#i could be the way forward only if they pay for it; hans visage

[fictionformed]

Shona, Hans, Zane and Thomas recently added new photos

[aminiatureworld]

Affection

Characters: Albedo, Beidou, Keqing, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,705

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Sometime we know something is impossible from the start. But still we walk towards it, even if we know it will hurt us. It’s only flirting, only a smile or a hug or some food. Even if nothing comes of it, there is nothing to regret. Even if it hurts.

In which the reader gives affection, expecting nothing in return.

Author’s Note: More “new” characters! I’ve been neglecting Keqing and Beidou, they deserve some love. I hope as always their characterizations live up to expectations! This was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!

I couldn’t tell whether to make this melancholy or fluffy, so I guess I half-and-half-ed it. Best of both worlds, right? Although the tone feels definitely lighter.

Albedo

Your friends never could figure out why you were flirting with Albedo.

“That alchemist has nothing on his mind but work,” one of them once told you, “he’ll never reciprocate your feelings you know.”

“I know.” You’d replied, smiling the sort of smile people put on when they’re trying to show they’re not annoyed. “I know he doesn’t like me in that way, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I want to.” You’d shrugged, shifting the conversation to some other topic. In all honesty, it wasn’t as if your friend was lying. But neither were you, not really. There wasn’t any good explanation for why you were flirting with Albedo after all. You knew that he’d never take it seriously, knew you weren’t good enough for it anyways. Maybe that’s why you flirted with him. Maybe it was better to make the slightest fool of yourself than drive yourself mad thinking about something that could never be.

So you continued on your merry, if slightly self-destructive way. Every time you saw Albedo, which was quite a bit considering the fact you were often posted around Dragonspine and spent a lot of your free time in the square right outside his office, you ran his way, asking him what he was doing, or telling him about your own day. You’d developed this habit of leaning in a bit whenever he spoke to you, and the slight pause he gave as his smile grew wider whenever you did made your heart soar.

Not that you ever started thinking there was ever a chance. I mean, come on. Albedo was Albedo and you were you. There was a great deal of distance between the two of you, as if you were standing on opposite sides of a bridge which was liable to fall at any moment. You could shout across at each other, but never did you attempt to walk over to him, knowing it’d surely result in disaster.

Still, why did you flirt with Albedo? The question sort of haunted you at times. You enjoyed his company, you’d even told him you enjoyed his company. He’d smiled his sedate smile, pausing for a moment to look away from the painting he was working on. “I enjoy your company too.” He’d said, before turning back to his work. It was a quiet, calm, even sort of response, just the sort you’d expected. And yet you kept going, and though you made no attempt to push the boundaries or go any farther, you still wondered at times what the point of it was.

Perhaps following that line of thought was a bit dangerous. You found the more you asked yourself what you expected out of your closeness with Albedo, the more absent you seemed to be. It wasn’t as if you were trying to avoid him or anything, no quite the contrary. It was only that you tended to want to be alone when you were thinking about something like this. Reaching out was hard, especially to the person who you were thinking about.

“Are you alright?” You glanced up from the lunch you were pondering over to see Albedo leaning over you. Feeling your cheeks redden you jumped slightly.

“Albedo! Oh I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings! Sit down!” You gestured vaguely to the spot on the bench next to you. Albedo smiled politely, sitting down as directed. He seemed to sober however once he was sitting, scanning your face for something, though you weren’t sure what that something was.

“You seem… absent recently, I was wondering if something was the matter.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine!” You shook your hands out in front of you. “I guess I’ve just been sort of busy recently, or maybe a little tired I guess. You know that the festival is coming up, right? Well Acting Grand Master Jean is really running us ragged! But I promise I’ll be back to normal soon!” You laughed awkwardly; it wasn’t as if you weren’t telling the truth per se, just… not the whole truth. But you’d rather not put all your troubles on Albedo, not when he was reaching out to see if you were okay. Smiling once more you attempted to switch topics. “How’s your research? Have you found something new while I’ve been gone?”

“Yes, I’ve begun to study the reaction between macrophage and eukaryotic cells in contrast with prokaryotic cells, and how adding elemental effects to reactions either speeds up or slows down the reaction. But I’m glad to hear you’re alright,” Albedo seemed to relax a bit, leaning backwards slightly on the bench, “everything has been much quieter with you gone. It’s unnatural, I can’t focus as well. I keep finding myself distracted by little things. I look forward to participating in our conversations once more.”

“Well I’ll be there soon!” You promised, heart fluttering slightly. Did he really mean that? I mean sure, it didn’t mean anything more than what was on the tin. Your situation hadn’t changed that much. Still, it meant something to you that Albedo wasn’t just tolerating your presence, that he was actually somewhat involved in your friendship. “I promise I’ll have some very interesting topics of conversation when I come back.”

“Good.” Albedo nodded once more before smiling slightly sheepishly. “My workspace is currently going through a cleaning and the lab isn’t supposed to let any foreign substances in in; would you mind terribly if I ate with you?”

“Not at all!” You responded. “I love spending my free time with you. What have you brought?”

Why did you flirt with Albedo? Why did you seek out his presence despite you and everyone around you knowing full well that it was never going to come to anything? What did you even think of Albedo? Well you could answer that last one at least. You loved him. You loved him very much. And even if he didn’t reciprocate the way you did, even if your friends told you it was pointless and your mind chastised you for putting yourself through the ringer, even if all that was true, you weren’t going to stop. Because you were Albedo’s friend and he was yours. And for now that was enough.

Even if a part of you continued to hope that one day this would change.

 Beidou

Beidou was utterly out of your league and you knew it.

It wasn’t exactly a difficult conclusion to come to after all. Brash, outspoken, good with a sword, Beidou embodied that sort of restless, self-reliant spirit you wish you yourself could emanate.

It didn’t hurt that Beidou had essentially rescued you from destitution, having found you languishing in a corner of one of the seedier docks of Liyue, and having taken you in quickly after the fact. You owed her a great deal, and was glad to do so. After all you’d fallen hopelessly in love with Beidou.

Life aboard a slightly illegal ship was bound to be an intimate one. Everyone knew everything about everyone else, and it was very difficult to find someone that hadn’t heard about your crush. Someone who wasn’t Beidou, that was. Although it wasn’t like you attempted to hide it; you just never brought it out in the open. And who could blame you? How could anyone who’d nearly died of starvation waiting for some sort of divine help compare to the bravest captain you’d ever met?

So you two settled into a routine of sorts, at least in your mind. You ate every meal as close to her as possible, something which had been difficult at first but as the “secret” spread around became almost comically easy, you discussed your plans with her first, gave her various trinkets you’d found in your travels, asked her opinions about your weapon then asked her to train with you. The training sessions had almost killed your resolve not to tell her, nothing was so intimate as having someone constantly checking your posture, moving and arm here a leg there, closely monitoring how you moved and acted.

All the while you said nothing. It felt selfish after all to even think about it. Beidou had many a time told her crew that they were one big family. On top of the obviously platonic motives behind her love for you, you weren’t about to impose on the crew by trying to take the spot as favorite or partner. It’d make you feel sleazy.

But damn if sometimes your resolve wasn’t tempted. It was the night after a particularly successful raid, and everyone was drunk out of their minds. Even you were tipsy, although compared to the rest you were positively sober. Sitting next to Beidou, who was walking up and down the tables making speeches of various levels of comprehensibility, you thanked the archons above that this woman had saved you. It was all worth the pain and suffering, if only to see her smile, which was blinding at the moment.

“You were brave, my dear compatriots! Distinguished! Honored! Positively courageous!” Beidou let out a slight “hic”, her vocabulary always did turn a bit grand when she drank too much. “Indeed, I’m sure not even the greatest of emperors had an army which could rival the visage of our band of brothers! Storming the deck, why we all might’ve perished! Damned visions, they’re for cheaters! For fraudsters! You all fight without them, and in doing so you prove yourself far more valiant, far more exemplary than they do!” Evidently Beidou had forgotten she herself was a vision wielder. Then again, so had everyone else.

“On this night of victory, of perilous and prestigious triumph, I wish to congratulate the greatest of warriors! This! My proverbial right hand man, the distinguished…” Beidou turned around towards you, gesturing in a very flamboyant sort of manner. You stood there, shocked by the sudden attention, blushing deeply, brain so filled with awe that you only half realized Beidou couldn’t remember your name.

“Yes! This person, this noble scalawag!” Beidou lifted you up so you were standing next to her, archons was she strong. “Now I don’t believe in laws, but if I did I’d marry them I would! You all ought to be more like them, mark my words I want to see some shaping up! There are no levels on this ship, but if there were they’d be higher than you all! Pay attention to my words, they are final!” And with that, speech apparently over, Beidou planted a soft, if slightly messy, kiss on your cheek.

If it weren’t for the people around you, you might’ve fainted.

The next day announced itself with a headache, though as the least hungover of the group you were put in charge of dishing out the medicine and water. The whole ship appeared to be groaning, and though the crew was usually quite active and excited at almost any hour of the day, you could tell that most of the men and women just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep.

“Captain wants to see you when you’re done with your rounds.” There were a few other people helping you out, and the one that informed you about this raised an eyebrow as you promptly turned white as a sheet, before a splotchy shade of red covered your face. What was she going to say? Had she remembered what had happened the night before? You admitted to yourself that maybe banking on Beidou forgetting was a doomed cause from the start. Beidou was perhaps brash and a lover of alcohol, but her memory was sharp, and she somehow managed to never drink herself to total incompetence. If you challenged a drunk Beidou to a duel your chances were going to be about the same as if you’d challenged her sober. Hell maybe they’d be even worse. With that grim thought in mind you distributed the last of the medicine, wiping your hands needlessly on your clothes before walking towards the captain’s cabins.

You loved Beidou’s cabins, they somehow seemed both incredibly grand and inexplicably homey. With furniture made out of a plush and luxurious red sort of material, it was nonetheless crowded by knickknacks; drawings, carvings, and other such paraphernalia littered the shelves and the dressers. Beidou had once told you almost all of it was from current or former shipmates. The luxuries they stole had no use in her home.

“Captain Beidou?” You ventured. The captain was at her desk, scribbling out something, probably a plan. She loved to plan in her free time, whether or not the plan was something doable or a total fantasy. Now she looked up, setting her pen down and smiling her classic, cocky grin.

“Ah, my favorite shipmate. How’re we feeling today?”

“W-well!” You managed to get out, a bit distracted by the nickname. Ah, it seemed she had remembered at least part of it. “Um, captain, I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I did. I’ve been thinking since last night, thinking a great deal, and I was wondering, what would you think to becoming my partner, in a, well, romantic sort of sense.”

“So suddenly?” You replied, eyes widening but nevertheless cracking a smile. Beidou’s confession had been blunt, devoid of all the usual flourishes. And yet it was what you wanted, what you’d always wanted.

“Well why not?” Beidou shrugged nonchalantly. “After all considering how you’ve been acting towards me for the past few months, I figured why not become my partner. Unless I’ve been reading you wrong of course.”

“No!” You exclaimed. “I mean yes, I mean, well yes to the first and no to the second. I’d love to become your partner, and you haven’t been reading me wrong.” Your gaze dropped to the floor. “I just figured I wasn’t good enough. I mean you’re… you. And besides, you said we were all a family. I figured you wouldn’t want me as a partner.”

Beidou raised her eyebrow slightly as her smile melted into a smirk. Shaking her head slightly she approached you, raising your gaze every so slightly. “Well I can tell you right now I’m not too good for you. Not only are you good with a weapon, but you’re about as tough and fearless as they come. I don’t want to hear about how you’re secretly scared or whatnot. Everyone is that doesn’t matter. But you fight well and without second thought. And I admire that. And as for the speech about family, well a romantic partner is family of some kind. Besides the crew won’t mind, they’ve been talking about it for ages.”

“I guess they have.” You blushed; apparently Beidou hadn’t been as uninformed as you thought.

“Any last words before you’re my partner?” Beidou’s smile was as wide as you’d ever seen it and just as infectious; you grinned back.

“I love you.”

“Good. Now,” Beidou smiled, planting a soft kiss on your cheek and then a peck on your lips – something which left you grasping for coherent thought “let’s tell the others.”

 Keqing

Working with Keqing was an experience akin to slowly dying inside.

You’d become somewhat enamored with the Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing ever since you’d first met her. Her brusque and honest manner was refreshing, and when listening to her talk about the archons, about Liyue, about how the past and the present tied together, you never really seemed to question her. She always gave off the impression of intelligence, and, unlike some others you’d met, she had the brains to back it up. And what could you say? Before you knew it you had a crush on her.

Yet working with her showed other sides of Keqing too. She was very self-conscious when it came to compliments. Not that she minded them per se, as one time you’d asked her if your constant praise was a bother. “I just never know how to respond.” She’d admitted, and to be fair you understood that. But as long as she told you she liked them you’d compliment her.

Of course you knew it could never go beyond that. Keqing was your coworker; she was your superior in almost every way, both in occupation and in character. She never lost her cool or found herself off guard when fighting treasure hoarders or when dealing with rowdy citizens. She was efficient, capable, and aware of her incredible abilities. And she didn’t feel the need for a partner, something she had told you every time someone else worked up the courage to ask her out. You couldn’t bring yourself to impose on her like they did, not when you knew what her answer would be.

It was a slightly disheartening existence, and indeed sometimes you wondered what the point of it was, wondered if you shouldn’t just quit. But that wouldn’t be fair, not to Liyue, and not to Keqing herself. She relied upon the other members of the Liyue Qixing  to work efficiently and without sudden disruption. And the sudden quitting of someone who was hardly at the bottom of the ranks would’ve certainly done just that.

Besides, Keqing was first and foremost your friend. It was a bit of a fragile friendship, yes, but it was friendship nonetheless; and you valued that friendship well above your own infatuation. If you had to bottle your feelings up so be it. You owed it to Keqing to keep it together, to not impose on her what she obviously didn’t want and to not punish her for it by drawing away. So it hurt, so what? A lot of things hurt, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth doing or experiencing. And this was certainly one of those things.

It was late evening, and most of the cubicles were dark. You sat, writing the last few sentences of a report, trying to ignore the headache that had been developing since earlier that day. A friend had attempted to set you up on a blind lunch date, and though you appreciated their motive the whole thing had been a chore, and now you were late on your work.

“Almost done?” Keqing’s voice broke through your mental grumblings. Looking up at her you nodded, and Keqing smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Can’t have one of our best workers getting sick on account of working too hard.”

“I won’t get sick.” You assured her. Finally stamping the paper you let out a sigh leaning back in your chair.

“A difficult day?”

“You could say that,” you admitted, “a friend went on a slightly appreciated but incredibly unnecessary mission to get me to go out on a date. Honestly, I’d rather her just treat me to lunch.”

“I can understand the feeling.” Keqing frowned in sympathy. “People are too obsessed with the idea of romance, so much so it blinds them. There are more important things in this world.”

“I’d say most people consider love pretty important.” You commented. Keqing shook her head in response.

“Perhaps, but aren’t ideals better than individual wishes? Romance may be fun, perhaps, but there are other things to consider. Besides, I find your company far more enjoyable than I would any date.”

“You do?” You responded, heart fluttering slightly; you hoped Keqing didn’t notice the blush spreading across the bridge of your nose and coloring your cheeks. Luckily it was slightly dark in the office.

“Oh certainly,” Keqing waved her hand dismissively, “you’re the best coworker and friend I’ve ever had. No significant other could give me advice like you do, or help me so much when I’m struggling with work or with my thoughts, and dates are so formal and boring and awkward compared to spending an afternoon with you. Really I’m perfectly content relationship wise with our friendship. Relationships are full of pitfalls, people keeping this little thing from their partner, or omitting that little act. No, better to have an open and supportive friendship like we do.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You replied, and really you did. You’d known since day one that a romantic relationship was off the table. So if you could stay by Keqing’s side and support her, if only a little longer, then you’d be perfectly content.

Even if a part of you still wished that things could’ve been different.

 Zhongli

To be fair to Zhongli you weren’t sure how much he understood of any type of human relationship. The fact that the Geo Archon had befriended you in the first place was an achievement in itself.

And yet he had befriended you, and soon you’d found yourself falling in love with the slightly aloof, slightly out of touch geo archon. Zhongli was much more than that of course. Surprisingly open, the ex-deity took to finding out information about humanity with zeal. Always eager to ask you questions and to hear about how your day had gone or how you felt after something particularly happy or sad or gratifying, Zhongli had morphed into a pseudo confidante for you. Someone you found yourself relying on more and more. His gentle nature didn’t hurt either, or his looks for that matter; all in all Zhongli seemed like the perfect sort of person, and though you knew that you’d never be able to measure up to an archon, you found yourself unable to suppress the overwhelming love you felt for him.

Zhongli didn’t seem to mind your openness at all, indeed he sort of relished it, or at least he seemed to. Every time you reached out to grab his hand he gladly slipped it into yours, and whenever you ran up and hugged him after a long period of not seeing one another he always hugged you back. He’d eat lunches with you, and sometimes dinners, and sometimes weekends were spent running around Liyue, or at home listening to one another’s stories or reading one another’s books. It’s truly a magical sort of feeling to share a book with someone. But then again with Zhongli everything seemed magical.

Of course affection aside the whole matter never crossed the line of friendship. You never told him of your affections, and in return Zhongli never initiated anything further than conversation. Not that it bothered you; you felt there was a bit of a gap between you and Zhongli. After all surely it was idealization which caused you to recognize that someone like Rex Lapis had no want or inclination towards engaging in a relationship with a mere mortal. Facts are facts, and there’s no changing them, no matter how much you wanted to.

And yet how odd fate is.

“What is being in love like?”

You looked up at Zhongli, trying desperately to act as if you hadn’t felt your heart rate spike to unhealthy levels.

“Uhm… what do you mean what is love like?”

“I’ve noticed mortals are very enamored with love. I have to admit, my experience with romance is minimal; archons and adepti seldom see romance as something that affects them. But I want to know, as a human, what is love like to you?” There was no mockery or sense of superiority in Zhongli’s face. Not that you expected there to be. Zhongli never looked down upon humans as unequal. Many times he’d told you he admired them. Taking a breath you thought of your answer.  

“Well… hmm. Love is very different for everyone. To some love is like an inferno; it’s very sudden and very intense. It sort of burns them up, it’s all they think about. I think that’s less love, more infatuation, but to some that is indeed love. To others love is sort of… staid. It’s being able to rely on them, to talk to them about anything and everything without feeling embarrassed or like you have to put on some sort of show. It’s knowing that there’s someone who will always side with you or help you realize what’s right, or be there when you feel terrible. To them love isn’t passionate, it’s comforting.”

“And to you?” Zhongli interrupted, a look of thoughtfulness on his face.

“Well to me it’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose to most people it’s somewhere in the middle. And this is only romantic love after all. Love is so big, so all encompassing, I think it’s hard to pin down. But to me romantic love is both; it is the passion that causes people to do crazy things and espouse crazy sorts of ideals, and it is the staid comfort of knowing there is someone who will always understand you, and always support you in that understanding.” You paused, realizing you’d been prattling on a bit. “Why, may I ask? Is there a reason you want to know.”

“Yes,” Zhongli admitted, voice slightly less calm than usual. “I, I’ve been thinking about my feelings towards someone a great deal recently; they’ve been alien, although not distressing per se. They feel as if I’m always on some sort of edge, but I don’t feel upset by it. Instead I want to approach it, want to be around the person who makes me feel that way. I wanted to understand that emotion more. I wondered if it was love. Thank you for answering my question, it was most enlightening.”

“That person must be very lucky.” You replied, keeping your tone as light as possible, trying to ignore your emotions, which had risen and dropped so very quickly. “I suppose I’ll have to lay off on the affection now. Part of love is sometimes being a little bit jealous, at least in the beginning, at least for some people. It’s silly, really, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Zhongli’s tone was surprisingly wry, as if there was a joke somewhere you’d missed.

“Why?” You asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“Because the person whom I was enquiring about is you.”

Honestly you would’ve been less surprised if Zhongli had told you that he was going to run away from Liyue and join the circus. All you could manage to sputter out was: “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Zhongli chuckled slightly. He raised his hand, gloved fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ve suspected it for some time, but I wanted to be sure. Are you alright with me telling you this?”

Alright? You were over the moon! Had you ever been this happy before? You weren’t sure, but you were happy now.

“Of course it’s alright. Zhongli, I’ve liked you for months now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Zhongli tilted his head slightly in confusion. You stared down at your hands, slightly embarrassed.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. I mean you’re an archon and I’m a mortal. I’m hardly different from the other people of Liyue, and I just, I don’t know, I was scared of rejection, I was scared you’d think I was overstepping and that our friendship would crumble. And I didn’t think I could stand that.”

At first Zhongli said nothing, instead he held out his hand. You gladly placed your palm in his, comforted by its warmth.

“You shouldn’t hold yourself so cheaply,” Zhongli spoke softly, “there are a great many extraordinary things about you. Your affectionate nature, your determination to live even when the world is dark and dangerous, your willingness to open your heart to some ancient archon who knows little of humans. If that’s not extraordinary, I don’t know what is. I don’t feel towards anyone as I do towards you, at least I haven’t in a long time. So don’t think of yourself that way anymore, please.”

“I won’t.” You replied. And it was true. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, not anymore. Zhongli would make sure of that, already you could tell.

To some love burns like fire in the mind, to other it wraps you up in a blanket of comfort. You felt incredibly lucky, for you despite yourself demanded both, and somehow fate had bestowed it upon you. And for that you would be forever grateful.

[margotverger]

bloom’s duality

[Sequel to Guillotine’s Glint! | Read on Ao3]

I can't lose this. I can't lose you.

Margot's words remain imprinted on the fleshy fabric of her brain; when she closes her eyes to sleep, fitfully, they are illuminated on the red screen of her eyelids. Bright, stark white; white as stars. Navigation through the grim and murky waters of their hiding. In her dreams, she sees her family, becalmed on a red sea, a black mass surging from the depth. It has no face, but she knows it is him. The kraken has awoken, and has come for his pay. All the while, Alana is marooned on an island of her own creation, frozen as she watches those foul appendages pull her family deep into its toothed maw. Entirely helpless.

She wakes up with a scream in her throat, and Margot hovering over above her, haloed by the overhead light. Her eyes are wide, terrified, wet with fear. Morgan is stirring, his dreamscape disturbed. “Bad dream?” Margot's hands are so soft, fingers brushing along the dip and curve of her cheekbone.

“Bad dream,” she echoes, voice weakened, raw, as if she really had been screaming. She seeks comfort in a kiss, chaste and brief. “I think I'll take watch now.”

Something has to be done about this.

*

She invests in a trainer, taming her paranoia about interacting with others. While it is incredibly unlikely Hannibal intends to enact his plans through a mere idol, one can never be too certain. To allow someone into her sanctuary is to create a leak in the boat. But it must be done. If she is doomed to be a sitting duck, she might as well be one that can fight back.

*

Aleksandra is her name. A bulky Russian woman, she towers above them, so much so that her blonde hair, cropped short, almost touches the ceiling. Despite the toughness that emanates from every curve of muscle, Morgan takes an instant liking to her. Alana sees it as a good omen.

(A good omen is still an omen, says some small part of her.)

*

Aleksandra stays with them. She instills a nutrition plan for she and Margot; things that will imbue them with strength, stamina, enough protein to carry them through the absolutely ruthless training plan she has in mind. At night, when Margot is sleeping, Alana trains in the living room. First, building tolerance, stamina; warm ups, muscle building, elasticity. Reflex training. Basic combat. Then, into styles: krav maga, kung fu, taekwondo, boxing; the list is endless, and Aleksandra skips nothing. She knits each style together seamlessly, so that Alana may find what best suits her. She trains until the sun rises and then some, and only rests when the night comes round to. Her exhaustion kills any dream, and she is glad for it.

*

She finds time for tenderness regardless. Devoting her life to protection can be as double-edged as devoting her life to paranoia. Instead, she employs Aleksandra's extra time to look after Morgan. They play games in the living room or what could be—tentatively—called the garden, while she has alone time with her wife. There, she allows herself to kiss every place that has gone unkissed for so long (too long), to worship Margot's soft skin, scarred belly, the curves of her thighs. She kisses and licks and paints patterns with her fingertips along the canvas of her wife, and allows herself to be lost in the world of her body, in the world of pleasure that has been alien to them for so long. Other times, they merely sit in silence, enjoying the sound of their slow heartbeats, appreciating each rise brought on by their breath. The reminder that they are here and alive, and for the moment, at peace.

When Margot's eyelids become heavy with sleep, Alana finds herself staring, reverant. I'd do anything for you, her heart sings a hymn. God, I'd do anything for you.

*

Margot and Aleksandra are in the bedroom, which doubles as a playroom for Morgan nowadays, when the door knocks. Alana freezes, her knife stagnating, only half-way through the cucumber. Nobody is supposed to knock on the door. Nobody is supposed to know where they are. A small voice, that same voice, is tearing her apart for her foolishness, but she retains a calm visage despite herself. She inhales through her teeth, recalling everything Aleksandra taught her, and goes to the door, bracing herself for the worst.

But she does not come face to face with the monster who has haunted her dreams. She comes face to face with its' psychiatrist.

She shuts the door in Bedelia du Maurier's face.

*

Minutes pass, maybe few, maybe many. All Alana knows is that the quiet rumble of life in the bedroom is the most beautiful thing she's ever heard, that her heart is beating louder and faster than it has even post-nightmare, and that Hannibal Lecter's psychiatrist is, somehow, on her doorstep. Part of her wants to believe it was merely some sort of illusion; an invention of stress. Some diluted madness taking form in the most bizarre shape imaginable. After all, why—and how? – is Bedelia du Maurier on her doorstep?

She takes a steadying breath. Only one way to find out. She opens the door, and finds that Bedelia is still standing there, her glacial expression betrayed by the rise of her eyebrow. She's miffed. “That was rude, Doctor Bloom,” she says, voice stiff and velveteen all at once. Her skin crawls at the very word. It must be deliberate. Instead of confronting that particular turn of phrase, she affixes a sharply polite smile to her face. Out of Bedelia's line of sight, Alana's knuckles are blanching against the doorframe. She half-expects it to splinter and snap beneath the pressure of her.

“My apologies, Doctor du Maurier. You took me quite off guard.”

“I imagine so.” Without moving, Bedelia's eyes explore what they can of Alana's home. “May I come in?”

Hidden beneath the pale pink of Alana's lips, her teeth are grinding. Then: “I don't see why not.”

*

“You have a quaint little home.”

“I was in the mood for something smaller.” Safer. Less shadowy corners for Hannibal to lurk in.

“I can imagine,” Bedelia purrs, eyes ceasing their roaming of the living room and settling on Alana's gaze. She has striking eyes. The colour of ice. Just as cold, too.

There is a silence.

“Do you have any wine?”

She chooses to ignore that. “Why are you here?” Alana asks, and her voice is quiet. Still, but with the threat of a tremble. A storm brewing in the column of her throat. “How did you find us?”

Bedelia opens her mouth to speak, but finds herself interrupted.

“Alana, are you done with those snacks—“ her words find themselves decapitated mid-sentence. “Alana,” she repeats, her voice carrying the threat of fear.

“Margot,” comes her quiet response, her gaze unmoving from Bedelia. She trusts her wife. She does not trust Bedelia du Maurier. “Make sure Morgan and Aleksandra stay in the room.”

Margot lingers, uncertain, but her doubt is ephemeral; she leaves, silent as a ghost.

“You seem to be wary of me,” Bedelia notes, “despite the fact we are both victims of the same man.”

A mirthless hm, one that jerks her lips in a way that could almost pass for a smirk. “You don't strike me as the victim type, Doctor du Maurier.”

“If I did, would you enjoy my company more?” the graceful tilt of her head; hair pools over her blouse like liquid gold. “As I recall, that appears to be your type.”

She narrows her eyes, contrasting the almost feline dip of Bedelia's nude-dusted lids. “How did you find us?”

“My apologies, I seem to have struck a nerve.” Alana can see, so very clearly, why Hannibal decided to bring her along with him on his Florence escapades. Whatever hope she had that the stories were true is distinguished; her doubts have flared into a great and angry beast. There is something in her eyes, something bright and cruel and cold, that suggests they have never once been blind to Hannibal's nature. “You're a bright woman, Doctor Bloom. I'm certain you can piece together a suitable answer.”

“Aleksandra? She's been off the grid since she got here.”

Her simpering smile patronizes her, and Alana's voicebox bobs in her throat. “Not off the grid enough.” Bedelia moves then, as slow as a cat on the prowl. Alana half-expects her pupils to narrow to slits, black knives ready to pierce and carve. She leans forward, and even the slide of her hair manages to look predatory and controlled. Her fingers lace together, French tips digging into the vanille crème of her own skin. “Do you want to know why I came here? Why I looked for you?” She waits for no answer. “I wanted to know if I could. Because if I can find you, so can they.”

Her breath stutters, her eyes blowing wider than they ought to – a shot of fear, adrenaline pumping through her blood, then followed by a relief. They, meaning not only Hannibal; they, meaning Will is alive. Despite the years, there remains something tender for Will Graham yet. She hopes he can say the same for her. “They survived.”

“Unfortunately so.” It is Bedelia's turn to narrow her eyes, blonde lashes almost ghosting along the curve of her cheekbone. “I do hope that little response is fear, and nothing else. Like I said, you're a bright woman.”

Her confidence is blooming, piece by piece, as things fall into place: her own strength, her wife's, Will's survival. She says nothing, but her thoughts must show on her face, for Bedelia's glacial demeanour fractures for only a moment, eyebrows furrowing.

“Your faith, while … admirable,” she barely restrains a sneer, “is misplaced, Doctor Bloom. The Will Graham that rose out of that water is not the one you knew. He is something new and sharp. One has to wonder what lurks in the mind of the one who walks willingly by Hannibal Lecter's side.”

“Yes,” Alana stares deep into those near phosphorescent eyes, as pointed as a blade, “one does.”

Spider-web fractures crack along the porcelain of Bedelia du Maurier's facade, exposing veins of frustration. Her eyes are alight, almost. Jaw hard-set, she says, with a voice brittle as winter: “You understand nothing of the man who holds your fate in one hand and scissors in the other.”

“He doesn't hold my fate. I do.”

Is that admiration, there, glimmering alongside the slow-burning anger? Perhaps. “And here I had assumed your naivete had shattered along your pelvis.” Bedelia lets out a sigh that falls somewhere between suffering and irritated, gaze breaking from Alana's only to rise to the heavens before falling to where her legs sit, primly crossed. “I see that I will have to force you to see what he really is.” She unfolds herself, only to set about fiddling with, presumably, her stocking. Alana watches on, expression morphing into a deeper state of vexation with each passing second. Then, in a moment of stark shock, Bedelia separates her leg and sets it to the side. Her gaze is unflinching, but there is a vulnerability there. Raw as a mineral, jagged and sharp.

“This is what they are capable of. What Will Graham is capable of.”

“He did that to you?” Alana's voice catches in her throat, only escaping in the shape of a whisper.

“I presume the cooking of it was all Hannibal, but he certainly helped in eating it.”

A sharp stab of nausea: acid pools in her stomach as her skin cools.

“Did he tell you of his visits to me? How he took Hannibal's role as my singular patient?”

“No.” She swallows. “He didn't.”

Bedelia tilts her head, hair shifting with it. Something violent flashes in her eyes. It almost appears to be something like satisfaction. “An interesting thing, that, isn't it? I must admit, I don't blame him. Not after the things we discussed. Do you know what he said to me, on the eve of Hannibal's escape?”

Alana is quiet.

“He looked me in the eyes, Doctor Bloom, and said: meat's back on the menu.”

*

“I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“For this. For everything. If it weren't for me...”

“If it weren't for you, I'd have been torn apart and eaten alive by pigs. Alana, you brought light into my world when there was only darkness. You redefined what family meant for me. You showed me what love is. Don't ever apologize for this. For us. For Morgan. I'd follow you around the world.”

Alana offers a weak smile, though the tears on her face aren't wholly from fear anymore. “You might have to.”

“So be it.”

*

The world has shifted. Their world has shifted.

Bedelia du Maurier's words lie side by side Margot's on the canvas of her lids. In her dreams, she is still marooned. Will Graham appears as if from air, all light and divinity. Will, she says, voice thrumming with relief, Will, thank God you're here. You have to help me. The water is lapping at the white sand, staining it red, then black; it grows thicker and thicker. Margot's screams grow loud and desperate as Will's gaze remains indecipherable, the entirety of his eyes blown out by light. Please, and she reaches out for him, her friend, her conspirator, and begs.

Oh, Alana, he hums in that voice, yet it doesn't sound like him. It sounds new and terrifying. He takes her hand, and his skin is burning. There are no Gods here. Not anymore.

He pushes her into the black sea.

[fictionformed]

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