please! Just- just give me a second..." she pleaded with her eyes, unusually wide like a puppy would. She felt ashamed, when was the last time she even made such a face to a stranger?
The doctor huffed out in exhaustion, his shoulders slumped. His job surely became more difficult when he heard the name 'Braun'. The overgrown child that never had a smile on his face when torn away from the mature lady beside him. "Fine."
The instant he was away, Y/n snatched the blond's arm, forcing him to face her, taken aback when witnessing tears spilling out of his eyes. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"
"Y-Y/n! Don't leave me, you can't!- I'll see those- those people being ripped apart, crying!- I can't do it again! Don't make me do it again!-"
"Shh, shhhh..." She pulled him into her arms and rubbed his back. "That won't happen today, I promise."
"You... promise?"
"I do. And remember what I said?"
He released himself from her shoulder and rubbed his eye, offering a depressing nod. "You never make a promise you won't keep."
"Besides, I'll be here. Until you come out, we can both go home. If we make it in time I can read you a book."
"My favourite?" The corner of his lip quirked upward.
"Your favourite."
With that, he reluctantly followed to the room. Y/n couldn't give him a nod this time, since, she wasn't too sure herself. In the damned letter, the doctor revealed how rare surgery was, how past brain surgeries have fucked up so bad that the patient would have been better off with their starting condition, no matter how bad it was.
She began to doubt herself. As a mum. As a wife. As a friend- hell even a human! Yet it was too late, twenty minutes had already gone past, it's not like she could break into the room and abruptly demand they stop.
What were they even doing?! Did they cut his head open or something? How can they fix the so-called damage to his brain? Even Y/n didn't get to see the X-ray pictures. It was times like these that she needed Zeke and Pieck by her side, hell even Porco would do the job well. Just someone to hold and comfort her. To tell her she was doing the right thing.
"Reiner..." She shakily whispered, tucking her chin onto her chest to hide her face from the eyes of nobody. Again, the hospital was empty. It was a bit odd that she was always the only one in the waiting room. But she didn't think too much of it, other people were probably too short on money to afford the doctors. She was lucky if she even saw one.
Her thoughts were like a storm and she was the only insane person to be standing in the midst of the chaos. Her sticky clothes drenched in the useless questions about the inevitable future, her skin numbing to the mercilessly freezing wind. Y/n's body ached, her mind ached- it ached, everything ached! As loud as the furious sky, she shrieked. Someone take me, just take all of me and leave everyone else alone!
By the time she could lift her head back up, her neck throbbed. How long had it been? Her half-lidded eyes carefully twitched along to the dark sky. It was a clear night, stars were out, the open windows releasing in the freshest air she had ever smelled. Nights like these were perfect to fall asleep to. Outside buried with nature, not a care in the world.
"Ma'am?" Y/n's gaze slightly pivoted as she squinted her eyes at the receptionist in front of her. "Are you alright?"
Y/n nodded, her body still weak in fatigue. She wasn't getting too much sleep or eating as much as she should. Even standing up made her dizzy.
By the time the familiar scent of clean washing soap softly wafted over her face, she couldn't tell what was going on. But she took his hand and gladly let him assist her out of the hospital and into the cold night. It was Reiner, she knew that, what she didn't know, however, was if it was a dream.
The peacefulness of it, the serenity of the silence and ambience. The moving and almost empty bus had no lights in it. It almost seemed like the world beckoned her to sleep, finally to be able to rest. Maybe not the desired amount, but at least just to get her energy back.
Her cheek drooped against his chest, his warm arm nestling her weary body against him.
Of course, her content slumber was interrupted when the bus stopped at what the man wordlessly insisted was their stop. With her eyes barely open, she limped out of the bus, the man holding her close as she did, in fear she'd clumsily topple over.
His arm enveloped her waist while the other held her hand, maintaining her weight as she leaned against him. The atmosphere wasn't as bad as her previous imagery. The sky wasn't miserably grey. The clouds weren't scolding her. It was calm and clear. The sound of crickets, the gentle breeze encouraging her weak legs to give out.
By the time the familiar sound of her door opened, her sore feet levitated off the ground, someone bearing all of her weight after the door shut. She could barely tell without the creaks of the stairs where she was taken to. "You'll drop me..." She incoherently mumbled against him, even though she knew if there was no one to assist her, she'd happily snooze on the cold floor. Sleep was sleep.
Slowly and gently, the plush mattress welcomed her sore body. Her feet went lighter after each shoe and sock was taken off, the air welcoming her feet. Another mutter even she couldn't understand left her lips
Nevertheless, it mildly alerted the caring man before her. His footsteps sounded clearer and before she knew it his calloused fingers stroked her cheek. "Shhh, it's late, dove. Go to sleep." The familiarity of it, the smell, the voice. Everything about this moment made her tear up. "You smell like my dad..." She sniffled, "Just... like him."
The moisture in her cheeks was wiped away and a kiss between her brows softened her features, allowing her to wilt back into sleep.
Next chapter
#reiner braun#reiner#aot warriors#levi ackerman#zeke#pieck#reiner x reader#Reiner aot#Reiner braun x reader#stolkhom#pieck x Zeke#jikupiku
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Through a Blackened Mirror
Chapter 5: The Prince
Word Count: 7589
Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents
* * *
“Now the hundred years had just ended, and the day on which Brier Rose was to wake up again had arrived. When the prince approached the brier hedge, he found nothing but beautiful flowers that opened of their own accord, let him through, and then closed again like a hedge. In the castle courtyard he saw the horses and the spotted hunting dogs lying asleep. The pigeons were perched on the roof and had tucked their heads beneath their wings. When he entered the palace, the flies were sleeping on the wall, the cook in the kitchen was still holding his hand as if he wanted to grab the kitchen boy, and the maid was sitting in front of the black chicken that she was about to pluck. As the prince continued walking, he saw the entire court lying asleep in the hall with the king and queen by the throne. Then he moved on, and everything was so quiet that he could hear himself breathe.”
-- “Brier Rose,” translated by Jack Snipes
* * *
Obi-Wan hurries into the library. “Master Nu!” He bows deeply.
“Ah, young Kenobi.” Jocasta turns from reshelving a holocron about Serenno. She knows who checked it out, and it makes her feel nervous; reading about it only makes him sadder. She nods at the frantic Padawan. “How can I h–”
Obi-Wan gesticulates wildly as he launches into his request. “Yesterday morning my Master Qui-Gon told me he sensed a most curious disturbance in the Force, as though a great power had fallen into the grasp of the Dark Side. He requested me to meditate on this and I did. And I just woke from a dream that I think was important! But I need your help to identity the face that appeared to me!”
“Peace, peace. Have you told your Master yet?”
“No! He’s still asleep! And I wanted to make sure I wasn’t on some wild bantha-chase before I bothered him. I am so glad that the library is open!”
“Yes, we are always open by 5 am.”
“Amazing!” The young man elegantly clears his throat.
“Master Nu, what sort of alien has brown scales, black hair, and red eyes?”
“Take a seat, my lad; let me open a program to help us.” She wakes up a screen on one of the tables. Fortunately, no one else is at the library this early, so she can give Obi-Wan her full attention. “Could it have been a Northern Trandoshan?” She shows a picture of the mild-mannered Senator of Trandosha.
“No, it didn’t have a snout.”
“A Weequay?” She shows a picture of a somewhat-famous pirate.
Obi-Wan is disgusted. “No. The face I saw didn’t look like a skull. It even had something akin to beauty.”
“Perhaps a Vodran?” She shows a HoloNet hero.
“No, it didn’t have any horns.”
“A Bothan?” She shows a very boring chartered accountant.
“No, its hair was like this.” He draws a vampiric hairline across his face.
“Hm.” She taps her fingers on the table.
Obi-Wan bounces his knee up and down ferociously.
“A Grinanin.” She shows a picture of an underwear model; the picture is cropped to just her face, though.
Obi-Wan almost falls off his chair. “That’s it!!”
Jocasta thinks, Of course it is. Boys and Grinanins. Is this really the type of dream I want to know about?
“Very good, Kenobi. The only trouble is that Grinanins have blue, purple, or pink eyes.”
Obi-Wan strokes his chin. “Not if they’re Sith.”
“Sith?” Jocasta purses her lips. “But the Sith have been gone for a thousand years.”
“Yes... But…” He looks up at the shelves. The morning light is just beginning to pour through the windows. “Their holos remain. Master Nu, where was the Sith library?”
“Kenobi, this is hardly appropriate. The Sith library was a place of great evil.”
“I know,” he says solemnly, “And I do not ask lightly, trust me. But Master Qui-Gon needs my help, and I think I am on the right path.”
Jocasta sighs and speaks softly, even though no one is nearby. Obi-Wan leans in conspiratorially.
“The Sith library -- which may or may not have been completely destroyed long ago -- was on the planet Huntt’awn in the distant Sinmeerin sector, the coldest and furthest reaches of the Outer Rim. It is far beyond the long arm of the Republic. If you want to go there, you must have a very, very good reason.”
Obi-Wan nods. His voice is, impossibly, even more solemn than it was before.
“Where is the Sith section of our library?”
“It is the one closest to the window. After all, it is the darkness that most requires the light.”
Obi-Wan nods again.
“I shall be right back.”
He stands up and she grabs the hood of his robe.
“Wait one minute, young man. That section is off-limits to Padawans. You may go under supervision of your Master.”
Obi-Wan tugs his robe from her hand and scowls.
“But Master, I’m not a child. I am twenty years old.”
“Age has nothing to do with it. The temptations of the Dark Side are too great for anyone who has not undergone the trials.”
“I am pure of heart. I swear!”
“The decision is not mine, Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan thinks, It most certainly is!
He looks up at the ceiling, barely containing his irritation, then looks down at her with an expression that he clearly believes is a smile. “Yes, Master Nu!” He bows quickly. “I shall be right back!”
He dashes off, his robes flying behind him.
* * *
Obi-Wan knocks on Qui-Gon’s door, but he cannot wait and opens it. He calls, in a loud whisper, “Master!”
“Hnngh?”
The boy’s presence in the Force wakes Qui-Gon up more than the noise does. He looks at him blearily.
“Um -- sorry Master! But this is urgent!” He enters the dark room and shuts the door behind him. “I had a vision in my dream. I think I know something about the great power which you sensed yesterday.”
Qui-Gon sits up. Obi-Wan feels such affection for the great, barrel-chested knight. He also feels guilty for disturbing him, but Qui-Gon shows no sign of irritation, and Obi-Wan does not expect it from him. Very few people have ever been angry at Obi-Wan.
“Yes?”
Obi-Wan thinks, I will never be as great as he is.
“I saw the face of a Grinanin woman with red eyes. She fizzled out from reality into a holo. I believe this was more than a dream. I think it was a message from the Force, a result of my meditations on the subject.”
“What do you think it means, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon stands up from the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and he turns the light on.
“Grinanins do not have red eyes, but Sith do. She might be a great Sith from the past who left a message on a holocron.”
Qui-Gon goes to the sink to brush his teeth. Obi-Wan follows him.
“A very wise interpretation, my Padawan! Excuse me.”
He shuts the bathroom door in his student’s face.
Obi-Wan is a little embarrassed, but he is too proud and eager to be that embarrassed. He continues speaking to the bathroom door. “Anyway, I thought I might look through the Sith section of the library to see if I can find more information on her. I am not sure how a holocron could be a source of power. It must contain some very important information!”
“Perhaps…”
“Maybe she was a spy. Maybe she figured out some way to--to detect Force-sensitive children, even younger than we can -- or to discover a Jedi’s weakness -- or to invade the Temple! But she died before she could enact her plan. But now it has fallen into the hands of some rapscallion!”
“Mm-hm.”
“The trouble is, I can’t get into the Sith section of the library, since I am only a Padawan. So that’s why I came–”
“Grinanin, you said?”
“Yes, Master!”
Obi-Wan hears the toilet flush, and Qui-Gon opens the door.
“Darth Zaster.”
“What’s a disaster, Master?”
Obi-Wan is quietly amused by the rhyme. Qui-Gon washes his hands in the sink.
“No, Darth Zaster. ‘Darth’ is a Sith title. And ‘Zaster’ is her name. She was a Grinanin Oracle from two millenia ago -- one of the greatest Oracles who ever lived. She made two hundred and nine prophecies, and two hundred and five of them have come true. Not a single one was false.”
“Oh!”
“Almost all of them foretold some terrible tragedy.”
“Oh.” Obi-Wan picks up a shiny object on Qui-Gon’s desk. It snaps around his finger. “Oh -- um –”
“Legend states that when she died, her master sealed the midichlorians of her spirit away in a holocron.”
Obi-Wan gasps. “Just like my vision!”
“Exactly.”
“But if her midichlorians are in a holo -- could they be accessed? Could she be … awoken from the dead?!”
Qui-Gon takes a pause that drives Obi-Wan mad. “That was her master’s intention. However, only a Sith can open a Sith holocron. Just as only a Jedi can open a Jedi holocron.”
“And there are no Sith!”
“Yes. So there is some comfort there. If an agent of the Dark Side has gotten ahold of this spirit of a long-dead Sith, they would still have a very difficult time awakening her.”
“Difficult? Or impossible?”
“Difficult. Not impossible.”
“Really?!”
“Think of your training, Obi-Wan. Have non-Jedi ever been able to open Jedi holocrons?”
Obi-Wan thinks carefully. “Yes. But very rarely.”
Qui-Gon taps his nose. “Thus, for the Sith. Remember, the Jedi are stronger than the Sith. Whatever weaknesses we have -- rare as they are -- the Sith have them too, and more.”
Obi-Wan chuckles. “I never thought I’d find myself wishing the Sith were better at something, even holo security.”
Qui-Gon puts a hand on his Padawan’s shoulder. “You did very well, Obi-Wan. I am proud of you. Your meditation brought us a vision that brings us closer to the truth.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Let us go to the Sith section of the library and see what more we can find on Zaster.”
He starts to head out the door.
“Uh -- Master -- a little help?”
Obi-Wan holds out his finger where the trap is still attached.
With a hearty chuckle, Qui-Gon frees his Padawan’s finger with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be so nosy, Obi-Wan.”
“Yes, Master.”
* * *
Following their research in the Jedi library, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon decide to risk visiting the Sith library on Huntt’awn. All clues indicate that if Zaster’s holo was kept anywhere, it was there. Perhaps they can find a hint as to where the Dark Side agent has taken her. Qui-Gon flies the ship and Obi-Wan sits in the co-pilot’s chair.
Obi-Wan says, “I read some of those prophecies of hers. Very disturbing…”
“Yes. Zaster is an object of fascination among us prophecy-heads. I am glad that you were the one who beheld her in a vision. If I saw her out of the blue, I might have become entirely too diverted.”
Obi-Wan has a hard time imagining Qui-Gon getting excited about anything.
“What is the worst thing she ever predicted?”
“She prophesized the rise of the Zygerrian slave empire. And unlike her more specific prophecies, there was very little the Jedi could do about it. There were just too many complex, inevitable agencies at work. So the slaver’s empire existed for hundreds of years, before we finally stamped it out. Not very long ago, I might add.”
Obi-Wan mumbles “hmm” sadly. He feels glad to not exist at the same time as slavery. He wonders if he would have been able to do something to stop it if he had been there; even “complex, inevitable agencies” can be tamed if one is wise enough.
“What is a prophecy that we were able to stop?” Obi-Wan asks.
“Oh, you cannot stop what has been prophesized from occurring. But sometimes you can do something about it. She foresaw the environmental collapse of Rooshan, which happened just three hundred years ago. The signs which she alluded to lined up in the nick of time, and marked Rooshan as the subject of her prophecy. On her word, the Jedi were able to convince the Rooshanians to give up their doomed efforts of salvaging their atmosphere and to evacuate their homeworld instead. Rooshan is a wasteland now, but the Rooshanians live on, albeit in diaspora.”
“That is a tragedy.”
“Chin up, Obi-Wan. Four billion lives were saved.”
“Are you completely sure that there was nothing that could have been done about Rooshan’s atmosphere?”
“Only a Sith deals in absolutes. I am never completely sure of anything. Perhaps there was some hope for their atmosphere after all. But the Jedi of the time decided that hope was not enough.”
“Did she have any connection to Rooshan? How could she have possibly known about it, especially since it happened over a thousand years after her death?”
“It’s true that Oracles speak more frequently and accurately about familiar things. But the Force connects all things, Padawan, across all time. The Force was very strong with her.”
“You say that not a single one of her prophecies was ever false?”
“Not a one. But there are four left.” He smiles at him. “It is never too late to fail.”
“What are her four remaining prophecies?”
“Oh, just as miserable as the rest of them. Let’s see... ‘A moon is not a moon. There are a thousand non-believers and one believer. The non-believers will perish, and only the believer will survive.’ That’s the first one.”
“Believe in what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sorry, Master.”
“It’s alright. The second one is, ‘He will be the liar’s only hope. He will run from his post. He will not be believed. The truthseeker will break him. He will outlive his home. The other five will die together, but he will die alone.’”
Obi-Wan nods. He regrets asking -- besides how miserable it is, he has no taste for anything so cryptic, even though this stuff is his master’s hobby.
“Mmhm. The third one is, ‘The fake woman descends a ramp. She dies in the first war. The arrogant man does not trip the beast. He dies in the second war. The fainting woman drops a hundred bombs. She dies in the third war. Heed their deaths: do not love anyone who is brave during a war.’”
Obi-Wan rests his gloomy chin on his hand.
“This Zaster was a real piece of work.”
“Oh yes. And the final one is, ‘These sons of bitches are obsessed with light. They make every fucking holiday about it. They put it in their fucking clothes. I can’t fucking stand them.’”
Obi-Wan stares at his serene master in shock.
“‘These unnatural materialists fill their lovely dark with ugly light, and -- lucky for you, my friend -- that wasted effort drains a lot of power. So greedy are they for their electricity, they will build a great power generator within their own palace. So voraciously do they crave that energy, they will dig their great reactor shafts deep, deep into the earth, to a place where no one goes, a place that is dark and safe. There you will find dusty, abandoned spider-droids which were given up for dead. They shall not be dead. They shall bend to your will. You shall not be dead either, my friend. Not yet. It shall not be the end for you, not on that light-obsessed hell-planet. It shall be only the beginning. You will live, my friend, you will live.’”
“That’s her final prophecy?”
“It certainly has a different tone, doesn’t it? Those are the ravings she screamed as she lay dying.”
“And you had that all off the top of your head?”
“Yes, I did. All her other prophecies have come true. It is logical to listen to them.”
“But that prophecy is clearly lunacy.”
“Perhaps...or perhaps, one day, I will find myself on the bottom of a reactor shaft in a power generator within a palace. And if so, I will know to look for the spider-droids.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head.
“This is such nonsense.”
“We can only hope so. If Zaster is only capable of nonsense, then -- even if the most wicked person in the universe gets ahold of her -- she will be useless to them.”
Obi-Wan nods at this wisdom, and then an odd thought occurs to him.
“Such disdain for light is particularly illogical coming from a Grinanin. Grinanins are cold-blooded. Without sunlight, they have no energy of their own.”
“Very good, Obi-Wan. When we get back to the Temple, read up on the Apollonian Secession. One of the cleverer Sith tricks was their cosmic blankets, which would darken the suns over planets and render cold-blooded populations lethargic and compliant. Once Jedi agents pierced these blankets, billions of people awoke in mighty unison to their true selves. The Grinanins were, in fact, one of the first people to rebel against their Sith overlords. If Zaster had lived only a few more decades, we would have had her for ourselves. Think of the happy prophecies she might have made, if only we could have rescued her from evil. Think of how much greater we would be now.”
Obi-Wan does not precisely obey these directions. He thinks about the intricacies of biology, astronomy, and history that his master described. His stomach churns at the idea of intentionally darkening suns, and his heart thrills with pride for the Light Side’s ancient triumph. He tries but fails to long entertain his master’s happier alternate universe. Obi-Wan knows the past is set in stone, and it is pointless to fuss about it.
* * *
That feeling again, that blundering clumsiness, oh Maul… She waits it out, then she sees him sitting there. Her boy.
“Hey,” he says, exhausted as always.
“Hey.”
“You have a ... new outfit,” he says weakly.
“Oh yes. I do. Must be a, uh, seasonal update in the programming.”
“Huh... I liked your old one better, to be frank.”
She breathes out of her nose in amusement. Of course he would insult her before -- apologizing, or whatever. Palpatine would just flatter, Maul does not --
She looks away from the handsome halfbreed to the thing between them. It’s a long, low freezerbox. The text of the brand logo is in spiky Grinanin.
They are outdoors, in the night. The world is brighter and greener than Iridonia, and ought to be even more familiar to her: she was born here, after all. But they are surrounded by strange, quietly humming metallic structures. She sees a great wheel in the distance, 200 feet tall, and what looks like painted steeds impaled on golden poles. One thing at a time, she thinks, a bit dizzy.
“So what is this?” She points at the freezer.
“Okay, so -- I put your stone-body in the Iridonian Temple -- just in case you ever change your mind -- then I convinced my master to take us to your homeworld, so I could find a more -- relevant body for you. It’s been three months. I didn’t want to wake you until I found the best one I could. Here she is.”
He opens the freezer. On a bed of shredded ice lies a corpse -- another eighteen year old Grinanin, and very pretty -- wearing a finely-made, tan-colored Sith student’s robe, a size or two too big. She has a little button nose, big eyes, dollish lips, and brown scales of almost the same color as her own, if a little rounder in shape. In some ways, she is prettier than Dreela. Certainly she is sweeter. Dreela rolls down the corpse’s sleeve and sees a tattoo of a snake around her wrist.
“You gave her my tattoo.”
“You’re not you without it. I painted it on the first body, too, if you had bothered to notice.”
“You also gave that one horns and teeny boobs.”
She prods the corpse’s boobs. Acceptable.
“Look, I was young and foolish,” he responds. “Anyway, horns are fun; you can gore people with them. And store cheese on them to eat for later.”
Dreela laughs. It sounds so sad to Maul. Her state of being must be getting so hard for her. He doesn’t blame her at all for being so bitter and tragic. But this will make things different.
Dreela lifts the corpse’s eyelids and sees her irises are light purple.
“I’m sure they’ll turn red once you, a Sith, occupy them,” Maul assures her.
“Is this on Sidious’ advice? Or was this your own idea?”
“I asked him how to recreate a dead body, how to create a body from air, you know, all this stuff. He didn’t have anything useful to say. This is all my own idea.”
“And how will you get me in her?”
“Same as before. The Nightsister stuff.”
Dreela sighs.
“It works on corpses too. Your presence would even make her blood flow again. Do you want to see?”
“No. As little of that as possible, please.”
Maul shuts the freezer and takes her hand with the Force.
“This is the only way, girl.”
Dreela flinches at his touch.
“What is it? Why do you shudder? Do you really hate me now?”
Dreela thinks, Principles are for Jedi. He is good to me. He is still my friend.
“No, I don’t hate you, it’s just…”
Maul smirks. “Has the gay rubbed off? You can’t stand the touch of men now? Homophobic science has been onto something this whole time?”
Dreela shakes her head and holds his hand tighter. “No... I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.”
“On that, we are alike.”
Dreela feels a sob rise from her chest. Her tears fizzle on the holo. They hurt like little needles. She forgot water did that to her in this inferior form.
“I beg you, Dreela, baby, darling, sugar to my tea, kyber to my saber, darkness to my night, please, just try it, just one hour. I can put you back if you don’t like it.”
Dreela looks at him through that horrible blue haze. She wants to see his redness, so badly. And that body really did look very good. It would be fun to wear Maul’s clothes too; she always wanted to.
“What would we do for an hour? I love you, but the sex is bad. Did you make a lightsaber for me? We could always spar. I miss sparring.”
“No, I haven’t made a lightsaber for you. I have something better.” He lets go of her hand and flips backwards onto his feet. He grabs a big red switch on a pole and throws it down. With a loud whir, the amusement park all around them comes to life -- the Ferris wheel and carousel turn, strings of warm electric lights burn brightly, rollercoasters as white as bone are illuminated against the stars.
“Wh-what is this?!!”
“You didn’t have amusement parks in the Year of Our Fate 7548?”
“No?”
“It’s fun! Uh -- basically, these machines throw you around and get you scared.”
“OoOOoh! So non-Sith have fun getting scared too?”
“Nowadays -- yeah.”
She looks her poor friend in the eyes.
“Yes.”
“Yes -- you’ll do it?”
“You’ll do it, babe, I’ll just lie there.”
“You won’t regret it.”
He sets them up for the ritual. She sees, but does not feel, his hand on her forehead; she hears him muttering those chilling words, the green smoke pouring from his eyes and ears and mouth, swirling up into the already greenish atmosphere of Grinanin.
The feeling of this magic is different from the feeling of waking up from her holo, whether by Maul’s clumsy effort or Sidious’ skill.
While using the Force as a Sith connects one to everything around you, opens you up to the vastness of space, this magic feels like curling up into someone’s lap -- Maul’s bony, muscular lap -- the particularities of his familiar scent -- they have so much in common, their faith, their vanity, their sense of humor, and, most of all, their affection for one another.
She opens her eyes.
“I’M COLD!!! AAUUUGGHHH!!!”
She flails around in the ice. Maul lifts her out and spins on his heels with her in his arms.
“It’s COLD and I’m all WET! YOU BASTARD, I’M COLD-BLOODED!!!”
Maul carries her over to some pristinely-maintained shrubbery and sets it alight with his saber. He puts her on her feet and she wobbles over to the fires, arm around his waist.
“How does it feel, beside how co--”
She responds in a demonic shriek: “IT’S FUCKING COLD, MY LORD DARTH MAUL, PRINCE OF EVIL.”
He shuts up. They stand still for many tense, quavering minutes. She gazes at the fire in a stupor, blinking slowly, beholding her beautiful friend in only her peripheral vision. Once she feels a little energy return to her brain, she turns to look at him, straight on, for the first time. Of course he is already staring at her. The love in his eyes is ferocious. She reaches out and touches his flushed, hardened face. Finally she speaks, in a soft, kind voice.
“It feels good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. A little tall, and a little weak of the muscle. But good.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t find someone with a Sith level of physical training who was also beautiful.”
“I can fix the weakness. I like working out.”
“Give me a hug,” he says. She hugs him, then again, tighter, holding the back of his head. He buries his face in her neck and she feels his breath flutter between her scales.
This is my first hug ever, he thinks. I see why people go to war for this kind of thing. “Did I deliver?” he mumbles into her neck.
She feels like she could cry, and she encourages the feeling -- that deep sensation of all her body parts working together to make tears, her chest and tummy and face and throat. It is more than Sidious could provide. Her tears are hot.
“Yes.”
Maul holds her face. “Your eyes are red as blood. Lord Darth Zaster, princess of the Sith.”
Dreela smiles with pure happiness. “Wonderful. But don’t I look strange to you?”
Maul shakes his head. “I can tell it’s you. You move your muscles in the same way. We are not our crude bodies. We are the dark secret within them.”
“Thank you, Maul.” She holds him again and presses her face to his chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dreela.” He laughs, light-headed and nervous. “I’m so glad I won’t have to bleed like a pig just to see you.”
“Me too. Where -- where is my holo?”
“Here.” He picks it up off the floor and gives it to her. It has turned off, even the glow of its letters. She puts it in her sleeve pocket. It fits well.
“Now that I’m out, I don’t want to go back in.”
“Good.”
“But where will I stay?”
“I furnished a cave for you in the woods. It’s not much, I must admit, but it’s all yours. Do you want to see it?”
Dreela shakes her head. “Later, later. I’m sure it’s fine. Now, you must scare me on these machines.”
“Yes, sister.”
He sets her up on the carousel and fastens the belt around her waist. He starts the machine, runs back to her, and holds her firmly as she shrieks with surprise. Layers of mysterious voices occasionally pile up on top of hers at her most uncontrolled moments, but only to scream and laugh. Maul takes her on every kiddie coaster and relaxing tunnel, stopping between each ride to warm her at another fire, until hardly any of the park’s landscaping remains.
* * *
Zaster wakes up -- all on her own -- not from her holo prison -- but from deep sleep. Sleep is unnatural to Sith, but this body has not been trained to fall into their holy meditative state, so she’ll just have to tolerate sleep until she can retrain herself, it shouldn’t be that hard -- or maybe... maybe she’ll keep sleep -- she hasn’t slept in two years -- well, two thousand-two years -- she put it away with her childhood -- but now that she’s done it again -- it felt really good, to lose control so completely, to be so relaxed and far away -- why not sleep? Her master is gone, no one is holding her accountable, she doesn’t have to do anything for anyone -- she stretches out -- she’s in a hammock between two stalagmites, wrapped in a soft fleece blanket -- how did she get here? Oh, she remembers, she was so tired from the rides, Maul carried her here and tucked her in, and then he left... She turns her head, she feels her bones creak -- what an awful feeling, but surely it will go away, it’s probably a consequence of sleep -- she sees sunlight passing through the vines which obscure the entrance to the cave -- she feels her stomach rumble -- she looks around the cave, she is only in the entrance area, there are a couple tunnels behind her -- in front of her, Maul put a red shag circular rug, on which he stacked a lot of food he stole from the amusement park -- she pigged out last night, her first food since death, but the candy and popcorn do not look that appealing to her right now -- she sees he dragged the freezerbox here, it is plugged into a rechargeable battery which is at 73% -- she rolls out of bed and opens it, he killed a grin-deer and put it in there for her to eat -- good job hunting, bitch, but she’s not going to eat this raw, and she doesn’t know how to cook it -- she has a sudden creeping fear that she’s in way over her head, and so is her young caretaker -- if she had a lightsaber, she could skin it and cut it with that, and cook it and make a fire -- he should have left his lightsaber! If he really loved her, he would’ve -- ugh, whatever -- she sees he’s also put a mirror in here -- she squints in the dimness and sees that stranger’s face in it, and feels an intense nervousness and sadness that she really, really hoped wouldn’t happen -- regret -- when he comes back, she’ll ask him to put her back, she can’t do this -- no, she can, she will, this is a better life -- her stomach rumbles again, she grumpily eats some of the popcorn -- what a miserable state!
So, what else is here -- a nice wooden chest, full of clothes -- well, they’re alright, they must be the modern Grinanin fashion -- a tiny portable stove, three silver pots and a set of utensils, a barrel of water, a crate of wine bottles, a priceless Sith translation plugin with four trashy novels: "Loving Wookiees," "The Jedi who Left the Order for Me (Based on a True Story)," "Sex Droid," and "Among the Clouds" -- a pack of hallucinogenic death sticks, a blaster -- thank hell for that, she was afraid he left her unarmed -- and a bag of gold coins and a holo-map to the nearest town. It’s an hour’s walk. Is there really nothing better to eat? No caf? Dammit, Maul!
She draws back the vines at the cave entrance and looks around. The woods are deep and cold. There are surely mushrooms or something out there. But she doesn’t want to leave -- it isn’t warm in here, but it’s even colder out there.
She wraps herself in the blanket, shivering; she fills a bowl with water and chocolate candies and sets it on the stove to make hot chocolate. She picks up the Wookiee book and flips through it to the nasty parts. She opens one of the wines, dumps a splash of it into the hot chocolate, and curls up with her bowl and book on her hammock. She finishes the drink and, feeling a little better and warmer, falls asleep again.
She wakes up thirty minutes later, staggers out of bed and opens the freezerbox again. No eggs? No vegetables? Just a carcass? She stabs it with a knife and cold blood comes out -- disgusting -- how do you cut it, how do you cook it? -- She remembers that Zabraks are carnivores and love raw meat. Stupid Maul! Doesn’t he know that no one else can live like that?! -- Maybe not. He is so innocent.
She must go to town to buy more food. Will they accept these gold coins? Wait...She will have no idea what they are saying! She has been speaking this whole time in the ancient frozen language of the Sith, a language that can only be passed in direct line from Master to student -- no one else is going to know it!! For every other language, it has been 2000 years!!
She will just have to bear it... How will she get by without a translator and a guide?
What if someone recognizes this Grinanin stranger’s face?
Where is Maul?
Come on! I have a BODY! I am ALIVE! I’m not trapped in ANYTHING! I fear NOTHING!
Dressed and armed, she walks out and starts to head to town -- nervously, she stops and looks back at the cave entrance -- she sees something glinting behind the vines, something in a very tiny cave to the right side of her own -- she moves the vines and sees a bright red speeder, brand new -- she pulls it out with the Force and looks at it, it’s beautiful, like a big red spike with a luxurious chair -- she sits in it, it has that new speeder smell -- she revs it up -- on the speeder, she makes it to town in only ten minutes -- she gets her first look at civilization in the Republic and feels sick to her stomach, where is the red flag of the Sith Empire? -- she reminds herself that she is ALIVE, and that should be, must be, can only be enough -- she pretends to be deaf, she gets a big breakfast from a diner by pointing and nodding, she fills her aching stomach with their hot food -- she pays with one gold coin and gets a strange expression and a lot of change back -- dammit, Maul -- she needs him to explain what all these coins mean before she buys anything else -- but she doesn’t need anything else now -- she returns to her cave, taking the most direct route since she is nervous, and no one is on her tail, as far as she can tell -- she smokes one of the hallucinogens, lies in her cot and sees all kinds of crazy shit, it whiles away her time as she waits... He doesn’t show up all day, she drives back to her diner and gets a gigantic dinner and saves the leftovers in a box which she stores in the freezer on top of the grin-deer. Battery at 65%.
Nothing happens the next day either, but she stays in the cave almost all day and gets into more of a routine. She reads her books and sleeps, mostly, and warms up leftovers, and enjoys the fairground food, and wonders what to do with her grin-deer carcass. And thinks. What should she do now? She drives around and finds a pond with a waterfall to take a bath in. The water is warm -- this is Grinanin, after all, her people evolved here -- two thousand years later, and she is still suited for this world. She wishes she could shed her skin again, just for the fun of it, but her body doesn’t need to yet.
She returns from her bath and smokes another stick... She hallucinates about the bath, and about her bath before that, the one under the gaze of that powerful Sith Lord -- high on the drug, she nearly loses her breath thinking of him, his exhilarating strength in the Force that made her holo project herself so vividly, in her own familiar body, shorter and stronger than this one -- much stronger -- tears pour from her eyes, remembering his power all around her like a castle -- she hallucinates Sidious and his body mixing with hers -- she hallucinates her Master Sunke, her Shell, making love to her, kissing and holding her, and teaching her everything he knows about the Force, and she cries harder -- she remembers how her greatest prophecies came to her mind while she was in her happiest place, on his lap, his arms around her -- she misses him -- how could he go to all this trouble to save her, and not save himself? This selflessness does not become a Sith... And now she must go on without him... Damn the Jedi, for ripping them apart -- she hallucinates her revenge against them, blowing up New Life Star again and again, stabbing her poisoners with her lightsaber, those supposed doctors who were actually murderers -- the smiling face of the Jedi doctor who had captured her -- a halfbreed of course, as all the worst people are, a Togrutan-human abomination -- he chained her up and poisoned her with a colony of parasites -- and released her back to the Sith, to infect the others -- her own sisters had to isolate her -- she couldn’t touch anyone, she could only see them through windows, as her body grew sicker and sicker, and the parasites inside became stronger, threatening to outsmart their prison walls and poison everyone she loved -- until her sisters gave up hope and commanded her to swallow a pill to kill herself -- she obeyed them, but took another pill too, to drift into death in her sleep -- so that, as she was unconscious, her master could transfer her into the holo -- he loved her body, HER body -- she misses him -- she has defiled herself -- Maul has defiled her, and disobeyed her master’s wishes -- she hallucinates running Maul through with her lightsaber, she giggles -- she can’t get her laugh right in this strange body -- her voice box is shaped differently, she can get a lot of her voice to sound how it was, but not her laugh -- she hallucinates Sunke shaking hands with Sidious, and handing her holo to him -- she acts it out with the shadows of her hands on the cave wall, she does voices for them -- Sunke placing all his trust in Sidious, and Sidious swearing to fulfill the great plan -- Sunke was a mighty Force wielder, one of the mightiest -- but he was not as strong as Sidious is.
She falls asleep in the throes of the hallucination, all the images spinning into nonsense and chaos, then stillness. As she lies there in the complete darkness, a blue light passes through the curtain of vines -- the antenna of a probe droid.
* * *
Maul opens one eye and sees Sidious has finally left -- a chance, yes! -- it has been nearly a week!! He bends up and unties his feet from the Temple ceiling; he flips around in the air and lands on his hands and feet. He sneaks to the backdoor, but he is suddenly lifted up with the Force and tied upside-down to the ceiling once more.
Maul groans. “Master, this training has outlived its usefulness.”
Sidious sits in shadows in the corner of the room. “This training is over when I say it’s over.”
“I’m learning nothing new.”
“Hardly any lessons are new. Most are old. Do you have somewhere else to be?”
Maul balls his fists and grits his teeth.
We have no way to communicate. She could have been eaten by grin-bears. Or discovered by locals. She could have run out of wine.
“...Yes.”
“You?” Sidious laughs. “Where?”
“...I met someone.”
“Oho! Someone you care for?”
“A native lad. Gams to die for. Nice ass. Massive wang.”
“You arranged a date with him?”
“Oh yes, and I’m already very late.”
“Apprentice -- you are a secret. No one can know of you. Jedi spies and traitors are everywhere. You may have already been duped by one.”
“He’s only a boy.”
“No one.”
“You must let me go, then. He already knows about me. I’ll bring back his head for you to secure the leak.”
“Barbaric. Let him instead think you were only a dream. Every murder brings you closer to getting caught, and to endangering the secret of all the remaining Sith and our way of life.”
“I shall not get caught.”
“You shall have your fun with him before you kill him?”
“Naturally.”
Sidious sighs. “When I handpicked my apprentice from all the Force-sensitive babies in the galaxy, too young for the Jedi to detect and take for themselves -- from all the most powerful races, the proudest peoples -- and when I chose the youngling with the purest, rawest wellspring of power, just one from among thousands of wriggling newborns -- I had no idea I was picking a faggot.”
Maul dramatically clutches his heart and bends up so that his head is between his knees. “Oh, do mind my fragile faggot feelings, Master! Your words are like arrows to my sensitive faggot heart!”
“Why do I get the feeling that you will be the first Sith in a thousand years who gives away our existence?”
Maul unbends and lets his arms hang down below him, blood rushing back to his head and tired fingers. Turning right-side-up so briefly only made the dizziness worse.
He thinks of Zaster and Sunke -- how could they have loved each other? How is that possible for a student and teacher? What is it like to not be hated by your teacher?
“Master, have I ever failed you in anything? Have I ever come up even an inch short on any task you have ever given me? My whole life has been at your service. You are my master. You are my life. What more must I do to prove my loyalty to you, above all else?”
Sidious smiles up at him, highly amused. Maul flatters better than even Blara -- and what is better, Sidious senses real longing in Maul’s heart, mourning for a relationship that has never existed except in Maul’s deluded mind.
“I can think of a couple things. For one, don’t lie to me.”
Maul’s brow furrows very slightly.
“I know about the Oracle. You know I know.”
Maul takes a deep breath.
“Little Dreela is no stranger to me.”
“What?”
“We have spoken. And more.”
“You...?! What have you done to her?”
“What have I done? What have you done? Taking her from her holo and placing her in a borrowed corpse?”
“I saved her.”
“You defiled her.”
“How long have you been speaking to her?”
“Almost as long as you have. She hasn’t told you?”
Maul is stunned. Then with a burst of ferocity he squirms to free himself from the bonds tying him to the ceiling. Sidious tightens them.
“You lie!!”
“My goodness. Look at you. She must have mentioned me, though. Did she not ask you to ask me how to bring back her body?”
“Where is she? What did you do?”
“Did she not tell you about the pleasures I had with her?”
Rage sears Maul from within. He throws his lightsaber at Sidious and ignites it at the last minute. Sidious deflects it easily, raises his hand and shoots Force-lightning at Maul. The boy screams, more in anger than in pain.
“Why does that bother you? Are you jealous?”
Maul screams at him as loudly as he can. “She is a true Sith! The truest Sith in the universe! And you are the most false! You selfish, cowardly human monster! I am surprised the glory of her presence didn’t render you into dust!! You are not worth a hair on her head! -- And I bet she got a lot more pleasure out of you than you got from her!”
“Are you finished?”
“Thief! I had one thing! One thing for me! You have so much! You glutton!”
The young man bends back his arm and Force-punches his master. He lands the blow, striking Sidious. His middle-aged face is thrust to the side, and Sidious grunts in pain. Maul is shocked, horrified at what he has done to his own master -- he feels so guilty, but he hides that guilt within his fury. His chest rises and falls powerfully, fearfully.
“...Yes, I am finished, Master.”
Sidious turns his head slowly to face Maul. A bruise is already forming around his eye.
“There is one more thing you can do to prove your loyalty to me above all else.”
A tear falls from Maul’s eye, down through the air, and splashes onto the ground.
“Anything, Master.”
“I chose you to be my apprentice. Not her. I do not wish for two apprentices. I am taking good care of her, as I am of you, but I cannot keep you both. The wisdom of our ancestors limited the Sith to two. You and I are the true two. You must kill her.”
“I can put her back in the holo. We can put her back in the library. There is no need to kill her.”
“Oh, but there is. When I found her, starving and half-mad in the cave where you left her, I killed the cursed body you made for her straight away, and put her back in her holo. Then I strengthened the power of the holo with my own power, until I had manipulated the midichlorians inside of it into her true, proper body. I emptied the holo. We threw it away.”
“You mean … she is alive? In her own body?”
“She begged me for help. I could not deny her.”
“You brought her back to life just so I could kill her?”
“Hm, well, when you put it that way, it does seem a little cruel.”
“Just put her back in the holo. Her master could do that, and you are stronger than he was.”
“Perhaps I am, but I do not have the skill. Master Sunke studied that art for years.”
“Let us go back to the library. All Sunke’s notes are there, just beside where I found Zaster. If you don’t want to read them, then I will.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
Maul is silent.
“There is only one position open. You must fight for it.”
“She doesn’t have a lightsaber.”
Sidious laughs. “Oh, she does. She does.”
“...Yes, Master. I will fight her and kill her. For you.”
Sidious holds up his hand in the dark and twists it to read his student’s little mind. Maul may say that he will kill her, but inside, he is wondering how he will save her.
Sidious has taken measurement of them both. Zaster is stronger in the Force, and -- unknown to Maul -- a stronger warrior. Maul does not even have the will to fight. Maul is doomed. But Sidious will wait until Zaster has given him his prophecy … just in case.
#my story#my art#through a blackened mirror#cw drugs#cw homophobia#obi-wan kenobi#jocasta nu#qui-gon jinn#darth maul#darth zaster#sheev palpatine#scifi#fairytale#cw abuse#cw sex abuse
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So I've been obsessing over dragon age lately so I wanted to draw Naruto and Sasuke in a dragon age way. Things got out of hand though and I ended up writing out a whole ass background.
Naruto: Grew up an orphan. Being literally the only Qunari in the city, he faced harsh treatment. He aspired to be as great of a templar as his father was and joined up the moment he could. It had been difficult to get accepted, but he never gave up and now many of the Templars see him as an honorable brother. He left the Templars for mysterious circumstances, which was very confusing since the Templars were his biggest dream. Maybe his new boyfriend knows?
Sasuke: NOT a mage. Seriously. Grew up in the alienage with his brother after a wild fire destroyed their home out in the forest. He was part of a mercenary group for a long time, but quit at the behest of his brother. His sword is wood for PRACTICAL reasons thank you very much. Don't wanna accidentally hurt someone. Has no idea why his silly little boyfriend would leave the Templars quit asking. And don't ask how he and Naruto can even work as a couple, he still wonders that himself. Though he jokes about their mismatched personalities, he would do anything for that dummy.
Minato and Kushina: Minato was known as an amazing templar. they met when Minato was chasing a maleficar. Kushina was part of a Tal Vashoth encampment roaming the area. They fell in love, and Kushina choose to stay behind when her encampment moved to greener pastures. While they both suffered a lot from the other citizens, they died when abominations attempted to overtake the city leaving their only son behind. Minato became known as a hero, though the hate and fear of the Qunari remained despite Kushina's role in saving the city.
Fugaku and Mikoto: Sad story honestly. Mikoto lived in the alienage her whole life, but when her parents had set her up to marry a man she didn't know she ran. She had decided to try to find the mythical savage Dalish. They found her instead when she was being attacked by wolves. Fugaku had just became Keeper then, used his magic to heal her and allowed her to live with them. They fell in love quickly like a pair bonded by the creators. They had 2 sons. Their eldest was just given their first set of vallaslin but a year ago when things when tragic. A wild fire ripped through the forest on a dry day, leaving only their two sons alive who had been given the task of trading in the city.
Itachi: Strong willed with the heart of a keeper, though he hadn't been blessed with the magic of one. After seeing the wild fire devastating the forest, he decided to stay the night in the city and wait till morning. leaving the city with his little brother in tow they came upon their home burnt to cinders with no one left alive. He made the decision to stay in the city. Once Sasuke began to show magic abilities he took the initiative to show him how to hide his magic. Itachi became Keeper of the alienage once he was of age and the alienage prospered.
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Sendoff
Pairing Gen Anders & Warden
Summary It's time for the next landsmeet, but before the Warden can leave Amaranthine, she has a few matters to attend to and things to set in motion.
Warnings None
Words 2126
A/N This has been sitting around almost finished for too long so I decided the time has come to finish and just post it.
For now, it's just this chapter with Anders, but I might come back and write more of these goodbye's at the Vigil or reunions at Denerim if inspiration strikes me or if one gets requested.
AO3 Link
Anders
The blasted wind was howling through every crack of the keep, chasing her along the corridors while the shuffling of her slippers echoed off the cold stone walls. The slippers and her nightgown were adorned with her family’s crest and had been sent over from Highever a few days ago. Yet, all the comfy sleepwear in Thedas couldn’t make the nights at the Vigil feel less cold and unwelcoming.
It felt like the keep was outwardly rejecting her. She clutched the two mugs closer to her heart in an attempt to fend the discomfort off.
She should have been used to stormy nights. After all, Svea Cousland had grown up on the coast. In Highever she knew the spots where the builders had filled in all the cracks to make it quiet for her.
In the Vigil, there were no quiet spots.
Ironically there had always been a high chance that she would live in Vigil's Keep one day. Just no one could have dreamed up the circumstances. After everything she’d been through, it felt like a victory to stroll about the place in Grey Warden armour at day and her cosy family-crested nightwear at night.
One particularly nasty draft ruffled the shawl around her shoulders, and she quickened her pace to follow the glint of candlelight to the grand hall.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn't a candle at all.
A magelight was dancing over the table at the far end of the hall. On the table, a tabby was chasing the shining ball of blue, though the wild jumping only got him tangled up in the tablecloth.
"You know, the others will not like it if you get him used to playing on the table," Svea announced herself. "No one is particularly fond of him even sitting at the table as it is."
The mage scoffed and scooped the cat into his lap while his commander sat down opposite him and slid him one of the mugs. He sniffed the steaming hot tea. She'd made sure to grab Anders’ favourite.
"How did you know to find me here?"
"Just a feeling."
She would never admit it, but she thought Anders had something about him, whether it was intentional or just a mage thing he wasn't consciously doing. On nights like these, the air around him was almost drawing people in with a pulsating warmth and soothing aura. It made him a good companion for late-night chats. On top of that, it seemed he as well had increasing trouble with sleeping as of late. Tonight, it was likely the same worries keeping them both restless.
Come morning, when the Warden-Commander would be well on the road to Denerim to attend the landsmeet, in Vigil's Keep a templar would undergo his joining. And Svea had the bad feeling the man would make it through. Honestly, she had expected Anders to bolt the day the recruit first showed up, still in his templar armour and eyes on the mage the moment he'd spotted him. Out of some combination of trust, loyalty and friendship, Anders was still here, but she needed to make sure his trust was not misplaced in her.
"You haven't been sleeping as much as you should," she said watching Anders grab a nearby pot of honey to add several scoops to his already aching sweet beverage.
"You as well." He pointed accusingly with his spoon.
"True."
She started to stir her tea absentmindedly this way and that, changing directions and back again.
"It's just... I'm worried about leaving everyone so soon." There was no point in making him feel bad by being singled out. He would already know she was mainly worried about him.
"Well, it's not like you can postpone this, can you?" He bent to sip his tea just to break out in giggles halfway. "Imagine! *Sorry, I can't see the king right now I need to spend time with these apostates and rogues.*"
Despite her mood, she laughed along. It was an amusing thought.
"Besides," Anders went on, "you are the Queen. Warden-Commander. Hero of Ferelden. Lady Saved-All-Our-Asses-From-The-Blight. There must be something you can do."
"Yet, I feel like I'm on thin ice. I just don't know with whom exactly."
Sometimes Svea’s recruits did not yet fully grasp how the Wardens operated and what the post of Warden-Commander entailed. Maybe she didn't even herself. But it was important for Anders’ sake they'd talk about it.
"You know what I'm saying, right?"
"You might not be the Commander forever," he said casting his eyes into his lap. "And not be able to stick your neck out for me any longer." She noticed his hands tighten in the cat’s fur.
"Right now I'm not really anyone's favourite. Half of Ferelden thinks me a power-hungry schemer and the other half thinks I'll hand them to the Orlesians.”
It was sickening, really. The more responsibilities and titles she got, the more her superiors and the politics made her feel powerless and trapped. Two feelings she wanted to shield Anders from, now that he was with the Wardens.
“What I'm actually doing is not answering missives, making deals with talking darkspawn and witches left and right, and I have gone toe to toe with the templars, the chantry and several noble houses directly."
"Don't forget the part where you conscripted a bunch of assholes to the Warden ranks."
Svea rolled her eyes but continued undeterred. "As it stands, I have been a Warden for about a year, untrained and unsupervised. Queen of controversial decisions, Commander Was-Our-Only-Choice and Lady of Causing-More-Problems-Than-She's-Worth, is what I am,” she said, only half-joking.
But Svea didn’t get to finish that train of thought. Apparently, Anders was not one to stand for talking oneself down like that. He abruptly rose from the bench, with his warm aura leaving the table’s vicinity and a startled Ser-Pounce-A-Lot into fleeing the hall.
"To think this is the thanks you get.” He started to pace in front of her, weaving one hand into his hair pulling some strands loose and gesturing with the other. "You ended the blight!"
"Yes, that's what made me Commander, but now the Order will rein me back in. Can’t expel me. But I'm being sent on all these assignments and soon they will counsel me to step down to have more time for royal duties. Did you know they ignored who I’d endorsed to be my substitute? It's obvious my 'Archdemon-Slayer'-grace period will end soon."
Voicing her concerns somehow made them even worse instead of easing her mind. She found she was clenching her hands and holding back tears of frustration. Anders, always the healer, picked up on it immediately and halted his pacing to sit back down.
"Wardens, Chantry, Nobility. I am a nuisance to, well, everyone really, and I need to make sure that does not further reflect on anyone else. Especially all of you, my friends." She scrunched up her nose and gave him a look. “I feel like I’m failing you, Anders.”
“You’re not failing anyone. It’s Fereleden that’s failing you.” Anders slowly extended his hands to her, his comforting aura creeping back into the space between them. Svea slipped hers into the offered palms. "Besides, us nuisances have to stick together, don't we, Commander?"
He gave her that wink of his and waited for a smile to creep on her face before he continued. "Here's what you'll do. You'll go to Denerim and enjoy the time you have there with your husband. Don't worry about little old me, I'll stick close to the rotting corpse spirit. Pretty sure Rolan shits his breeches whenever he's in the room. If necessary, I'll bunk up with Howe, bet he'll love that."
"Oh, he'll be *delighted.”*
Anders was grinning ear to ear, but the look in his eyes was the look of a man desperately trying to make himself believe his own words. And convince his friend along with himself.
"Promise me, Svea," he punctuated with a stern look. "For the next few days, you'll not worry about Wardens or Darkspawn. Enjoy Denerim. Make the most of it.”
Anders was right. She had been looking forward to seeing her brother. Rumour was he was looking to get engaged. And of course, she longed to reunite with Alistair. Next to him, her time since the last landsmeet had been positively calm and uneventful.
Anders noted the faraway look in her eyes. “Seriously, we’ve all noticed how you’ve been missing his royal handsomeness.“
She had heard it all from Anders, every smart remark under the sun about being married. He had a permanent bruise from where she'd box him for his inappropriate comments. But these days the only way he reacted to the topic of love was by giving an understanding nod and starting to get quiet.
“And you, Anders?” Svea startled him out of his thoughts. “Who have you been missing?”
She caught the charming look creeping onto his face, the one he used to lie his way out of situations, but then he looked away, seemingly mulling something over.
His poignant sarcasm had grown into pure cynicism as of late and he'd taken to sulking and - one might say - even brooding when no one was around. At first, she'd thought he'd finally started to process what happened to him in the circle. But as he'd made progress in working through that, something that had happened less recently started to preoccupy his mind.
Before she left for Denerim she had to get to the bottom of that.
“Do you think the circle in Kirkwall heard about Kinloch Hold?”
That, she was not expecting. “I’m sure they know in detail, Wynne has been reporting to the college of enchanters.”
“Meaning, if one didn’t know I’d escaped shortly beforehand, they’d likely think me dead,” Anders concluded.
Svea had no idea what point he was trying to make or where this conversation was going.
“I mean, the templars know you’re here. Remember Rolan? We were just talking about that.”
“Sure, a templar would know,” he said occupying his hands with the empty mug. “But I’m not talking about a templar.”
“So there is someone you have been thinking about,” Svea said a bit too triumphantly before toning it down a notch. “And you’re worried they think you’re dead.”
“He,” Anders replied without missing a beat then blushed. “It’s not like you and Alistair, though, we haven’t seen each other in - maker - it must’ve been over ten years now.”
She jumped up and then shot Anders an apologetic look about her excitement while he was reminiscing about a lost lover. She wandered to the nearby sideboard, which was always stocked with parchment and envelopes. For the Warden-Commander it was important her wardens were able to keep in contact with their families.
“Write to him,” she said and placed the writing utensils in front of him.
Anders stared at the parchment for a long time and there were muscles in his jaw twitching that had never appeared before. Svea went to straighten the tablecloth and picked up the empty mugs to give him some space.
“I’ll think about it,” Anders finally concluded.
“Sleep on it. Should you decide to write the letter, do not worry about any templars reading it.”
Anders lifted his head quizzically.
“No one would dare open a sealed letter from the queen not addressed to them, would they?” she clarified with a gleam in her eyes. “My quarters - in particular, my lowest desk drawer - will be closed upon my leave. I think Sigrun will appreciate the challenge.” With that, she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Anders stopped her and raised to lay a hand on her shoulder. He looked uncertain before he stammered out some form of thanks.
“One more thing, Anders.” Svea smiled at her friend sadly. “As dashing as you look in your Grey Warden robes, the Seamstress is expecting a visit from you in the next days. You might have use for robes that do not identify you as a warden at some time in the future.”
Anders’ hand on her shoulder tightened before he pulled her in for a hug, unable to conjure any other form of communication anymore.
“See you in the morning for my send-off then?” Svea asked upon him letting go of her.
Anders nodded, and as Svea left the hall to return to her chambers she saw him sit back down quill in hand. The wind was still blowing, and she wrapped herself back in her shawl already missing the comfort of the healer. A strange feeling nagged at her, and she couldn’t shake off the thought, that she would miss his warmth for a very long time before she would have her friend back at her side.
#dragon age#starstranded#dragon age fanfiction#dragon age fanfic#anders#karl thekla#female warden#female cousland#warden cousland#warden commander#dragon age awakening
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