#NEVER TRUST AMBER WITH DRAFTS

[loaksbitch]

blame tumblr for deleting my draft and make me rework this with rush— now girlies, imagine jealous neteyam pull you to his side, claiming you as his yes? this is the long awaited update (pt 3) of the i trusted you series.

warnings - hard angst, vulgar language, jealous neteyam i repeat, JEALOUSY NETEYAM! ugh, cussing, neteyam is tired of hurting and trying, kiri is best girl for boosting up neteyam to make a step kinda? that’s it for now!

likes and reblogs are appreciated for the final part! i love each and every one of you babies mwah!! — 3.2k wc and poor-ish grammar

“i want to trust you.” — neteyam sully (★,꩜)

here’s part (one) – (two) — (four) of this series

neteyam’s state wasn’t good when he went back home.

you’re leaving the clan because of him, you’re leaving your home, your childhood, your everything because of him.

you’re leaving him because of him.

still not accepting the words you’ve said to him, he hadn’t noticed his younger sister waiting for him right when he got back to the village, hunting long forgotten.

kiri on other hand had enough, she’s tired of seeing her brother suffer for what he was trying to make right, especially after that night. the night she saw her perfect brother kneel in front of a female na’vi begging you not to go.

“neteyam,” his name being called, pulls him out from his thoughts and his tired eyes land on his sister who has her arms crossed against her chest. “what part of leave me alone don’t they understand?” neteyam silently says under his breath

“you know i can hear you right?” kiri scoffs

“what part of i want to be alone don’t you all understand?” this time he says it clearly and louder. neteyam doesn’t give her time before walking past her and if only if it wasn't for her next words? he wouldn’t have frozen at his spot.

“if you love her, go for her.”

there she goes again, now he needs to tell her he doesn’t want to hear anything about that future mate of his, that female na’vi he doesn’t even want.

“kiri.” he starts to turn and face her, his amber eyes swollen and puffy it makes her sad. “i’ll say this for the last time, i don’t want anyone to bring äy—“

“i’m not talking about äyea and you know it.”

his heart dropped, amber eyes slightly widening like he was caught. neteyam searches for more explanation from his sister, kiri softly smiles and he definitely knows who she’s talking about

“y/n, neteyam, i’m talking about y/n.” his skin itches at your name being called and he walks fast to his sister before grabbing her by her arms. nobody has to know, not like this and he won't risk to lose you like this

“look, you can’t tell no one, okay?” he’s shaking his sister so hard that her shoulders are hurting. “i can't lose her, if the clan knows they’ll take her away from me.” his body is trembling, neteyam’s mind was too occupied with the worst scenarios that would happen if they find out about you just like this.

kiri closes her eyes and calms herself before trying to do the same for her brother. “nete, calm down” she places her small hands on his cheek. “you’ve to calm down, for her?” she knew you’re his weakness and he would do anything with your name

“i won’t tell anyone.” kiri watches neteyam’s eyes blink, confused and processing her words, “but you must tell them, everyone, tell everyone neteyam.”

he’s slowly sliding his hands down her arms and letting her go, what is she saying?

“i saw everything, the night she knew about it and how you were.” kiri didn’t want to look like she sneaked into someone's business. “i’ve never seen you so weak like this brother, you’re giving up something that makes you happy.”

where is this going? why is she not yelling at him that he failed to be perfect?

“i know you’re soon to be mated but why when you’re not happy? not wanting it, not in love.” neteyam takes every word of hers carefully. “if this is the future you want with her then make a progress.”

“i’m tired of hearing you cry yourself to sleep, starve yourself and worry mom and dad.” he felt like a child. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs and kiri sighs, “you don’t have to apologize for everything.”

neteyam was feeling his heartbeats quickening at his younger sister's words but it’s also painful when he remembers he can’t do that cause you’re gonna be gone, soon… very soon.

“she’s le-leaving,” his words are cut when his voice quivers, kiri gasps at the news. “she said she feels like she doesn’t belong here.” he’s now looking down to avoid kiri’s eyes or he’ll cry

“she’s leaving me, kiri” his sister only pulls him close to hug him and he drops his body on her, head on her shoulder. “i love her and she’s leaving, i’m losing her.” he wants the pain to end, he’s tired of hurting

“oh brother.” kiri pats his head, even though neteyam was the smartest and perfect to hide his emotions, this was too much. he’s literally crumbling down. “it’ll be okay, everything will be okay.”

“it will be okay, everything will be okay.” your mother pats your hair when you lean on her shoulders and cry. all you do is cry, you feel bad.

you’re debating on leaving everything behind and running to your neteyam but then again there’s his future mate being a wall to your love. “it’ll be over soon when we leave.”

if not soulmates why bound to fall in love and hurt?

eywa was not fair, she’s not fair with her doings and you don’t want it. you want him, you want your man, you want neteyam, you miss him so bad.

the ritual is in two days and you’re not ready to watch them or give them your blessing as a part of a clan. once the ceremony is done you know they’ll go home, you don’t even want to think what they’ll do after that.

they’ll have a fruit of love, a baby in the future… what about you? supposed to move on? no, you can’t do that.

“we’ve got to get ready, my sweet child,” your mother says as she eyes the hammock that sheltered you for years. everything is packed, ready and done.

while you’re struggling to make the pain hurt less, neteyam is struggling to make his heart beat less.

it’s now an eclipse and everyone is ready for dinner, “mom! what’s for dinner?” tuk whines when netyiri brings the bowls and trays at the wooden table. “you’ll see baby” she kneels down to finally join her family.

it doesn’t fail to catch her by surprise when her first born is sat across the right side of the table. “neteyam?” her eyes start to whelm when her son smiles at her, oh how she missed having him around the table to eat with them.

“he’s here just like you want him.” jake says and neteyam nods.

neytiri only lets soft laugh out and places a bowl for him. “eat this, it’ll help you get strength for your training.” she motions him to take his food.

kiri silently watches everyone, a smile painting her lips as she sips on her soup.

“tastes good?” neteyam nervously nods, the only thing he’s thinking is a way to bring up his love topic to them. it wasn’t much late before he’s opening his mouth to speak and lo’ak suddenly interrupted

“dad, mom i ne–…”

“tuk stop doing that, you’ll choke.” lo’ak scolds at his sister and neteyam shuts his lips quick. maybe it’s the right thing not to say anything right now.

“tuk, listen to your brother honey” jake says and turns to neteyam, “what were you saying son?”

neteyam shakes his head, “never mind i’ll talk to you guys later.” he doesn’t ignore how kiri lightly groans when he backs out. “i’ll head inside now.” he rubs his sweaty hands on his thighs and gets back to his feet

“you didn’t even touch your food.” now that’s a lie, he actually scooped two times and ate.

“i ate mom, it’s delicious t-thanks.” he hates when the last word breaks. on eywa he’s so nervous.

kiri was quick to follow his steps when he left and luckily her parents didn't question. she was fast to catch up with her brother and yanks his arms to make him face her, “what was that?” she raises her eyebrows

“what was what?”

“don’t play dumb with me right now.” kiri warns and neteyam clears his throat

“i’m scared okay!” he hissed, “i’m so fucking nervous my skin is crawling to leave my bones.” his sister only rolls her eye, “seriously— we’ve talked about this! not being a little scared ass to be telling them.”

“what happened to that?” she crosses her arms.

“kiri,” he sighs and drops his head down, shoulders easing. “you don’t understand how dangerous this is, what if–“

“what if they hurt her?”

neteyam was awfully silent and that answers her question. “you know mom and dad, they don’t do anything about what you care and love…” kiri slowly stops when neteyam shakes his head

“not them,” it’s not them he’s scared of, it’s äyea’s parents he’s scared of, he knows they would do anything to make their little perfect daughter that matches with him, or whatever they say.

kiri presses her lips to a straight line before clicking her tongue.

this is gonna be a bad idea or the best idea she has ever made and decided to tell him aways. neteyam’s eyes widen when his sister pulls him away from their family, what she’s gonna tell him is the only chance to get you back and win your trust and she’s sure neteyam will do it,

do anything for you.

೫ time skip — mating ritual ceremony

your new outfit makes your curves more defined, way more defined than your usual loin clothes that you wear.

your skin shining smoothly, the leaves barely covering your breast, you looked ethereal with your hair not braided and freely displayed all over your shoulders

“honey, are you ready?”

your mother’s words make you gulp and suck a deep breath. “we must be there early to leave early!” she tells while being in the other room.

you finally check yourself and talk back, “yeah, i’m ready.” you whisper morley to yourself? swallowing the lump on your throat.

“yeah, i’m ready.” neteyam closes his eyes and breaths trying to focus on not messing up everything, he’s not even sure if you’ll show up and some part of him wishes you do show up

extra loincloths and decorations on his body makes him uncomfortable with its weight crushing him down.

netyiri proudly looks at her son’s figure while the kids are outside, “mother.” the sudden call of her name, netyiri answers quickly. “what is it? nervous?”

neteyam gulps down his fear and walks to her, “i love you” netyiri feels her eyes tear up and smile at him, “your mom loves you too, baby.” neteyam envelopes her with a hug and netyiri cries to his shoulder telling him how he’s grown up

“now don’t mess my face up with tears! let’s get you ready there.” it’s time to face reality and wait for his soon to be mate come

when he’s out of his hammock, he’s greeted with his family smiling at him and jake’s proud smile. even half of the clan was standing at his hammock.

“neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan” everyone chants and neteyam feels his inside clench in discomfort. he doesn’t want this if it’s not with you, everything makes him sick. “c’mon son, let’s get you to the trees of voice, your mate is waiting.”

what the fuck, that was what neteyam said inside his head. what does his father mean when he’s gonna meet his mate under the trees of voice? it was all about you and him, neteyam would never mate with some random girl he is set up with in a place with memories filled with yours

neteyam turns to his sister and kiri has the same expression because what is this bullshit?

“nete’ she’s waiting for you.” his mother placed her hand on his back. no, no, no— his own feet are betraying him when he realize he’s walking and the clan opens way for him straight long line created till where he’s supposed to see äyea

you on other hand stand in line with the people and pray under your breath for eywa to give you a strength not to cry or make a scene, especially when they will be bound where you thought you and neteyam would have been

it doesn’t take long when starts to cheer as the future Olo'eyktan starts to get closer and closer.

lo’ak was the first one you saw from the sully families while he’s holding tuk close to him so she won’t get lost in the crowed. “Aeyaeyaeyaeyaye!” the clan yells

neteyam’s eyes keep searching for specific someone which is you, eyes desperately looking for you and feeling more scared and anxious when he can’t figure out your face from the crowd he takes a deep breath

you finally take his figure to your sight and god he was so beautiful.

your breath hitches at his appearance, the dangling material on his forehead making him look more attractive than he already is, you realize it’s so hard to let go of him.

you suck a deep breath when his eyes lands at yours and neteyam halts his pace, confusing everyone for a second. your tears are fast to blur your vision and you blink before looking away from him

his heart cracks when you do look away, you don’t want to see him and he understands

once neteyam passed you, the crowd surrounds him and cheers when he stepped close to where äyea is found.

you hate how your mother looks at you sympathetically while her hands grip yours tighter, “it’ll be over soon” she whispers to you but you shrug her off, only watching things unfold in front of you as your heart breaks

“it will be over soon.” neteyam says to himself

it’s sickening how everyone can’t notice this is not supposedly to happen, kiri’s plan better work or he’ll seriously fuck this ritual up and run away with you.

“son.” äyea’s father greets him and neteyam, bringing his hand to his forehead. “ty’mar, i see you.” he then turns to his soon to be mate’s mother and repeat his actions.

the way äyea was smiling makes your throat hurt from desperately wanting to cry.

‘no, don’t tell her you see her neteyam. please. please.’

äyea softly giggles when neteyam stands in front of her and blush, “neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan” the way she tries to voice out his name makes neteyam feel sick.

“i see you.” she says but neteyam doesn’t bother to say it back making her smile slightly fall.

netyiri also notices how neteyam is acting, what would possibly be bothering him? definitely not everything.

after everyone was introduced to each other, the ceremony began. drinks were served, everyone clapping and dancing to the songs the na’vi’s are singing.

you’re a little far away from the crowd to breath clear air and dry your tears that constantly burn your eyes. your eyes are on neteyam who isn’t enjoy one bit of the ceremony while his soon to be mate squirms and waves her hands up

both of them are sitting on a throne-like wooden chair, both of their parents beside them just say like them.

this is so depressing how awkward and uncomfortable it looks and actually is. you think, brining the drink to your mouth

you didn’t notice the na’vi male sneaking behind you that actually has been staring at you since you joined the crowd in line. “enjoying the party from far doesn’t seem too boring after all.”

you’re now jumping in fear when a breath hits the back of your ear.

“mother eyaw! who the fu–” you scream and stumble in panic, but before you’re falling you feel strong arms hold you on your ground. “shit, I should've announced i came, i’m sorry.”

you’re about to tell him it’s okay and leave when he’s offering his hand for a shake.

“i’m no’xus, by the way.” great, now you’re stuck talking with someone.

“y/n.” you say and turn over to place your drink on the talk flat table looking object, it’s obvious you’re ignoring him and uninterested but he keeps talking

“why’re you not dancing?” the tall na’vi asks and you face him before speaking, “because i don’t want to?” you just want this over and privacy, how hard can it get to understand!?

“mhm,” the male hums, “wanna dance with me?” at his offer, you scoff mentally and realize you’re not getting him away from you soon– before you reject him, a strong glare radiating from far makes your body tingle

it was neteyam, sending glares to the male who was next to you while sitting far away.

you didn’t bother it at first but the way neteyam’s face twists makes your brow raise. why is he bothered? jealous? if no’xus had not cleared his throat, you would’ve forgotten about what he just said.

“look notoxo, i really don’t feel like…” you watch him awkwardly chuckle and correct you.

“it’s no’xus not notoxo.”

“you know what? fuck it, let’s dance.” you’re pulling him to the crowd, maybe it’s the drink or maybe it’s him, it’s neteyam making you do this.

your mother was long gone to where you don’t know, no’xus was just a bonus to get your frustration out and you’re now dancing with him. too occupied to bother, you haven’t noticed how neteyam’s nose are flaring in anger

neteyam watches how you’re dancing and it’s very obvious it’s targeted to get him out of his mind

he is not even listening to äeya and brought himself up from his throne-like seat. rage and anger is in him, this needs to fucking stop or he’ll rip the male’s hand that’s holding you by your waist and moving you sides to side

all of his fear gone when the na’vi’s eyes are on him when he’s stepping down from his seat and walking straight to you

neteyam ignores his father’s call, sight on you and you only. you didn’t notice how he’s dangerously close until no’xus stopped his moving. “what is it?” you’re annoyed when your distracted self is brought back to reality

“put your hands off of her.” it was an order and no’xus looked at him manically. “i’m not fucking repeating myself.” all the na’vi’s are confused, even his parents and äeya’s family.

your body is jerked away from the stranger you just met and you hiss when neteyam tugs you close to him. what is he thinking? in front of everyone? his last words makes the whole omatikaya village gasp and whisper.

“fucking let go of what’s mine and find your own mate.” neteyam scowl’s dangerously.

how’re we feeling, sweets? are we feeling anxious? excited? invested? spill in the comments cause i love reading your thoughts sjsjsj

also do you guys want a toe curling smut at the end or no? since neteyam is aged up!20 years old in this series, lmk in the comments if you want smut — tag list in the comments <3

[searchingforserendipity25]

'envy is unbecoming.'

'then you ought not to make bribes from the east so beautiful, or at least keep your brother's best steeds for yourself! you know not the treasure you have in maglor,' said fingon.

he ran his hands gently down the sides of the mare, to test her sleek muscles, see how her ears twitched fearlessly.

'maglor sent his excellent horseflesh from the gap into your stables - my stables and my kennels and all my halls are silent of brother and sister, and you sit in your great fortress gnawing at impatience because your brother wants more riders.'

'more riders, more supplies, and no armour at all -'

'you do not want to be covered in steel when against a dragon, be sensible -'

'orcs care not for these sensible precautions. and he is enjoying making battle on wyrms too dearly. he keeps challenging them to games of song and riddles - it's unbecoming.'

fingon laughed. not an excellent elder brother, fingon; fond in his great steadfast way, but it would not cross his mind to fret about the weapons and wear of his siblings - he was not enough their lord, and trusted them too well.

which was perhaps how he misplaced two of them in one mistake, and barely noticed before harvesting season.

maedhros would have gone quite mad in his position, but then he never would be in this position. he was wise enough to give his brothers realms of their own, right where he could see them.

'maglor would not bite the mastering hand and drift away into mist with an army.'

maedhros snorted. 'not for lack of wishing, i suspect. can i interest you in a binding oath sworn unto all the powers of arda? it tends to suit quite well as a bridle on wayward siblings.'

'they would not swear a thing i should believe,' fingon said.

his mouth was supple still, in the half-gloom of himring's great stables, but eyes were tight. slating amber light fell on him, gilded his ribbons and the paint on his lids, made him apiece with the dusty quiet, the straw-smells. 'not they that swore fealty to fingolfin, and broke it on a whim. perhaps i do envy you.'

maedhros had kept to fingon's back, a decorous half-step behind, making himself a warm barrier against the bitter draft. he laid a hand over his, where it was stroking the mare's mane.

in closeness, he could feel fingon's shifting thoughts, his spirits like a wind-rush, full of its own momentum always.

it had fascinated him, when he was younger - how forceful and shameless in thinking and speaking his half-cousin was, swift to laughter and tears and friendship.

it had seemed the greatest foolishness to him, to go shield-less and bold through life.

he showed it to fingon, the silver-lit memory of tirion's squares and tirion's gossip. 'then maglor would chide me,' maedhros said. 'and claim you had the greatest courage. still i think you are very foolish. you ought to stop playing favourites, o prince.'

fingon's cheek pressed against his chin, dimpling, and then growing damp. maedhros felt the sting of his grief as sharply as the cold wind seeping through his furs, for to fingon all grief as a desolation of the weather.

he came to himring only after returning to barad eithel empty handed. after scouring all the wild places he could find, singing to old oaks and firs with begging voice to betray the secrets of the lady aredhel, whom they loved - putting his ears to stone and dust, spying for his brother's tread.

he had not wept under his father's eye, kneeling in shame for his failure. harvest was finished, and vinyamar gathered sand-drifts on its high, spiraling flight of stairs, and stray lynxes came to mate and breed and fight in their rooms.

fingolfin did worry, and moreover fingolfin felt any touch of betrayal dreadfully.

fingon would not betray his father, not in anything. he did not need an oath to make it so. maedhros was not without some jealousy for his king, though not for crown and sceptre.

he could not be sorry, at least, to be himring the ever-cold, where fingon the valiant came when he was furious, wretched, and in need of some relief from the encompassing sense of cool mosaic under his knees and failure in his throat.

the mare wickered, nudging at fingon's hand. an intelligent, sensitive, as maglor's breeding tended to be - fingon smiled, and breathed deep before stepping away from him.

valiant, maglor had said, during those word-guessing games they played as youths, sharing insights on all they knew, preparing cunning songs and clever manoeuvres. do not discount him just yet! i have an ear for these things. see how he makes all the world fond of him, and gives generously, and lives as a prince ought; nolofinwë has made himself a champion. i daresay he is not apt to be anything else. i should think he must be very brave, not to flee for the wild, or go mad a little.

his eyes in the dark were all amber, glowing. maedhros could not imagine any walking away from him. were he mountain-stone and greening bush, he would have betrayed to him the secrets of any lost realm. he would have found it himself - if he were anything but himself.

'do not ask me to impartial,' fingon decreed. he touched the corner of maedhros's mouth to him, a brief warmth. he was moving already onwards, thinking new thoughts fresh and brimming over with the engine's work of his mind, making bright again the paltry sun of the stable's gloom. 'i am not king, merely the prince that remains! the lords of the east keeps paying the most outrageous weregild, and i need the horses. i am naming her for a spear or some such, i think - but my father the king will have the stallion.'

[rice-enjoyer]

An invisible cage ; unintentionally of your own making.

I'm loving the sagau stuff a lot, believe me! But since I'm so picky with media, I find it... lacking. Give me a sagau reader who's... not nice. Kindness isn't natural, it's forced. A morally grey god, who hides their true colors. A god, who appears to be benevolent and loving, only to be forcing a smile on their stiff face.

Give me a sagau reader who'd love to connect with the goodie-too-shoes characters, like Amber and Thoma, only to realize that they'd suffocate in the same room as them. Only to realize, that they could only talk to Kaeya and Ayato without judgment. (Bonus points if those lawfully good characters think it's their fault somehow, oh how I'd relish in some self-esteem issues, that is not from the reader towards themselves) Your intentions of hiding all of this is kindness itself. Quite funny. You tell them you could never hate them, but, you can't just tell Klee or Qiqi why you'd prefer to spend time with Albedo or Baizhu more.

Give me a sagau reader who reassurances the gods. Always listening to them, and being around them. Their actions are understandable, archons don't have to apologize for doing their utmost best in impossible circumstances. They are understood, for once in their life.

Oh, but give me a sagau reader who is great friends with them. Reader, who refers to their strange, scheming, and sometimes scary friends by name, not by title. It was hard and it took a lot of time, but they refer to you as... [y/n], not "Your Highness" or "Your grace." You feel at ease around people others usually tense up at - not necessarily the wrong crowd, no. Just a bit... misguided or misunderstood.

Give me a sagau reader who constantly visits Snezhnaya, and goes to the palace frequently. Their loyal, sweet and horribly naive acolytes think that their grace must keep the evil fatui and their scary archon in check. Instead, those evil fatui and their scary archon are trusted with the god's biggest secret, and a select few from other nations, be it the gods themselves, or vision bearers. It's all a big theatre act, of course, you are exhausted! That seemingly sweet smile drops the second you are alone with your most trusted acolytes. "Your cold and stoic gaze fits you more" you'd hear from them.

Reader finding comfort in goals that went sideways. In failed paths to stay strictly good. Getting to be in a place of power comes at a price, and it seems not many understand that. A loss of naivety and innocence, mostly. Because they got corrupted along the way too, it's only natural to be this way. Right..?

-- a/n: no cws because i don't think there's anything in here that deserves a cw???? i hope! tell me if it does asap! first written post, hi!!! i'm going to take a nap so that i won't have brain cells to think about how cringe this is and put it back into my drafts like a LOSER

[circesays]

{Alright so this AU (I’m going to call it the Cursed Toy AU and tag it as such- this started this AU, and this is the continuation of it) has affected my thoughts and now I have More Ideas so here’s another one. I’m already drafting a sequel to this one and maybe gonna put these on Ao3, so if you have any ideas or something like that, feel free to tag it in a reblog or notes or dms or anything like that :D}

{also, sorry not sorry. ;)}

The day everything truly began to go downhill was calm, at first. The inhabitants of Tumble Town were loud, going about their daily routines in the usual chaotic manner. Horses raced and whinnied, their hooves beating against the ground and kicking up pale dust. The barn animals called out as they were brushed or sheared or fed. Casual chatter and laughter rose from couples and friends and rivals as they mined gold, herded creepers, and worked on expanding another house. All of it echoed in the bowl, a cacophony of joy and teasing outrage and life.

(Of course, they couldn’t have known that it wouldn’t last.)

Jimmy watched from his office, the window still stained and dusty, despite having cleaned it several times just hours earlier. He idly twirled his wooden pen, adorned with a carved horse head, a gift from the first settlers to arrive to their new home.

Despite the laughter from below, the Sheriff had a sinking feeling in his gut. It wasn’t the familiar thrum of the God of Lore’s arrival, nor the cold pounding of anxiety that consumed him whenever he saw his eyes (not his not his not his) in the mirror or narrowly avoided snagging his the pull-string on his back.

No, this was unfamiliar. Unusual. But he had a feeling that it wasn’t anything good.

(And he knew the joy wasn’t to last, because he was cursed and abandoned and seemingly ignored by his friend. And it was so, so odd, because his friends knew his limits, and they know him, so how could they not see-?)

As the sun steadily made its way toward the horizon, time progressed as usual. The inhabitants met at the saloon in the evening to relax and play games. The stables were locked up for the night, the animals settled in their stalls. Jimmy sat at his usual seat, listening to the eager ramblings of a new settler, a young woman gesturing wildly as she described the designs for her new forge setup.

He fiddled with the empty glass in front of him, happily nodding along and offering ideas.

(Jimmy had quickly stopped feeling hungry or thirsty, when he’d finally turned fully. He could no longer sleep, or blink, or bleed. He turned to glue and potions instead of bandages and bread.)

In the corner of the room, a group playing poker created a ruckus as one of the players cheered jubilantly, the rest groaning or playfully punching their arm.

(And the feeling spiked.)

The Sheriff sat up straight, immediately on edge. The blacksmith frowned, her amber eyes shooting to scan the room for any threats. Within only a few moments, the saloon was on high alert, people peering out windows and climbing into the rafters with practiced ease to aim out of the higher vantage points.

(Because the entire town respected their Sheriff, trusted him. He was entwined with the magic of their home and the lives of his people. He’d never let them down, not even when an intruder changed him.)

An elderly stablehand was the first to break the stillness. “There’s a boy running over from the barnyard.”

Sure enough, a brunette, no older than 16, burst into the room, huffing and panting, his hands on his dusty jeans as he tried to recover as fast as possible. “Trouble- in- the- stables!” he gasped, pointing shakingly back out the door. “Come quick! They’re- the horses-”

The Sheriff strode over and gave him a glass of water, which he drank as quickly as possible without making himself sick.

“I was just going in to double check the water supply for the morning. The horses are restless- I’m not sure- they’re-” he stumbled over his words and paused, frustrated, before trying again. “The horses are turning into plastic. I can’t make it stop.”

(Little did they know that it was just the beginning.)

As days went by, more problems arose. The Sheriff ran himself ragged, not needing sleep or rest. The horses were fully plastic within a few days, their flanks smooth and dull. They could no longer run quickly or even keep at a solid trot, their joints having too much friction.

(Their steeds lived, fueled by the very magic infecting them. But it came with a heavy toll.)

(Within a week, Tumble Town lost their main method of transportation.)

The houses were next, the walls changing and morphing. Instead of wood streaked with yellow and scarlet dust, they were pale mints and sunshine yellows and pastel pinks, completely untouched by the surroundings.

(One cowboy tried to brighten the situation, jokingly complaining that the aesthetic was lost, that that darned god was completely destroying their nice, dirty, chaotic-energy town.)

(Another grimaced, because their precious home was built completely by hand, taking days of cutting wood and painting walls. Now their house looked like every other house in the town, a two-bit dollhouse with no love put into its creation.)

Anything alive in the town began to shift quickly after. Fur and wool and down turned to fluff and stuffing, the entire barn becoming a plushie overnight. Every pet was still, the faint pit pat of a stuffed heart keeping them alive.

(The Sheriff carefully adjusted Deputies Flick and Norman in their beds, the fire in his heart raging, because not even their companions or their food was spared.)

Everything came to its breaking point the very next morning. Jimmy lifted his dull eyes from the letters he’d been writing.

(Pleading for aide, for help, for mercy. The trash can was overflowing with imperfect drafts, because nothing could quite convey the message of “you’ve ruined my life and my people’s lives and my home and you’re fools and traitors and why are you ignoring me” kindly.)

Since Tumble Town’s founding, the Sheriff would begin his day earlier than every other inhabitant. Every morning, Jimmy would listen to the noise of his town waking up, from the laughter of parents bringing their children to the stables for the ride to school, to the whinnies of horses and the crowing of roosters.

(Even as their home changed around them, from loud and chaotic and alive to plastic and plush and dull, the people of Tumble Town began their mornings with noise, because it was a constant that held them together.)

This morning, the town was silent. The roosters could no longer croak. The horses slept, unable to move.

The townspeople didn’t emerge from their homes.

(The Sheriff felt true fear, a bolt of white-cold terror down his spine.)

He took off, scrambling down the steps and to the houses nearby, his once-shining golden badge (now cheap plastic, tarnished by the magic that cursed him and cursed his home) left on his desk.

Movement caught his eye, the Sheriff rapidly spinning on his heel. The brunette, the young boy from the stables, stumbled towards him. Jimmy barely managed to reach him before he fell.

“Heya, Sheriff,” he croaked. His skin was wooden, and his eyes were fading to paint even as he spoke. “Guess I’m the last one left. Ma’ and Mum were already frozen.”

Jimmy couldn’t speak, his horror causing his throat to tighten and his words to catch (the string, the string, the string-).

“Hey, Uncle Jimmy?”

(That nickname, given fondly, because this little scrap of a brunette was the first child in Tumble Town, the honorary leader of the stables-)

(On his desk, a wooden horse pen left a trail of ink on an unfinished letter.)

“Give them hell for us, would’ja?”

(And the boy smiled, his eyes dulling.)

Jimmy scrambled to place his head to his heart, unable to feel a pulse because his neck was made of wood-

(The steady thump of another plush heart was the only thing keeping the Sheriff grounded.)

Jimmy had never wished he could cry more.

(Around him, Tumble Town gave a final wisp of a sigh as his home and his people and his friends turned into toys.)

[pierce-walker]

self-para  \  the sand runs out. men’s bathroom, rhee’s bar and grill. approximately 11:20 pm.

trigger warnings: knives, blood, murder, death.

i’m falling through the hourglass and i don’t think i’ll ever make it back so i throw stones at walls i’ll never climb, victim to the sands of time i’m falling through the hourglass, the hourglass.

Pierce would be lying if he said he hadn’t been distracted lately. His father had grown increasingly pushy in the last few months, begging and pleading for money. It was honestly pathetic, but the constant harassment was starting to wear him down. It was getting to the point where he felt he had only two options: either give him the change or cut him off. In addition to that, self-publishing his music had turned out to be a lot more complicated than he was expecting. But he was tired of keeping it to himself, tired of only showing his craft to Kahlan, to Emi, to Adee. It was beyond time for him to finally take the leap.

His phone buzzed again, and he jolted, his leg crashing into the surface before him. The glass of beer resting untouched on the table tumbled, spilling amber liquid all over him. He sighed, staring at the mess for a moment. The beer slowly rolled across the table like a wave, dripping over the side when it reached it, directly onto his jeans—just his luck.

Before cleaning it up, he tugged his phone out of his pocket. The number he’d expected flashed on-screen and he rolled his eyes, setting it on the other side of the table, away from the beer puddle. Slowly, Pierce got to his feet, moving towards the bathrooms as quickly as he could. Hopefully, no one was in there, and he could clean up before anybody noticed he was gone…or saw the mess on the table.

The bathroom was indeed deserted, and he sighed in relief as he moved toward the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a couple to begin the hopeless task of cleaning the alcohol off of his jeans. He patted off his pockets, feeling something stiff below the fabric.

Quickly, he dug out a small, folded-up piece of paper. Unfolding it, he realized it was an old draft of one of his songs. With a small laugh, he dumped it and the paper towels into the trash can. He didn’t need that draft anymore—the final was sitting on his kitchen table, waiting for him to finally deal with it tomorrow.

Grabbing a couple of extra paper towels, he moved to the sink, running the water to wash his hands. He also splashed some on the denim, hoping it would help rid the already-forming stain. As he did, he heard the door click open behind him. 

“Sorry,” he said instinctively, not looking up, “I’ll just be a sec. Those tables are super easy to jiggle, eh?” Pierce chuckled. Whoever it was didn’t deign to give him a reply.

Eyebrows knitting together momentarily, he turned off the sink faucet, dabbing the last of the water from his jeans. Perhaps the recent events in the town just had him on edge, but something about the idea of being alone with someone in an enclosed area didn’t sit quite right with him. Pierce took a deep breath, stepping to the left to throw away the towels in his hand.

He never got the chance to step back.

Shooting pain drilled through the back of his abdomen, harsh enough for him to stumble forward, catching himself on the sink. His eyes darted down, red viscosity already mixing into the beer stain on his jeans. He should've trusted his instincts more.

Mouth open in a wordless O, he looked back in horror at his assailant. The masked figure was standing across from him in silence, silence as sharp as their blade; still in their hand, blood dripping from its point. Pierce could already feel the burn in his side, his arm snaking around to press a hand over the gaping hole. The knife hadn't come out cleanly, leaving a ragged tear in his shirt—the edges were already stained dark brown with blood. 

Suddenly, urgency ripped through him. If he didn't move, he was going to die in this bathroom. Jerking into motion, Pierce clumsily whipped backward, using his momentum to stagger into the killer—because that's who they were, he was certain. They didn't seem to expect it, stumbling up against the wall. Immediately, he pushed towards the door, trying to put as much distance between himself and the other person as possible.

Foot slipping on the tile quickly slickening with his blood, he fell against the door, banging on the bottom. Somehow, it had been locked—the wood barely moved under his fist. A muffled cheer went up from outside. No one could hear him, and Pierce's heart sank at the realization.

Sharp pain tore a cry out of him as his assailant caught him messily on the leg once more. He blinked, trying to see through tears of pain. He could feel his heart thumping weakly against his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and all he could think was this is it. I'm going to die here.

Pangs of regret began to numb the pain from his wounds, closing like a fist around his heart as he lay panting on the tile floor of the bathroom. Regret that he’d never be able to publish a song, and regret that he’d been selfish enough to keep them to himself. Regret that he’d never told Finley he still loved her, and regret that he’d never moved on. Regret that he’d never looked into his birth family, and regret that he’d never cut them off—too much regret for too little time.

The world was already flickering, and he screamed as another jolt of pain ran through his leg, though no noise came out. Through his dim and blurry vision, he could just barely make out the figure in front of him, pulling his leg towards them. They were trying to get him away from the door. He reached out an arm helplessly, every muscle shuddering before it dropped to the ground, the sheer strength needed to lift it already gone. 

There was nothing he could do.

[unicyclehippo]

Hey Ollie, hope you're doing okay. Just wanted to tell you I'm a huge fan of every piece of writing you throw our way. I was wondering (feel free to tell me to f off if I'm overstepping) do you have any plans of picking up the imodna Modern Frankenstein AU?

oh cheers mate, glad u enjoy my stuff

i am still gently working on faramore: the modern pandora, it is very slow going, initially bc i wasnt QUITE sure how to write it & then bc i got distracted by other stories. that being said, i think abt it often. here, as a treat, miss imogen faramore herself:

With thanks, and a request for privacy reinforced by a palmful of gold, the Investigators moved toward the table and their contact.

Sat at the table, posture relaxed and gestures slow as a well-contented cat in amber sunlight, was a young woman. She was wonderfully pretty in a way that ought to put them at ease; the unknowing would see nothing more than a woman in the kiss of youth, and be swayed by the sweetness of her features—gentle coils of fair hair and a pleasant heart-shaped face, the pink bow of her lips, the graceful turn of her neck—and, if not by her sweetness, then moved by her delicate constitution—for despite a dusting of freckles upon her cheeks, she owned the complexion of one who had never known the sun, and had upon her the ill-touch of sickness, yet fading, which rendered her frame gaunt and lent her skin a waxed sheen. She did not move when they arrived but remained sat in profile to them, half her face eclipsed in shadow.

Everything the setting lacked in suitability for an ambush then served to highlight the nature of this woman. The day mild, its sun honey-gold and air sweet. The manicured field, the yellow-green of its highland grass scattered with pretty and useless meadow flowers. An immaculate table remained undisturbed through the hours she had awaited them, save for a single cup of tea that she lowered to the table to acknowledge their arrival. She sat within this space - utterly beautiful, utterly mundane - and though the wind blew through her hair and the sun painted her features in its light, there came over the Seekers the unsettling knowledge that the keenness of their eyes and instincts—those most trusted tools of their trade—had failed them. Wariness flared in them both; other senses roused in response to the sudden force that they were confronted with. It was unseen, unheard, unfelt; and without sense or understanding by which to measure that force, they were left wih only that most primitive of senses—fear itself. For Seeker Paris, it was as the precusor to fever: an unpleasant warmth, his palms beading with sweat, an ache building in his joints. For Seeker Sward, that keen and terrible sensation—like a knife, tickling at the back of her neck—of being watched by an unkind eye. It was a truth long held by the Seekers that in every thief, murderer, and villain they encountered there was, first and foremost, a human. The same could not be said of Lady Faramore.

this is ofc just a draft n not a finish product but pls enjoy & perhaps i will put out chapter one soon since i do have it almost finished (i am still working on the outline & how i want to write imogens chapters, which is why its been hard for me to move on but honestly i just need to write the thing tbh)

[ocean-anchored]

Dear future self… April 17, 2023

Ok wow what a week.

I’m really in my yes phase of life. I’m also in a phase I’ve never been in where I have way too many people that actually want to hang out with me. While I have to admit to loving the “attention” & care people have for me, I’m slowly loosing it. I swear when I’m back from Jamaica I’ve got to slow it down. I find my once a week “4 hours if I’m lucky” of quiet time to myself definitely isn’t enough time for me to rejuvenate. I mean honestly it’s something else when I have so many people asking to make plans, I literally have desired that for so many years. Like literal years. It’s just too much that I barley have time for self care & not as much time as I want for God

Went for sushi with Amber & Naythan last week, Jeremiah asked me to a movie (with his roomie so it wasn’t a real date settle down) but I ended up passing cause my week was booked & I needed some downtime. Went to the flames game with Amber, Naythan & a bunch of their friends which was so much fun. Amber is literally my soul sister, we are too much fun together. I watched Theo for an evening & Dustin came over for a puzzle which was really nice & refreshing. I have been wanting to get into puzzling so bad so it was a perfect start.

Went to the roughnecks game with John & my “yes” era continued. We were walking to my car & got vip for cowboys which I would always say no but said why the heck not it was only 9:30. Ended up running into Mac smith which was funny, only stayed a short time and went to courtyard for pool. That ended up being really great. John had a bunch of friends he knew but he also got super drunk. These two guys Sam & Charlie were there just killing everyone in pool. Man was charlie ever a babe. The most mysterious & enticing man I’ve seen in a long time ugh. He ended up staying the entire night & near the end we had such a great intimate & deep conversation about life & relationships & self awareness. He was stupid & said he waited around all night (he was supposed to leave when they got beat in pool which was hours before & I joked around wondering how he was still here) which he said was because he waited for “this moment” to talk to me & connect. I laughed. He did really love my eyes though. But part of me definitely doesn’t trust men that gorgeous haha but regardless, it was a super special moment & because John was being waaaay too “protective” & clearly trying to act like we were together, he didn’t ask for my number which again is totally fine. That moment will hold a little place in my memories. Meanwhile this other guy Justin & his friend Jerry were there played & he was super flirty also. Older which I’m realizing that the older, less games & shit is played and much more honest & upfront which is so refreshing. Anyways he did ask to take me out & got my number. Cute. It was a fun night truly & stayed out way too late for being sober. Continued.... another week because this was saved in my drafts. I ended up going to Justin's place for dinner where he made me a real nice steak dinner. Sometimes I think man if only I could just bring myself to date just anyone, he'd be great. Just like Mitch. Genuine, great guys but they're not christian and I know I couldn't do it. It was a nice evening, he's got his own house, he did a lot of really nice upgrades, his own framing company, his own life. He's set. Just like Mitch is that it could be so easy to just fit in but it's too bad. Makes me hope that there is someone christian like them, good genuine dudes. I met Jeremiah at the park again that week and then pet sit Theo again. Went for drinks with Sasha at Major Tom which was great. I do really enjoy her, sometimes though I still feel there's something missing but I do enjoy her company, I found out she also smokes weed so I mean there's another thing haha. Went to Jeremiah's for movie night with Steven, amanda and Christian. That was lovely as usual. It's funny, near the end of the evening (it's funny how I'm always sitting beside him for these movie nights) he got Theo to come lay down between us and we were both cuddling him. It was cute. Felt like a little moment but I got to keep that out of my head.

Then prep time for Jamaica!!

[twinfoxtails]

parseemizuhashi liked your post:I really wish I could do more with Pokemou AU: Eri...

((LIKE THAT ONE RP WITH ELSA

I’M SO SORRY))

[dendrograna]

Respite Hereafter Pt. III

I've finally decided on a name for this series !! I'll update the other parts with the new title now hehe

Btw I plan on making this a pretty damn long series, focusing on each nation at a time. You arrived in Mondstadt, so the first chunk of the series takes place in Mondstadt. I'm gonna try to give each character at least a mention before going to the next nation so you don't end up travelling all over the place. Liyue and Inazuma will get some love soon tho <3

Pt. I

Pt. II

Pt. III

tw // panic attacks, past violence, trauma, paranoia, fire/burns, eye damage

Your acolytes were not the only ones who were horribly traumatized. You yourself had endured months of torture, living in abandoned camps, starving and freezing during the nights, being hunted down like an animal by the very ones you held dear. The disgusted, hate-filled looks they hurled at you seared into your memory, as well as into your dreams.

You regularly woke up from horrible nightmares screaming, and while your maids tried to help you, you very rarely let them get very close to you when you got like this. Paranoia often took hold of you during the nights, terrified they would try to hurt you again, that this had all been some sort of trick and they were just waiting to pull the rug out from under you. When morning came you always realized how silly it was, that your maids were so traumatized themselves they could never even think of hurting you, yet it never stopped you from doing the exact same thing the following night. The darkness brought out your most horrifying, albeit irrational, thoughts and fears.

Your maids were concerned for you, though. Your acolytes began to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the drowsy way you stumbled into things sometimes, but you always brushed them off. You were okay, and even if you weren't, telling them as much would only worry them.

Your maids did something that pleasantly surprised you after a few weeks of sleep deprivation, though. Three of them came to you while you ate your breakfast one morning, bowed in greeting, and timidly asked if they might suggest something to help you sleep.

"Perhaps having someone else you trust in the palace might help you sleep better," they said. "You've grown pretty close to a few of the Knights, Your Divinity. Would you like us to request that one of them spend a few nights here to help calm your anxiety?"

You yawned, considering the idea for a moment. "Like a slumber party," you said with a giggle. "I'd hate to put this on anyone else..."

"You need your rest, Your Grace!" one of them said suddenly before covering their mouth. "Ah... I apologize for my sudden outburst, please forgive me..."

You chuckled tiredly, smiling at them. That was a good sign, they'd started feeling more comfortable with you. "No, you're right. I think this is starting to affect my cognition. Plus, I don't think I have anything urgent that needs to be done today... You know what, slumber party it is. What abouttt... Kaeya, Albedo, and Amber?"

"Would you three please ask them for me? I don't think I'll be able to get all the way there and back with how exhausted I am," you said. They all bowed with a little "yes, Your Holiness," before they left you to finish your breakfast.

---

You spent the morning getting through a little bit of the day's work: signing your approval for new trade routes, working on some paperwork, and drafting the plans for a new festival you'd proposed to be sent to Jean. You still had a lot to do, but you decided it could wait until you were in a better state of mind.

Your guests arrived a little after six, meeting you in the foyer as all your guests did. They also kneeled and bowed in greeting as a lot of your guests did, too. You chuckled as you approached them, pulling them all up to their feet. "You guys don't have to do that anymore, remember?" you teased them, smiling. While it was true you'd gotten to know them each pretty well, this was the first time you were seeing them outside of their work with the Knights.

Albedo cleared his throat, handing you a rather large portfolio bag he had over his shoulder. "I believe it is customary for guests of the Divine One to bring them an offering, yes Your grace?" he said.

When you opened his portfolio bag, you found a delicately painted portrait of you inside, glancing over your shoulder with your hair ruffled in the wind and a bright smile on your face. The landscape of Mondstadt in the distance behind you was silhouetted against a brilliant rising sun. You covered your mouth as you admired the beautiful picture, gasping. "I've been working on it for quite some time, so I made sure to have it completed for you, Your Holiness."

Kaeya and Amber both nodded, offering you the gifts they'd brought. Kaeya, of course, brought some expensive dandelion wine, and Amber had a replica Baron Bunny for you.

"Don't worry, this one won't explode," she said with a big smile. "I thought maybe he could help you sleep a little better, Your Grace."

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face, or the tears stinging your eyes. You carefully sat their gifts down on a nearby table, pulling them all into a big hug. "Thank you guys, these are all so nice! I'll find somewhere to hang the painting and get a corkscrew for the wine. Why don't you meet me in the dining room? Our dinner should be done soon."

One of your maids assisted you in placing Albedo's painting in a frame and hanging it on the wall and another took Amber's plushie to your bedroom for you. When you met your guests in the dining room and took your seat at the end of the table, they greeted you with a small bow.

A maid brought out your food on a tray, placing each plate in front of you and your guests with one in the middle to split. "Northern smoked chicken with Liyue-style golden shrimp balls, Your Grace. Allow me to pour your wine for you," they said.

The rest of your night with your guests went by fairly smoothly. After you finished eating, you requested that they play a few card games with you and you taught them how to play a few they'd never heard of. You improvised a few games of Uno where the kings were draw fours, the queens were draw twos, the jacks were reverses, and the jokers were skips, and they picked it up surprisingly quick. Amber in particular really liked it.

After that you gave them a tour of your palace, starting with the ground floor and working your way up. The ground floor was all your guests usually ever saw: the dining room, kitchen, living room, bathrooms, an indoor pool, and a library. On the second floor was your personal space, such as your master bedroom, bath, walk-in closet, office, balcony, and a few guest bedrooms. The third floor was for the maids with lots of bedrooms and an extra room for laundry and cleaning supplies. Finally, on the fourth floor was your throne room. Should anyone have requested to meet with your impostor, this was where they would meet them. You, however, rarely used it anymore.

They were in awe of just how huge the place was. Your impostor had been incredibly demanding, insisting on the most luxurious palace Teyvat could offer them. You decided to sit with them on the balcony on the second floor for a while to watch the sun set over Liyue's mountains in the distance, thanking them each for coming.

"It's an honor, Your Divinity," Amber said with a smile. "I just hope our company can help you get some rest tonight." Albedo and Kaeya voiced their agreement.

You yawned, leaning against the railing for a second. "This world is beautiful," you said, closing your eyes to relish in the calmness of the moment. "So many beautiful places and beautiful people."

Your words seemed to comfort the three a little bit. Your impostor would never have said something like that. They'd described Teyvat as a world full of disgusting animals, waiting to be put out of its misery. They regularly contemplated genocide, whether the people of Teyvat were deserving enough to walk the same planet they did. The impostor received so many offerings in large part because the people of Teyvat were terrified of what they might do if the gifts and worship ever stopped.

“It’s getting pretty late, Your Mercy,” Kaeya said, "would you like to head to bed soon?"

You stretched your arms above your head and yawned before nodding. "Yeah, I think so. You guys can take any of the extra bedrooms on this floor. I'm gonna turn in for the night."

After you said your goodnights to your guests, you headed to your luxurious bedroom. Pushed against one wall was your bed, translucent silk curtains framing the sides with an intricate gold-plated headboard. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed by thick gold curtains lined the side wall, and doors to your bathroom and walk-in closet laid opposite the windows. In the bathroom, a huge circular tub sat against some tall bay windows and some folding screens sat beside it. You made your way into your closet and picked out your pajamas made of silk, got changed, and finally crashed in your bed.

---

Fire. All you could see around you was fire.

Your feet ached and your lungs burned, partly from smoke inhalation and partly from screaming. Your once-beautiful luxurious palace was burning around you from every angle, the windows and doors boarded up. You were on the fourth floor, desperate to escape the fire now creeping up the stairs, staring out the large windows.

The ones you'd trusted the most stood around it, cheering as it burned with you still inside it. And there your impostor stood, a smug, satisfied look on their face. You couldn't recognize very much of what they were saying, but the words "blasphemy," "fake," and "sacrilege" reached your ears intact.

Your breathing quickened and your fists pounded against the stained glass windows, the sound of your own screams drowned out by the crackling fire that was coming closer and closer to you. Your stomach turned and it seemed like every fiber in your body was aching. It was all a trick. A cruel trick designed to make you suffer the most.

The last thing you saw was your impostor's sadistic, twisted grin before the smoke on the windows made it impossible to see out.

You screamed for help- for someone, anyone, to save you. Tears streamed down your face and you squeezed your eyes shut, flames licking your ankles as you pressed yourself closer into the corner. Your lungs burned, as did your legs, and each breath in felt like the fire itself had invaded your body. You screamed with all the air left in your lungs, praying that someone who cared might hear you. You heard the floor creak loudly, a quickly repeated knocking sound, and you knew this was it. If the flames and the smoke didn't kill you, the fall you were about to take would.

You were awoken by your own screaming, as well as the sound of a frantic knock at the door. You huddled into yourself on your bed, pressing your legs to your chest and sobbing. You were frustrated, upset, scared. Why did this have to keep happening to you?! The horrible things your own mind conjured up were far, far worse than anything you'd ever experienced.

Your head snapped up when the door swung open, your vision blurred by tears. "Your Holiness, are you alright?" a soothing voice said. You frantically shook your head, trying to back away from them. "No! No, no get away from me," you sobbed. The person obeyed, taking a small step backward. "I'm here to help you, Your Mercy, remember? What can I do for you?" they asked, their honey-like voice easing your paranoia just a bit. As the tears rolled down your face, your vision cleared slightly and you were able to process who you were talking to. Kaeya.

You took a deep, shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment. It felt like your heart was being crushed, and you were gasping for air. You'd experienced this before, but never to this degree. "W-Water," you choked out. You didn't think you could manage by yourself though, so you quickly added, "the maids, have them get water. Stay, please."

He obeyed, peeking out the room and relaying the request to one of the maids running up the hall. He dragged a chair up next to your bed, sitting beside you. "What else can I do, Your Holiness? Is it okay if I touch you?" he asked, and you nodded. He grabbed your hands, his cool touch soothing you a little bit.

One of the maids came running with a glass of water, helping you take a drink. Kaeya assisted you in a few breathing exercises and techniques he'd learned over the years. When your breathing had finally evened out and the death grip on your heart finally released, you took a deep breath and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Kaeya..." you said quietly. You glanced up and noticed everyone else was there too. "You all can go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you up like this," you said with a shy smile. They all offered you their own version of "it's okay, goodnight," before turning to the door and leaving. Kaeya stood up to leave too, but you grabbed his hand.

"Wait. What if... What if I have another one?" you said. His expression turned to one of pity and sadness, sitting back down in the seat. "Would you like me to sit with you for a while longer?" he offered.

"Sleep here," you said, pushing to the opposite side of the bed and pulling the blankets back. "If... You'd be comfortable with that, I mean."

His face flushed a darker shade. "Your Divinity... I could never," he gasped, averting his gaze. "To lay in the same bed with you would be... Sacrilegious, would it not?"

"Pleaseeee? Wouldn't it be even more sacrilegious to say no?" you said teasingly. "If you don't wanna sleep here I won't force you, but... I don't think it's sacrilegious at all."

Kaeya considered it for a moment before he sighed, pulling the blankets up and laying beside you. "If you insist, Your Holiness."

You grinned and hugged him tight, giggling. "Yay! Thank you, Kaeya," you said. He chuckled, and then it was silent in your room.

After a moment of silence, you spoke up. "Kaeya?" he hummed. "...Venti told me what happened. To your eye. I'm... so sorry. I just wanted to tell you that... I'm here for you if you ever wanna talk about it or need someone to listen," you said quietly.

Kaeya looked away. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said, barely above a whisper. You rested a hand against Kaeya's right cheek just below his eyepatch and he closed his eye, leaning into the affection. You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against his good eye.

A part of you wanted to be angry. A part of you wanted to rage and scream and be upset for what they did to him. Yet all being angry had managed to achieve so far was scaring your Venti. They were already dead, and being angry now would achieve nothing. You pulled him a bit closer to you, resting your chin on his shoulder. All you could do now was be there for him.

"Would you mind?" he asked, "If I wanted to talk about it, Your Holiness?" You nodded.

"...I was sent here to meet with them on behalf of the Knights. We'd been having problems with the Fatui and they sent me to urge Their Grace-" he cleared his throat, "I apologize. They sent me to urge the impostor to keep the Fatui out of Mondstadt's business."

"I looked up at them on your throne and we made eye contact. Immediately, they... they drew their sword and swung it at my face," he said quietly. "They said they were being merciful, that I deserved a far worse punishment for involving them in such trivial matters. The next time they saw me... they said I looked nice with an eyepatch."

Your stomach turned as he told you the story and you pulled him into a hug. "Oh Kaeya..." you said quietly. "I'm so sorry... I wish that... I could've stopped this sooner." It wasn't until now you noticed the deep scar running up his right cheek under his eyepatch. You traced the mark with a light touch. "You didn't deserve this at all, Kaeya. They were cruel and sadistic, and now you don't have to worry about them anymore. If I could take all of this away from you, I'd do it in a heartbeat," you said in his ear.

"You're far too kind, Your Divinity," he said, tears clinging to his eyelashes. "And far too forgiving. Have I not drawn my sword on you as well?" he whispered, remembering that he himself had tried to execute you under the impostor's orders. "Why are you... Allowing me this close to you?"

"Because I trust you," you said, running your fingers through his blue hair. "You'd been following that monster's orders your whole life, and you would've been killed yourself if you tried to protest. I'm just happy everything worked out the way it did, because that meant that nobody else got hurt. Please don't feel guilty, Kaeya, what happened to us is nobody's fault but that impostor's."

He smiled slightly, nuzzling closer to you. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said.

"Sweet dreams, Kaeya," you said, pressing one final kiss against his cheek. You had a feeling you weren't going to be having any more nightmares tonight.

"Goodnight, Your Grace."

---

@tanspostsblog @laurafaye13-blog @karmawonders @samsmidnightthonks @uchihaeirin

[doctorelleth]

I haven't written anything fictionwise since like 2017, but the itch is starting to come back. I might even finish those fanfics I've left in the dusty corners of ao3, but right now I think I might dive into the tmnt fandom. Anyway, here's a small rough draft drabble of something I'm working on. Plan is to turn it into a proper longfic, but this scene just hit me really hard. No real warnings, mostly SFW. Just a brief mention that sex exists. Takes place in Bayverse.

“You don’t got to worry about me, Leo. I’m ride or die.”

When Amber said this, she nearly had tears in her eyes. Leo knew he intimidated her, and honestly was beginning to suspect the reasons behind that had little to do with his being a mutated reptile. Everything about her just seemed fragile.

He did worry, though. It wasn’t exactly her in particular, but more like humans in general. Even if realistically she had too much to lose and far too much to gain by keeping her mouth shut. But Mikey’s smiles and genuine joy every time she walked into the room were too much to ignore. And really, everyone in their family could be said to have a habit of indulging him when he lit up like that. Even if this was, well, new and frankly terrifying .

Yeah, they had a few human friends, but a girlfriend was another story entirely. Especially one in her state.

“...so...” Donny had slinked up alone side him as he watched Amber and Mikey giggling together on the couch from the railing above. “...I was thinking about...ya know...doors...”

Leo couldn’t help but scoff at that. It was increasingly obvious that the open floor plan they’d lived with for so long was on the verge of no longer working, to put it politely.

“Anything I can do to help, just ask. I mean, I’m happy for him but...”

“Yeah, I don’t need that kind of details either. Supplies shouldn’t be too much of an issue. We still have those wood panels left over from Raph’s ‘sculpture phase’.” He used air quotes. “Really, I just need to scrounge up some hinges.” He turned to leave.

“Donnie...” his brother hesitated. “Do you think this is a good idea?” Leo nodded toward Mikey and Amber.

Donny let out a long slow sigh.

“I don’t really know. But...well look at him. He’s so...happy.”

Leo gave the barest shake of his head.

“It’s not Mikey I’m worried about.” Leo turned to face him. “Don’t try to tell me you haven’t come up with the statistical likelihood of this going south.”

“...I have. And it isn’t high.”

Leo raised his eyebrows.

“Look, what Mikey said is true. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go. And from what I could find, everything she told us is true too. Amber’s got more to gain by staying here than being out there.”

“She’s human. She can leave anytime. She doesn’t have to be here.”

“Yeah, But I think at this point it’s clear she wants to be here. Look, I get it. But I think we can trust her.” Donnie looked back at them. “And...I mean, come on Leo. Are you really going to tell me you haven’t thought about it? They’re together.”

“We don’t know that they’ve...”

“I think it’s pretty obvious at this point.”

Leo pursed his lips.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Neither am I. But knowing we could all have that?” Donny exhaled. “It just...it gives me hope, you know?”

I’m ride or die, Leo.

He couldn’t get Amber’s voice out of his head. After he corned her and all but demanded to know how serious she was. Yeah, it gave him hope. Though at the same time, that hope came with knowing that the more people who knew about them, the more danger his family was in. That he was more scared of the humans they protected then he was of Aliens and murderous psychopaths was a topic he wasn’t a hundred percent willing dissect just yet.

It was easier, when he thought that his experience with sex would never extend past a sock and and his own imagination. Maybe it just hurt less to just not have hope.

He ran a hand over his forehead.

“Yeah Donnie, it does.” Leo said tiredly. “So...doors. You want help with that?”

“Wouldn’t mind.” His brother shrugged.

[unholyhelbig]

Artifice | Chapter 10: The Escape

For previous chapters, click here | To Read on A03, Click here

The leather was cool under Beca’s fingertips. It smelled of oil paints, and clove, and the faintest bit of smoke. There was salt and sun all at once. She had carried the bag everywhere with her, strung against her shoulder. There were only ever a few cotton shirts, and pants that were worth well with dirt and blood.

She kept her sketchbook, bound in the equally fine leather, close to her heart. A small section of charcoal was folded into a cloth. It was hard to come by, nearly impossible, but Beca knew the right people. Emily Junk knew the right people. She pulled strings for fine clay and even finer parchment.

They were simple gifts, but intricate. When Beca’s stomach was rolling and the ship rocked steadily against black waves, she would sit and sketch Emily, focused so fully on the maps, the charting, and the stars that they followed. Moonlight would dance across her features in pale magnificence.

She kept the sketchbook, the one that reminded her of the ocean before she met Christian and felt the sting of his open palm against her cheek, at the bottom of the bag, away from Chloe, and Aubrey, and Garrett, and the rest of the prying eyes of the world. It was her solace. It made her sick to her stomach.

Beca peeled the bag open. She didn’t’ care much for folding the clothes that she had strewn across the room in her time at the Beale Estate. They had fit just fine when they were pressed and smelling of fresh linen, they would fit just fine now.

Sadness pricked at the back of her eyes. She thought of betraying her own unspoken rules as an artist and tearing the cleanest page from her sketchbook out. She would scrawl a note in charcoal on the back, dirtying the pads of her fingertips and forgetting herself fully.

Unlike her first night here, she could navigate the hallways that were meant for staff with her eyes closed. Stacie had pressed the lanterns hours before Beca returned from the pub. The wax had hardened and the scent of ash hung stubbornly in the air.

Moonlight flitted through the kitchen. She figured she could slip through the back doors into the warmth of the night without anyone missing her too much. Her throat stung with two mugs of brew she had downed to quell her emotions at the pub. It spurred her on, told her to press forward.

Forget the commission, forget the billionaire that had wronged the seven seas, forget his siren wife with hot copper ringlets, and fair lambskin.

“You’re leaving without saying goodbye.”

The statement had no infliction behind it. Beca felt her heart in her throat and her fingers numb against the strap of her leather bag. She hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t gotten past the threshold of the patio door. She hadn’t estimated how long she stood there, counting the blades of grass, but the voice startled her.

“I have to go,” Beca said.

She turned to face Aubrey Posen. A tin mug with water rested at her side, half consumed. The blonde may have watched her as she watched the world, those cold apple-green eyes. They gave her away as human instead of an animal, focused instead of sure.

A silk robe covered her shoulders, the lavender material rich, and rarely seen by someone of her caliber. The whole estate was like that, fancy vases and sculptures, and iron workings that Beca had seen from the outside, looking in, but never the other way around.

“You’re a coward.”

She scoffed “A coward? No soy un cobarde.”

Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. Someone who didn’t’ shy away from confrontation would have kneeled in front of the woman in the house by now- they would have told her about the band of looters, and pirates that intended on storming her personal palace.

Her face must have softened and given her away. Aubrey quirked an eyebrow, raising the mug to her lips before humming in satisfaction. It made Beca’s skin burn and her heart prickle.

“Leave, then. Making Chloe suffer by contemplating your own actions is doing more harm than good.”

Beca hated to swallow her words twice in one sitting but found herself taking the remaining three steps towards the kitchens island. Aubrey seemed to tense at the movement, dry-mouthed and thick with contempt.

“It’s for the better.”

“For you, or for her?” Aubrey lowered the mug and let out a sigh “Listen, you being here… has been good for Chloe. I thought you would be like them all, the artists. They waltz into the estate with their oils, and charcoals, and parchment, and think that they have the world at their fingertips. Instead of painting her, they use her. And she lets them.”

“I understand your hand over her, Aubrey,” Beca said.

“Hand over who?”

The two women glanced towards the opening to the kitchen. Chloe stood under the archway, her hair caught the moonlight like the rest of the kitchen, but in a deeper, cherry-colored way. She looked sleep-worn and content. That soon shifted against her features as she took in the leather satchel, the swept way Beca stared, and the fingerprints on the glass sliding door.

“You’re going,” She murmured.

The shatter of her words cut deep against Beca’s skin. She felt as if she might bleed there, bite her tongue until she swallowed mouthfuls of red. Her shoulders slumped, her resolve nearly broke. “I don’t have a choice.”

“A choice… Beca you’re here to paint. Have I scorned you that horribly with my antics that you’ve given up the fight?” She scoffed “I’ll ease on the chase. We can start tomorrow>”

She turned and glanced towards the backyard. The moonlit the path beautifully towards the ocean, and the docks, and the fire-filled lights that reflected off the waves. If she searched hard enough, she could see Emily’s ship, its red sails, and drafting architecture.

Aubrey scooped her mug up and was halfway out of the kitchen by the time Beca mustered up the courage to turn back to the woman. She hated the weight of the two of them this close to one another, standing off with nothing but a few inches between them.

“Garrett has wronged a very dangerous group of people,” Beca meant to sound powerful, strong, and sure of herself, but she wasn’t.  There was a meekness to her words. “They’re planning to storm this place, to take back what is rightfully theirs.”

Chloe pursed her lips, frowning as she stared at the terracotta tiling. She had her own silk robe wrapped tersely around her, her blue eyes hard and unreadable. “My husband does not speak about his business and I am kind enough not to ask.”

“He’s robbing people, Chloe. Good innocent people.”

“Pirates.” She snapped back “the last I checked they’re the ones that pillage, and murder, and go entirely feral at the sight of a pint of ale. Garrett is doing this world well.”

“They do what they can to survive. I don’t expect you to understand.”

It came out harsher than intended. Chloe snapped her gaze up to the woman with such ferocity that it chilled her to her bones. She steadied her hand against the island, fingers white as they pressed into the countertop. “Excuse me?”

“Rich, and stubborn enough not to go with me if I asked you to.” Beca whispered, this time sure of herself “I know these people, grew up with them, love them. And they are more merciless than many. Yet you would stay to defend your home, your possessions. Your paintings.”

The words felt bitter against Beca’s tongue. As if her saliva had turned to acid. She would never speak out against the lady of a house, much less one that had offered to pay for her services. But Chloe’s world was sheltered, and it was close to crumbling.

“You never asked.” She snarled, taking another step forward, closing the gap between them. Beca could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. “You packed your things and were going to escape into the night.”

Her breath came out in a shudder, it pressed against Chloe’s collarbone, making goosebumps rise against her skin. Blue eyes flicked to her lips, to her jawline, and to her own chest heaving up and down. It would take nearly nothing to push forward and escape the space left between them.

She swallowed the hot taste in her mouth “Would you have gone?”

Chloe met her question with silence. Maybe the words were stuck in her throat, or maybe they had no place where they were to begin with. Beca frowned, fretted, and took a step back. Chloe could have held her there, tethered her to one spot. She had enough power to convince her to stand against Emily and her intent. But nothing was said. The silence dripped heavily between them.

“Give Garrett my apologies.” She said, “I pray he can find an artist to capture your likeness one day.”

Before the tears that were welling up in Chloe’s eyes could escape, Beca had turned, opened the patio door, and began to walk across the moonlit grass. There were clouds in the sky, prominent against the dark backdrop, covering the ball of light enough for her to slip through the trees that turned to swamp and swamp that stretched into an alcove.

Garrett had spared no expense, the jutting cliffs that dropped straight to the docs and choppy waves had a staircase carved into it. Metal for the same lanterns that lined the Beale estate was set up in sporadic intervals. Beca had trusted only her instinct and anger to get her down to the docks.

Emily’s ship sprouted with blue and amber lights. A man grizzled and half-drunk with the swells of the sea stood as Beca approached. He drew his sword with a slick sound of metal upon metal. The tip of the weapon found its home under her chin, close enough to slice the hair from her head.

“State your business.” He purred, lilting his head at his prize.

“Jasper,” Emily’s voice came from the deck of the ship. She leaned over the railing, having shed her leather coat, and her captain’s hat, simple and beautiful in the moonlight. The man never hesitated. “She’s fine. Come up,”

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, running her finger over the raw spot against her throat. He could have easily sliced through the skin, could have made a meal of her before the night had even begun.

Beca scaled the rope ladder leading to the main deck of the ship. By the time she had reached the top Emily had a grin on her face, nothing short of pride and warmth. There was a subtle rocking beneath her feet that reminded her so fully of home.

“Do my eyes deceive me delicately?”

“They don’t,”

Emily furrowed her brow and lilted the woman’s head up with the curl of her finger, the opposite of the blade with her softness, and tender stare. “You’re sure about this? I can get you off the island.”

“I’ve already turned my back once tonight. No puedo hacerlo de nuevo. I wish to join you.”

The captain withdrew her touch, worry etched into her features, catching every spare light that the night sea had to offer. Her eyes flitted to the last remaining glow in the kitchen of the Beale Manor, entirely visible from the docks. Past the trees, and the hedges, and the swamps, she could have sworn she saw a woman, backed by a lantern, and forlorn with fear.

[cudan2]

One Last Surgery

Spring Break Shadowing Part 5.1

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Summary: You finally find out the reason for going to the children’s hospital, but you’re more distracted than usual today and Dr. Cullen can tell. 

A/N: Tell me why part 5 of SBS takes up over half of the whole series? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 5 months because I keep adding more to it smh. Now it’s too long so I’ve decided to split it up into 3 parts (in addition to parts 6 and 7). I’m making the final edits the rest of this part now - 5.2 should be posted in like two days.

Anyways, this is technically the beginning of  #1 and #2 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital is only across the street from Doctor Cullen’s office, but it seems to take forever to get there. You trail the doctor like a lost puppy through a skyway and a series of corridors before eventually reaching the right building. Different is definitely an understatement.

Gone are the linoleum-tiled floors, the abstract paintings lining the hallways, and the stark white walls. Instead, there are bright colors everywhere you look. Artwork featuring various galaxies and planets scatter throughout the hospital, and giant stars are imprinted along the floors; even the whole atmosphere just feels different.

You don’t get much time to analyze the differences though. Doctor Cullen is wasting no time to reach the destination, and his long legs aren’t making it any easier to keep up.

“Not that I don’t like surprises, but any chance you can tell me what we’re doing in the children’s hospital now?”

“Impatient, are we?” Doctor Cullen chuckles. He stops at an elevator and pushes the up button, only giving into your question once he catches a glimpse of your pout. “Alright, you win. Are you familiar with a cleft palate or cleft lip?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open with it. You shake your head no and get on the elevator with him. He presses the button for the floor and then leans against the wall, arms outstretched on the handrail, and gives you an explanation. 

“A cleft is a gap or split occurring in the roof of the mouth, upper lip, or both. It is due to improper joining of the tissue during fetal development. There are no definitive known causes as of right now, but it’s believed that the environment and genetics can play a role.

The hospital has its own craniofacial team, but I was asked to join this particular case given its more complicated nature. Hanna became one of the first patients I treated when I came to Columbia,” Doctor Cullen finishes fondly, a smile gracing his lips.

“What makes this case complicated?” you ask.

“Hanna was born with a bilateral complete cleft lip and palate, meaning her lip cleft is two-sided and continues into her nose. It took quite a few surgeries to repair the lip, but now the next step is to repair the palate.”

The elevator reaches the floor and dings. You follow Doctor Cullen out and continue prodding him with more questions, which he is more than eager to answer. It’s incredible how knowledgeable he is. Granted, it is his job to know these things, but you couldn’t begin to imagine yourself being able to even scratch the surface of these topics, not to mention give a mini lecture on it.

You’re soon standing at the door to a patient room while the doctor asks Hanna’s parents if you can observe. They readily agree, and Doctor Cullen motions for you to come in.

Inside the room, you see an infant that can’t be more than a year old – Hanna.  She’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning against who you assume to be her father. You notice two fading scars going up into her nose above her lip. Her mother is waving a stuffed toy around her, but Hanna’s attention is fixated on the blonde doctor.

“Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Hanna’s parents, Anthony and Linh Pham. And this is Doctor Giselle Adamou, who will be working with me on the surgery,” Doctor Cullen gestures to the older doctor in the room.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say politely.

Pre-op goes differently than what you’ve gotten used to observing this week. There is no case presenting given the lack of residents on the case. If anything, this is what you would expect out of a non-teaching hospital.

Doctor Cullen re-explains the procedures to Hanna’s parents, but halfway through, Hanna crawls to the end of the bed where Doctor Cullen is and attempts to stand, arms outstretched as if to say, “Up! Up!” Bewilderment is not a word you would have associated with him, and yet you catch the brief widening of his eyes that betray his usually calm demeanor.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Linh comments.

“I can see,” Doctor Cullen muses. “Do you mind?”

“She’s all yours.” Linh picks her daughter up from the bed and hands her to the doctor. The sound of Hanna’s elated laughter fills the room, and you can’t stop a small smile from appearing on your own face. A cute baby and a gorgeous doctor? You don’t know who to thank for the sight.

Meanwhile, Hanna starts playing with various pens in Doctor Cullen’s breast pocket while Doctor Adamou continues where her colleague left off. You try to pay attention, you really do. Like Hanna though, your attention lies on someone else, and that someone else happens to be Doctor Cullen.

The more you study him, the more the minute features you never noticed about him before seem to pop out to you. Under the bright fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the dark purple circles under his eyes are more apparent than ever. How ironic for the preacher of health to lack sleep himself. His eyes, which you normally consider to be a vivid golden, are darker than you initially thought them to be. They are liquid pools of dark amber, speckled with dustings of gold and flecks of black. There isn’t a single blemish on his face that you can see either, further confirming your belief that this man is truly the most attractive person you have ever met. Either that or he must have one hell of a skincare routine.

It’s unnerving how young his appearance is. Skincare and diet can only do so much for a person, right? Doctor Cullen has to be at least 35 at the minimum, yet he could easily pass off as someone from your own school.

“Any last minute questions?” you hear Doctor Adamou ask and snap back into reality. By missing nearly everything the older doctor talked about, you already know you’ll be so screwed if and when Doctor Cullen decides to interrogate you on this case.

Neither parent has anything left to say, so Doctor Cullen gives a reluctant Hanna back to her mother. She lets out a cry and his expression softens.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss you too, but I need to get ready for your big surgery, okay? I promise you’ll see me again in a few hours.” His soothing voice does wonders for her. In an instant, Hanna quiets down and her frown is replaced with giggles and smiles again. She waves the two of you off, and you both take your leave with Doctor Adamou trailing behind you. You’re not even halfway out the door yet when Doctor Cullen starts testing your knowledge again.

“Y/N, what procedure will we be doing to repair Hanna’s cleft?” 

You do not have this one in the bag whatsoever. You wrack your brain for information that could help you, but Doctor Adamou interjects before you get a chance to say anything.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re treating students like interns already, Carlisle?”

“I am merely advancing the education of next generation’s doctors,” he responds.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “Don’t scare off Y/N though, or we won’t have any doctors left in the next generation.” She turns to you after picking up files from a nearby counter and says, “You come running to me if he pushes you too hard, alright?”

You grin. “For sure.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you both in the OR,” she says before heading off.

You like Doctor Adamou. Each surgeon you’ve met here so far has had such different personalities, yet each also has the charisma and confidence to take control of a room and command respect. You, on the other hand, could barely get your own friends to listen to your own words. How are you ever going to get on the level of all the amazing doctors around you?

“She saved you there,” Doctor Cullen comments, leafing through Hanna’s charts as he walks you into an empty elevator to the operating floor. Oops, it’s just your luck that he noticed your lack of attention during the pre-op. “It’s unlike you to be distracted. Penny for your thoughts?”

The elevator doors shut, and he looks up from the chart, his eyes falling onto yours. He has that twinkle in his eyes again – the one that brings warmth to your cheeks and could make anyone weak in their knees. You know it’s silly, but a single look from him could make you spill any of your deepest and darkest secrets, yet a part of you also knows that he would keep it. You’re not naïve – you know it’s dangerous to put so much faith into a man you only met this week – but there’s something about him that told your instincts to trust him from the very beginning.

Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just plain stupidity, but you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him about how you got distracted because of his pretty face.

You hesitate for a moment and let out a sigh. “How do you do it?” He quirks a brow, momentarily perplexed, and you attempt to find the right words. “How do you make all of this look so easy? How do you know what the right thing to say is? Or trust that what you’re doing is even right? How did you know if this was all meant for you? This is really dumb, but it seems like everyone here was born for this job, and then there’s... me.”

There’s a slight sense of dread starting to form in your stomach. You’re unsure if what you asked even made any sort of sense and wonder if you gave too much away. Giving any reason to second guess your abilities is like digging your own grave when it comes to this career. Expressing uncertainty is one of the biggest taboos of the cutthroat world that is pre-med because schools would not accept students that aren’t absolutely, totally, and completely sure about this path.

You’ve wanted this for so long, yet there’s still a part of you that doubts if you would be enough.

Rather than going straight to gowning and scrubbing in for the surgery, Doctor Cullen grabs your hand and leads you down to an abandoned hallway, only letting go once the two of you are hidden in an alcove away from any prying ears or eyes.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for surgery?”

“We have a few minutes to spare. Y/N, please know that I understand how you feel,” he says softly. “There was a time when I questioned my own abilities as well… whether my perseverance could overcome adversity. It took quite some time to reach where I am today.  However, without enduring those trials and tribulations, I would not be here. With time comes experience, and it is that experience that allows me to perform my job the best I can.”

His voice reminds you of a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of a tree on a cool summer night when he continues speaking in hushed tones. It brings a blanket of reassurance, a sense that things would eventually be alright.

“I have said this before, but I see enormous potential in you. You still have a great deal of time to grow and develop your skills. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing yourself with others, especially given today’s societal standards, but I believe you are much more capable than you may think you are. Everyone’s journey is different and yours may not necessarily be as linear as you would prefer. In due time though, I have faith that you will succeed.”

What he says is exactly what you needed to hear.

The swell of tears pricks at your eyes and start blurring your vision, but you blink them away quickly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around the doctor. 

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome. Now, I believe there’s a little girl waiting on us.” 

XXX

Tag List - Message me to be added or removed to either this series or the rest of my fics!

@jelly-fishy-babie @notahappytree @anxiousgoldengirl

[for-the-ninth]

Thanks for the tag @charmcity-jess!!!

Been working on a second draft of Ch. 14 of The Life That Left Me. I've written both Shielan and Cullen as emotionally closed off, but for different reasons. Cullen is a bit softer than she is right now. He's suddenly a small fish in a huge pond and is kinda floundering in his search for purpose as he works his way out of survival mode. I don't want to reveal too much, but suffice it to say Shielan has Been Through It way before the Inquisition, so she has precious little sympathy to offer someone like Cullen, and it shows in their dialogue (which is why I have so much fun writing it).

***

Shielan held the lantern up, eyes raking over his disheveled state. “You look like shit.”

Cullen waited for a self-satisfied smirk or a laugh at his expense, but none came. She only stood, staring blankly, like she’d rather be anywhere but across from him, and he could hardly blame her.

“Thanks.” He tried for an easy chuckle—anything to dull the overbearing awkwardness—but judging by the roll of her eyes, it didn’t land.

“You’re being reassigned today,” she said. “Boss is a real hardass, so you’ll need to stay on your toes…”

Cullen knew he should be paying attention; he knew she never spoke superfluously and she hated wasting her breath, but warm rays of amber filtered through the unsightly hole of the dungeon’s exterior wall and cast their glow on her face, and his spirit was consumed with desires that struck him as unholy. He’d never seen her this early, before stress and exhaustion bore their weight on the muscles of her face. Her shoulders hung low, not drawn together as they were during meetings, and her hair, not yet ruffled by her comings and goings, lay in a neat braid over her shoulder. An errant strand slipped out to frame her face as she spoke, and he stifled the urge to tuck it behind her ear. It'd been so long since he touched another person.

“Hey, asshole!” She snapped her fingers in his face.

“Sorry, I—”

“Fuck me, I don’t know why I even bother.” She turned on her heel and strode away from him. “Might as well be talking to a goddamned corpse, for all it’s…” Her mutterings trailed off as she marched out of the exterior dungeon, and though she gave no such direction, Cullen figured it in his best interest to follow.

“What time is it?” His voice echoed off the stone as he ambled behind her, one hand clutching his aching thigh. Why was he still limping?

“Late.” She stood at the door, arms folded across her chest until he caught up to her. “As I already fucking said, you’re being reassigned today. Finding someone to take you on was a hard sell—that twat of a guard ran his mouth to anyone who would listen about your little meltdown. Luckily for you, the head of kitchen staff trusts me when I vouch for people.”

Cullen hobbled through the doorway and headed straight for the nearest stone column, panting and clutching it with both hands as she pulled the door shut behind him. “You recommended me for the job?”

“Recommended is a strong word. But I said I’d get you reassigned, and I—”

Shielan paused. Her eyes did not avert his own, but flitted off to the side, momentarily glazed over as though she were recalling a memory she couldn’t speak of. When she met his gaze again, her jaw was stiff, and her tone brisk.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” She cleared her throat and added, softly: “Not anymore.”

tags: @barbex @scribbledquillz @roguelioness @oxygenforthewicked @a11sha11fade @rakshadow

[autumnslance]

Current WIPS - 10/20/21

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. and then tag as many people as you have WIPs 

Tagged by @reflectionsofacreator.

OK I CANNOT tag as many people as I have WIPs. Trust me, you’ll see below. So if you want to do this, consider yourself tagged!

Because when I say “I write a lot and don’t post everything I write” I mean that and I think some people should see it.

Also my stringent organization system because my writing folders are the only thing in my life I do organize.

Some of these WIPS are several pages long. Some are a few sentences, just short paragraphs. Some are just notes thrown into a document in rough bullet points. I keep things in Scraps and Notes files to reuse when the original fic they were written for had no room for them, or if it’s a short idea such as a line of description or dialogue that has no other home fic attached to it yet.

Many I just have to go through and finish up; some of them are waiting on me to do a New Game+ replay to get more than immediate impressions and reactions and flesh them out into proper stories (a lot of the “reunion” titled pieces, especially in Shadowbringers, fall into this).

Some will never see public cuz they’re indulgences for me, as I figure out characters and dynamics. Or, in the case of “Amber Embrace”, a hormone-induced fever dream of a pairing I don’t usually ship prompted by a piece of art. As you do.

I write the most for Aeryn--always the plan--not much for the other OCs that hasn’t been posted, though some things are in drafts. Various writings for various NPCs. Names of people in titles are usually who else is involved/POV character).

Anyway I’m putting this below a cut because I have a lot of WIPs and not to mention everything else I keep in my FF Fan Write Folder, like some of my analysis writing, copies of quest text and lyrics for more analysis and fic ideas, and of course the actual finished fics originals/backups.

FF FAN WRITE FOLDER: Scraps

PROMPT RESPONSE SUBFOLDER: Incomplete Tumblr Prompts Reflections Attempt The Romance Novel

AERYN SUBFOLDER Will of the Father WotF Notes & Scraps

ARR Subsubfolder: 1. Aeryn Prologue Assessment (Archons) Carline Canopy (Papalymo) Eyes (Thancred) Meeting Research Interrupted (Y'shtola and Thancred) Return to the Chapel (Aeryn, Iliud) Rogue Practice Scions and Seedseer (Papalymo) Solar after Ifrit (Thancred) The Effects of Wine (Y'shtola)

HW Subsubfolder: Coerthan Comfort (w/Haurchefant) On Vengeance (Ysayle & Estinien) Peace Conference (Thancred) Prelude to a Party Snowstorm

Storm Subsubfolder: DRK Storm Entering Ala Mhigo Gyr Abanian Reunion Notes Idle Thoughts (Aeryn) Late Night (Alisaie, 4.4) Little Brother thing Pre-Ala Mhigo Convo Draft Pre-Violet Council: All Trouble in Coerthas

Shadow Subsubfolder: Amh Araeng is Emotional Apartments in the Crystarium (Thancred) Ascension At the Gates (Alphinaud) BroTalk Fae Reunions Home Draft - Aeryn Home Draft - Thancred Il Mheg Reunion Intervention It Ends Where It Begins Kids Post-Amaurot Nameday - Thancred On the First (Thancred) Rak'tika Reunion Return to the Stones Thancred and the Exarch - Pre-Laxan The Oracle of Light

Naughty Subsubfolder: Aether High After Amaurot After the Pardon Certain Questions Indecent Answers Naughty Scene Notes Parting (Post-Fluminis) Pre-Violet Council RtDoI Smut Scene Taste

ARCHONS & SCIONS SUBFOLDER: Matoya Goes to Town Shtola and Matoya Shtola and Matoya Notes Thavnairian Nights X'rhun and F'lhaminn

Downtime - Kids in Norvrandt Subsubfolder: Downtime - Eulmore Downtime - Wright

Thancred Subsubfolder: Bottle Scraps On the First - Outline, Ideas Poisoned Touch-Starved (Hilda, Naughty) Y'shtola-Thancred Notes

OTHER NPCS SUBFOLDER: Hilda and Sidurgu Hilda Ideas Lahabrea's Memories Raubahn's Regret

OCS SUBFOLDER: Dark Autumn Subsubfolder: Confrontation Singing Willow Notes

C'oretta Khell Subsubfolder: Pink and Black (C'oretta & Sid, Naughty)

Iyna Cauld Subsubfolder: Iyna at Werlyt

Amber Embrace Subsubfolder: Interludes and Outlines Pendants post-first meeting Rak'tika Rain

[suddencolds]

hey vanessa !! i'm just wondering, will there be any new fics coming in? ofc take your time with it all! i understand it can be really tiring so this is just out of curiosity ! no pressure or anything :) <3 also i really love your fics like i always come back everyday to read them :D

Hi anon!! :) I have 3 WIPs atm and they are all... blatantly unfinished and it's taking a lot out of me to write them. I've been unconfident in my writing for the longest time, and I'm also really slow at writing fml

But since you asked, here are some excerpts from each! - I can't promise I'll get around to finishing them (I think it's actually unlikely that I'll get to all 3). But if any of these seem worth continuing, lmk

1. (Diluc) - Kaeya asks for Diluc to accompany him on an expedition - really, it's an excuse to spend more time with him. He doesn't expect Diluc to come down with a miserable cold in the process.

“An expedition,” Diluc repeats.

“Yes.”

“You’re asking me to go with you.”

Kaeya laughs. He’d already expected that Diluc would have questions about this, but it’s not as if he can tell .

“Amber is leading her own expedition,”—busy scouting out some temples in Starfell Valley, after they’ve caught wind of Fatui activity in the area. It’s an assignment that Kaeya thinks Diluc would be much more interested in, but that’s besides the point—“and Eula is out sick this week. So are nearly half of the Knights. Jean suggested I find you.”

Perhaps if he phrases it this way—as if this is a last resort—Diluc will be more receptive to it. It’s not technically a lie. Jean hadn’t advised him to do anything—actually, Jean had told him that she hadn’t wanted him going up on Dragonspine alone. Technically, with Diluc’s company, he would not be going alone.

If Kaeya is taking her words out of context, then no one has to know.

“Where is it?”

At least it’s not outright a no. “Dragonspine,” Kaeya answers carefully. “You’d understand why a pyro user would be good for that.”

“And if I say no?”

There it is. Kaeya waves an arm dismissively. “I told her you wouldn’t want to… well, never mind. I suppose I can bring a few unactivated warming bottles and hope for the best.”

—

2. (Childe) - After the entire fiasco with Liyue and Rex Lapis's passing, Childe throws himself into work with a fever, gets injured, and begrudgingly seeks Zhongli out.

(This was supposed to be for Childe's birthday 3 weeks ago, and now it's sitting in my drafts as a 4k word unfinished WIP)

“How do you know Mr. Zhongli?”

Her question catches him off guard. “We used to be close,” he says, though maybe that isn’t completely accurate. “Now I think he might hate me, or… something.”

The ferrylady sets aside the papers she’s dealing with. “I am doubtful that Mr. Zhongli would hate anyone.”

Childe laughs, bitter and humorless. “Not without reason, I’m sure. But if he despises me now, I think it would be justified.”

He coughs into a raised hand, ducking slightly so that she can’t see how he grimaces after. “I mean, I didn’t set out to bother him just because I’m injured, ahaha! To be honest, I…”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know who else to turn to.

“...I think he would at least have the decency not to turn me away.”

Zhongli is the first person he’d trusted—entirely, foolishly—in a long time.

“He was... good at playing the part of a good friend.”

He knows that coming here has been selfish.

“I mean, he really had me fooled!”

“Is that so?” The ferrylady says softly. “From the way you speak about him, it seems like the two of you had a lot of history.”

Had they? His head is swimming now—perhaps he hasn’t been keeping up on sleep as much as he should’ve. “...You could say that,” Childe says, blinking slowly. “I’m sorry, I’m... rather tired. Do you mind if I shut my eyes for a second?”

He’s asleep before he has the chance to hear her response.

—

3. (Zhongli) Zhongli - after he's given up his godhood - comes down with something, though he hides it well. Childe takes notice.

(I just wanted to write a character study for Zhongli sfkjsh; I feel like he would still be exceptionally dignified and polite when ill, just... it would take a lot out of him to keep up that front)

They walk for a few minutes in silence. When the caverns splits off into two different entryways, Childe turns on his heels to ask for directions.

He’s met with Zhongli, ducking his head, a gloved hand over his face as his shoulders jerk forward, sharp and violent, even though it sounds contained. It takes another moment for Childe to recognize the action for what it is.

“Bless you, xiansheng!” he says. “Is something in the cave bothering you?” Childe had assumed that Zhongli’s archon status had made him unaffected by things like dust, though perhaps Zhongli is not impervious to everything human, after all.

“I am doubtful that anything inside this cave is causing this,” Zhongli answers.

Childe shrugs. “Well, let me know if you want to head back.”

Zhongli hums. The cavern is intimidatingly silent, save for the rush of water, so Childe passes the time, talking about the recruits he’s been training. He’s halfway through a tale about a ruin guard he’d encountered out in Guili Plains when Zhongli leans away slightly to cough into a raised arm.

“I apologize,” he says, when Childe stops mid-sentence to look at him. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

His voice is rough. Childe wonders why he hadn’t noticed earlier—perhaps because Zhongli has been speaking so quietly. He looks him over.

Zhongli looks, with every inch of him, as presentable as always, though the cavern is so dark it’s hard to say if anything is off. He meets Childe’s eyes with his usual, steady glance, sniffling softly.

The possibility that he might be ill is so fleeting that Childe almost dismisses it.

[lilyharvord]

Until the End

Summary:

I've been thinking about the entire Harbor Bay arc in War Storm for weeks now, and decided that there absolutely was a missing scene. So here it is, exactly what I think comes after that little fade to black when Mare slips into the room and Evangeline drops her off like a parent leaving their child for kindergarten. :)))

Notes:

I feel terrible that it's taking me soooo damn long to get the next chapter of the chain done. So I pulled this out from my drafts folder since it was 99% finished and gifted it to you all. It's unedited because of that, but consider it a little something something to apologize for taking so long with chapter 14 of the Chain.

Also if you could give it a little love on AO3 too I’d appreciate it ((: Link

Choosing not to choose.

She almost laughs at the words. Only he would say something so evasive and politic. It’s his style to avoid the truth at all costs, pretend they are anyone other than who they are. As if choice is a luxury they are not privy to, as if he did not make a choice weeks ago that tore her heart from her chest.

Even now, the memory cuts her to the bone. The brush of his hand along her neck, and the trail of his fingers through her hair eases the ache, reminding her why she even followed Evangeline to this room in the first place. He never judged her, never held her own choices against her. It makes it easy to always fall back against him. He is always a safe harbor she can find refuge in, a means of hiding from the truth they both are dancing around in this moment.

In the light, he still looks pale and drawn. He doesn’t wear his exhaustion as aesthetically as Maven. His makes him rugged, cracking the façade he wears like the crown on his head. That monstrosity is nowhere to be seen now, and without it in the picture she can almost forget that he chose that over her. Over her brother’s life and everything Shade had stood for.

Even with all that mounted against him, the sight of him still burns a fire in her stomach, and turns her innards molten. Every brush of his fingers along her skin drives her a little closer to the brink. The rest of the armor needs to go, and so does the thin undershirt. After seeing his skin grey on the sand, she wants to tear every last barrier down, just so she can rest a hand above his heart and feel it’s reassuring beat. Whether or not he lets her is another matter.

Mare Barrow has always been a thief though, so when she claims his mouth with hers, it is a stolen moment, pickpocketed along with the breath he exhales.

He doesn’t stop her. His hands trail along her back until they find her hips, and with a decisive tug, he pulls her flush against his body. Be rough, she almost whispers, grab on until I bruise, bite my lip, bruise it, squeeze me into one piece so I can feel whole again. She knows he’s strong enough to do it, that when he really wants to, he can show her just how much he loves her.

Knotting a hand in his hair, she pulls to lift herself up an inch more, keeping the kiss as her teeth catch his lip. Underneath her palm she imagine his heart pounds as he finally grabs fistfuls of her shirt and digs his fingers into her skin.

Panting he grabs her face instead, and immediately her hair falls out of the messy braid she threw it in. It’s a battle as much as any they’ve fought before, and she is determined to be on top in the end.

“Tell me you want this.” He pants as he cups her face, lifting it so she drowns in his eyes. Burning ore, fire made flesh, his gaze could burn her alive, but it never does. It holds her steady, warms her core until all she wants is him, the smell of him, the feeling of his hips meeting hers. All of him, she wants all of him, even the parts she loathes.

“I want you.” Mare breaths, running her fingers through his hair, shorn a little shorter than normal to correct the haircut he’d given himself. What she wouldn’t give to have it be the length it had been at the Notch. What she wouldn’t give to go back to him being that person instead of this. Closing her eyes and standing on tip toe, she rests her forehead against his. “I want Cal.”

His eyes burn, and a fluttering uncertainty crosses those lovely irises before Mare slides back down, dragging her hands along his body. The armor is beautiful and cold, a testament to what he is supposed to be. He’s never been that though, even in the times when she believed he was.

Tracing the grooves and dents left from the siege, she follows her fingers with her eyes. If she were to look up now, she would kiss him again and drown in him. With gentle hands, she finger the buckles, twisting her lips at the unnecessary complexity. “Without all of this.”

His fingers find hers, brushing along the skin of her hands. Finally, she looks up, only to meet his eye. The fire in them darkens, and with a scrape of leather the buckles come undone. The space between their bodies is so tight, for a moment, Mare wonders how he will be able to remove the thing. But he’s taken it on and off so many times, it slides over his head with ease, leaving him vulnerable before her.

The heat from his skin washes over her, finally free from the dam holding it back. His inhale is ragged when she traces his ribs. Glancing up through her lashes, Mare tilts her head to the side a fraction. “Sore?”

“They were fractured.” He murmurs in reply before dropping his lips to kiss her temple. The barely there touch and his exhales make her flutter her eyes closed. He continued to explore her face with his lips while she gently helps the gauntlets off his wrists, and removes the belt with that useless sword. He never had need for the thing, it’s all ceremonial, but it’s a pomp and circumstance that she hates.  

“Want me to make them feel better?” She whispers as the belt clatters to the floor with the sword. He steps beyond it, forcing her back a half step to give him room. She almost stumbles, but his arm around his waist keeps her upright and pulled tightly to him. He captures her lips again, and becomes the thief when he inhales her gasp.

When he breaks away, his eyes are dark, the pupils so dilated they almost swallow that lovely amber. “I want you.” He repeats her words from earlier, his fingers flexing in her shirt as if he wants to tear it to pieces and is only barely holding back.

“Then have me.” Her words are an exhale against his lips as she arches against him. The last of the tension in his body melts like candlewax as he shifts his hold to put her on her feet completely. His mouth claims hers once again, and he surges forward, laying claim to her just like they did with the city beyond the balcony doors. It’s part violent passion, part regretful tactics. Her fingers knot in his hair on instinct, and for a heartbeat she can taste the salt of he bay still on his lips.

“I hate you,” She whispers to him, and earns a panicked glance. Tracing his jaw with a finger, she observes the lines of his face, imagining what he might look like years from now if they even live that long. “But I love you all the same too.” He will only become more handsome as he ages, Mare decides. At least Evangeline will have something pretty to look at.

His face falls, and the next kiss he gives her is a half apology. It lingers, and he pours every emotion in it. She catches the after taste of his regret as he pulls away to cup her face and caress her cheeks with his thumbs. His eyes slide closed as he rests his forehead on hers. Maybe he thinks he can hold this moment forever, polish it like a coin to store for when she is long gone. If it wasn’t obvious already, when this is finished, she will vanish and be nothing more than a fever dream for him to wake gasping from some day. For a heartbeat, her own regret over saying anything at all mixes with his.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off before he can say anything else. Cradling his hands with hers, she leans into his touch, closing her eyes. If she does that she can imagine they are back in Piedmont in his bunk room or in the glen. “We both know the truth.”

When she opens her eyes, his expression is neutral. But she’s known him long enough to see the emotions hidden behind the curtain. Dropping his forehead to rest it against hers, he exhales slowly.

“Then I won’t. But I never lied to you. I want you more than anything in this world… and I—I love you Mare.”

“Please don’t.” She pleads with him, treading a hand through his hair, and tugging so that he opens his eyes again. “Please.” She breathes the word this time, and he swallows. Her heart aches in her chest, even as it relaxes in his grip.

His hands fall from her face to her shoulders and then her hips. She turns her eyes to the ceiling painted like a sunset. Tears want to gather, tears of exhaustion after the battle, tears of relief over Kilorn, tears of regret that she’s here and not there with him, tears of anger that she still loves this man after what he did, and tears of true misery that he is the one that lit the match and burned the bridge between them.

His hands squeeze her hips, and she finally drops her chin only to watch him sink to his knees before her. He looks up at her reverently as his hands cup the back of her legs to keep her from running. Looking down at him, she can see the light cutting across his face differently. He’s still so young, and so is she. Can she really fault him for the decision he made? He’s only ever known one path for his life, and so has she. Can he fault her for hers? Can she really hate him for choosing what he knows and understands?

The words clog her throat, choking her. Yes, she can, and she can’t. He’s been brave before, even in the face of true fear. He could have trusted her, been brave enough to stay by her side and trust Farley and Dane. He made his choice, and right now they are dancing around that choice.

“I will only ever love you, for the rest of my life.” He whispers before resting his forehead against her stomach and pressing his lips to the tiny bit of skin he exposed on her hip. She stands frozen with the weight of his admission. The tension in her body is unmistakable, the hitch in her breath impossible to hide. But then she melts against him, and a single tear manages to escape as she closes her eyes. Knotting her fingers in his hair, she curls around him, lets him press delicate kisses against her skin; each one like a delicate flower blooming.

“Let’s—let’s pretend for a little bit. I want to pretend.” She hates her weakness, and that her knees buckle into his grip when he looks up at her again. His face falls when he sees the tears leaving trails down her cheeks. Reaching up, he wipes them away, barely brushing his skin against her own.

They remain in silence as they have always been: a future king on his knees before the Red girl that brought him to them numerous times before.

“What do you want to pretend?” He asks her.

“That there was never a choice made at all.” The words are coated in her tears, and they fall from his lips like shards of glass and honey at the same time. They burn her throat and she half regrets them.

The silence stretches, almost longer than she can stand. But then he rises slowly, bringing one of her hands up to kiss her palm and her fingers. “What choice?” He asks, playing the part and stepping into the game with her.

When she kisses him this time, it’s soft, gentler than any kiss they’ve had before. He slides a hand down and crouches just enough to lift her off the ground. Without breaking away from him, she wraps her legs around his waist, the salt of her tears mixing with their kiss.

He carries her to the bed like she weighs nothing, and with careful movements, he lays her down among the silk and sheets. With her eyes closed, Mare can pretend, she can imaging there was no choice, that they are simply two people in the world that found relief with each other. Squeezing his hips with her knees, she sighs as he slides on top of her, and rests his weight on her. His fingers grip her thigh and he squeezes as he rocks against her tentatively, testing the pace and the timing.

“Tell me you love me.” She breathes between kisses, and runs her fingers up along his sides, counting his ribs and sliding her knuckles into the contours of his back.

“I love you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss against her lips.

“Again.”

“I love you.” Another kiss against her collarbone.

“Again.”

“I love you.” His hand slides under her shirt and lifts it to her neck so he can kiss her sternum.

“Once more.”

“I love you.” She drops her arms above her head so he can remove her shirt effortlessly and slide down to press a kiss against her stomach. Slipping her hands underneath the collar of his shirt next, she trails her fingers along his burning skin there. His teeth nip at the skin of her hip, before he leaves a kiss behind as an apology. Her belt goes next, and without breaking contact with her skin, he slides her pants off. His lips trail her thigh, and pause to kiss the inside of her knee as he guides them both over his shoulders.

“I love you.” He breaths against the inside of her thigh, before dropping between her legs completely.

Mare exhales in a silent gasp, her nails digging into the skin behind his neck. His fingers curl around her hips as she bucks when his tongue finds the most sensitive spot she has. Holding her down, he continues, whispering those same words as he works.

By now, he’s a master of his craft with her, and she grabs his hair to pull him back up before she can finish. His eyes lock with hers, shinning in the dusk. Panting, she trails her fingers along his jaw, and then his lips, memorizing the feel of them.

His lips quirk up in the smallest of smiles before leaving one more kiss on the inside of her thigh. Resting his cheek there, he closes his eyes and says, “Say my name, just one more time.”

She’s almost spiteful, almost calls him that disgusting excuse for a name. It’s what he chose, but because it’s part of the game, and he is playing so well, she sits up and forces him to sit as well. Resting a hand against his chest, she slides onto her knees to stand above him once more. A warm breeze off the ocean cools the sweat on her back, and shifts her hair so that the strands whisper across his face. She drops a kiss between his brows, and he closes his eyes as she rests her lips there.

“Cal,” she breathes against his skin. She doesn’t even have to think about it, the name comes as natural as it always has. “Cal,” she says it again as she tilts his head up to meet her eye when he shivers at her gentle touch. He pulls her into his lap, his expression and composure crumbling.

“Mare.” He echoes her sentiment, craning to kiss her and pull her against him completely. His voice breaks on her name, like a wave on the shore. When she cups his face again, she feels the hot tears running in long trails down his face.

“Love me like you did in the glen.” She whispers against his temple. If she could go back there, she would trade anything. And in her heart of hearts, she hopes he feels the same way. Maybe he would, Evangeline seemed too confident that the events would tumble in this direction after she left Mare here. She must have seen or heard something, and if she had, there might be hope still. Smash that thought to pieces, Mare closes her eyes and banishes any other thoughts like it. Hope was a dangerous thing, her father warned her about it months ago. She understands it now. Before, she’d never had a chance to hope, now, she knows the sting of losing it.

His hands soften their grip on her hips and he shifts her to reach behind his head and pull his shirt off. Throwing it to the side, he remove the bracelets next, tossing them unceremoniously in the same direction. They clatters on the marble floor, but he ignores the sound, his eyes never leaving her face. “Thank my colors for the rain.” He says with a small smile before lifting up to his knees and kissing her again.

She laughs, the sound real and warm. It fills her chest and lights the space between them. Dropping her fingers to the buttons on his pants, she undoes them with ease, smiling against his lips the whole time. This is her last chance to turn back, to remember her vow to let them all kill each other. She made it for a reason. But in this moment, she can’t quite remember it.

“Will you love me like you did then?” He murmurs against her shoulder where he presses light kisses against the scars creeping toward her neck.

“Yes.” Her answer is immediate, dangerously so. He doesn’t’ comment though, just helps her remove his pants before lifting her up into his lap again. Straddling one of his thighs, she rolls his hips, feeling the exhale he releases along her jaw. Shifting to drag her legs open and completely straddle him, she settles against him, relaxing into his hands as they settle on her hips.

“I’m going to tell you a secret you will take to your grave.” She murmurs against his ear, and he shivers at the cadence of her voice at the same time that he nods in understanding. The truth had been bubbling up in her throat for the past few minutes. In this position, she can actually admit it without it feeling like stabbing a knife in everyone else’s backs.

Resting her lips against the curve of his ear, she exhales softly before whispering it to him. “I haven’t stopped loving you, and that is the hardest part of all of this.”

The breath he’d held released in a sharp exhale that pained even her heart. Shifting, she rolls her hips one more time, before guiding one of his hands to her chest. Immediately his thumb began to rub slow circles on her skin, tightening the radius until she groaned softly.

Without a word, he lifted her hips just enough to guide her. Even as she sank down, and whimpered his name, he didn’t reply to her words. They both knew there was nothing else to say, nothing could change what had happened. For a short while though, they could pretend, simply exist as whatever they wanted to be. They could have everything they wanted, walk two paths at the same time and still be within reach of the other.

This was so much gentler than any time before. The glen had been different, a frenzy of movement and passion spurred on by the storm raging over head. The bunk room had been different, with its tight quarters and stifling humid heat. Then they had felt like they were running out of time. This place though, this moment, existed somewhere else. It could last for eternity or it could last for a few minutes. And every movement, every touch cemented that fact.

His hands continues to trail along her skin, his fingers digging into the skin of her back at the same time that hers pressed into his shoulders. She squeezed her thighs around his hips when he found the right tempo and angle, her breath catching for a moment as she closes her eyes and lets her lips trail along his temple.

With a sigh, and a whisper of the silk sheets, he lays her down among the blankets again. She let him with relief, let him control the pace and the tempo of the gentle rocking. She didn’t dig her nails in like she used too, or rush him, or demand to be in control by flipping over to be on top. He practically worshiped her though, laying kisses all over her skin, and running his hands along every inch he could find.

“As long as we’re telling secrets,” he whispers against her jaw finally, never losing pace. “Let me tell you one.”

Panting weakly as her insides tighten and she begins to approach her climax, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back to expose her throat to him. He immediately rests a kiss against the spot where her pulse pounds. He dragged his lips up to her ear and squeezing one of her hips so tightly she half expects to bruise right that second, he whispers, “I regret it, every second I am apart from you. Every time I look at you, I want to take it back.”

Her back arches and she whines as he thrusts just a little deeper and tugs on her earlobe with his teeth. “I still want you. Every second of every day. I want you so badly it aches, Mare.” He pants against her temple, his jaw tightening so the words almost don’t escape.

She feels his muscles tighten in his shoulders as he shudders against her, at the same time that she gasps and finally digs her nails into his skin to anchor herself. They lay panting for a moment, and she took that eternally long moment to just listen and revel in his heartbeat. Tears burn down her cheeks again, painting her lips with salt. She almost lost him on that beach today. As she stood there praying and bargaining with whatever gods may still listen, she realized a horrible truth. She couldn’t lose him. Everything she had done, from demanding he be spared at the end, to rushing from New Town to Harbor Bay had been because of this indescribable truth. In a strange way, he completed her. Complimented her and matched her. She didn’t believe in soul mates, and she still didn’t. But this, this went beyond that, beyond the universe and everything it contained. She could not lose him, and that is why, she knows when the times comes to leave him completely, it will destroy her.

It’s a mutual, silent agreement when he pulls away and falls among the blankets. Without a thought, she rolls, putting her back to him at the same time that he bands his arm around her waist. His heart pounds against her shoulder blade, and she lets the most simple sound in the world lull her to sleep as his pulse slows.

“Stay with me, until the end?” He whispers against her shoulder, when the sun has finally kissed the horizon and the shadows have stretched over the bed. She slides her hand along his forearm to interlace their fingers. For a moment, she debates breaking the rules of their little game, ruining the mirage. Instead, she brings his hand up to kiss it.

“Until the very end.”