#slowly walking across the glassy water towards you

[aratinarainstorm]

another one of my favorite genshin impact headcanons is the idea that kokomi is secretly a deep sea eldritch horror, sent by an ancient force to avenge the death of orobashi

this is most definitely not canon but imo it’s a really compelling idea. sangonomiya kokomi, divine priestess of watatsumi island, grace and elegance and benevolence incarnate, is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. a monster in disguise, risen from the barren depths of the sea, with one ultimate goal in mind.

make the shogun and her people pay.

every drop of blood, every life lost to the war, is more nourishment for her god. the shogunate’s soldiers will be fine prey for orobashi, and if the people of watatsumi die too? so be it. it doesn’t matter who dies. all that matters is that, in the end, what remains of orobashi is sated

i also like the idea that kujou sara is the only one who knows this. she’s the only person who has ever seen kokomi as she truly is, and as such, she dreads the thought of facing her on the battlefield. she knows that whatever demon hides behind that elegant facade will strike her down in a heartbeat. because all that lives, and all that comes from raiden ei, is nothing more than blood to water orobashi’s fields — and kokomi? she is no different. she simply exists to ensure her god is fed.

also before the war maybe kokomi goes hunting every now and then to drag the bodies of pirates or wayward sailors or shogunate samurai either to the depths of the sea, or to watatsumi. because after all, she is the divine priestess, and do priestesses not sacrifice too?

[merlucide]

SEA’S SECRET ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Notes: um.. I did it :3 KIRA WORLD BUILDS! NOT CLICKBAIT!

pairings: merman!chigiri x mayor’s daughter!reader

wc: 1.9k

warnings: reader is fem, thalassophobia(?), the best thing I’ve ever written

chpt: 1 2

(pls imangine pirates and the Caribbean vibes!!) inspo hehe

You often find yourself walking up and down the seashore. It’s a place of solace for you, the sound of the waves and the salty breeze never ceased to bring a wave of ease over you. The seashore was a stretch of golden sand that curved gently around the bay, bordered by rocky cliffs. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves singing a calming tune. Small crabs scuttled across the sand, and seabirds called out to each other as they wheeled in the sky above. You like to look around for shells and pearls. When you find one, you take them to the sailors for them to tell you what they are.

The sailors would tell you mystical tales of the sea. You loved their stories—you knew they weren’t real, but you liked to pretend they were.

They’d tell you about the legends of the sea, stories about ghost ships, the kraken, sirens, and mermaids. The tales always made you eager to explore the vast ocean. You knew that wasn’t realistic, after all, you were the mayor's daughter. Your life was prim and proper, with not an ounce of adventure. You had many marriage proposals, but you turned them all down. Your father warned you that if you didn’t decide on a suitor, he would have no choice but to arrange a marriage for you.

It angered you to no end. Your life had barely begun, and everything had been decided for you. Your father’s warning had been the final straw, pushing you to the brink of rebellion.

That’s when you ran off to the shore, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and desperation. You had snuck out of your estate at night, very careful not to draw any attention to yourself. The town was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of merchants and sailors replaced by the soft lapping of waves and the occasional call of a bird. Lanterns flickered in the windows of the small buildings, casting a warm, glow on the cobblestone streets.

You headed towards the docks, looking around for a small rowboat you’d seen the fishermen take. You found it sandwiched between two sailboats, their tall masts swaying gently in the night breeze. You grabbed the oars and looked around to make sure no one was watching you.

You stepped into the boat, slowly lowering yourself down until you were stable. You pulled the oars, gliding into the water. You continued until you were far away from the dock. The moon reflected off the water, giving it an enchanting feel. The water was rather still, with only gentle ripples disturbing the glassy surface.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were alone with your thoughts, away from the suffocating expectations. The sea was your sanctuary, a place where you could be free, even if just for a night.

It wasn’t fair. You had dreams, desires that went beyond the confines of your father’s mansion and the expectations of society.

You sighed peered over the side of your little boat, looking at the stars through the water. The surface was calm, reflecting the moonlight like a mirror. As you gazed into the depths, you thought you saw a glimmer, a flash of something that wasn’t quite right.

Then, you saw them—two luminous eyes staring back at you from the deep. They were unlike anything you had ever seen, glowing with an otherworldly light that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your heart raced as your mind scrambled looking for an answer, perhaps you were seeing things? But the eyes were unmistakable, fixed on you with an intense, almost curious gaze. You opened your mouth to scream, but no sound came out at first. Then, a second later, you found your voice and let out a piercing cry, jerking back so violently that you lost your balance.

You screamed and jumped back, losing your stability and tipping over, falling into the dark deep ocean. You kicked your legs, remaining afloat as you attempted to set your boat back up. The panic surged within you, fear of what was lurking below making your heart race. You continued to try to flip your boat, but with no success. Your breathing was heavy as you desperately pleaded for the boat to flip.

You felt ripples hitting your leg and frantically looked around for whatever caused them. Suddenly, your boat flipped over with a big splash. You desperately tried to pull yourself up, which was rather hard since you were in the water. Hands grabbed onto your calves, pushing them up. You screamed, grabbing onto the boat and finally pulling yourself inside. You hunched down and clutched the sides, trying to calm your racing heart.

Once you had caught your breath, you desperately looked around for the mysterious eyes you saw. “Who’s there?!” you yelled. “Hello?!”

You held on tightly to your oar, the other one most likely sinking below. Your eyes were heavy with tears when a trickle came from the end of your boat.

You snapped your head over to the sound. The eyes you were met with previously stared back at you. You couldn’t make out much of its appearance due to the night, but its eyes were reflective, standing out in the dark.

“W-What are you?” you stammered, your gaze wide.

“…I… I am…” its voice hesitant “..a merman.”

Your eyes were as wide as they could possibly be. You couldn’t believe what you had heard. It wasn’t possible. There’s no way. But, considering the position you were in, you had no other choice but to believe him.

“…A mermaid?” you asked yourself.

“…..I’m sorry for scaring you… I didn’t think… you would be able to see me,” the merman apologized, his gaze lowering.

You repeated the word “mermaid” a few times until he swam closer to you. You clenched your oar, ready for whatever might happen.

“..I will get you to the shore, alright?” His hands perched on the side of the boat, and you could almost see him now. He had raspberry-colored hair across his face, styled into a half braid. His eyes were a magenta color with cat-like pupils. He had shimmering scales littered on his cheeks and larger fins on the sides of his head. He was… enchanting.

You nodded your head with a soft “alright.” He returned the nod and swam to the back of the boat. Hands on the ledge, he pushed the boat through the water.

You sat hunched in the small boat, drenched and trembling, your breath coming in shaky inhales. The cool night air bit at your skin, but you hardly noticed, consumed by the shock of the encounter. Your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm erratic and wild.

You clung to the sides of your little boat, the wood rough under your fingers, trying to ground yourself in the midst of this surreal experience.

It was silent aside from the sound of water. You headed towards the town, but not toward the docks, instead toward the shore by the cliffs.

You finally arrived at the beach. The water was up to your bust. He stopped pushing the boat.

“This is as far as I can go,” the merman told you.

“I- thank you,” you said and looked at the shore.

“..I will be off now,” he told you, backing away.

“W-Wait!” you impulsively yelled out.

He stopped and turned toward you, caught off guard.

“I- ah… will I, see you again?” you asked. You had just met a merman. They were supposed to be just some sailor’s tale, and here you just met one. You needed to see him again, to know if he really was real.

The merman’s mouth opened slightly, then closed.

“Perhaps… if fate allows it,” he replied quietly.

“I- Tomorrow, here at sunset?” you hesitantly asked.

He pressed his lips together before nodding. He ducked back below the sea. You watched the ripples spread across the water.

You hopped out of the boat into the water, walking to the shore. You dragged the boat onto the sand and collapsed to your knees.

You couldn’t believe what had just happened.

As you laid there, the events of the night replayed in your mind. You had come out here to escape the confines of your life, to find a moment of freedom away from your father’s demands.

And then, you had encountered a being of legend— a mermaid. The very idea seemed impossible, and yet it had happened. His eyes, so alien yet mesmerizing, haunted your thoughts.

Who was he? You didn’t even know his name. The realization struck you with a sudden urgency. The merman had saved you, had spoken to you, and yet you knew so little about him. What was his world like beneath the waves? The sailors’ tales had always painted mermaids and mermen as dangerous and unpredictable, yet he had been gentle, almost hesitant.

You lifted your head, staring out at the dark expanse of the ocean. The water was the same as you boarded your boat, as if the encounter had never happened. But you knew it had. You had seen and felt things that couldn’t be explained, things that made your heart race with excitement rather than fear.

Slowly, you rose to your feet, your legs shaky. You looked back at the boat, then turned towards the town. Each step was heavy, your wet nightdress clinging to your skin and the weight of the night’s events pressing down on you. As you walked, the familiar streets seemed strange, as if you were seeing them through new eyes.

The town was quiet, the occasional flicker of lantern light casting long shadows on the cobblestones. You passed the houses of neighbors and friends, their windows dark and their occupants asleep. Everything seemed so ordinary, so mundane.

Would he really be there tomorrow at sunset? The thought filled you with a mix of hope and uncertainty. You wanted to see him again, to prove to yourself that it hadn’t all been a dream. You wanted to know more about him—his name, his world, and the mysteries that lay beneath the waves.

By the time you reached the gate of your estate, your thoughts were a tangled mess. You slipped inside quietly, careful not to wake anyone. The grand house loomed before you, a reminder of the life you were expected to lead. But now, with the promise of the sea and the mysterious merman.

You climbed the stairs to your room, tomorrow, at sunset, you would return to the shore. You had to know if the merman was real, if the world held more than the life laid out before you. As you crawled into bed, your wet dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin, you clung to that thought. The ocean had given you a glimpse of something extraordinary, and you were determined to see where it would lead.

You needed to understand the world that had been hidden from you for so long. The longing for adventure, for knowledge.

Sunset couldn’t come soon enough.

next part

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @sharkissm @luvingshidou @kurona-theshark @soleilonthesun @duckydee-0 @rinitoshisgirl @someprettyname

HOLY SHIT. YALL?! I DID IT!!! OMG PLS THIS TOOK ME SOSOSO LONG TO FINISH?!? I HATE WORLD BUILIDING. BUT I DID IT!!? OMG AND I USED FANCY WORDS YALL SHAKESPEARE WHO??? I’m so happy w/ how this came out omg pls lemme know what you think!!

also uh should I make a pt2 ..?

made June 20th 2024

[robo-writing]

Body Worship with Soap <3

Johnny, who comes home from deployment haggard, put through the wringer and all around exhausted, who still smells like dirt and gunpowder.

Johnny, who walks through the door of your shared apartment and the first thing his hands search for is you, fingers pressed into your skin. His face buried in your neck, the scent of your shampoo surrounding his senses, the true weight of his exhaustion hitting him like a truck.

Johnny, who nearly goes limp in your arms the moment you return the gesture. You have to drag him to the couch before you both fall to the floor, slowly stripping him of the gear he was too pre-occupied to remove.

Johnny, who breathes in a sigh of relief when your fingers stroke his hair. Even when your fingers get caught in the messy tangles, he can’t help but to huff in glee when your fingernails scratch at his scalp.

Johnny, who protests when you drag him away from the couch and into the bathroom, whining about how comfortable he was. You silence him with a kiss, promising that he’ll feel better with a hot bath.

Johnny, who realizes just how right you are when he’s fully submerged, eyes closed in bliss as you sit beside him. Your fingers almost feel as hot as the water he’s in, blazing a trail across his skin as you help him clean up. When your thumbs press against a sore spot he groans, then relaxes as you slowly massage the ache. You’re meticulous, scrubbing away any sign of grime, he’s not quite sure he’s ever felt this calm.

“Don’t deserve you,” he mumbles, still not certain he’s not dreaming right now. Men like him don’t get this treatment, don’t get cared for the way you care for him. He half-expects to open his eyes and find himself back at work, but it never happens.

No, all he sees is you. You, rubbing away at the dirt caught under his nails. You, pushing his soggy hair back so he can see you properly. You, who traces the apple of his throat and brings his head towards you.

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” you whisper, kissing the side of his face. “We take care of each other Johnny, yeah?”

Johnny, who looks at you through glassy eyes, wondering how the hell he managed to convince you to stay with him.

“Suppose we do lass.”

[everythingelseisextra]

David and Goliath

Part Sixteen: Cain (Tommy's POV)

Description: Tommy fucks up. :) Warnings: references to rape, references to suicide, language, minor self harm Word Count: 3490 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @Majesticcmey  @Optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist

Arrow House sits in silence, only half sane. The ghosts of the Shelby family haunt the entrance, their shouts echoing in your ears. The commotion in the entryway reached you, even as you sat in the master bedroom, and Polly’s cries and Arthur’s yells and John’s indignant roars fill the quiet room. You close your eyes, and you can imagine the police, Moss in their midst, forcing them into the darkened, freezing cells that you yourself sat in only a few days ago. And Tommy at the edge of it, watching his family taken from him as a consequence of his own actions, an unforgivable choice he made. 

You expect him to join you when he’s ready. It tugs on you, the sense that you need to protect him from himself, but you have to trust that his ability to fight his own mind will hold out. You trust that your presence in the house is reason enough for him to keep the gun in its drawer.

You think that this will be another thing he buries so deep that he forgets there’s anything underground. This will be too painful for him to keep in his hands, and it will trickle out between the cracks of his fingers until there is nothing to hold. His family is his core, the glowing ember of warmth that lives next to the heart he likes to pretend is stone. Now, he’s lost them. Now, all he has is you.

It’s some time before he enters the room. He doesn’t look at you, just sweeps past, heading into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and water runs softly from behind it. You wait in silence, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes, listening to the impure silence. The water stops, the door creaks open, and his footsteps slowly walk across the room. You open your eyes to find him heading towards the door, eyes set on the wooden floor in front of him. Your eyes narrow. There’s a hesitation to each step he takes, a slight pause, a tilt of his head. You’re waiting for him. He’s waiting for you. 

“Tommy.” You stand and walk over to him, your bare feet cold on the wood. Part of you wants to inject some playfulness into your words, but the rest of you knows that, after something like this, that might be his breaking point. “Hey, come sit. Take a second to talk to me.” 

His gaze stays on the floor, but, almost imperceptibly, he nods. You step back and lead him over to the chair you’d been sitting in, in front of a small desk that you’d claimed as yours the past few days. You sit on the bed, facing him, hands on either side of you. Soft light flows from the window next to you, and the sunrays seem to gentle your gazes on each other, creating a sort of barrier. It’s warm on your face and reflects in his eyes, which refuse to look at you.

“I would give you a pep-talk,” you start, nervousness slowing your words. “I would tell you that you’ve had high highs and low lows, and that the pendulum will swing back up again, but I won’t. I respect you too much for that. You and I both know that life tends to kick you while you’re down. We know that there’s no such thing as rock bottom, it’s always possible to go lower. So, all I’ll say is this; I’m here. I’m not leaving. As complicated as I’m learning your life is, I’d like to try to be simple together. If you want to be alone, that’s okay. If you don’t, I can be with you.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing. Exhaustion tightens his skin over his bones, his face drawn, his eyes a little glassy. “You’re not leaving.”

“No.” You furrow your brow, confused. “Why would I?”

“My family is gone. My boy is back. I’m a new man.” He slides a small metal container from his pocket, opens it, and pulls out a cigarette. “I have no room in my life for a woman who sets no store for a man’s needs.”

You nod slowly, almost incredulous. “You’re telling me that, after all this, you want me to leave because I won’t fuck you.”

He inclines his head, reaching out to offer you a cigarette. Your jaw clenches and you ignore his hand. Your next words are clipped. “My horses are literally in your stables. I’m not sure what kind of crisis move you’re making here, but it feels like one that’ll be… how should I say this in a way you’ll understand? Bad for business.” 

He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. He speaks on the exhale. “Bad for business is a woman I can’t explain living in my house. You’re not a whore, you’re not my wife, you’re not the mother of my son.” 

You chuckle. “So you’re telling me I either become your whore, marry you, or become a nanny for Charles.” 

“I’m telling you to leave.” 

“And then, months later, hear that you’ve blown your brains out, because no one, including me, would pick up the phone.” 

“Curly will start moving your horses in the morning. I’ve covered the cost of transportation.”

“How kind of you.” 

“In the meantime, you’ll pack. You’ll prepare yourself to leave.” He wiggles his cigarette at you, eyes dull. 

“And what if I say no?” You lean forward, almost mocking. 

“If you say no, then, unfortunately, I may have to get the authorities involved.” 

“‘Yes, hello, I’d like to report that a woman who I said I’d protect and invited to live with me is living in my house. Has she committed a crime? Yes, she won’t fuck me when I want, because I’m a teenaged boy who needs to get off every thirty minutes.” You let anger slide into your voice, let it bite. “Jesus Christ, listen to yourself.” 

He blinks blankly at you, then rises with a soft groan. “There’s work to be done. Please collect your things.”

“Thomas.” You stand, hands curling into fists, then relaxing. “You send me away now, you’re sending me back to the life I used to live. If you understand that, you’re as bad as the men who sold and raped me.” 

His eyebrows raise in an infuriatingly bewildered expression, then he shakes his head. “I am. I apologize if that wasn’t clear from the start.” 

—

Night falls. Fog fills the air around you, rises from the warm bodies of the horses. Unlike your own barn, Tommy’s is lit, and you can see the confused, wide, liquid eyes staring at you from within the stalls. Draco nickers quietly, throwing his head. He’s been your rock, your shoulder to cry on, the only comfort to you on nights where your body felt as battered and broken and abused as it had during those awful years of horror. 

It’s not him you stand with, though. It’s not his mane you bury your tears in, not his warm body you lean against to carry your shivering weight. Iris had one more month of recovery before he would be able to be ridden again, and now, you have to apologize to him. You have to apologize to all of them, in time, for being unable to care for them. For forfeiting the safety you thought you had. For failing. 

You would be brought back to your own property in an hour. Your horses would trickle in after you. You’d feed them, slip back into the routine of caring for them, and the timer on your life would start to count down. You could fight. You would fight. You’d fight tooth and nail, use every bit of strength built up over years of manual labor, shoot straight and fast and confident, and still, you know you’ll lose. 

Iris turns his head to blink at you as you stand by his side, leaning your weight on his shoulder. You wipe your face of tears and draw yourself up, pulling your shoulders back and squaring your legs to your hips like a soldier. You stand strong. Right now, you’re a survivor. Your quiet claim to life is that you fought for it. Like David with Goliath, you stood against a gargantuan opponent and managed to live to tell the tale. And, here you are, with your bags packed, ready to walk yourself back to that Goliath and allow him to smash your skull. You have no slingshot. You have no rock. There is no God on your side. 

Your fingers gently pull through the knots in Iris’ mane. You should be angry. There should be a burning anger in you that threatens to overwhelm. You should feel it in your bones, in your heart and veins, and you should act in some sort of way on it. You should set fire to his garden, release his horses to the wild. 

Truth is, you don’t know how to be angry with someone. All your life, you’ve been taught to stand down, to take whatever comes without question, and to continue despite it all. You’ve been trained to cower, to take each hit without protest. A cornered animal will always bite, but an abused pet will flinch away, fearful, all the teeth beaten out of it. You weren’t meant to fight as hard as you do. 

You close your eyes, and like Tommy said for you to do, you prepare to leave. 

Your body has a master and it is not you, and it is not God. Caged by a twisted form of humanity, you will be an animal at a zoo. You will gawked and stared at, poked and prodded, and, behind the scenes, you will be used for all your worth. This body you were born in ripples with scars from the years of prostitution and mental torture, and it’s a cold sort of hell. So much touch and so little care. You are only worth so much. You know the literal price of your life. You know how much this body of yours sells for. 

When you open your eyes, the world is in black and white. You will not see the blood they rip from your veins. You will not see the color of their bare skin. Your hand moves from Iris’ mane to your upper arm, and you press down on it, your fingernails biting into your skin. There’s an echo of pain somewhere in you, but your skin is so thick that it’s separate, a step away from your consciousness. You will not feel the penetration. You will not feel the hands grabbing at your flesh, you will not feel their bodies pressed against you. A horse calls and the sound bounces away from you, not quite touching you, and you take a deep breath. You will not hear their moans or the heated lies they tell you in the dark. 

This body that is all you have will no longer be yours. It is only a matter of time. 

The rest of the night crawls past you as a blur. You know you are steady. You know that you step with purpose, your head held high, with no connection with what you feel or how you will survive this. You lift your suitcase and walk down the elegant, well-lit stairs, the portraits of Tommy’s late wife staring down at you with a gaze that tells you that you are lesser. You haven’t seen him since he left the master bedroom. There’s a murmur of emotion in you when you think of him, but you brush past it in your mind. There is no room for you in his life. 

A car waits out front for you. You take a deep breath and look up at the stars. When you were younger, before the world turned against you, you thought you would reach out and touch them even if it burned. Now, you know you could, and the fire would eat away at you, and you would feel nothing. You thought you’d been as close to death as you could be without dying, but this emptiness in you, this blurred vision, this hollow chest is proof that you can stand hand in hand and not die. Maybe, you think, maybe you would rather die than become a commodity once again. There is a gun in the kitchen drawer. 

You slip into the back seat of the car, and, at least, it is warm. The driver glances back at you in the mirror. He says something that washes over you and away, and you turn to look out the window, then twist to look back at Arrow House. A single light shines from the drawing room, the curtain pulled back, and you know he is watching. Despicable and traitorous, he watches you crawl back to a life you said you would never live again. 

You turn back as the car begins to move out of the driveway. You close your eyes and a tear rolls out. You sit in the darkness and shrink into your mind, sitting in the back of it, watching through as your body breathes and shifts and lives apart from you, without you. You wipe the tear and, eyes still closed, you melt into the atmosphere and become nothing. 

The car jerks to a stop and you open your eyes. The driver lets out a slow breath and glances back at you, then looks back through the windshield. 

Lit by the headlights in sharp relief, Tommy stands, breathing hard as if he’d run to stop you. You watch him, expectation in his eyes, and you see a spoiled little boy who enjoys playing games. 

“Keep driving,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Ma’am, I can’t. He’s—”

“Go around.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hesitantly, the driver inches the car forward, turning to move around Tommy, who’s eyes widen slightly. 

He reaches underneath his coat and pulls out his gun, pointing it at the driver. 

“Ma’am, I—” Panic fills the driver’s voice. “I’m sorry, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay. Stop the car.” 

He does as you say, and, slowly, you open the door and step out into the night. 

You stay where you are in the darkness, letting Tommy stay in the light. You wait for him to speak first. 

“You forgot something.” His voice carries over the sound of the engine. 

You cross your arms, trying to warm yourself from the cold. “Oh, did I? Please, enlighten me.” 

“Come into the light, and I’ll show you.” 

“No.” 

He looks up at the black sky, then steps out into the darkness, coming within a few feet of you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square box, rounded corners, velvet wrapped. Your heart goes cold. He opens it and holds it out. A sleek, silver ring glints in the light from the headlights, golden highlights sparking. You shiver and look up at him. 

“Not a whore, not a mother.” He smiles faintly. “Yet.”

You slap him. Not hard, but enough to make your point. Then, without a word, you turn and walk down the long driveway back to the house. In your periphery, you watch him reach up and touch his cheek where you hit him, then slowly close the box and place it back in his pocket. 

—

He waits an hour before he seeks you out. You’re curled in the fetal position, lying in one of the spare bedrooms. You stare blankly at the wall across from you. There’s no color to your vision. The pillow has long since dried from your tears. 

He knocks on the door, waits a full minute for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he quietly lets himself in. His footsteps are bare and light. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, sighing, and you close your eyes again. You’re not sure you want to hear what he has to say. 

“I’m not a good man.” His voice is quiet, almost shameful, and he speaks to the ground, faint to you. “I’ve made that clear tonight. You never heard about me cause you were never in Birmingham. If you had, you’d know, I’m not a good man.”

You clench your jaw and stay quiet, wait for him to say what he thinks will make up for the pain and terror he’s caused. 

He clicks his tongue, almost wincing. “Lost my family today. Decided that meant I needed a fresh start. Needed to move away from all this— this Peaky Blinders shit and focus on more gentlemanly matters. I felt possessed to get away from it all. From any reminder of it. That included you.” He takes a slow breath, sighing it out. “You reminded me, as you should have, that a better man would never send you away. I would be sending you and your horses to death or worse. It took me far too long to remember that, and for that, I am sorry.” 

You open your eyes, blinking hard, trying to stop tears from rolling out once more. 

“You saved my life. I can’t return the favor, not in the same way, but I can preserve yours. That I will do. I won’t try to send you away again. I understand now how misguided that was.” You feel his gaze on your back and you try to smooth out your breathing, steady yourself so he can’t see that you’re human, that you’re affected by him. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then, voice weak and childish, he manages two words you never truly expected him to say. “I’m sorry.” 

You sniffle and croak out a short, shaky sentence. “Am I worth anything to you?” 

“Yes.” His response comes immediately. “You are.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” 

“I told you that first night. Something in me has been broken since the war. Maybe since my mum. I don’t have the words for it. You’ve seen it, now. You’ve seen it.” 

You nod shakily. “You were ready to watch me drive off to my death.” 

“I would never have let you leave the driveway.” 

“But you let me think you would.” A tear leaks out and you angrily wipe it away. “You let me think that you cared so little about me that you would watch me go back to a life I couldn’t survive.”

“You know what I think?” He shifts towards you, turning his body so he faces your back.. “I think that you’re the first person to see the fucking rotten part of me and still stay in this house.”

“I have nowhere else to go, Tom.” Your voice breaks. “You realize that. I have nowhere else to go, and you can’t decide whether you want me or not, and I’m worthless unless I sleep with you or marry you.” 

His voice drops to a mere murmur. “I want you.” 

“You didn’t an hour ago.” 

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” You sit up, fully crying now, and face him. “You fucked up, and I don’t know where there is to go from here.” 

“I do. I know where to go.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the ring box. “I—”

“Stop! Stop with the fucking ring! I don’t want to belong to you, I don’t want—”

“Listen. You can say no. Just fucking listen.” His hand shakes slightly as he holds it in his lap. “I’m not a good man. I try to be, but I’m not. But you— you make me think I can be if I try. That’s a rare fucking thing. You will never belong to me. You will never belong to anyone. It’s a shot in the fucking dark, and things like this come and go as they please, but if I can, if I could, I’d like to be that shot in the dark. If it’s up to me, it’ll be us in the end. I’m not a good man, but I promise, I will be good to you and for you. Love is far, far away, but it gets closer when I’m with you. So, I’m asking you, because I need you with me, to look past the way I hurt you and see that I do care for you. I do think you’re worth something.” He reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek, hand trembling. “I’m asking for a selfish thing. I’m asking for you to see the blood on my hands and love me anyway. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

He is broken promises and shaking fists, and you know, he did not mean to be cruel, but that doesn’t mean he was kind to you. So, you take a breath, trying to stay steady, and you open your mouth to reply.

[luve4eva]

⠀ ͚ ♥︎ — “ do you feel the same? ” ! !

yang jungwon x fem!reader ੭୧ 𓂃　۪

gnre: fluff · friends to lovers · soft ;3 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ♡̩͙ ⠀

n/a ; I am short of ideas, but I thought this would be cute so I did it. I hope you like it :] ! ( remember that eng is not my first language, so forgive the spelling or grammatical mistakes)

The night enveloped the park in a blanket of silence and mystery. The stars twinkled, and the full moon shone with a silvery light. You and Jungwon walked slowly down the path, your long shadows reflecting on the path.

—Do you remember the first time we came here? — Jungwon asked, breaking the silence.

You smiled, as you nodded softly. —Sure, it was a couple of summers ago. The day you found that lost puppy.

He laughed softly. —Yes, and you insisted on taking him home.

They stopped by the lake, where the water reflected the moon. He took a breath, feeling the weight of the words he had held onto for quite some time. He turned to you, who was looking at the surface of the lake with a serene expression.

“Hey, there's something I need to tell you,” Jungwon said, his voice shaking slightly.

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with curiosity and a spark of concern.

—What's wrong, won?

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself, and finally took a deep breath before speaking. —We have been friends for a long time, and I have always valued everything about you, you gave me reasons to smile. But... lately I see you with different eyes, I see you more than a friend.

You blinked, surprised, but said nothing, letting him continue.

“I like you,” Jungwon confessed, his gaze full of sincerity. I love you more than a simple friend. I'm in love with you, and I had to say it, no matter the outcome.

Silence settled between you, dense and loaded with expectations. Finally, you took a step towards him, his eyes glassy and the wind crashing into his hair.

—Jungwon… I feel the same way too. I never thought you would feel this way with me — You confessed shyly, you approached him to plant a delicate kiss on his lips.

His eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his lips. Without realizing it, he hugged you, resting his head on your shoulder. Feeling his nerves disappear and his anxiety fade away. You closed your eyes and pressed your body against his, while you whispered in his ear.

—I love you, Won.

[pin-k-ink]

hollow // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ graphic descriptions of physical violence, torture and mutilation, psychological abuse/mind-break, implied sexual content, obsessive/delusional behavior, reader is catatonic, depictions of bodily deterioration/decay

wc ⇢ 4.9k

The rhythmic dripping of water echoed hollowly down the dimly lit hallway, each drop hitting the stained floor with a soft plop. Chrollo's footsteps were cautious, familiar with every creak of the warped wooden boards beneath his feet. His gaze traced the peeling jungle green wallpaper, faded and curling away from the walls in long strips. Small holes pitted the popcorn ceiling above, remnants of who knew what past damage.

It was an all too familiar sight - this decaying hallway that he had walked thousands of times before. The musty, dank odor of rot and mold hung thick in the air, assaulting his senses in a way he had long since grown accustomed to. Chrollo could have mapped every discolored water stain, every flake of crumbling plaster from memory alone. His eyes lingered on the dark, rust-colored splatters streaking the wallpaper - unmistakable bloodstains that raised no alarm.

His hand trailed along the flaking paint as he approached the last door on the left, the bedroom. The door stuck briefly when he tried the tarnished knob, requiring Chrollo to lean his weight into it before it gave way with a groan of protesting hinges. As it slowly swung inward, his lips curled into a small, practiced smile.

"Good evening, my darling."

Chrollo's smooth voice seemed to caress the stagnant air as he stepped over the threshold. In the shadows of the dimly lit room, your silhouette was motionless, a solitary figure framed by the broken panes of the drafty window. You didn't so much as twitch at the sound of his voice, your distant gaze fixed through the grime-streaked glass.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, Chrollo followed your line of sight beyond the confines of the cracked, spider-webbed window panes. The same stark view opened up before him - a dead tree, its twisted, gnarled branches reached up in blackened claws towards the perpetually overcast sky. The rusting black metal fence lined the property, separating the derelict house from the decaying remains of its abandoned neighbor.

Your eyes seemed almost unseeing, pupils trained on some invisible point far beyond the gloomy view. As if you could pierce past the decrepit scenery to something only you could perceive. The distant, glazed look was one Chrollo recognized.

With a soft huff of amusement, he stepped up behind you, his hands sliding along your upper arms before gently grasping your biceps. His fingers caressed your cool skin as he pulled you back, away from the broken window and the dead world beyond its panes.

With a tender grip, Chrollo eased you backwards, guiding your motionless form away from the shattered window. You offered no resistance, your limbs pliant, feet dragging slightly as he maneuvered you across the stripped bare floor.

The weathered bedframe groaned when he nudged you down to sit on the sagging mattress. Dust motes swirled lazily in the pale slivers of light slicing through the gaps in the curtains. Chrollo knelt before you, his movements slow and practiced as his eyes raked over your features.

Your face was a porcelain mask, devoid of any emotion or flicker of awareness. Eyes dull and unfocused, the usual warm depth you once regarded him with had long since turned glassy and distant. It was as if you had retreated so deeply inwards, tucking that spark of life away where he could no longer reach you.

A melancholic fondness played across Chrollo's expression. With deft fingers, he reached up to tuck a stray lock of lank hair behind your ear. The strands felt coarse, dirty - a reflection of your deteriorating state that he chose to ignore. His palm cupped your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the hollow beneath your eye.

You didn't lean into his touch or blink at the contact. No minute reactions registered on your vacant features. But still, Chrollo leaned in close, lips brushing feather-light against the throb of your pulse point. He lingered there, feeling the faint flutter of your heartbeat against his mouth before peppering a trail of whisper-soft kisses along the elegant column of your throat.

Each press of his lips was unbearably tender, an intimacy he reserved only for you. But you remained unmoving, unseeing, disassociated from the present as a thousand-yard stare bored through him. With a resigned sigh, Chrollo rested his forehead against your bony shoulder, curling himself around your petrified form like a wilted plant seeking warmth from the sun.

Chrollo's lips brushed reverently over the pale skin of your knuckles, tracing the delicate bones of your motionless hand. Each gossamer kiss was featherlight, almost worshipful in its tenderness. He found himself sinking into the memories evoked by your touch, letting the present recede.

His mind drifted back years, to the first time he had laid eyes on you. That crisp autumn day when you had quite literally fallen into his world...

The towering shelves of ancient tomes seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction of the library's echoing halls. A reverent hush blanketed the cavernous space as Chrollo trailed his fingers along the gilded spines, searching...

There. His hand stilled on the tooled leather binding, the familiar title raising a faint smile. As he slid the thick volume free, a voice suddenly piped up from his elbow.

"Ah, one of the great paradoxes. Interesting choice."

Chrollo went still, sidelong gaze catching on the petite figure who had materialized beside him without a sound. You didn't so much as glance up from examining the book's cover with an appraising look.

"Though I always found his theories on the duality of truth to be rather paradoxical in themselves." You tsked softly, plucking the book from his grip to flip it open. "Take this passage for instance..."

Slender fingers skimmed down the aged pages to tap at a paragraph of dense text. Looking up at him through the fan of your lashes, your lips quirked in a half-smile. "He spends multiple chapters expounding on the inherent contradiction of subjective experience muddling objective reality. But then doesn't he fall into that same trap himself by attempting to define an absolute truth?"

Chrollo found himself caught in the spark of wry intelligence glinting in your stare. You presented the mild critique with such matter-of-fact certainty, unburdened by pretense. It was...refreshing. And more than a little intriguing.

"An insightful observation." His voice was neutral, but something about your easy confidence piqued his interest. "You're well-versed on the subject matter."

"Oh, I've practically lived in the philosophy section since I was a kid." You waved your free hand in a careless gesture, as if dismissing the notion of erudition as commonplace. "My coping mechanism for insufferable questions has always been to counter with even more insufferable questions."

There was a teasing lilt to your smile then, homr truths offered with a self-effacing humor. Chrollo couldn't resist the curve tugging at his own mouth in response. You hadn't cowered from his scrutiny or blustered with feigned modesty. Instead, you simply met his gaze with composure and clever irreverence.

Yes...you were shaping up to be a captivating anomaly in Chrollo's experience. One he found himself abruptly keen to unravel.

Extending his hand in an unhurried motion, he re-claimed the book from your grasp - though made no move to extricate himself from your proximity.

"I'm Chrollo Lucilfer."

The memory dissolved like smoke on the wind, and Chrollo found himself abruptly drawn back to the present. His mouth was still brushing over the bony ridge of your knuckles, lips whispering across your motionless hand.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes roving over your vacant features. The life and clever spark that had so captivated him that very first day was utterly extinguished. Your gaze remained glassy and distant, as if staring inward at some unreachable abyss that had swallowed your brilliant essence.

For a long moment, Chrollo simply studied your hollowed visage, taking in the sallow tinge to your skin and the sharp jut of cheekbones. Your wrists protruded like delicate bird bones from where they lolled in his grasp - a cruel facsimile of the vibrancy you had once exuded. And yet...not a flicker of remorse or guilt flickered across his expression.

If anything, there was a strange tenderness limning his stare, suffusing the pad of his thumb as he stroked along the raised veins of your forearm. His other hand smoothed stray strands of lank hair away from your brow in an almost doting caress before he leaned in closer.

"Do you remember, my love?" His voice was low, hushed with the weight of recollection. "The day we first met in that musty library, surrounded by the books you adored with so much passion?"

Chrollo's lips brushed your temple, callused fingers curling around your nape as though to tether you to his words. To draw you out from the depths you had retreated within.

"You were a paradox unto yourself then - keen and irreverent, brilliant yet disarmingly self-effacing. A rare mind unbound by the pretenses I had grown accustomed to." His mouth trailed lower, warm exhale ghosting your cool cheek. "You captivated me from that very first quip."

His nose nuzzled along the sharp line of your jaw before he nestled into the crook of your neck. Tension coiled in the lean muscles of his shoulders and back, yet Chrollo did not loosen his embrace. Instead, he coiled himself more tightly around your unresponsive form, clinging to the impassive shell of what had once been his greatest obsession.

"I knew then that I had to unravel the enigma you presented. To unlock those complexities lacing your mind and make you wholly, utterly mine..." A tremor rippled through his voice, baring the faintest hint of strain beneath its veneer of devotion. "And so I did, didn't I? Through my own particular...persuasions."

Chrollo fell silent then, simply breathing you in - the lingering hint of your natural scent still clinging to your pallid skin despite the omnipresent reek of decay and mold shrouding this place. His haven, his sanctum where he could revel in the spoils of his conquest. No matter that the light had long since dimmed behind your eyes.

For though your corporeal form had withered, the essence of who you were remained eternally preserved - a prized butterfly trapped in amber, yours to study and revel in at his leisure. You may have drifted irrevocably out of reach, but at least here in this sanctum, your brilliant mind would never escape his grasp.

The silence stretched, weighted with half-remembered moments replaying in the recesses of Chrollo's mind. His cheek nestled into the curve of your neck and shoulder as snapshots of your earlier encounters together began flickering through his thoughts.

One particular scene coalesced, vibrant and stark…

The bustling cafe was alive with the rich aromas of espresso and freshly baked pastries mingling in the air. Chrollo's gaze cut briefly over the clusters of students and professionals huddled around the tiny tables before settling again on you.

Even seated across from him amidst the crowded atmosphere, you seemed completely at ease - blissfully unbothered by the cacophony of clinking dishes and murmured conversations surrounding you on all sides. With one leg crossed over the other, you lounged back in your chair, slender fingers wrapped around the ceramic mug cradled before you.

The soft furrow of concentration furrowing your brow was the only indication of your focus as you pored over the battered paperback novel propped open before you. Sunlight gilded the flyaway wisps of hair framing your face, casting deep crevices in the hollows beneath your high cheekbones. For a suspended moment, you looked almost ethereal - the embodiment of a tragic gothic heroine plucked from the very pages before you.

Chrollo found his stare snagging on the elegant drape of your throat, tracing the faint throb of your pulse fluttering beneath the surface before dropping to follow the enticing vee of cleavage peeking from your blouse...

You must have sensed his heated regard. Without even glancing up, your lips twitched in a knowing smirk as you reached for your mug. Bringing it to your lips, you took an unhurried sip - holding the scalding liquid on your tongue for a calculated beat before swallowing with a soft hum of contentment.

Only then did you finally lift your eyes to meet Chrollo's hooded gaze from beneath the fan of sooty lashes. "Something on your mind?" The deceptively innocent query was undercut by the simmering spark of challenge glinting in your stare. "Or are you just enjoying the view?"

The shameless quip and utter lack of self-consciousness should not have been so utterly enthralling. And yet...Chrollo could practically taste the thrill sparking down his spine at the bold implications lacing your tone. You somehow managed to come across as both deliciously inappropriate yet well-bred in the very same breath.

Unable to resist leaning into the tease, Chrollo allowed the barest of smiles to ghost over his lips as he mirrored your casual pose - elbows braced on the table's surface, chin resting atop steepled fingertips.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he mused in that low, dangerously warm timbre. "I do so enjoy seeing that wit of yours in action..."

His gaze was all too knowing as it dropped momentarily to your mouth. "Among other things."

The words hung in the air, rife with unspoken suggestion and subtle challenge. You regarded him evenly, holding his stare without a hint of the flustered demurring he typically encountered. For a protracted beat, the charged silence stretched taut between you as the clamor of the cafe faded to mere white noise.

Then, eyes glinting with newfound determination, you slowly reached for the bundle of pages resting abandoned on the tabletop beside Chrollo's arm. Never breaking that heated eye contact, you brushed your knuckles deliberately, intentionally, along the taut cords of his wrist before claiming the sheaf of looseleaf papers.

Lips still curved in that private, enigmatic smile, you reopened your novel - effectively ignoring or accepting his suggestive flirtation in one fell swoop as the embodiment of effortless poise.

It was subtle, masterful even in its nonchalance. And abruptly, Chrollo found himself well and truly enraptured by the delicious paradox of barbed wit and refined composure that you presented...

The memory ebbed away, siphoning back into the recesses of Chrollo's consciousness until all that remained was your pliant form coiled against him on the sagging mattress. He nuzzled deeper into the juncture of your throat and shoulder, chasing the lingering remnants of your essence still clinging to your pallid skin.

"Do you recall that afternoon, my love?" His words were a rumbling murmur against your nape. "How you matched me tease for tease without ever losing that practiced decorum society expected of you?"

A wistful sort of yearning bled into his tone, tempering the ravenous edge. "You were diabolical - all coy propriety deftly wielded to entice with just the faintest indecencies lurking beneath. Like some Wildean libertine in another skin..."

Chrollo's free hand curled into a fist where it rested on the mattress beside your hip, as if to anchor himself. There was a fevered sort of hunger simmering in his voice now, trembling with the weight of rapturous recollection.

"I knew then that I could never be content until I'd unraveled those contradicting layers shrouding your core - no matter how far into the abyss I had to descend in pursuit."

The arm bracketed around your waist cinched tighter, knotting you flush against his chest. It should have been suffocating, possessive...Yet Chrollo somehow imbued the crushing embrace with an unsettling sort of devotion. He was fastening you to him with that same ravenous ardor as one might clutch a cherished, half-coveted treasure.

His thumb traced the sharp ridge of your collarbone over...and over...and over again. "And you let me plunge into those depths so willingly - your brilliant mind falling open around me until I could see...everything."

A shudder rippled through his lean frame, momentary loss of control swiftly reined in. When his sable gaze finally lifted, there was a peculiar desperation simmering behind the usual impassivity.

"Don't you see, my love? This..." One calloused hand slid up to frame your face with infinite care, thumb caressing your lax cheek. "This hollowed essence is what you were truly meant for. An exquisite lapse of mortal confines into something sublime..."

Chrollo leaned in then, parted lips a scant breath from yours as he searched your vacant stare for any resurgence of vibrant awareness.

"You are perfection..."

The scenes continued unspooling through Chrollo's mind, each recollection seeming to unfurl within the dimness of the bedroom. Another fragment soon took shape...

Amber liquor sloshed over the rim of the heavy glass tumbler as you tipped it back, downing the harsh burn in one defiant swallow. A harsh grimace twisted your features before smoothing into a morose blankness once more.

It was well past midnight, but the dimly lit bar showed no signs of thinning out. If anything, the press of bodies seemed thicker - a sea of desperation and vice-fueled oblivion swelling with each passing hour. Chrollo slipped through the throngs like a wraith, his sable gaze cutting through the smoky haze as it snagged on your lone, hunched figure at the far end of the polished oak counter.

Even amidst the drunken revelry, you seemed utterly cocooned in your own world of misery. One dainty hand painted crimson nails over smeared trails of mascara streaking your cheeks like inky rivulets. Yet you were oblivious to the ruined cosmetics - focus zeroed inward as you gestured blindly for another refill with your other hand.

Something very much like concern flickered through Chrollo's expression as he watched the bartender dutifully splash more amber poison into your upturned glass. Before he could reconsider, his strides had already eaten up the distance between you.

Distractedly, you swiped the fresh drink towards you - only to freeze when his fingertips materialized around your wrist, stilling its trajectory. Your bewildered gaze snapped up, all blurred crimson rims and swollen lids as you blinked at him in open confusion.

"Chrollo...?" His name slipped out garbled, thick, like you couldn't quite recognize him through the alcohol-soaked haze fogging your brain. Still, there was a reluctant ember of lucidity flickering in those depths. "Wha...?"

"Easy there." His tone was infused with a carefully modulated gentleness as he extricated the tumbler from your tenuous grasp. "I think you've had more than enough for one night."

For a suspended beat, you could only gape at him in wordless bewilderment - as if you couldn't quite comprehend that he was even real. Then all at once, your fragile composure simply...crumbled. A strangled sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, gurgled up from your chest to clog your throat.

You were crying in earnest, shoulders quaking with the force of your abject despair before Chrollo could even parse your reaction. Instinct overrode reason as he sank into the stool beside you, one hand settling over the sharp jut of your shoulderblade while the other curled soothingly around the nape of your neck.

"Shh...just breathe, darling." His words were hushed, lulling as he pulled you against the solid line of his side. "Whatever has you in this state, tell me. Let me help."

Babbled, hiccuping gasps tumbled from your parted lips as you curled into the hollow of his shoulder and throat. You reeked of sour booze and salt, yet Chrollo did not recoil from your distress. Instead, he stroked the sensitive hairs at your nape in an anchoring rhythm, waiting patiently for the torrent of misery to ebb enough for intelligible speech to win out.

"He...he was with her! With that vapid little t-tart from his office!" The confession emerged in a wretched outburst, fraught with venom and betrayal. "After everything, he still...he was sleeping with her behind my back!"

Ah. So that was the root of this maudlin display - infidelity. Chrollo's lips pressed into a grim line as the pieces slotted into place. Of course some base, undeserving wretch would be foolish enough to wrong you so egregiously. To discard a brilliant mind like a banal plaything when they could scarcely begin to comprehend the depths of your worth...

His palm trailed in soothing strokes down the tense ridge of your spine as you heaved another juddering sob against the lapel of his coat. "Shhh...we'll make him regret the day he took you for granted, darling. We'll make this all go away, for tonight at least."

The rumbling murmur was laced with a conviction bordering on zealotry. Chrollo was utterly undone by your naked anguish - mired in both protective tenderness and dark contemplation over just how he might erase this slight. For you were meant for so much more than these kind of vulgar pains, this reductive mortal torment...

You reeled back slightly, eyes glassy and rimmed with clumped mascara as your brow knitted in confusion. But then Chrollo brushed the pad of his thumb along the swell of your lower lip - just a whisper of contact yet somehow searing with intensity. The hitch of your breath and instinctive part of your mouth was all the answer he needed.

Neither of you could rightly say who instigated the first crush of lips in that moment. It was needy and desperate, a frantic meshing of mouths tinged with the bitter fuel of anguish and something darker still. Chrollo's hand cradled the back of your skull as he angled closer, tongue lancing past your parted lips to taste the remnants of liquor and salt on your own.

There would be no gentle coaxing on this night. Only a frenzied tearing away of hurt and betrayal before the wounds could fester into something more insidious. A shedding of mortal flesh to reveal the brilliant essence burning beneath as you yielded into his possessive embrace...

The fragment drew to a hazy close, the visceral urgency of that encounter still pounding in Chrollo's veins. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly where his hands cradled your face and waist. Remembering the pure desperation fueling your surrender that night - how you had clung to him as the only tether left in the maelstrom. How he had claimed you wholly unto himself in the throes of solace and unraveling...

"Mine," he rasped against the seam of your lips, savoring the phantom memory of how pliant and undone you had been for him in that moment. If only for a handful of searing hours before the mortal coils began reweaving around your brilliant spirit once more.

But he would eternally relish that glimpse behind the veil, where your unbound essence had shone through unto him alone. The start of his fervent devotion to keep that flame tended, no matter how deeply he had to delve to stoke its radiant spark.

The memories began to scatter like ashes on the wind as Chrollo pulled back just enough to drink in the devastation he had wrought. His thumbs traced the sharp blades of your cheekbones, reverent despite the mottled bruises and lacerations maring your once unblemished skin.

Chrollo's grip tightened possessively as he vividly recalled that fateful night when he had first tasted the intoxicating depths of your psyche. Even as you had fallen apart in anguish over your unfaithful lover, there was an incandescent fire that drew Chrollo to you like a moth to the flame.

He had meant to simply provide a brief respite - a single night of forgetting your mortal turmoils as he indulged in the radiant essence you unconsciously exuded. But from the first crush of your pliant lips against his own, Chrollo found himself utterly enraptured. Each desperate roll of your hips and keening cry spilling from your throat only stoked his covetous obsession.

You had been so gloriously undone in those feverish hours - defenses obliterated, self discarded like a shed skin as you surrendered your entire being to the oblivion he offered. And in doing so, you had revealed the scintillating truth burning at your core. An existential fire, brilliant and rapturous...yet simultaneously fragile within its corporeal confines.

Chrollo's body was rigid now as he curled around your vacant form, conscious mind awash in the recollected sensations. The salty musk of your spent passions...the litany of ethereal sounds he had drawn from your kiss-bruised lips...the exquisite rapture of joining his essences with yours in those scorching instants of coalescence.

It should have been enough. One soul-searing glimpse into the untrammeled truth of your existence before allowing you to resettle behind your mortal veneers as societal dictates demanded. But even as he held your utterly spent form in the aftermath, body humming with satiated contentment, Chrollo recognized the obsession had taken insidious root.

He could never be complete until he had experienced the full unbridled depths of that prismatic flame he had witnessed refracting through your fragmented psyche. No matter how far he was required to descend in stripping away the superfluous layers masking your truest self from view.

Which was why, in the end, such...radical measures had been required to liberate you.

Chrollo's stare bored into your vacant eyes as if seeking any residual spark still banked behind that thousand-yard emptiness. His mouth brushed your cooling temple with something akin to devotion as the memories of your systematic unraveling played out in his mind's eye.

The isolation...the escalating torments he had ceremonially unleashed to flay both psyche and flesh from your core essence...the rapturous fervour of witnessing your final fracture into this transcendent, pristine stillness.

"You are the ultimate absolution," he murmured, clutching your husk closer. "My luminous ossuary - shedding at last your ill-fitting bodily accessories to reveal the immaculate truth shining beneath."

His lips brushed your slack, parted mouth, savoring the liberation of having reduced you at last to this perfect, unbound state. Preserved forever as the concentrated epiphany he had coveted from that first, searing taste of you drowned in mortal anguish so long ago.

"Mine," Chrollo rasped with heated finality. "You are mine, now and for all eternity to come..."

Chrollo cradled your deteriorated form against him, that flickering obsession still burning bright in his breast even as he drank in the full extent of devastation he had wrought upon you. For a fleeting moment, something almost like guilt sparked behind his impassive mask.

The once vibrant, brilliant essence he had fallen rapture to now lay utterly unmade. Your eyes stared back at him, unblinking and devoid of the soulful spark that had first ensnared him so completely. Just...empty. A hollowed vessel in the wake of shattering your very spirit to reach that primal truth buried beneath.

Chrollo's thumb traced the sharp jut of your cheekbone, calloused pad catching on the ridges of mottled bruises and lacerations peppering your ashen flesh. He had been the architect of this ruination - methodically flaying away every layer of identity and reservation until only the naked essence remained. A scorched earth approach in pursuit of cradling that luminous fire unbridled at last from the confines of your corporeal self.

But surely even this devastation was a brutal form of preservation? Eliminating every potential tether that might restrain you from the transcendental state of pure, unfettered being he had laid bare...

His grasp convulsed minutely, fingertips pressing almost bruisingly into the fragile dips of your body. Perfection, he tried to reaffirm. This was the apotheosis of preserving your immaculate truth in stasis. The self-aware cosmos distilled to its most sublime....

And yet...

The briefest flicker of uncertainty lanced through Chrollo's stare as he studied the desolation reflecting back at him. For the span of a solitary indrawn breath, his convictions seemed to teeter on the precipice of horrified doubt. The full magnitude of what he had unmade you into crashing against the uncompromising fervor of his beliefs like a sanity-shattering wave.

Then your lips parted with the barest sigh, the slightest tongue movement giving audible shape to a single rasping exhalation. A phantom whisper seeming to give voice to the oblivion reflecting from the depths of your vacant stare.

"Chrollo..."

The tenuous moment fractured. Whatever fissure of trepidation that had pried open an instant before was abruptly extinguished by the guttering embers of Chrollo's dedication. His palm cupped the sharp hinge of your jaw as his brow creased in a minute frown of reproach.

"Shh...no more," he soothed in a hushed murmur. "Your essence has transcended such temporal limits at last."

With agonizing tenderness, Chrollo brushed the faintest whisper of a kiss across your placid lips. There was no response from your end - no flutter of lashes or instinctive reaction. Just the weighty stillness of a mind and spirit severed completely from any lingering mortal confines.

Chrollo pulled back a bare fraction, his sable stare glittering with something like reverence as he studied the husk before him. The fate he had meticulously crafted for you in pursuit of undoing every superficial strand barring his unfettered view of the unfurling truth laid bare at last.

And in that moment, a twisted sort of absolution seemed to settle over his expression. This bleak squalor was both sanctum and crematorium - the smoldering aftermath in which your indelible imprint had been forged into existence eternal. No matter the state of the vessel's decay, your essence would endure, preserved forever in the chilling serenity Chrollo's morbid dedication had produced.

As for the systematic dismantling and agonies required to unmake you to this degree...? All such atrocious steps were hallowed by the certainty still burning in Chrollo's conviction as he cradled your emptied husk with the covetous desperation of an obsessive widower. The indelible truth of your being had ultimately been preserved in a state of perfect, pristine deliverance.

And whether that ultimately amounted to an abhorrent defilement or the most sacred of consecrations....Only Chrollo could rightly bear witness to the full breadth of that existential paradox now.

[lancermylove]

Chapter 7 (N.SFW)

➣ Pairing: Demon brothers, Royals, Solomon with fem!Reader. ➣ Warning: N.SFW ➣ Word Count: 2,369 ➣ Chapters [SFW]: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12] ➣ Chapters [N.SFW]: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12]

➣ A/N: I tried something different for this chapter, so brace yourself for a dramatic event. 🤭 Hope you guys like it!

———————————————

The sun had just begun to ascend over the horizon, casting a gentle orange hue on the frosted terrain. The ambient temperature left you with a palpable chill that even your thick coat, scarf, gloves, and hat could not be fully mitigated. Despite the bitter cold, you felt stimulated and refreshed as you inhaled the crisp air and basked in the sun's warmth. However, a sudden, startling slam of the cabin's main door violently interrupted your tranquil moment.

"You are insufferable, Lucifer!" Satan bellowed at the top of his voice as he stomped away in a fit of rage, oblivious to your presence. While this was a common occurrence, you were on a vacation, a time meant for peace and relaxation, but their constant altercations disrupted everyone's peace.

While you didn't want to blame Satan entirely, considering Lucifer was only following Barbatos's request, it was understandable that the first brother would eventually lose his patience with Satan's ceaseless pranks. Fearing that Satan might spiral out of control, you trailed him into the forest, hoping to pacify him before he lost complete control of his temper.

"Satan, wait!" You shouted in vain.

Satan's mental control began to steadily erode as the blind, unyielding fury consumed his heart and soul. It was as if he had fallen into a trance, oblivious to the world around him. As his grip on reality slipped away and the beast within him gained control, his sense of self and self-awareness steadily faded.

"Wait, this is," you mumbled under your breath as you noticed a familiar location. As realization slowly dawned on you, your quiet muttering transformed into panicked shouts of warning, "Satan, stop! There is a frozen lake in front of you."

But Satan's rage-fueled consciousness had already clouded his senses, blocking out all input from his surroundings. He walked blindly forward, oblivious to the impending danger that lay before him. With a sense of urgency, you raced forward to prevent him from inadvertently injuring himself, but it was already too late. He lost his balance and slid across the lake toward the center.

The glassy surface of the lake crackled eerily and spread outward like a massive spiderweb, and in an instant, a hole appeared under Satan's feet. Shards of ice danced and sparkled in the air as the Avatar of Wrath plunged through the surface into the frigid waters, sending a rippling effect through the lake.

Satan's breath ripped away as his limbs tensed and muscles ached with every desperate, futile movement. The veins, arteries, and capillaries of his body constricted in a frantic bid to keep his precious warmth from dissipating. He desperately grasped for the edges of the ice sheet with numb claws but to no avail. The ice sheet shifted and crumbled, leaving him to the mercy of the water's cruel embrace.

As you stared at him in horror, your chest raised and fell in an erratic rhythm. A barrage of emotions, both physical and mental, washed through you, leaving you momentarily stunned. With each passing second, your lungs felt heavier and stiffer. You had to help him, even if it meant putting yourself at risk. But as soon as you approached the edge of the lake, determined to help him, he quickly stopped you.

"No! Don't...Don't come any closer! It's too dangerous," Satan rasped, his breaths punctuated by a hacking cough. The Avatar of Wrath feared at the thought of you falling in and experiencing the same misery he was enduring. As you heard his words, a rush of tears threatened to fall from your burning eyes. Even in his anguished state, he was thinking about your safety and well-being over his.

A sudden crunching of snow caught your attention. With a sense of anxiousness, you turned to find Lucifer running towards the shore of the lake, his crimson orbs as wide as can be. For the first time, a foreign emotion consumed the Avatar of Pride's mind, an emotion he had not felt - not during the Great Celestial War, not after he faced defeat, not when he was falling from the heavens, and not even when he found himself surrounded by demons. Fear. Fear of losing a part of him.

Lucifer quickly removed his high-collared, fur-lined black coat and tossed it in your direction. With a keen eye, he assessed the condition of the ice sheet, stepping cautiously in a calculated method. Each stride he took was measured, prompt, and thoroughly planned. Upon reaching Satan's location, the Avatar of Pride extended his hand out to his younger brother, hoping Satan would relinquish his stubbornness and accept his help.

Without hesitation, the Avatar of Wrath firmly gripped his gloved hand, and with one swift motion, Lucifer freed Satan from the clutches of the icy depths. However, the sudden movement brought too much pressure on the ice sheet, and a low, rumbling sound filled the air. Realizing their perilous position, Lucifer employed his strength to toss Satan to shore, prioritizing his safety. The first brother changed into his demon form and raced against the collapsing ice sheet. At the last moment, a gust of momentum from his wings allowed him to reach the sanctuary of solid ground. All the while, you witnessed the miraculous escape with bated breath.

A wave of relief washed over you as Lucifer reached the shore. Turning your attention back to Satan, you greeted him with a warm embrace and wrapped Lucifer's coat around his shivering body. In response, the Avatar of Wrath leaned his weight against you and whispered weakly yet reassuringly, "I am alright, (y/n)."

The first brother's expression softened when he heard Satan's statement, yet his mood remained somber. Despite his relief, Lucifer's composure held a pronounced unease, as if he was still grappling with the events that had transpired. He was always in control of his thoughts, yet the harrowing image of Satan's struggle haunted his mind. Without meeting your gaze, Lucifer departed, not wanting to risk provoking Satan by his presence.

Satan stood in his bathroom, covered only by a towel around his hips, while you helped dry his hair. His body continued to tremble from the effects of the traumatic incident, and his skin remained cold to the touch. Fearing that he might be developing hypothermia, you took his hand and gently led him to his bed. "Let's get you warmed up."

The two of you lay beneath the comforting warmth of the blanket, your bodies pressed closely against one another. Your lips meshed, their heat combining into an enthralling rush of intensity and fervor. You were entirely focused on your desire to erase any memories of the day's stresses from Satan's mind, even if it was temporary. As your tongues intertwined, your fingers brushed his length, sending a wave of arousal coursing through his body.

With every passing moment, your touch grew insistent, becoming more frequent and swift. Satan allowed himself to fall back into the clutches of pleasure, relinquishing the memories of the day's events. The touch of your hand stirred up a wave of delectable pleasure within him, and he could no longer hold back his voice. Eagerly, you lapsed every rapturous moan that poured out of his lips.

Unable to take it anymore, he climbed on top of you and pinned you to the bed. As your breath hitched, Satan seized the opportunity to take the lead. The sudden change in position created friction between your bodies, the intensity of the sensation growing in tandem with your arousal. Inch by inch, he pressed into you, his every movement orchestrated to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

Despite the fervor of the moment, Satan's hip moved slowly yet deliberately, creating a build-up of delicious delight. Your body was overcome by a wave of pleasure with each thrust, the sensation continuously growing stronger and overwhelming. It didn't take long for the pleasure surging through you to reach a crescendo of ecstasy. As your eyes rolled back, every fiber of your body exploded into a chorus of release. With one final thrust, Satan, too, was driven to the limits of his endurance.

You slowly opened your eyes, still wrapped in the comfort of your dreams. Once your eyes adjusted to your surroundings, you noticed that you were snuggled in Satan's bed, surrounded by familiar items and the pleasant scent of his clothing. But he was nowhere in sight.

Curious, you threw back the covers and sat up, taking another second to rub the sleep from your eyes and check the time. It was still early, and Satan should still have been in bed, but where was he?

As you stood up, you looked at Lucifer's bed, which appeared untouched as if he hadn't returned to the room last night. After getting ready, you went downstairs to find Belphie and Levi lounging in the living room. "Morning! Have either one of you seen Satan?"

Both demons smiled warmly at you, but Levi was the first to speak. "No, I haven't seen Satan...or Lucifer."

"Beel wanted an early morning snack, and when we came out of the room, I saw Lucifer sleeping on the couch and put a blanket on him," Belphie added, playing with his bangs. "But I haven't seen Satan."

"Lucifer was sleeping on the couch?" Levi gasped, but you interrupted before he could make any additional remarks.

"He probably doesn't want to risk Satan losing his temper," you giggled, thinking it would be better to keep the lake incident to yourself. "So, where are the others?"

"Diavolo wanted to visit the Christmas market you, Asmo, Satan, and Beel visited a while back," Belphie responded drowsily. "I didn't feel like walking in the cold, so I stayed back. Mammon and Solomon are outside decorating."

"And I didn't want to be around normies," Levi added with a slight frown.

"Oh, let me check on them outside," you chuckled. As you stepped beyond the confines of your cabin's warmth, the frosty winter air greeted you with a kiss of cold. Solomon was busy hanging string lights along the exterior balcony, whereas Mammon was on the roof. Remembering the Avatar of Greed's complaints about being stuck with the difficult tasks, you approached the sorcerer. "Solomon, would you mind switching places with Mammon for a while?"

Solomon met your question with a curious look, but after a moment of consideration, he politely began to step down the ladder without question. Meanwhile, Mammon got excited by your words and grinned widely, "Hell ya! (Y/n), you're the be-"

In his excitement, the second brother forgot he was on a snow-covered roof and pumped his fist in the air. Seeing him teetering on the roof's edge, you yelled in surprise, startling Solomon. With impeccable timing, the sorcerer managed to suspend Mammon in the air with a spell and prevent him from falling head-first onto the icy ground.

"You seem to have quite the poor luck with hanging these lights, Mammon," Solomon chuckled while you pressed your lips in a firm line to prevent yourself from laughing. However, the demon was well aware of your desire to laugh at his expense and shook his head.

"Yeah, Yeah, Mammon is a clown. Laugh, why don't ya," he mumbled, causing you to erupt into laughter while Solomon chuckled. Despite his frustration, the Avatar of Greed watched you laughing heartily, his eyes holding a tender look and his lips twisting into a gentle, amused smile.

The sun had set, heralding the arrival of night, but there was no word of Satan or Lucifer's whereabouts. As the minutes passed, you could not help but grow increasingly anxious, but a soft knock at your door finally drew you from your worries. From the other side, you heard Satan's voice, "I am coming in, (y/n)."

You rushed forward, your concern for him clear in every step, and spoke in a loud, panicked burst voice, "Satan! Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? You shouldn't have stepped out into the cold."

Although he realized you were worried, the Avatar of Wrath found your outburst amusing. To ease your fears, he reached out and tussled your hair in a gentle gesture. "Did you forget I am a demon? I am fine, (y/n). I just needed to be alone and think over a few things. Say, would you like to join me in the backyard?"

"Sure, I guess," you muttered, still upset with him.

As you stepped onto the patio, the evening darkness enveloped you in its frigid embrace. Your breath billowed out from your mouth in icy puffs of white while the chill in the air penetrated your bones, sending chills creeping up your spine. Noticing your discomfort, Satan grasped your hand and led you toward the cozy warmth of the firepit. He sat close to you, his body shielding you from the chill as he handed you a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

"(Y/n), thank you for worrying about me and helping me," he whispered sincerely as he stared at the floating marshmallows in his hot cocoa.

"Actually, I want to say sorry," you said quietly. Satan had not expected you to apologize and stared at you curiously, awaiting an explanation. Slowly meeting his gaze, you flashed him a small, guilty smile. "When Beel and I went into the forest to find a Christmas tree, I ran onto the frozen lake. Beel chased after me without realizing he was stepping on an icy lake. And well...he slipped and fell. Those cracks on the ice sheet formed because of us..."

Satan chuckled and gently rested his hand on the forearm. "It's not your fault nor Beel's fault. I should have known better than to let my anger take over me. I...am sorry for not listening to your warnings and worrying you."

Despite knowing your words would not sit well with the Avatar of Wrath, you felt the need to say them aloud. "Satan, I am not the one you should be apologizing to..."

For a moment, his eyes widened, but he wordlessly stared at the searing flames before him. It was difficult to decipher his thoughts, but you dearly hoped your words reached his heart.

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi?

[nickeldean]

“Cas?” Dean calls from upstairs in their townhouse, making Cas roll his eyes. Dean’s probably going to beg him to bring him the ice cream, which would be fine, except that they’re all out.

“What?” Cas calls back, wandering over to the fridge in advance. Dean’s pregnancy cravings are always so predictable.

Dean calls out again, his voice cracking, sobs muffling Cas’ name, and Cas’ heart sinks to his stomach as he closes the fridge and runs upstairs.

He finds Dean curled up on their bed, blood dotting their sky blue sheets. Dean’s clutching a stuffed rabbit to his chest, his face buried into Cas’ pillow as he sobs. He turns to look at Cas as the bed creaks under the new weight, his face red and blotchy from crying.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps between sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

Cas runs his hand through Dean’s hair, curling up behind him and pressing little kisses to the back of his husband’s neck. “It’s okay, Dean, you’ll be okay, I love you.”

Dean shakes his head, nearly pushing Cas off the bed, squirming away. “No, I, I lost her, Cas, I lost our baby girl.” He inhales shakily, rolling over and trying to stand up from the bed before falling to the floor.

Instantly, Cas is at Dean’s side, trying to pick him up and carry him to the bathroom, massaging Dean’s back.

“No,” Dean snaps, trying to push Cas away as he stumbles towards the bathroom, “You don’t— no, Cas, stop,” Dean begs, tears rolling from his glassy green eyes. “I— I lost her, Cas, it’s my fault, I— She’s gone.”

Nothing Cas can say will make Dean feel less guilty. It doesn’t matter that it’s not his fault. They were both so careful this time, overjoyed when their little girl made it past the 12-week mark, when miscarriage became less likely. They had a name picked out, too.

Cas just listens to Dean’s sobs as he removes his husband’s shirt and bloody boxers and helps him into their bathtub, filling it with warm water. He knew what to do by now.

Clutching at what should have grown into a bump, Dean leans back in the bath, closing his eyes as the hot water runs over him. “Claire Mary Novak-Winchester, you were supposed to be our miracle,” he whispers, “My miracle.”

Dean’s eyes wander to Cas, who is clinging to Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s knuckles in little soothing motions. “I’m broken,” Dean admits, trying to pull his hand away from Cas, struggling, shouting, “Go love someone else.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not going to do that.” His eyes wander down to the reddening water, Dean’s exhausted form barely visible through the murkiness. “I love you, Dean, you. I’m not leaving.”

Dean sniffs. “I’d leave. All— all you wanted was a family,” Dean stutters, “I can’t even give you that.”

It’s a lie. Cas has never wanted a family. He’s always wanted what Dean’s wanted, just wanted to see that spark of happiness in his husband’s eyes.

He wanders away from Dean for a moment, looking over their bed from the doorway of the bathroom. The sheets were stained beyond saving, Cas’ pillow wet with tears, the little bunny plushie laying abandoned where Dean had dropped it trying to get away from Cas.

Slowly, Cas picks it up, moving a floppy ear from its face. They’d picked it out together at some souvenir shop on their honeymoon. The bunny just stares at Cas, eyes reflecting only sadness instead of the joy it was supposed to bring to their new baby. They had picked the stuffed rabbit out four years ago.

He wants to throw it across the room. He wants to rip its ears off. He wants to hold it against his chest and never let go. He wants to lay with it and cuddle it until it’s all scruffy and flat, thoroughly loved and used. He never wants to see it again.

Still, he carries it into the bathroom, cradling the plushie in his arms, its bent plastic whiskers catching on the sleeve of his shirt. He sinks to his knees beside the bathtub, both Cas and Dean looking down at the bunny in reverence, some reverse prayer.

Without a word, Cas stands again, walking to their closet with purpose, holding a ritualistic stance as he presses a single kiss to the rabbit’s forehead. Slowly, he lowers it into a blue bin, tucking its ears down beside it, positioning its little body as if it were in a coffin.

He closes the lid with a thud.

[atths--twice]

The next story in the sentence prompt- “daydreaming about me?” is ready. This one was very fun to write. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

Friday Night at Jose’s

Dinner, drinks, and some flirting is the perfect way to end a long week.

February 3, 2017

Mulder walked into Jose’s, the Mexican restaurant Scully had suggested for dinner, and he drew in a deep breath. His stomach growled as the aroma of fajitas and many spices caused his mouth to water.

He spotted her across the room, a large margarita on the table in front of her as she stared absentmindedly ahead of her. Grinning, he made his way to the table, his stomach growling once again.

“Hey,” he said as he walked up beside her and sat down. She jumped and he chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. Just… startled me I suppose.”

“Daydreaming about me?” he teased and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s six thirty,” she said, pushing her margarita toward him, offering him a drink.

“And?” he asked, taking a long drink from the neon green straw. “Phew… did you ask for extra tequila?” He coughed, but took another sip before pushing it back to her, shaking his head. “Thanks. That’s all I need.”

“Such a lightweight,” she teased, taking a long drink as she stared at him and he shrugged with a smile.

“Did you order?”

“Just this. Thought I’d wait to see if you wanted to share something.” She twirled the straw in her drink and licked her lips. He tried not to stare, but she saw and raised her eyebrows.

“I’m not sharing a salad,” he said, knowing he had been caught and choosing not to bring attention to it. “Unless it includes steak and comes with tortillas.”

“So… like a taco or a burrito?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

“Exactly,” he said and she laughed quietly before taking another drink.

“And no I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t what?” he asked. “Talking about salad?”

“No,” she said with a snort as she laughed again. “Well, that or what you asked earlier.”

“What did I ask earlier?” he asked, frowning at her in confusion.

“Aww… memory loss. That old age catching up to you?” she asked, biting her bottom lip as she tried not to smile.

“Shut up,” he said and she shrugged, her eyes closing briefly as she raised her eyebrows. Reaching for a menu on the table, he opened it and held it out, squinting before bringing it closer.

“Do you want to borrow my glasses?” she asked and he looked up, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Mulder, I’m right here. Can you see me?”

“Shut up,” he said as he laughed and she grinned before taking another drink. He shook his head as he looked back at the menu.

“Fajita platter? Chips and guacamole? And a small Mexican salad?” he asked and he heard her hum in agreement. “You want another drink?”

“Not yet, but maybe in a bit.”

A waiter came by a couple of minutes later and took their order, smiling at Scully as she stirred her drink and smiled back, almost languidly.

Oh. She was definitely feeling buzzed.

“How’s your drink?”

“Really good,” she said, looking at him with the same smile.

“I can tell.”

“Hmm.”

“So,” he said, smiling at her as he leaned a little closer. A buzzed, or drunk, Scully was always fun to behold. “What was it you were saying earlier? That you weren’t talking about something?”

She stared at him, blinking her eyes slowly and then shaking her head.

“What?” she asked and he grinned.

“You said you weren’t doing or talking about something that I said earlier.”

“What?” she asked again and he shook his head solemnly.

“You’re having memory loss, aren’t you? It’s you, but you're projecting your own problems onto me.”

“No. You’re just speaking in riddles. You don’t make sense.”

“Hmm,” he hummed with a smile, watching her stir the straw around in her nearly empty glass.

“Oh, wait. I know now. I remember.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“When you arrived, you asked me if I was daydreaming about you.”

“Which you obviously were,” he said with a shrug and she snorted again, looking at him with slightly glassy eyes.

“No, I wasn’t. And even if I was, it’s nearly seven now.”

He frowned, but then he realized what she was saying and he smiled.

“And by your logic, it wouldn’t be daydreaming because it’s night time. Or evening,” he said and she snapped her fingers and pointed at him as he laughed again. “Well… it’s hard to argue with such sound logic.”

“Not to mention, I wasn’t thinking about you before you arrived.”

“Do they include steak knives with the silverware?” he asked, unrolling the napkin and sighing with disappointment. “I’ll have to ask them for one to let you do the job properly. Right in the heart. Here specifically.” He tapped his chest and she put her fingers to her mouth to hide her smile. “Make sure you get me right here when you physically wound me just as your words have done emotionally.”

“But then our meal would be interrupted. The cops would need to get involved. We’d have to make a statement… It’s just too much to deal with tonight.” She shrugged and as he smiled, his finger still on his chest.

“Well, just know that it was right here, should you want to revisit it later.”

“Yeah. It would actually be better to do it without numerous witnesses.”

He laughed as she looked around with a nod, scoping out the room. The waiter arrived with the salad and set it in the middle of the table. As he walked away, Scully pulled it toward her, sliding her margarita to Mulder.

“Another?” he asked.

“After the salad. That first one is doing the job quite nicely. You can finish it if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Nothing like “second drink” margarita.”

She smiled at his Office reference and he finished the drink as she ate the salad, offering him a few bites, which he accepted happily, despite his previous protests of wanting one.

Their meal arrived not long after, along with another margarita and glasses of water . She licked her lips appreciatively as she took a sip, humming as she wiggled in her seat. He smiled as he watched her begin to build her fajita, knowing the exact order in which she would do it.

As the meal ended, he offered to take her home, seeing as how she was not in any fit condition to drive. She accepted, smiling at him as she stood to use the bathroom before they left. Watching her walk away, a little unsteady on her feet, he laughed quietly.

Driving to her apartment, a place he did not visit as regularly as he would have liked, their separation leaving some things in a gray area, she hummed along with the radio. Rolling her window down despite the chill in the air, she drew in a deep breath.

“I’m a little bit drunk,” she said, her words slurring a bit.

“Are you?” he teased with a chuckle. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar. You notice everything.”

“Like the fact that you were daydreaming, or evening dreaming, about me?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, but offered no further comment and he grinned as he made a left toward her apartment.

He pulled up and parked in one of the empty visitor spots and looked over at her. Her eyes were closed and he would have thought she was asleep, but he knew by her breathing that she was awake.

“Do you want me to walk you in?” he asked and her eyes opened slowly.

“Naaaaah,” she drawled. “I’m good. Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

She sighed as she unbuckled her seatbelt and gathered her things. Glancing at him, she smiled and opened the door.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she said and he nodded.

“Goodnight, Scully.”

“It’s Friday. Let’s stay out of trouble until Monday, yeah? Let me sleep in tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’ll see what I can do,” he said, smiling at her.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She squeezed his forearm and then got out of the car, shivering as she closed the door.

She walked in front of the car towards the stairs and then turned around, walking back to his side of the car.

“Yes?” he asked as he rolled the window down.

“Do you think that daydreams only apply to things you’ve not yet had? Like winning the lottery? Or a trip you’ve yet to take? Things you’ve not experienced, but may want to someday?”

“Only? Never would I think that’s the only type of daydream a person can or should have. A daydream represents something you want, wish you could have, or know you will have, but it’s not yet come to fruition. Daydreams are different from sleeping dreams as we are in control of them. Therefore, in my opinion, they hold more weight than a dream we have while sleeping. We are active participants during the day.”

“And not just with dreams, as that’s when we are active,” she said, her eyes closed and eyebrows raised.

“True,” he agreed with a smile, his eyes traveling across her face. Her mascara was smudged under one eye and he wished he could cup her face in his hands and smooth it away as he had done countless times in the past.

“I think you’re right,” she said, opening her eyes and focusing on him. “It’s good to have daydreams about what could be, even if you may have had it before.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly as they both stared at one another.

“Well, goodnight again,” she said, stepping back from the car and nodding as she scrunched her chin.

“And to you,” he replied.

“Behave,” she said.

“Let you sleep in. I got it,” he said with a small chuckle.

“Bye.”

“Bye, Scully.”

He watched her walk inside as he let out a deep breath, counting to sixty before he started the car and drove away.

“New message from Scully,” was heard through the speakers a minute later, his phone lighting up on its holder.

He grinned as he waited for it to be read, imagining her taking her shoes off by the door and stumbling to the couch, sitting down tiredly upon it with a sigh.

“It’s remotely plausible to consider that I may daydream about you from time to time.”

Laughing loudly, he slapped the steering wheel as he pulled up to a stoplight. He shook his head and laughed again, picturing her smile as she sent that message.

“Ahh, Scully,” he said, smiling as the light turned green and he continued on his way.

He knew by the time he got home, perhaps before he even drove too much further, she would be asleep on the couch, a blanket wrapped snugly around her.

“Message Scully,” he said.

“What do you want the message to say?”

“More than plausible,” he said, still smiling.

“It reads more than plausible. Send it to Scully?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Done.”

“Good,” he replied with a nod. “Good.”

He smiled nearly the entire drive home.

[roamwithahungryheart]

This was brought to you by denial and sleep deprivation:

“Okay. I'm sorry, you know. I've been dreading this. Talking to you. Abandoning you.”

It struck Ted as strange that after decades of friendship, Beard could ever truly think he was abandoning him. Still, he looked back at Beard with soft understanding.

“What? No, no, no, hold on, Coach. You ain't abandoning me, okay? You're just following your heart. I get it.” Ted paused, eyes glassy and fixed on the frayed carpet of the cabin. “And, yeah, you should go. But look, man, I don't think they're gonna let you off this plane with that door already shut.”

“I have a plan.”

“Of course you do. Okay,” he sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

With one swift movement, Beard doused himself in water.

“Run.”

“Whatever's about to happen, that's a great start.” 

“I love you, Ted.”

“I love you too, Willis.” 

Beard stood bolt upright, reached into the overhead compartment for his suitcase and brought it down with an almighty slam. Then, he shrieked.

“BOMB!”

Ted glanced over at the other passengers, who were now in a state of complete panic. In that split second, Beard had already been apprehended by airport security and dragged kicking and screaming down the aisle.

“Oh, boy.”

Outside, the rare afternoon sunshine warmed Rebecca’s face. She stopped walking, tilted her chin towards the sky and breathed deeply. It was only when she noticed an elderly couple exiting a taxi that she felt her heart begin to race. Her palms were clammy. It was happening again. Lifting one hand to her chest, she moved back from the bustling crowd to regain her composure. 

A familiar sound caught her attention - the bright, bubbly giggle of a young girl. Rebecca watched her run, carefree and careless, across the tarmac before landing flat on her face - right at Rebecca’s feet.

Bending down, Rebecca reached out a hand, stroking the girl’s hair as she helped her up. 

“Oh, little love, are you alright?”

The girl dusted herself off, raised her arms and roared. Then, she was gone.

Rebecca’s phone rang, snapping her out of her daze. Her fingers twitched - she was trying to get into the habit of ignoring calls. Too much of her life had been wasted on being at someone’s beck and call. This was the new Rebecca. The new Rebecca said no to things. Shaking off the urge to answer, she turned back towards the airport entrance and heaved a sigh.

“Just do it. Just fucking do it.”

Ted sat hunched over his phone, tapping out a text to let Michelle know that his flight had been delayed - of course, he spared her the full explanation - so he didn’t notice Rebecca approaching the terminal until the very last moment. His head jerked in a double take, his whole body relaxing as soon as their eyes met. 

“Now what the heck are you doing here?”

“I just bought a ticket to get through security so I could come and say a proper goodbye.”

“Ah. Classic rom-com leave-cute tactic.” Ted chuckled. “Hmm. Love it.” A pause. “Okay. Hold on. You bought yourself a first-class ticket for a flight you ain't ever gonna take?”

“It was just force of habit.” Rebecca shook her head, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Ted raised his eyebrows comically, causing Rebecca to stifle a smile. “Uh, I see you're sticking around though, huh?”

Rebecca sighed. “Well, Ted, you're going home to your family and... I actually want to stay with mine.” It was at that moment she realized that Ted was clutching his suitcase. “Hang on, what are you doing here? Did they cancel your flight?” 

“No ma’am. Somebody threatened to set off a B-O-M-B.”

“Oh my God. Are you alright?”

“Oh I’m fine, it ain’t me you have to worry about.”

In the distance, two airport security officers escorted a cantankerous Willis Beard from the interrogation room. Ted & Rebecca shared an amused look. Then -

“Speaking of B-O-M-B-S,” Rebecca shifted her feet and cleared her throat, “I was really hoping you’d stay.” 

Ted nodded slowly. “Hmm. I was really hoping I’d stay too. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and the thing is, I love Richmond. I love the way everybody just helps each other, no questions asked…the way they apologize to a lamppost or a phone box when they bump into it…but right now, the thing that would help me is going home.”

“You’ll always have a home here, Ted.”

“I know. Y’know, sometimes I wonder…”

“What?”

“Well... if I hadn't been asked to coach soccer in England and you hadn't taken over the football club, and you and I had just, well, met…”

“I know.”

...flight 822 to Kansas City.

“I gotta go.”

“Goodbye, Ted.”

“Goodbye, Rebecca.”

“Have a safe flight.”

Instead of clamoring to hide her emotions, Rebecca let the tears she’d been holding back fall hot and fast as Ted walked away. He cast her a glance from the gate, his face falling as he watched her swipe her eyes furiously. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a tissue and stretched as far as he could to pass it to her.

“Here ya go, boss. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened, right?”

Rebecca sniffled, raising a hand in acknowledgement, but rolling her eyes at his inability to leave a tender moment alone.

Ted turned back to her one last time. 

“Oh, hey, Rebecca? If you ever feel like buying a ticket you actually do wanna use, it’d be real nice to see ya in Kansas sometime.”

[stanislawkowalski]

LUKA & NASTKA

The air inside the abandoned warehouse was thick, suffocating, a mixture of rust and decay that clung to the walls like a forgotten memory. Shadows stretched along the concrete floor, broken only by the occasional drip of water that echoed in the cavernous silence. It was a graveyard of machinery, a place where time itself had given up. Nastka’s footsteps were soft but deliberate, each step stirring the dust beneath his boots, a quiet reminder of the world outside that continued to turn, indifferent.

He hadn’t come here expecting to find anything of value. It was a ghost of a lead, one that had already gone cold, like the air in his lungs. But as he moved deeper into the darkened space, something stirred—a sound, faint but unmistakable. The strained breath of someone still clinging to life.

Nastka’s gaze drifted across the scene before him, and there, in the dim light, was a body sprawled across the floor, barely more than a shadow at first. A wreck of bruises, blood, and broken skin, like a painting marred by violent strokes. The boy’s clothes were torn, soaked in grime and crimson, his pale skin standing out against the darkness like a ghost, haunting and fragile.

Luka.

Nastka didn’t know him—didn’t care to know him, at first. Just another casualty in a world where death came easy, and survival was its own cruelty. The boy should’ve been forgotten, left to rot alongside the abandoned remnants of the warehouse. But as Nastka’s eyes swept over him, Luka stirred, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was pulling himself from the depths of a dream.

And then their eyes met.

Luka’s gaze was glassy, his lids heavy with exhaustion, but his lips parted, curling ever so slightly into a smile. It was soft, innocent in a way that seemed out of place, given the violence written on his skin. A smile as gentle as morning light, despite the blood, the bruises, the wreckage of his body.

Nastka’s breath caught in his throat.

He could have walked away then—should have, by all logic. The broken didn’t belong in his world. But that smile... it was like an unanswered question hanging in the air, a riddle that gnawed at something deep inside him. It wasn’t a smile of gratitude, nor one of desperation. It was simply there, like it had been waiting for him.

Nastka hesitated, his mind turning over the strangeness of it all. Why smile in the face of death? Why smile when the world had left you battered and beaten, broken on a filthy warehouse floor?

Curiosity, cold and sharp, cut through his usual indifference. Without thinking, Nastka crouched beside him, his shadow swallowing the frail figure below. He studied Luka’s face, that serene expression untouched by the pain he should have been feeling, the torment etched into his skin.

"Why the hell are you smiling?" Nastka’s voice was a low rumble, more an intrusion than a question, laced with something close to frustration.

Luka blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused, but the smile never faltered. "Because… it’s funny. Don’t you think? What people find beautiful... "

The absurdity of it hung between them, thick and suffocating. Nastka narrowed his eyes, unsure whether to feel anger or fascination. He had seen so many broken things, so many bodies on the verge of giving up, but none of them had smiled. None of them had laughed at the cruelty of their own suffering.

In that moment, something shifted, something subtle and unnamed. Nastka could have left. Should have. But instead, he sighed—a slow, deliberate exhale, as if releasing a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying. With a single, fluid motion, he reached down and hoisted Luka’s limp, bloodied form onto his shoulder, the boy’s weight barely registering against the layers of confusion swirling in his mind.

"You’re either insane," Nastka muttered under his breath as they moved toward the exit, the words more for himself than for Luka, "or you’ve got a death wish."

The city lights flickered on the horizon, faint beacons of life beyond the cold, desolate space they left behind. Luka’s head lolled against Nastka’s back, and as they walked through the darkness, that soft, gentle smile still clung to his lips—a smile that felt like it could unravel the very fabric of the world if Nastka let it.

It wasn’t a beginning he had planned, but there was no turning back now. That smile would haunt him, and the mystery of Luka would become something Nastka couldn’t ignore. Something he’d carry with him, even as the shadows of the warehouse faded into the night.

[circa-specturgia]

Fratricidium

A discussion of sacrifice, brotherhood and, love. This one’s a late scene in the plot, towards the end of the story, calm before the storm. I haven’t introduced Alix before, but, I plan to write another scene in which Cas and Alix meet for the first time, which would be fun to write after seeing their relationship in this light as well.

TW // Discussion of death, fratricide, the act of killing a sibling, or individual of a equivalent relationship. Note, no actual death occurs in this scene

“Please never do that again.”

His voice had spoken in their head a few moments ago, echoing ever so slightly when it had, now silent.

Cas stood silently at the far end of the hall, barefoot on the solid obsidian floor, which reflected the room in a perfect mirror, glassy, polished to perfection. His long black robes suited him a bit too well, simultaneously fitting him, and making him seem like someone else entirely to Alix’s eyes, unfamiliar. As he turned, they caught the wind from the sea, where the walls of the low-ceilinged hall opened into a veranda overlooking the water.

“Sorry, I won’t. I just…” Cas began before sighing, looking out to the dark waves that stretched into the horizon, unruly hair whipping in the breeze. “I needed to talk to you.”

They walked closer, the volcanic stone beneath their feet uncomfortably silent. The cold wind whistled in their ears as they came to stand next to him. They could recognize the golden shape he was fidgeting with. The tip of the godkiller spear. Nadir Keihäs, V had called it. His fingers would blacken and smoke as he ran his thumb across the etched design, turning it over in his fingers which healing momentarily, the wind carrying off all ash.

They raised an eyebrow to their friend, trying not to show their discomfort in noticing his eyes a molten pool, irises shifting between a deep brown and glowing divine gold.

“He’s… not listening, is he?”

The young man paused for a moment at this, turning to look at them with a look of mild confusion, before letting out a sigh of realization, waving tiredly to his eyes.

“No, no, that’s just me. It’s just us.” He reassured, before gesturing to the room, robes furling in the breeze. “I’ve managed to meditate him out. This place helps. Like on Coros.”

V had led them here when they’d first arrived, mentioning it’s property of being ‘hidden’ as he put it, the gold pillars on the walls etched with shifting symbols and sigils, the obsidian being a void of power.

Cas opened his mouth to speak again, before closing it again, eyes fixated on the ink black sea crashing against the cliffs, not meeting his friends gaze. They listened to the silence together for a moment. It reminded Alix of the quiet of the library, broken only by their friend’s questions and the turning of pages, replaced now by a gentle hum of antiapotheosis and crashing waves.

“You’ve been thinking on how to say it.”

“Yeah.” He finally managed to bark out an anxious laugh, before a grim smile shut his lips, even that fading within a second, carried off with the ash of his fingertips.

“If things don’t go— If he manages to...”

“Cas. I know.”

“Thanks.” He looked at them, and in spite of their eyes being so unnatural, the look in them was so human, so Cas. That comforted them.

“I don’t get it, though. Why not Ciro?” They asked, after another brief pause.

Cas didn’t meet their eyes, but they could tell he knew the question had been coming. He knew what they really meant. ‘Why me?’ They knew the answer.

Turning on his heel, Cas stepped back into the chamber, kneeling at a piece of black fabric that had melted into the floor so perfectly Alix had failed to notice it lying there. With a careful movement, the man unfolded its sides, revealing the hilt and shaft of the Nadir Keihäs. With a simple motion, he affixed the spearhead, running a hand over its length and muttering a command. As he stood, the spear hovered just below his extended palm, turning slowly in the air as he faced them again.

It was an odd thing, not quite so physical as it looked, a property to it that couldn’t be seen. The gold etched design was all gold, yet not uniform, with different shades and patterns across its length, its tip once simple, then again a complex figure, a crescent, blade, a— it hurt to look at… No, rather, it hurt to think about too thoroughly. V had called it a conceptual weapon, something more abstract than physical, tethered to reality, and while it had fascinated them initially, the way that looking at it echoed the word ‘spear’ in their head over and over, it unsettled them.

Running a smoking finger up the shaft, Cas’ eyes glowed, brown overpowered by gold momentarily before returning to an equal mix, and then tipping to his natural shade.

“Ciro’s too kind. I think he’d…” He began, before stopping, staring at the floor, and starting again. “I know he’d hesitate. I can’t give him that opportunity.”

He said it like even the word him was a bitter taste on his lips, squaring his jaw for just a moment. Alix had noticed he’d started to avoid using his name altogether.

“Tamara would never agree to it and try and find another way. Mask- I don’t even want to consider.” He continued shakily, choking up a bit. “Cyril and Adira, I think they’d both do it. If it came down to it. But—”

“But they wouldn’t be able to live with themselves after.” They finished for him, much to Cas’ gratitude, as he gave them a look.

“This is why I knew that I could talk to you about it.” He smiled weakly.

“Because I’m heartless…?”

“Because you have the biggest heart.”

Alix paused for a moment, stunned. The breeze picked up, cool mist spraying their face.

“I...”

“You, you love so, so much.” Cas paused, unable to meet their eye. He waved a hand around, apparently still struggling with the words, as though trying to grasp them from thin air, make them materialize. “To let me go so no one else has to, to—”

His voice broke, an anguished, strangled noise.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, just barely above the wind. “I know what I’m asking of you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

In a rush, they grabbed his robes, pulling him in, as he broke down, repeating it quietly. They still had to stand on their toes to hug him. He still had that scent of Lavenda and woodsmoke, just like always.

It took a minute before he stopped shaking, standing up straight again as Alix held them at arms length. They reached a hand to his cheek, brushing tears from his eyes with a thumb, as he gave a sigh, finally meeting their gaze. Pure dark brown on vibrant purple. They didn’t need to say anything more.

“I’ll do it. For you, brother, I’ll do it.”

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ✨

[saltineofswing]

APOSTATE II

Love And Death || Destiny 2 || 3800 Words || Pt. 1 || Pt. 2

In Another World, In Some Ways Like The One We Know…

She was dreaming again.

The sky (was it the sky?) roiled like a drugged serpent over her head, ribbons of ichor-dark empyrea twisting lazily, drops of ink in clouded absinthe. She stood on a smooth circular plinth and somewhere, in the dark, thunder burbled as if from above the water-line. Flickers of sourceless white light illuminated her in strobing bursts at random; her skin, pale and shot through with dark veins like marble. Her hair, dark and wavy, long unkempt, like fingers of shadow that rooted in her scalp. She was not hot, nor cold, nor anything. The glassy stone was indistinguishable in temperature from the bare soles of her feet, which made her feel like she was truly drifting in the vast nothing. 

She was dreaming of something. 

Somewhere, a massive formless shape shifted in the dark. In its size she could not tell it for a drifting land mass or some leviathan Thing, nor how far away it was, or if it was moving towards her, or if she should be afraid of it. Light thrummed behind the mass and she felt, also as if from above the water-line, the tingle of fear in nerves that should have belonged to her. 

Something was dreaming of her.

“Eris.”

Ichor – not her hair, not the empyrea of the Ascendant Plane around her, above her, below her, but directed and insidious – murmured to itself. It groaned and whispered, and slowly a languid shape contorted into this reality. Eris knew this shape. Toland, once Shattered, was equally functional (and arguably more comfortable) when his mortal flesh was left contorted into a contemplative puzzle, and his mind was walking across other realities. 

“Eris,” he said again, though no mouth knit itself across the slithering dark shape that now faced her. Two long, angular arms unfurled from him, spindling fingers swirling as if he were swimming; his shoulders stretched until they were aligned into the correct corners, his torso stacking itself into the accurate curvature. His head attained definition – proud, jutting cheekbones set over a jagged jawline, horns reaching out in supplicant gestures from his temples. The way the shadows drew into his form through the back of his phantom skull approximated his voluminous black hair. His eyes slit their way across his face, three green lines that drew open just a crack to appraise her. In the negative space that his shadows would not fill, Eris saw the pattern of his tell-tale bone-forged cuirass and robes. 

The precariousness of him could be mistaken for poor casting, but Eris knew that he just looked that way. She knew that she should feel some way about his presence here – joy? Irritation, anger? Fear? But she could not bring herself to the flashpoint of emotion. Instead, she blinked slowly at him. “Toland,” she finally said, as if finding a word she had been searching for. Her voice was disused, creaking and straining to recall a past grandeur. She whetted her lips, had to try twice to do so, remembered that she had a tongue and teeth after this reflexive behavior. Yes, a body had a mouth, didn’t it? “Toland.” 

She thought, should I have more to say? Should she tell him something, or perhaps ask him a question? She wasn’t sure. Uncertainty should have rankled across her exposed skin, the fluttering of muscles just below her skin. Instead, she merely blinked once more, remembered that she had eyelids and eyes. 

He waited, patiently, for her to address him with anything other than his name. 

She made her decision. “Why are you here?” She asked, and Toland folded his long arms behind his back. Eris thought perhaps her question had taken him aback, though she was not sure why. Was it the dullness of her voice, which she, too, wondered at? Did he perceive something adversarial in the question, and did she mean it as a challenge? 

“To bring you,” he said, in an interval that Eris suspected was not the gulf of time she thought it had been. “The Witch Queen’s plans are undone, at least through to the next stitch. We…” this gave him pause. Something in his hesitation made a trickle of sensation creep through her. “Her plans are undone,” he said again, but with the tone of a clarification, “but not foiled. Savathûn’s machinations outstretch even the mighty Queen Mara Sov.”

“Asûr-Ïst-Alam-Kost,” Eris said, reflexively, and she felt a little bit more like herself. Toland saw this in her, the shadows of his face approximated a familiar, crooked smile, and she again felt a little bit more like herself. 

“She escaped us,” Toland continued. “Though we lost in some ways, we won in others. She did not escape without great cost to herself.”

Eris thought that she knew what he was talking about. She remembered – no, Savathûn remembered – shambling between buildings deep in the City, where nobody would recognize her as anything more than a human unsteady on her feet. She remembered, or Savathûn remembered, the way black ichor heaved from her insides and splattered the gutter. The taste of it, slick and alien and acrid. She remembered seeing, from across a crowd, Eriana as she walked with two House Exile Vandals and her Guardian fireteam towards Botza District. Eris remembered a pang of desperate longing, the overwhelming desire to escape, resignation in the knowledge that escape would never come; she could not tell if these thoughts were her own, or Savathûn’s. 

She remembered, then, her ‘sudden’ and ‘inexplicable’ reappearance. A renewal of closeness with Toland, with Sai Mota, with Ikora and the Hidden. With the Guardian. She remembered, or Savathûn remembered, watching Crow and Osiris sit together and talk, remembered showing Crow the differences in the tracks of Ogres and Ascendant Knights, remembered holding Sai Mota as she cried with relief that ‘Eris’ had finally returned. She remembered Toland. At arm’s reach, but so far away. Glances, exchanged where they thought the other did not see them. ‘I missed you’, she had said to him once, ‘in the Ascendant Plane. I was trapped, and there were times when I could only think of you.’

“Yes,” Eris whispered, and reached up to touch her lips. They were not smeared with slurried bile or divine untruths. “I remember. I remember… pieces of her time. Wearing a… wearing a mask. Of me.”

Toland seemed to have no response to that, though Eris thought it was more likely he had several and wanted to voice none of them. Instead, he dipped his chin for a brief moment and said, “ask your next question, Princebane.”

“How long have I been here?” Eris said, more firmly, and focused on the power that there was to be had from knowing. 

Toland paused; she did not know if it was melancholy or calculation. But instead of wondering without resolution, she found – to her dim pleasure – that she suspected. She suspected it was the former. She thought, Toland knows exactly how long I have been here. To the minute. She was not sure why that would be. But, again, she suspected. 

“Years,” Toland said. “Years and years. A very long time. The world we knew is no longer, and a new one has sprang up in its place. Things are very different.” He paused a moment more, from melancholy and calculation at once. “Shin Malphur is dead,” he continued, more discreetly. “A new Vanguard oversees the Hunters.”

Eris found that she felt sorrow, and then she felt a little bit more like herself. “And Ikora?” She asked, because she could not help herself. 

“Alive,” Toland replied, almost too quickly, as if to reassure her. How unlike him, she thought. Still, Eris found that she felt joy, and then she felt a little bit more like herself. Toland continued, “alive, and well, though busy. As ever, the world is a many-sided polygon, and Ikora prunes its edges, ever searching for the circle inside.”

She hummed contemplatively. The first time she had received a visitor, the first time she had truly been awake (insofar as she could be awake), it had been a Guardian – the Guardian – seeking the blade of insight, to be buried in Crota’s heart. And so, Crota died, howling, broken upon the sword. The last time she had received a visitor, the last time she had been awake, that very same Guardian sought the death of a king. And so, Oryx died, spinning into Saturn’s orbit. And still, Eris Morn remained here. Dreaming. 

Eris experienced a thrill of anger at her captors – her captor. And then she felt very much more like herself. Suddenly she remembered: not the City, not Crota’s Throne-World or the Dreadnaught, where her Ascendant phantom flickered in the high places just out of Toland’s reach. She remembered everything. 

All of her dreams came back to her in a vivid rush.

She remembered a dream of her and Toland, adorned in the regalia of the Hive, with small horns crawling from her scalp, trading clever barbs that were not meant to sting but to intrigue. They stood before Savathûn as subordinates, but not as slaves.

She remembered a dream of being present at Towerfall, Ghaul’s paltry attempts to thieve the Light. The way it flung Guardians across the Earth, the number of lives it cost them. She remembered a small plant in her ship, potted in sallow Venusian soil, and how much sorrow it had filled her with when it died. She remembered being a Warlock, eschewing the Praxic Order and forging her own path, the first of her world to clench ice in her fists, Toland close behind. She recalled Toland in many of these dreams. She remembered she and Toland in a situation much like her own; trapped deep in the machinations of an unknowable and malicious intellect, winding deeper and deeper into illusions and dreams and traps made to break them. Three young Not-Krill tucked against her side. Toland’s hand against the nape of her neck. 

She remembered swallowing Savathûn’s worm, and killing herself, to end it. She remembered turning on humankind. She remembered surrendering to death in the Hellmouth. She remembered joining the Dredgen. She remembered living peacefully, quietly, and dying of old age. 

“I could… wake up?” Eris managed; she was aware of how dreamlike and distant her words had become, lost in the mire of memory, and saw it for what it was – another trap. Another offering from Savathûn, to drag her back down when escape was within her reach. How much easier it would be to simply observe from beyond, to dream and slumber. To lose herself to herselves. To self-soothe with victories and self-flagellate with defeats. She swallowed. “I could wake up?” She said again, more firmly.

“You will wake up,” Toland responded, lofty and imperious. “I’m here. We have been working rather hard on retrieving you from Savathûn’s grasp. It would be a waste not to capitalize on our very diligent work.”

“Why did you come for me?” She asked without hesitation, instead of ‘why are you here’, because she was now acutely aware of the difference. “Anything she said to you, when you thought it was me, was misdirection. It was all a lie.”

Diligently, sphinx-like, Toland considered. Painfully, quietly, Eris anticipated. 

“To see if I could,” Toland finally said. Eris felt her insides shift in a way that she could not identify, because she knew that this was true, and she felt a little bit more like herself. She let her eyes glaze slightly, staring out past him, trying to decide exactly what answer she wanted from him. Simplicity was anathema to him, but she could not place the blame solely on him. 

But he was not done. “But in truth… more than that.” His shadowy form twisted for a moment like a sheet in the wind, his green eyes closed and invisible in his visage of pitch. He approached her, drawing so close that she could tell he was not nothing-cold like the Ascendant Realm. In this moment, as he reached out to her and his fingertips hovered inches from her chin, she could feel that he was warm. “In the beginning. Before we understood what we had undertaken. Before the Hellmouth. Before anything she said with your mouth. Do you remember? You came for me. Not Sai Mota or Eriana-3 or Omar Agah or Vell Tarlowe. You.” His eyes opened again. “In the beginning, it was you. And so it has been since then, hasn’t it?”

She felt herself in his gaze, bedight in power and meaning, and there was no more of her to rediscover.

Eris Morn woke up.

––––––––––––

The pale light of Earth made the interior of the recuperation suite an unnatural hue. Eris almost yearned for the warm light of the sun, the smell of Earth, but she knew these phantom desires were not her own. She had not been to Earth in decades. She lay in bed for a long time and let the earthlight change the shadows in the room.

She took her time to come to consciousness. To feel her full self. After so long spent un-whole – shattered – between planes, flung from grasp to grasp and throne to throne. Dreaming. Her body did not ache; it had been treated with utmost care, a soft robe, limbs wrapped in bone-white linens (not the bone-white of the Hive, the stale, yellowed, crusting chitin, but the bone-white of Earth, of a femur scoured clean by time and exposure). The feeling of soft fabrics against her skin instead of rough, abrasive burlap and Hive-bone was strange. Her body did not ache but it was stiff, and she clattered her teeth as she swung her legs off of the mattress.

The physical world felt so much less real. It was the same as stepping off of a boat onto dry land, or leaving the simulacrum of artificial gravity for real planetary heft. The Ascendant Plane still shifted beneath her feet. Her eyes still searched for distant, drifting geometries. Being indoors felt almost claustrophobic. 

On the table beside her bed was a long, flat box wrapped in Thrallskin vellum, pinned shut with a simple bone clasp. Also there at its side was a glass of water and an envelope. She took the envelope first, and ponderously peeled it open. 

Eris,

You have missed much. You have been missed.

Once you told me you would like to make a blade of God. Inspired. Consider your wish granted. 

Toland.

She cast aside the letter and snatched up the package with indecorous haste, eyes now suddenly hungry, and almost ripped it apart to get to its contents. Only when she saw the blade, did Eris Morn allow herself a cold, mean smile. The dagger that had once been Oryx did not gleam in the light, half as long as her forearm, roiling with strange magics. She drank in the runes and symbologies wrapped in leather and talisman around its hilt and pommel. It looked as though the blade had been dipped into a fire, blackening and souring along its length until it was the crooked tip of a shadow. It curved gently like a tooth, and smelled of death. Toland. Toland had brought her back. Of all the people she had expected to owe her life to, Toland the Shattered had not been one of them. And he was a talented gift-giver. He had changed. How could she have foreseen that?

Without letting go of the dagger, Eris crept across the recuperation suite to the desk and mirror that occupied the far corner. Her hair was stringy and long, and she grimaced odiously at how it spilled across her face, the feeling of its weight against her back and shoulders. Loping uncomfortably until she could plop herself into the chair, she pushed her hair out of her face so that she could examine her countenance. Her brow sat heavy across her eyes, darkly ringed with sleep, and she blinked owlishly. 

“You would be beautiful with green eyes.”

Eris saw the figure standing behind her in the mirror but did not turn to face it. She knew it was not real. 

“Brown has always sufficed for me,” Eris said, her voice croaking with sleep. “Nor do I hold much regard for the opinion of a chronic liar.”

“The chronic liar,” Savathûn purred; she leaned against the post of the canopy bed in which Eris had been slumbering, her arms folded. Three green eyes watched Eris from behind an enchanted burlap veil, their pinprick green glow barely enough to betray their existence. Black trails of ichor wept down her pale cheeks, pooled at the corners of chapped and bitten lips. The strange garb that Savathûn wore was neither Hunter nor Warlock, jutting bone pauldrons and a studded cuirass that bore Eris’s symbol. Eris Morn regarded herself with two kinds of loathing, and one kind of love. She had seen this visage before, many times. Most times. “Good morning, dearest Eris. Have you slept well?”

Eris looked down at the desk, at the dagger. She took it in her dominant hand with the curved edge pointing at the floor, and stared at herself in the mirror. “You could not keep me forever,” she said, and held her hair out of her face. “I am too loved.” 

“So it seems. I wish we could have stayed together for longer, you and I. It has been so long since I was human.” Savathûn sighed; hearing the voice of her ultimate enemy from her own lips was not as unsettling as Savathûn might have hoped. She prowled around the bed, watching Eris with pursed lips. “Are you going to try and attack me with that dagger? It would do you no good. I’m not really here, you know that. You’d just hurt yourself – it’s probably wise not to put too much strain on your body, so soon after you’ve gotten it back.” 

“You claim to have been ‘with me’, and yet you do not know me,” was all Eris said. She examined the angles of her cheeks, the set of her jaw, pursing her own lips reflexively in the same way as Savathûn. She took the blade and held it to her hairline; Savathûn tensed, suddenly, her lax demeanor evaporating off of her. Pinching the dagger’s guard between her forefingers and her thumb, she dragged the blade back. The sound of hair shearing from her scalp against the strange edge of the blade was like the rasp of clear metal against grass in her head, but it did not quite cover Savathûn’s gasp of surprise. 

She didn’t understand Savathûn’s sudden panic, or the way she lurched forward, as if to stop Eris from hurting herself. 

“I like my hair short.” She could not mask the smugness in her voice beneath the dour resolution that she so often imposed upon her words. The dagger pulled back, and like silk, a sheaf of hair slid to the floor at her bare feet. Again she took the blade to her scalp, shearing hair away with the corpse of a god, making it hers. And again, and again. Her hand was steady and even. A hunter and a knife. She held her ears down and flicked the curved tip until no hairs remained long, and set the dagger down on the desk. 

“I can see why,” Savathûn finally said, though the lording ease was slightly forced. Eris examined the choppy, uneven job she had done, small tufts sticking out at odd angles from her scalp. Nowhere was there a hair longer than half an inch. Now she could see her face in full. She tugged at one earlobe, her round ears sticking out from the sides of her head, brushed one of her thick eyebrows flat against her skin with the pad of a thumb. 

“Witch Queen,” Eris finally said, standing and appraising her adversary-as-self in the mirror without turning. “For long have you and your fellow gods struggled to deprive me of my vengeance, to relieve yourselves of the burden of my long shadow.” She lifted the dagger, glancing at its hungry edge, and brushed a stray hair from its blade. “I do not begrudge good tactics. I am free of you, now. Know this, and know fear.” 

Savathûn laughed into the back of her hand; Eris’s teeth gleamed bone-white in the pale light of Earth. “Such powerful words!” She jeered, steepling her fingers and striding closer to peer over Eris’s shoulder. “You will kill us? Alone?”

“Not alone,” Eris corrected, “But I will kill you.”

“There is more to the future than you know,” Savathûn said in her ear, and Eris did not look from the mirror as she hugged herself to Eris’s back. She leaned her cheek against the crook of Eris’s neck, smiling coyly. Eris felt the warmth of her hands, the gruff rasp of her leather gloves, the icy stain of the ichor that rolled down her cheeks, but she did not look. “I have many irons in the fire. You think that speaking decisively will drag your truth into being? We will see. You have seen one side of my machinations, and you think you have broken my stride.” 

“You are wrong.”

Savathun’s lips pursed again, patronizingly. “Oh?”

“Yes. We’re speaking, aren’t we? Then you are, some part of you, here. And I can hurt you with this dagger.”

Eris twisted her arm around her and buried the curved fang of the knife deep into Savathûn’s gut; it did not bother her to watch her own face stretch with shock, her mouth gaping, the inhuman, chittering squawk that gurgled from her throat, the way she crumpled. 

A knock came at the door. Eris turned, knife held outstretched where it had pierced her reflection, to confront an empty room. 

“Come in,” she said, and set the dagger on the desk, watching the doorway in the mirror.

She knew it would be Toland before the door creaked open. He took her shorn head in stride, though he glanced for a moment between her bare scalp and the pile of hair at her feet. “Eris,” he said, and she knew by his voice that he had in some way perceived her conversation with the Witch Queen by the bottomless satisfaction that smoked from it like smoldering coals. “Welcome back to the land of the living. There is someone here who would like very much to see you.” 

She turned to face him, quizzical. It was her true face, then, that burst with shock when a whirl of familiar blue flanges zipped out from behind Toland. 

“Hello, beloved,” Brya said, and darted across the room to her Guardian as Eris cried out. 

She did not see Toland’s small smile, as Eris – dagger forgotten – held her Ghost close to her and wept.

[devoraqs]

touches #6 forrrrrrrrrr visilyacha 👀

Let’s pretend this hasn’t taken me an age to finish 😅 💀

—

"Smell that? Proper sea air!" Julian crowed excitedly as the three of them clambered onto the deck, painted in shadowy tones of lilac and orange by the rising sun. Malak, Lughnasa, and Étienne wasted no time at all, swooping into the brisk morning air and arcing round the rigging and crow's nest.

Vissenta stretched her arms out, relishing the space after a night in the cramped cabins, and batted Julian playfully on the shoulder as she did,

"Salty yet bracing, just like you," she remarked and Julian snorted in laughter.

Alexander lingered behind, letting the cool morning breeze caress his face even as the gentle warmth of the first few rays of sunlight glowed across the horizon, and simply watched them chat, the casual, comfortable fondness and familiarity of their interactions. It made Alexander's heart twinge and flutter in his chest.

"Sanya, are you coming?" Julian’s voice broke Alexander from his reverie, "It was your idea to watch the sunrise from deck in the first place."

"Aye, I am," Alexander called back, "just getting my bearings."

Julian and Vissenta shifted slightly from where they’d been standing, making a space for Alexander to slot in beside them both. Side by side they leant on the balustrade, watching as the bright orange disc of the sun slowly climbed over the waves on the horizon. The blue grey waters of the sea were painted a glassy, twinkling rosy colour as the light hit it, the gentle shush of calm water lapping against the side of the ship the only sound save for the occasional calls of their familiars high above. Julian sighed contentedly, letting his weight sink onto the rail of the balustrade, and as he did his hand brushed against Alexander’s own just slightly, lighter than the soft breeze, but enough for a spark and a shiver to run along Alexander’s spine and for a small bud of heat that was nothing to do with the sunlight blossom across his cheeks.

They watched a while longer in comfortable, companionable silence, until eventually Vissenta leaned back and said,

"I need coffee. And breakfast. Thank the gods we were docked yesterday, we still have proper food."

As if in response, Julian’s stomach growled loudly,

"I’m inclined to agree," he said, "I’ll go to the galleys, we shan’t starve on my watch!"

With a flourish, he pushed himself up to standing, stretched his back out, and strode back towards the lower deck.

"We should go… supervise," Alexander said, "While I trust Ilya not to burn water, I still feel dubious about letting him in any kind of kitchen unaccompanied for too long,"

"Not to mention the cook won’t take kindly to it," Vissenta added with a knowing smile.

They both turned, and made to follow Julian in.

As they walked, arms hanging loosely by their sides, Alexander’s knuckles brushed Vissenta’s. Another spark, and his heart fluttered again, an uncertain yet hopeful thrumming rhythm beating up through his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, to his complete and joyous surprise, what must have been another flush of colour on his cheeks were mirrored on hers, and that spark shot through him again, now strong as a bolt of lightning.

Gods strike me, he thought, I’m fucked

[eddies-puppet]

Lost In The Fire | Spencer Reid

Chapter 22: Glad You’re Here

Warnings: Grieving Spencer :(

Word count: 1,709

Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23

——————————————————————

Becca stepped out from the airport terminal, pulling her suitcase behind her as the cold wind bit at her face, the freezing raindrops stinging her skin small blades. Shielding her eyes, she looked around, quickly picking the car she was looking for out from the crowd, making her way towards it as Dave climbed from the drivers seat.

He smiled as she reached him, kissing her cheek gently as he took her suitcase from her hand, lifting it into the trunk as she hopped into the passenger seat. Dave pulled the door closed behind him, sighing with relief at being back out of the driving rain. Pulling on his seatbelt, he smiled sadly at her.

"I thought you guys were on a case?" She said quietly.

"It wasn't too far away," he reassured her. "I came as soon as Penelope called. The rest of the team have stayed to finish up." Becca nodded.

"Has anyone managed to get in touch with him yet?" Dave shook his head. "Ok. I guess we try his apartment first." Dave nodded, pulling the car away out of its space and heading towards the freeway.

"How was your flight?"

"Long," Becca whispered, gesturing to a bottle of water from the center console. "Do you mind?"

"Have at it." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she gulped her way through half of the bottle. "You good?"

"Yeah, sorry," she muttered, wiping her lips. "I wasn't very well on the flight and by the time I came out of the bathroom, the flight attendants had already stopped selling drinks. I feel fine now, don't panic, I'm not going to throw up in the Bentley," she smiled.

"Worry and stress can have a big effect on a person," he said softly.

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence, the only sound being the soft jazz music drifting softly from the speakers.

As they reached Spencer's building, Dave pulled up to the kerb and switched off the engine.

"I'll come up with you, just in case he's not here." Becca nodded, sighing as they climbed from the car and made their way to the front doors.

They climbed the stairs quickly, silently, until they were outside Spencer's door. Taking a deep breath, she gently knocked on the door, but no answer came. Just silence, and stillness.

Reaching above her head, she ran her fingers across the top of the doorframe, eventually feeling the cold metal of the spare key. She turned, smiling hesitantly at Dave, who nodded for her to carry on. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed the door open slowly.

It was dark inside, the curtains closed, blocking out the streetlights glinting outside, and all she heard was the patter of the rain against the windowpane. She took a step inside, and stopped as she saw Spencer curled up on the sofa, a blanket pulled up around his shoulders. She turned to Dave, kissing him on the cheek.

"I'll take it from here," she said softly. "Thank you for picking me up, I owe you."

"You owe me nothing," he insisted. "Call if you need anything."

"Will do," she nodded, taking her wet jacket off and hanging it on a hook beside the door, closing it softly behind Dave as he left. Turning around, she walked towards the couch, smiling sadly. Spencer was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling gently, his hair falling across his eyes.

She sat down gently beside him, laying her hand softly against his cheek. His eyes slowly fluttered open, his chest freezing for a moment, his tired brain taking a few seconds to recognise her.

"Hey," she smiled sadly.

"Are you really here?" He whispered, his eyes growing glassy with unshed tears. She nodded.

"I'm really here," she reassured him, lowering her hand to his chest as he sat up. "I'm so sorry Spence," she whispered.

He hesitated for a couple of seconds before he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as he sobbed into her shoulder. Her heart broke for him, his arms holding her so tight she struggled to take a proper breath. She sat quietly, gently stroking his back with one hand while the other ran gently through his hair. After a few minutes, his sobs seemed to ease, his grip on her growing a little lighter.

"I should have answered your calls, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I knew it was coming but I still can't wrap my head around it."

"It's ok, you don't need to explain," she told him.

"Thank you for coming," he said softly, lifting his head from her shoulder and looking at her.

Despite the fact she'd just woken him up, he looked like he hadn't slept in days, the dark shadows beneath his eyes even more pronounced than usual.

"You look exhausted. I'm sorry for waking you," she apologised. "Shall we get some rest? Talk more in the morning?" He nodded as she stood up, holding her hand out to him. Taking it gently in his own, he stood up, following her slowly towards the bedroom.

————————————————————————-

Becca yawned quietly as she lowered herself down onto Spencer's couch the next morning, a cup of strong coffee cradled in her hands.

It was still dark outside, her jetlag in full swing. She'd laid awake for a few hours, Spencer's warm body curled tightly around her own, but decided to get up when she'd grown worried that her fidgeting would wake him. He'd fallen fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, his body clearly desperate for rest.

Looking at her cellphone, she noticed a message from Gemma and unlocked her screen:

'Hope you got there safe and that Spencer is ok. Call me when you have time. Love you! Xxx'

Becca smiled to herself, locking the screen and putting it down on the arm of the couch. She would need to call the university once the sun was up in the UK, so she would call Gemma at the same time.

She flicked on the tv, making sure the volume was turned right down before the picture could fill the screen. Flicking through the channels, she managed to find the one channel that wasn't infomercials or news and snuggled down into the deep cushions, pulling her feet up beneath her.

She had laid there for a while, the sun now peeking through the curtains, when she heard soft footsteps approaching. She sat up, smiling at Spencer as he rounded the doorway.

"Morning," he yawned as he made his way towards her, bending to her and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Couldn't sleep?" She shook her head as she stood up.

"Nope," she chuckled. "Coffee?" He nodded. "You sit down, I'll get it," she told him, making her way to the kitchen.

She returned a few minutes later, finding Spencer curled up on the couch. She gently placed the cups down on the table before gently lifting his head from the cushion and sliding her legs beneath it, his head now resting against her thighs. He rolled onto his back and looked up at her, the dark shadows under his eyes even more pronounced in the harsh light of day. She slowly brushed his hair back from his face, smiling sadly.

"Talk to me," she whispered. His eyes fell closed for a couple of seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat as he tried to steady himself.

"I don't know why I'm feeling like this, it's not like I didn't know it was coming," he said, his voice laced with a sad frustration at himself. "She lost consciousness at Christmas. Her body had started shutting down, and then a week ago she developed pneumonia. She just wasn't strong enough to fight it," he said softly, a sob catching in his throat. She nodded, slowly stroking his hair back from his face.

"You've been dealing with this on your own for weeks Spence," she said sadly. "Why didn't you tell me? Or one of the team?" He shrugged.

"Everyone has their own stuff to deal with," he muttered. "And you were with your sister..." he hesitated. "I've been a burden to everyone for so long, put people through so much over the years."

"Hey," she said forcefully. "You are not a burden, to anybody. Spencer, I love you. Your team love you. This is going to be really tough for you, you've got to let people help." He chewed gently on the inside of his cheek, nodding slightly. "What were your plans for today?"

"I have to go clear out my mom's stuff from the center," he told her.

"Ok. Go get showered, I'll drive us."

"You don't have to," he insisted softly as he climbed to his feet.

"What did I just tell you?" She chuckled, standing up and turning her body to face him. "You're not on your own Spence."

His lips curled into a small smile as he took her face in his hands.

"I love you," he whispered, gently pressing his lips to hers. 

"I love you too," she smiled. "Now go!"

———————————————————————

"Of course," Becca said hesitantly. "Again, thank you for your understanding... I certainly will... Bye."

Hanging up the phone, she groaned frustratedly, throwing the handset down onto the bed before walking away.

Spencer was dishing out dinner, and turned to look at her.

"Oh dear," he said. "Didn't go well?"

"Not exactly. He wanted me back next week."

"Oh right," Spencer muttered, looking away from her in an attempt to hide his disappointment.

She smiled to herself, walking up behind him and slipping her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back.

"I'm going to stick around a bit longer though, if that's ok with you?" Spencer sighed, turning to face her.

"I don't want you getting in trouble with your boss though," he said softly.

"I think that boat's sailed," she smiled. "If I'm already in trouble, might as well make it worth it," she added with a giggle. He looked down at her, his hands resting against her hips.

"I'm so glad you're here," he whispered softly. She gazed up at him.

"Where else would I be?"

[lie-reviews]

LINE OF LOSS

Words that are a culmination of my emotions towards an heart-wrenching incident of the past that left many in despair that lasted for generation. The partition of India and Pakistan.

The poem tries to re-imagine the the feelings of the the citizens who suffered through the horrifying ordeal.

I welcome constructive criticism but not the offensive ones

be warned readers.

I know  you

I know you

I know your eyes

But i don't know

Who you are now

Who i am now

But i know you

Know you

From a different time

A time when paddies adorned fields

Unlike now

When bodies and shells of loved ones adorn them.

Skies rain Not blood .

But the waters running are full of them.

Bloody scarlet streams.

An earring in the mud

Its pair nowhere to be found.

Broken bangles.

footprints.

Erased slowly

By the pouring rain.

But the scent of blood lingers

Lingers in the air.

Along with Sadness ,grief , loss mixed together.

Borders Separating me and you.

Lines carelessly drawn on paper.

A careless line that is now my reality.

One step behind

My home that is no longer mine

One step ahead

Is land that they say is my new home

Which shall i choose

Why

Why

Should i have to choose??

Why.

Lines drawn .

That separate me and you.

Why does it matter

I am lost

And so are you

Aimlessly wandering

Glassy eyes looking at the distance

Borders.

Borders they're called.

Lost in our different worlds.

Across borders

Hands reaching out

Yet the same

We pass by each other

I do not stop

Neither do you

You don't turn back

And neither do i

You are not a stranger

But yet you are.

A stranger i know .

A stranger.

And i the same to you

A stranger

A person

A human

Just walking

Walking in life

Carrying forward

Stranger

A stranger With

shoulders sagging

with unseen burden.

A stranger whose eyes hold a hundred stories .

Stories of pain of joy of grief.

Stories for which neither you or i

Have time for.

Stranger.

Nothing but strangers passing each other by.

I stand and see .

See so many different stories.

With no one to hear them.

I want to listen.

Listen to each and every one .

But i cannot.

I alone cannot.

So many eyes.

With so many tales.

So much life.

So much death.

Such ignorance.

Such hate.

And their victims.

Strangers whose eyes gleam with unheard stories.

Laina