#the weight of the dark mirror held up to real life and I would imagine some deep ambivalence on Gneil's part

[gen-is-gone]

Ok I swear I'm gonna shut up and go to be bed and attempt to be even a little normal about this, but fuckin...special bonus episode adapting one of the most popular issues in the series and one of the most important, that drops out of nowhere, with uneven story lengths reflecting the needs of the stories, and with one of the two stories animated so as to do it justice properly, like. I could literally fucking cry, it's so exactly the avant-garde broken formalism I so desperately hoped for out of this show, so much willingness to take risks for the sake of the story they’re telling. I'm so happy. They did both 'Dream of a Thousand Cats' and 'Calliope' such great justice.

[andyklingensmith]

Archival 17 [Long]

Winter - Spring 2024

Each day, clearly means more to me than it ever has Just we, just we, just we One body, really like a dream that you so softly pass to me, to me, to me

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The snapping of my feet falls over the bones of the things I cannot fix Somedays we wake to find knives instead of fingers at the ends of our wrists and all along the curtain of the world we tear and shatter as we let the sunlight in the darkened room The silent grey ripped, a bad drawing on a sheet of paper I tell you this: Even you are not allowed in here

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I'm truly in awe of being human If only I could never be the same A turning of liquid to muscle Where the dead have been life combs its hair

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I thought I had broken the mirror between myself and the world But it's only a fracture and I can still see myself Splintered, smiling stupid

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Only my eyes, so tired from sun drift side to side and move Frozen foot in icy boot I shake like held secrets from you

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I cannot choose the heat of the steel or the coolness of the steel's shadow So I choose the blade itself Indifferent temperature You open the window naked in the moonlight I see the upside down of you I see you before you were born Blossoming before me Drinking water when your throat was torn If you fall you fall forever

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The trick is not minding that it hurts.

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Darkness, the breath that is and is not me Sighing like a sleeper in pursuit of a dream perpetually Beneath me and below me forever like water under the sky If I live just once perhaps it will feel like I never died I burn, I shiver, out of the sun and into this shadow Oh lord, let me be unseen She has kissed me All has shattered

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The mountain is just a shadow in the glass The distance is nothing more to me than a doorway I pass in the hall Imagination is a mirror I wipe with my hand The water on my palm is a river leading me back to you

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Here is another day. I cry as my feet touch the floor.

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It is this to which I commit like bodies tied to wild horses As my skin tears I leave myself all along the earth The footsteps of a thousand people falling a thousand times on my flesh

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The rotten fruit breaks A matter to thick to run The flower by the window is paired with an artificial one And when a pale bud blossoms from the real alive with dew Another from the mimic who learns to blossom too

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I cannot be divided I cannot be kept from myself This door will never shut

No matter how hard I close it No matter how hard I twist I am stuck between worlds like a kiss between lips

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The drop that has formed on the roof of my heart falls.

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My heart closes up like a bird's wings folding My days have cracked and the light spills through its splinters

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The illusion is upon me that this something appears rounded, with weight, complete This, for a moment, seems to be my life It it were possible, I would hand it to you entire like a branch broken forth from a tree Take it, take it, take me

[malstermonkey]

Festive #1

I sort of get the whole “Christmas” thing, I think. 

That said, I can never get away from the all-pervading melancholia it is trying to cover up...........

So while I’m (sort of) all for dressing up the house, for bringing trees inside and tinselling them up, the generosity of spirit implied in gifts and the reminder of ties which bind, the whole thing never escapes its confected and mid-winter pagan roots.

Let’s start with the fact that (in France) it’s dark right now and daybreak a good 45 minutes away -- and the lack-of-light malaise sets in at around 4pm (though the sunsets have, lately, been absolutely spectacular). So, of course, let’s have a party: after all, the modern-day equivalent would be to sit on our screens, stream rubbish and, despite the fact we’re social animals, be apart. Build a “special occasion” and there’s an excuse of exhortations of “come and join in”, “tell me about last year, the future, your prospects” and so on.

Naturally, given the self-absorbed nature of our humdrum existence, copious quantities of food and drink help -- they help in lowering barriers, in forgetting the pains, ills and disappointments, in dissolving petty disputes and long-held grudges..........for a moment we can believe we lead the kind of bright and shiny lives which we deem worthwhile: where our thoughts are untroubled, financial worries do not exist, significant others are exactly that, where we are understood and valued for who we are...........

And more than that , this cornucopia allows us to forget wars, poverty, the stricken, the afflicted and, for a fleeting moment, envision what a perfect world might look like? Escape........

Alternatively, the Festive Season is about reaching back to a more innocent time, when, as kids,  Christmas was all about expectation, about wonderful smells (I reckon cinnamon & nutmeg carry with them the weight of all that we love), about the bonhomie, of songs shared (if Carols are so damned good why don’t we listen to them all year round?), crackling log fires and life’s little luxuries (chocolate!).

Either way, the key is “melancholy” -- the only way to enjoy Christmas is to recognise that human existence is, essentially, played out against a background of misery and, hence, it’s all about balance -- the good is so only because we understand the bad, rich because we know poor, love because we know what the opposite feels like, peace on earth because wars are ever-present.

And so, for those who can afford it,  the year-end Festive period is all about unshackling our very human, physical existence and for a few days (moments?) living a life as we imagine it (where, inevitably, this is the mirror-image of our real life (with the wonderful capacity of our minds to twist things in such a way that we kid ourselves this isn’t so)).

Our capacity for imagining the better part of us, a good life (if you will) requires us to acknowledge all that is dark and cold and nasty: without the dark the can be no light.

And maybe, just maybe, Christmas is that..............that point in time where we are allowed to forget?

[whumpurr]

Adrien and Sawdust part 6

cw: pet whump, whump recovery, bodily mutilation, self harm, brief and vague mention of past noncon, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, unreliable narrator, brief mention of dissociation

masterlist

Sawdust was searching for his bag the second Master was gone. He hopped out of bed, punctuated with a fit of dizziness as he got to his feet, and crawled around the room looking for his duffel bag. The bright blue bag was nowhere to be found, and Sawdust wasn’t great at seeing in the dark either.

He started to wonder, to second guess himself. Did Master put the bag somewhere in the room and Sawdust just isn’t seeing it? Is he overlooking it? Did he even have a bag at all? Did it come with him to this new house, or was it left with his previous master? No, no, he remembered seeing it next to his kennel with those other people.

If he left the room now, Master would surely hear it and question him, or worse, punish him for disturbing his sleep. As much as Sawdust wanted his ears back, he just had to trust that Master would return them in due time.

Sleeping was difficult without the familiar squeeze of his headband around his head, but with a full stomach he managed to eventually fall asleep even if it took a while.

Sunlight came all too soon for Sawdust. The light peeked through the curtains and he couldn’t physically sleep any more. He was dreading going downstairs and having to face his master, having to eat beside him. He could only imagine what his master was going to do to him. Would he record him? Bring his friends over and show him how pathetic and stupid he looked eating out of a bowl on the floor? Sawdust shook himself out of his thoughts; he was just a dog anyways, he shouldn’t have enough of an ego to be embarrassed.

He was getting himself out of bed, going down onto his hands and knees when he heard a soft knock on the door, followed by Master’s quiet voice.

“Sawdust?” Master said from the other side of the heavy wooden door. “Come on, let’s go get some food.”

Sawdust got to the door and opened it with his paw, stepping out and following Master.

Master gave him a bowl of dog food once he was downstairs. Sawdust half contemplated asking Master about his ears, but really, if Master had taken them away then it was because Sawdust did not deserve them any more.

“Master,” Sawdust murmured, “Is- is there anything your pet can- can do? To assist?”

Master looked thoughtful for a moment then laughed, laughed at Sawdust.

“I think my work stuff is a bit advanced for you,” Master took a bite of his own food, “I want you to focus on… recovery, for now. Okay? That means you rest up and come get me if you want anything, food, water, whatever.”

Sawdust nodded, “Yes, Master,” before he continued eating, the hard kibble crunching satisfyingly between his teeth. He couldn’t work up the courage to ask Master about the ears or his bag, or where they’ve gone.

Lunch and dinner went similarly, with Master coming, getting his pet, and taking him downstairs to eat. Each time Sawdust couldn’t work himself up enough to ask Master about his ears. The lack of his ears made Sawdust feel… Wrong. Like he wasn’t a real dog, like he was a subpar pet. He wasn’t good enough to this new Master who had otherwise been so kind to him. What had he done to deserve this?

Night eventually fell, and Sawdust did his best to do as Master said and get to sleep. He curled up in the nest of blankets and pillows that his Master had made in the corner for him, and let himself begin to drift off. As he was doing so, he couldn’t help but wonder why his Master was withholding his belongings from him. Nevertheless, his eyelids grew heavy, and he eventually fell into a deep sleep.

--

Adrien was still getting accustomed to feeding someone using a dog bowl, with dog food, on the floor. It was a strange experience, and doing it made him feel dirty, but it was all Sawdust was going to accept so if it was between that or making the pet starve again, he would have to go with the former.

He was still very aware of just how lost he was in all of this. He searched the internet and scoured his social media for something that could give him some kind of life preserver in all of this. Finally, finally, he found something. A chatroom for pet owners. From the looks of it, it was heavily moderated and geared more towards pet liberation activists, and pet rehabbers, and people who actually cared for their pets. He requested to join and was accepted within the hour. He immediately sent a message to the ‘help’ section.

Adrien: >> Hey guys, I’m a new owner and I didn’t do as much research as I should have. >> Long story short, I didn’t keep as close an eye on my pet as I should’ve, and he ended up not eating because I wasn’t giving him dog food. Is that a normal thing? How can I help him?

It wasn’t five minutes before one of the other owners responded,

1Y4N4: >> oof, thats no good dude.. definitely watch him harder and probably just stick to feeding him what he wants for now. u said hes new right? let him stay in his comfort zone for a little bit probably

Adrien: >> Thanks. I’ll do that.

1Y4N4: >> np, im a bit more experienced as an owner but i dont think mine were as conditioned as urs >> at least not in that way

Zo: >> Bro wtf? You’re the source of your pet’s whole life and shit, you really should’ve done more research.

Adrien sat and watched as this ‘Zo’ person continued to rip into Adrien for his irresponsibility, though the ‘1Y4N4’ user at least tried to defend Adrien. It wasn’t long before Zo quieted down and 1Y4N4 was able to speak up again,

1Y4N4: >> lots of actual dogs eat things that arent dog chow >> maybe show your pet some videos of people feeding their dogs other stuff, maybe hell be more open then

Adrien thanked the user, and used the rest of his evening compiling some videos and researching, finding the outer bounds of what dogs could eat in hopes that he could convince Sawdust. It was far from exactly what he wanted, but he felt some semblance of satisfaction that there was at least a way to progress forwards.

--

Sawdust finally came up with a plan when he was coming out of the bathroom the next morning. It was before Adrien had gotten up. As Sawdust was leaving the bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

His hair was all matted, and the fringe at his forehead was beginning to grow to hide his eyes. He looked lacking without his ears. There were deep circles under his eyes. At least the peaks of his cheeks and his lips were starting to regain some color now that he had a steady supply of food which he undoubtedly did not deserve. The scratched scar across his nose bridge and cheek that one of the other dogs gave him was still there. He looked at that and followed it across his face to his second ears.

His dumb second ears, the ones on either side of his head that his last master hated so much. His previous master had always told him that they made him look less like a dog, less like a pet, when a pet was all Sawdust ever wanted to be. Because if he wasn’t a pet, then he was a toy for both Master and the other dogs, and that was one step above the most reprehensible thing he could be. He had been downgraded to ‘toy’ for a short amount of time previously, and he was eternally grateful that he was never dropped even lower, to being nothing but food for the other dogs.

Master threatened that sometimes, chopping him up and feeding him to the other dogs.

Whenever Sawdust looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help imagine it. Being cut up and thrown to other animals to eat. He found some part of himself that felt that- even if he could never do anything else right- he could do that right. He tried to halt that train of thought as quickly as he could, before his mind shunted him off to some dark, foggy place where he couldn’t think or feel until the bad thoughts went away.

But at the root of those thoughts, he found the problem, as well as the solution. He scrambled down to the kitchen as fast as he could go, wanting to work quickly before he could stop himself.

He got to the kitchen sink, and stood up on trembling, unused legs. They could hardly support his weight, he had to lean onto the granite countertop with his elbows as he reluctantly removed the tape from his paws using his teeth. He would need his fingers for this.

Sawdust’s breath was quick in his throat, the edges of his vision grew blurry as he tried to focus on this and only this. He had one task and he was not going to fail it. He wanted his ears back. He wanted his master to be happy with him again. Maybe this way he could earn his master’s attention and... Maybe even his affection, if a pet was allowed to hope.

Sawdust’s paws were shaky and clumsy as they took out the biggest knife out of the wooden blog. It was heavy and cold in his paw. With one paw he held the tip of one of his second ears and pulled it as far away from his head as he could.

The cold edge of the blade rested on his skin, at the valley between his second ear and his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t break down now, he couldn’t stop now. He took a deep, sharp breath and pressed down on the knife as hard as his feeble paws could.

--

Adrien shot out of bed to the sound of a piercing, howling scream from downstairs.

taglist: @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi@neuro-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @whumpcreations @dancinglifeboat @pinkraindropsfell @looptheloup @cowboy-anon @meetmeinhellcroutons @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine

[rotshop]

hello welcome to another half baked idea, this time i am listening to the off soundtrack and crave nothing but misery and suffering

please ignore how pretentious this whole thing sound it just happens whenever i try and put meaning to words !!

tw ; talk of death, some self loathing, general mental unwellness, and brief talk of blood

---

Phobos always knew this was coming. He always knew one way or another this day would come along and he would have to greet it with his head held high. He was so acutely and painfully aware of it ; nights spent mentally preparing and wondering about how he'd busy himself afterwards. Time spent on his lonesome with an unfocused gaze as he lost himself in the tangles of his own mind and questions that -despite his efforts- would never receive a real answer.

A part of him turned their head up and sneered as the depths crawled up his limbs in waves. They bared their teeth in a grin, remarking how he should've known, he should've known that as a god he'd face this emptiness one way or another. He should've known that he was best on his own, tainting and souring himself when he'd grabbed and held onto you for something.

Part of him looks back on those memories with bitterness and anger, mocking his past self for having held onto some mere mortal with such desperation. Mocking him for having held onto you as though you weren't dust in the start and wouldn't be dust in the end. It claws and screams and bites endlessly like a trapped animal, vaguely hoping for release in the form of the void or freedom. All those regrets tangled together in sharpened thorny bushels, writhing and lashing in anguish.

Another part of him admits that you weren't just some other person, admits that you were a tether to reality for him and a shoulder to lean on. It admits that there's so many words he wish he'd spoken clearly when you'd looked to him with energy in your eyes and the light casting a halo around your figure rather than whispering them in the dark of night when you were resting. It admits that he wishes he'd pressed his lips to yours more when they'd perked up and smiled at him. It admits that you made him feel like more than a caricature of a man and a vague shadow that dragged along with no object to cast it. All these regrets wrap around and grasp tightly onto him, pulling him down further into an unsure sea of white noise.

He just wishes he'd said more then rather than now where it all hangs behind his teeth and makes his tongue feel like lead. He just wishes he'd done more, fulfilled some of those promises and plans he'd carefully crafted with you. Those same plans all crumble into heaps around him now, while he would've snapped to fix them, attempt to hold them up on shaky legs back then he's found a sick contentment in sitting and watching quietly. He doesn't make move to salvage what's long gone, instead, he just stays quiet with straightened posture falling and lets himself fall apart along-side them.

He can still remember it all so vividly, the memory hanging over and resting its head on his shoulder to whisper to him when his mind goes blank once more. He remembers you'd been separated briefly, sending each other a brief glance before you'd parted paths. You'd rushed off to go deal with a few out-of-order grunts while he'd made haste to go deal with an uncontrolled mag. He'd never enjoyed fighting unless he absolutely needed to, perhaps that's why he was drawn to you.

You were fiery and quick on the draw, you'd impressed him with your raw talent and skill. He'd always enjoyed watching you fight, eyes watching every movement you'd make carefully. You were well taught, you'd even shown him a thing or two (he's sure he tried to insist he didn't need help at first before he'd fallen into it, listening intently as you showed him how to do something). He trusted you could handle it on your own, you trusted him he could handle this on his own.

He remembers catching his breath and hastily wiping the blood off his hands as best as he could at that moment. The sound of his heels clicking on the tile as he headed back to the direction you'd gone off in. He was too set on checking up on you (though -he winces- he never would confess that to you, that he sincerely worried about you) to notice the way a few stray agents warily looked away from him. He didn't even notice how quiet it was, brushing off the distant ringing in his ears as nothing more than a side effect from the loud roaring of that old mag.

He remembers looking up in a bit of confusion when you hadn't responded to his question- it was something dumb, some half-baked joke he'd expected some witty response to. You were always clever, at first his pride had hated how well you were at holding an argument with him, your power over him. Over time though, he'd grown fond of it, chuckling under his breath as he imagined little responses you'd make to little questions on his mind. He remembers looking up and feeling that confusion, then feeling nothing at all.

It took a moment or two for him to really process much of anything at all, the scene a blurred mess before him. That part..he can't remember very well. All he remembers is red smeared about the room, him walking forward, and then your weight. His minds eye seems to regain his vision as he's walking again, heels clicking on tile with the occasional drip of something falling beside it. He can feel your weight against his chest, almost perfectly mirrored by the weight that rests on it as he stares at the ceiling.

He recalls vaguely how numb it all felt, he carried you off to a medical station for..some reason. He knew there was no point, your pulse was long gone and your body was creeping with cold already. Yet he'd done it anyway, out of some fleeting hope or simple desperation he wasn't sure. All he knows is the way people viewed the sight of him holding your lifeless corpse in his arm and shied away, turning their gaze. He could barely hear what one doctor had said to him, something about how they would see what they could do.

Humiliation crawls up his throat as he thinks about it. Pity. Everyone in that room filled the air with pity over him, both refusing to look in his direction and watching with careful eyes. That god that had been built up and up reduced to a statue that simply sat down and waited pointlessly. He wasn't shocked or stunned when that same doctor had hesitantly walked out, voice hesitant and strained as they apologized that there wasn't much they could do.

Phobos lets go of the recollection with a sigh, internally cringing with guts tying further at the shakiness of it. He feels it all and feels nothing at the same time, humiliation and regret, despair and decay, an ugly mix of emotions he'd never associated with himself. You had knocked him down from his detached state as a god, both in life and in death. He can feel himself reach out to your side of the bed, he can just barely feel himself actively doing it at this point ; it's more of a reflex or routine that he's fallen into, doing it mindlessly without question or purpose.

The feeling of the sheets greets him, empty and cold ; he chokes back a sob.

[bestialchorus]

“The Invisible String” (Falling for Donna Beneviento)- Chapter 2

The head of House Beneviento covers your hand with hers, instinctively making you look at her for a split second from the corner of your eye, before darting your gaze back to the doll on the desk. You pray the glance was more subtle than it felt, you’re not even sure if it was as quick as you imagined it for everything suddenly feels off, as if something uncanny was bleeding into reality. Whatever surrealism you speak of you don’t see, only feel as Donna’s contact continues to linger over your hand, making your anxiety start to rise by the second.

Seconds feel like eons as Donna stays frozen in place, her veil making it impossible to interpret what she could possibly be feeling or thinking.

You follow her lead by trying to keep a neutral face, staying silent as your mind begins to race. To say you were overthinker would be an understatement, you try unpacking everything from the gesture’s meaning to its sudden appearance, and whether or not this was all just a cruel dream. You’ve had daydreams similar to this situation but none that ever felt like this, none that ever felt so…..engulfing.

You feel that flutter in your heart, a flutter from the word you desperately try to avoid day in and day out whenever Donna crossed your mind, hope. You immediately fight back any hope of the woman ever returning your feelings, even the smallest semblance of it. A woman as distinguished as Donna Beneviento would surely never fall for a common painter…..would she? Donna had power, she had wealth, she had talent and passion of the likes you’ve never seen before….she could have anyone she wanted…so why do you find it difficult to come up a platonic explanation for her action right now?

Regardless of the reason, you feel your skin burn under her gentle touch. Even the simple gesture has Donna written all over it; deliberate but not hostile, soft but not limp. You also can’t help but notice how smooth her hand feels against yours, you wonder if it’s the result of an extravagant lotion or if she’s simply this soft.

The ticking from the old clock fills the air as neither of you react.

You decide it best to hide your internal distress, well at least as best as you can. You keep your face as blank as possible as you gently lower your paintbrush down. You stare down at the small doll, assuming it best to allow her the time to properly explain herself, away from the pressure of your gaze. You try your best to focus on how anxious she must also be right now as communication had never come easy for Donna.

Her voice almost doesn’t sound real as you sit in a dream like daze.

“I…what I’m about to say does not put you at risk, Y/N.”

The clock’s sounds are drowned out by your heart beating through your ears, your gaze stays on the unfinished doll.

Despite her concealed face, she turns her head away from you as she continues, her hand never leaving yours. She takes a small pause before continuing.

“I harbor feelings for you, Y/N. But I chose not to tell you for several reasons.”

Your mask instantly falters the second you hear the confession, eyes widening in disbelief and shock. You jerk your head towards her, she catches your incredulous expression from the corner of her eye, still not meeting your gaze. Something begins to flood your system, excitement? Fear? Hope? You’re not entirely sure but it feels as if each of your senses have awakened to an extreme.

“For one, I feared you would never return my feelings...” She ends with a whisper.

The statement makes something in you snap.

“But I do!” You immediately counter, louder than you intended, your tone earnest with a hint of desperation. You mentally chastise yourself for how dramatic the response must have come off.

The raise of your voice finally makes her look at you as she isn’t used to it. Once again, you have no facial indictors to tell you how she’s taken the response. But you realize her hand feels warmer…that must be a good sign, right?

You try to hold back as you feel months of repressed emotions try to take control of your tongue. The last thing you want to do is overwhelm or embarrass her.

“I care deeply for you, mistress…you don’t have to worry about that.” You say softly while instinctively leaning closer to her.

The dollmaker’s face is hidden but you assume she must be taken aback by her feelings being returned; you know you are. She silently processes your words until you suddenly notice her start to mirror your distance, whether by instinct or by choice you can’t tell.

Time starts to melt away as the image of Donna leaning towards you makes you both want to run away and never look away. You use every fibre of courage you have to keep going, you’re eventually close enough to smell the smallest hint of a floral scent, which is strange since normally Donna doesn’t wear perfume.

You’re both just a breath away…when suddenly Donna pulls back at the last second, removing her hand in the process, you instantly miss the contact. At first you wonder if you’ve been too bold, assuming too much but she quickly explains herself.

“No. You don’t understand, I’m not what you think. This veil hides my true nature….and it is unworthy of you. Unworthy of what you should have.” She says with sadness in her voice, tightly holding her hands to her chest while shaking her head. Even with the veil you notice the contempt behind her words, contempt clearly directed towards herself.

You start to frown the more you process her statement.

You feel a sting in your heart as you realize something. The rumours of Donna Beneviento having a monstrous disposition were more than just rumours, for her they actually held some weight. Whether it was an event, a person, or the entirety of her life leading up to this moment- she truly believed she was unworthy of experiencing one of the largest aspects of life, love.

Even if every rumour about her is true you don’t care, for you’ve fallen for the woman with the veil, regardless of what lies beneath it. Donna Beneviento isn’t a scary story, or a title to you but a real woman whom you’ve grown incredibly fond of. You lightly shake your head as you refuse to accept her words.

“You’re wrong. Even if you are headless under there-“

You notice her tilt her head in response to the comment but not the small smile that also emerges on her face, appreciating how you always seem balance out her melancholic nature.

“It won’t matter to me because…I already think you’re beautiful, Don-mistress.” You quickly correct yourself, still unsure if she’d be comfortable with you referring to her by her first name.

Once again, you miss the warm expression on her face as she addresses your self-correction.

“You’re more than welcome to call me Donna, Y/N. I believe we’re past the point of titles…..”

She looks away as she finishes her sentence, “…I think I’d like hearing you call me Donna.”

For once her veil can’t hide the flustered tone in her voice, you imagine her hands must also be getting warmer again. Unfortunately, Donna is not the only one effected by her confession, your own cheeks now wear a slightly pink colour to them.

But before you can answer her, you notice her hands slowly reaching towards her veil, fingers trembling. The room feels off kilter as you hear the courage in her voice.

“I truly don’t want to lie to you, Y/N. I want you to decide for yourself if this is what you really want….if I’m what you really want.”

You almost try to stop her, not for your sake but to make sure if this is really something she wants to do but you’re too late. Her voice lowers as she finally lifts her veil up.

“…I’ll understand if you never want to come back.”

And just like that, you’re finally face-to-face with Donna Beneviento.

A heavy silence follows as you take in her bare state, completely engrossed by how human and occult she is all at once.

The dollmaker shrinks under your gaze, anxiously rubbing her hands together as she looks at the floor.

At first your eyes can’t help but fall on the mutation over the side of her face. Her right eye is covered with small mounds as visible veins sprout from them; an image akin to eldritch horrors. You now understand how important her veil is to her, how much courage and trust it took for her to show you the flesh that laid beneath it. Anyone else would have run by now, screaming towards the hills of how Mistress Beneviento is as monstrous as the rumours spoke of but not you, for even now- she is anything but monstrous to you.

You take a step closer as you process the rest of her features, your hands moving by themselves as you gently hold her face to study them. The gesture makes her quietly gasp but she doesn’t pull away, she instead focuses on fighting back a blush as she fails to avoid your heavy gaze. You’ve never seen such alabaster skin, it almost glows under the light. But what stands out the most is how her dark hair and eye contrast against it. Without thinking, you lightly push a strand of hair away from her face, lightly grazing her soft skin. Every instinct within Donna is screaming for her to run away while also wishing the moment will never end, no one has ever treated her with such tenderness.

The air surrounding you both feels warmer as you stand just a breath away.

Your eyes finally fall onto the woman’s plush lips, and you can’t help but wonder if they’re as a soft as they look. You look at the woman in complete awe as you process the full picture of the woman you’ve fallen for and as you predicted, you love her all the same, perhaps more.

You feel yourself lean in closer and she mirrors your movement. Neither of you can hear the grandfather clock anymore as you become lost within your personal world.

[julemmaes]

honeybee

this is a following to my modern au nessian called drivers license (part one)

A/N: YOU REMEMBER WHEN I TOLD YOU I WASN'T SURE I WOULD'VE FINISHED DRIVERS LICENSE? CAUSE IT WAS LONG AND IT WAS TAKING A TOLL ON ME. WELL, FUCK ME. I DIDN'T KNOW REAL PAIN UNTIL I HAD TO FINISH THIS

the song this fic takes its name from is called honeybee and it's by the head and the heart

warnings: abusive household, description of violence, hospitalization

have fun I guess;)

Word count: 9,246

the day

When Nesta had broken up with Cassian in the middle of the night all those years ago, she had never imagined that her life would change so much.

Looking at the sparkling ring around her finger, with that delicate tiny diamond set in the equally fine and elegant silver band, she couldn't help but think that she had made the right choice when he had gotten up and decided to leave.

She had never regretted that call and she certainly wasn't starting to on her wedding day.

five years, three months and eighteen days before

Nesta had mentally prepared herself to see him once the door opened. She had prepared herself to see his dark hair tied back in a tousled bun and his thick eyelashes framing his equally dark eyes, still they would sparkle upon seeing her - as they had done every time since the day he had found her on that library's floor.

What she hadn't expected to find on his doorstep though, was the girl with blonde hair and long slender legs bare of any clothing and her torso covered by a t-shirt that Nesta recognised as one of Cassian's. A shirt she had worn several times over the months they had been together.

He looked into her face and it was hard not to notice the imprint left by the pillow on her cheek, her tired eyes still heavy with sleep. She had been sleeping.

Nesta glanced towards the living room, completely visible from where she was standing, and any hope she'd had at that moment that Mor was sleeping on the sofa vanished into thin air like smoke when she saw no pillows on the cushions. No blanket.

She looked back at Mor, who was now staring at her with a dumbfounded expression, as if she didn't believe she was standing there in front of Cassian's house. If she wasn't sleeping on the couch, it only meant she was sleeping in his bed.

He didn't have guest rooms, she knew that.

She was sleeping in his bed.

Her ears began to buzz and Nesta's vision fogged as she tried not to scream.

She had known.

Pursuing her lips into a thin line, she lifted her chin upwards a little, daring the girl in front of her to say something, and then turned, starting to walk towards her car, poised never to return.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest like a war drum and every step she took felt like her legs gave out a little more.

She was tired. She hadn't been able to sleep for weeks. To eat, study, read.

Nesta had died again under the unrelenting weight of the loneliness that had found peace the moment Cassian had set foot in her life and that had swept through her existence like a hurricane, turning upside down everything beautiful she had managed to find.

She felt the sting of emotion build in her throat, the ever-growing knot of tears that couldn't wait to be released, that Nesta knew would explode as soon as she stepped into the car and his house was out of sight.

She was sleeping in his bed.

She had just tightened her fingers around the keys when she heard it, Morrigan's ringing voice, calling her, and then her hurried footsteps behind her. Nesta turned.

"You're making a mistake."

Her eyebrows shot up, "Sorry?"

Mor seemed to flinch at the tone of her voice, "You're making a mistake." Nesta had to laugh and didn't hold back the stunned chuckle that escaped her control as the blonde continued, "You shouldn't leave."

She seethed, "You're wearing his clothes." she pointed out, taking a step forward and then another, forcing the other to walk backwards. She looked into her eyes, frowning, "You were sleeping in his bed only a few minutes ago," her words spoken in a whisper, but the poisonous emotion and hatred that laced the words conveyed everything Nesta was feeling, "why would I stay?"

Mor remained silent, studying her face, "Cass should be here any minute."

The way she said his name. Cass, like she had some kind of dominion over his person. Like she was the only one who knew him.

Nesta couldn't stop the words before they were out, "Why?"

And this time she wasn't asking her why she should stay, wait for him to come back. No.

She took another step forward, "Why did you let him lie to me? Why did youlie to me?"

The dull, dormant pain she'd felt that month woke up like a child pulled from sleep by a nightmare and hit her full in the chest. That emptiness that should have been filled with anger, jealousy, betrayal.

"Why not ask him to leave me? Why steal someone else's boyfriend?"

And at those words, she recoiled, because it wasn't true. Morrigan had never stolen Cassian from her.

Cassian had never been hers in the first place.

The girl opened her mouth to reply, but Nesta didn't give her time to speak and raised a hand, continuing, "Cause I ask myself that every night. I wonder what he sees in you," she laughed, letting out a choked breath as her eyes filled with tears, "What else do you have? You're older, it's true. You're prettier, blonder, taller. Perfect." she spat that word out in disgust.

"And you know what? I knew it. God, I knew it and I was pretending not to. The way his gaze would occasionally wander when we were talking or the mornings when he'd arrive at school in his clothes from the day before because he'd been to your place and hadn't slept." she clenched her hands into fists and smiled mischievously when she saw Mor swallow.

She was about to attack, to bite, to strike wherever she could to regain the dignity that had been stripped from her, but a deep, surprised voice interrupted her, "Nesta?"

She stiffened, turning around slowly. She didn't want to say anything, she just wanted to run to her car, get on and drive away, but what was in front of her knocked the breath out of her.

Nothing. There was nothing of the man she had loved in front of her now. The ghost of what Cassian had been no more than forty days before.

His eyes were slightly wide and that excited glint Nesta had hoped to see when he opened the door was just a miserable memory, because the hazel brown she loved so much was gone, covered by an opaque veil of sadness and pain she saw every day in the mirror.

Her gaze fell on the slightly hollowed cheeks and deep dark circles under his eyes, the messy, grimy hair, the dirty clothes that looked like they hadn't been changed in days, and finally to the cast around his left arm.

"What happened to you?" she asked in a weak voice.

He sighed and his eyebrows drew together. His shoulders visibly sagged and then the bag he held in his right hand fell to the ground as he took a step forward, "Nesta." he breathed.

She looked into his eyes, "What did you do?"

He gave a half-smile, bringing his free hand to his broken arm, "I-" then chuckled, "You're here."

"Cassian." Mor's voice made them both turn, but Nesta's eyes quickly went back to the man.

She needed to know if he was going to enter the house with her or listen to her, should she speak.

It was as if he hadn't even heard the blonde. "How are you?" he asked her, taking a step towards her.

Nesta couldn't connect her brain to her mouth, she was like a broken record when she asked, "What happened to you?" because Cassian wasn't well. And she wasn't talking about the broken arm or the dirty clothes, she was talking about the light that she saw was going out even now with every passing second.

She couldn't move, but she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he came to his senses.

"Nothing," he said with that stupid weak smile on his lips, "you came here- do you want to talk? Can we talk?"

She heard Mor inhale sharply and then saw her walk around her until she was in front of him, and although they were close, Nesta couldn't hear what she said. She felt her heart break a little more and wondered how it was possible that it wasn't already sand in her chest. All she knew was that Cassian stiffened and swallowed twice when Morrigan finished talking to him.

"I should go." she managed to whisper, torturing her fingers.

He shook his head, taking a step forward and the blonde's hand snapped on his arm. Both their eyes fell on that touch and Nesta couldn't take it anymore, she had to go. The grip of her lacquered nails around his jacket was overbearing, possessive, but it was also familiar to his body and he wasn't retreating.

She took a step back, intending to run away and never return, and lost her balance, stumbling on the grass of the flowerbed. She opened her eyes wide and saw the way Cassian lunged forward to catch her, but Nesta was already on the ground. She cursed under her breath and the urge to cry only increased when she realised she had fallen onto a yellow rose bush.

Nesta burst out laughing at the irony of the picture they were composing at that moment.

"Nes, are you alright?"

If it hadn't been for Elain explaining to her the meaning of flowers every spare minute of her days, she would never have laughed, but the fact that she was now removing the thorns of a plant that represented jealousy and betrayal while standing in front of the man she loved and the girl who had managed to take him away from her was comical.

She stood up perhaps a bit too quickly as her head spun wildly and a myriad of black dots blurred her vision. She staggered a little and it didn't escape Cassian's attention as he moved even closer and wrapped his hand around her wrist. Nesta held her breath at the touch of his skin, so warm, so rough.

He was looking at her with a wrinkled expression and she just wanted the ground to swallow her whole when he asked, "Have you eaten today?"

She looked at him in amazement for a second, breathing out a laugh and then turned her head to the side, biting her lip. Because of course he was going to find out. That Nesta was no longer living.

After all, this Nesta, the Nesta who was now staggering around like a desperate drunk in his front yard, was the same Nesta he had met on that library floor.

She snatched her hand from his grasp and without looking at him walked towards the car, "Goodbye Cassian."

"Nesta, what- where are you going?" he asked her, following her, his hands raised as if he could grab her, keep her with him once he reached her.

She turned her head and caught him by surprise as he jerked back when she pointed a finger at him, too close. "I'm leaving and I have no intention of coming back. Don't follow me. I was wrong to come here in the first place."

The shock on his face was like receiving a punch in the gut. He lowered his arms, defeated.

"Why are you here?" he said softly. And it was as if he wasn't really asking the question. It was as if his mouth had finally decided to speak the words that had been rumbling around in his head until that moment.

Nesta shook her head and a weak sob broke her breath, "I can't."

Cassian stood there as she made her way to her car and when she finally touched the door and opened it, feeling the relief of freedom, he met her gaze from over the roof. She met Mor's gaze and felt the world crash down on her again. Heavier. More imposing.

Cassian took a step forward, "Why are you here?"

And Nesta exploded, "Cause I still fucking love you."

Her voice broke on the last word and she didn't even notice as tears began to stream down her face, "Because I still love you!" she screamed, slamming the door and spinning around the car, "Because I love you and I don't have-" a sob broke the sentence, "And I'm not okay! But you seem to be doing just fine without me!" she squealed even louder, bringing a hand to her chest. "I'm hurting! I'm hurting and I'm alone! And I miss you!"

She couldn't see it, but his eyes were glazed over too, and as he slowly approached her, a lone tear slid down his cheek.

"Fuck!" she cursed, turning around again and opening the door. She took a deep breath amidst the crying and looked at him, really looked at him, trying to memorize every detail, "Goodbye."

He shook his head, "No."

And Nesta waited no longer, got into the car and drove away.

five years, three months and seventeen days before

Nesta

"How did you find my house?" asked Nesta, clutching her sweatshirt to her chest.

Mor, in all her beauty and poise, stood at the door of her house, with her own clothes on this time.

"Hi Nesta." she said, biting her lip. Not out of embarrassment, to keep herself from saying anything else.

She didn't move, "How did you find my house?"

"I'd like to talk to you," she continued, still ignoring her question.

"It's hard to talk to a person if you keep ignoring what they say."

The blonde closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, "I know where you work, I followed you here."

Nesta's eyebrows shot up, "I could report you for stalking."

Mor gave a tight smile, "But you won't. Can we talk?"

Nesta felt the sudden urge to call the police, just to show her that she could, but she only said, "Why would we?"

"Because yesterday after you left, Cass tried to get in the car and follow you and he can't drive," Nesta found herself nodding thinking about his broken arm, weakened from the sleepless night, surely not because she wanted Mor to know she agreed with her. "I had to pull him out of the car by force to keep him from killing himself against a pole. I've never seen him so shaken up in my life and-"

Nesta interrupted her, "I don't know why you think it's my problem. You're his girlfriend now, the fact that you're coming to me for advice is concerning." then she stepped back, clasping her hand around the door to slam it in her face.

The audacity...

"Cassian still loves you."

She froze, holding her breath and looked Mor in the eye. She chuckled softly, shaking her head, "No, he doesn't."

The blonde huffed, bringing a hand to her forehead and moving a strand of hair, "I'm not his girlfriend anyway."

Nesta smiled sarcastically, "That too, the fact that you can't define your relationship, isn't my problem and I'd rather you leave."

Mor laughed in shock as her eyebrows shot up, "You're unbelievable," then she frowned, taking a step forward to push the door open, "Cassian and I aren't together. We never have been and I'm fucking lesbian."

Nesta's eyes widened in surprise, then she quickly recovered from her astonishment and shook her head, "It doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it?"

"No, Morrigan," it was the first time she'd said her full name. That she was saying it directly to her, "It doesn't change anything because he would still leave in the middle of the night to come to you," she shifted her weight on her left foot, "It doesn't change anything because he chose you every day and I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner. It would have saved everyone a lot more time and effort." then she held up a hand when she opened her mouth to retort, "And I don't care if you're lesbian or not. Cassian loves you and if he doesn't love you with words, he certainly does with actions."

Mor stared into her eyes for a while, silently, then nodded slowly, shifting her gaze to the houses around hers. She adjusted her sunglasses in her hair and then looked back at her, "Can I come in?"

"Why."

"Please, I just want to explain why what happened happened. And why things have changed or are changing, but I can't do that in half a minute and-" then she frowned, wincing, "Look, I'm not doing this because I particularly like you, but because Cassian has saved my life more times than he thinks and than he takes credit for. Talking to you is the least I can do to repay him in some way."

Nesta felt something tug at her heart and for a moment she thought about slamming the door in her face and going back to the couch to watch a black screen, but then she remembered the sleepless nights she'd spent thinking about what she could do. For her, for Cassian... to the person in front of her who was begging her to let her in, and she stepped aside.

The surprise on Mor's face was a small victory on Nesta's part, but she quickly recomposed herself, closing the door behind her once she was in the house and telling her to follow her into the living room.

And despite the situation, Mama Archeron had not raised her daughters to treat guests badly. She forced herself to say, "Can I get you anything? A drink, maybe water, I have wine if you want."

Mor gave the imitation of a smile, "I'd take something stronger, but I have to drive. Just water will do, thanks."

Nesta walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, and once inside she leaned against the table with both hands, breathing hard as if she had run a marathon. What was she doing?

She had let Morrigan, the reason for her break-up with the man she loved, into her house.

She closed her eyes, clenching her jaw, begging her body to relax, and then, when she realised it wouldn't take anyone that long to pick up two glasses and a bottle, she moved.

Walking back to the living room was like walking a thousand miles without ever eating, sleeping or drinking and by the time she sat down, she was exhausted. That conversation could have settled everything as well as confirmed any worries and erased any doubts Nesta had about leaving that city forever.

Mor drank a whole glass of water before she started talking and it didn't take long for her to realise that the girl was just as nervous as she was. The agitation evident only in the twirling motion of her ankle as she sat with her legs crossed.

She took a deep breath, "I've never talked about this with anyone but the boys." Nesta realized he was talking about Azriel and Rhysand, as well as Cassian. "So understand if I stop now and then, these aren't things I tell lightly."

She could only nod.

Mor cracked her fingers, then took a deep breath and brought one hand up to massage her right eyebrow, where Nesta had always noticed the small white scar that kept hair from growing there. It was the only thing that people could tell wasn't beautiful about the girl, but Nesta had never believed anything other than that it only added to her curiosity in getting to know the deity she actually was.

Every positive thought she'd ever had about that tiny scar disappeared as Mor began to speak and a horrible feeling clutched her stomach in an iron solid grip.

"My father is an alcoholic."

Nesta didn't react. She didn't know if she should say anything.

"He always has been. Even before I was born. I don't know how my mother ended up in a relationship with him, but she's a lost cause too. She started using drugs when I was around six. I still remember it like it was yesterday.

"Keir, my father, has also always been a violent man." Mor took a shaky breath, swallowing, "He did this to me," she whispered brushing the mark on her face, "when I was fourteen and got my period for the first time. He broke a bottle on my head-"

The fact she’d gotten her cycle so late only sprouted more doubts in Nesta’s mind while her thoughts ran wild, picturing a malnourished little girl in that broken home.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," Nesta interrupted her, looking her in the eye, "I know you're trying to help me understand, that you're trying to help Cassian, but-"

Mor put a hand on her arm, blocking her, "Don't worry about it." she gave her a weak, sad smile, "I know I said I didn't like you, but Cassian loves you." seeing that Nesta was about to interrupt her one more time, she tightened her grip on her arm, "He loves you. And if this conversation ends the way I want it to, you'll be around for a long time to come. So you'd better be aware of everything, don't you think?"

There was something in Mor's voice that Nesta couldn't identify. She remained silent, contemplating her words, but then nodded weakly.

"There have been so many other episodes and I still bear the marks of most." she lowered her voice, clenching her fists several times. "If I'm here to tell you about them now though, it's only because of Cassian."

Nesta braced herself for what was to come.

Mor bit the inside of her cheek, "All the times he came to me in the night, all the times he left you alone at the last minute or had to come away in the middle of your dates... he was coming to save me." she said with teary eyes, "For years, they took turns as to who should come each time, between him and Rhys and Az. But when the other two had to leave a couple of years ago and only Cass stayed here, well," she sighed, propping an elbow on her knee and resting her forehead on her hand, "I feel guilty every day for what they do, what he does. I don't know how I'm ever going to repay him for everything he's managed to save in my life. My life itself. So I need you to understand that it's not his fault."

She looked into her eyes and Nesta was so shocked by everything she had just been told that she couldn't respond.

"The night you broke up with him," she resumed after a few moments, bringing a hand up to the neck of her jumper and shifting the fabric, revealing a portion of jagged skin just below her collarbone. The only evidence of just how bad the cut she had suffered must have been. "-I was going to die. Literally. I called the police so many times, Nesta, they never did anything. I didn't even try that night."

A rush of anger raced through her body at that truth. She knew she wasn't lying.

"My dad found out I liked girls, somehow, and things escalated quickly. My mom was half passed out on the couch and he had just come home," she paused abruptly, frowning. "The boys came into the house after I managed to lock myself in my room and while Az and Rhys were thinking about me, Cassian tried to take Kier down, that's why the broken arm."

Nesta's eyes went wide. For it to come to breaking a bone... it must have been a long night for everyone, frightening and scarring. She looked up at Mor, placing one hand on the one still on Nesta's arm and smiled reassuringly at her, but with a serious expression.

Mor returned the squeeze.

"I'm staying at Cassian's now, at least until the others find proper accommodation. We're all looking for a flat together so Cass can finally be free of us all." she said, fixing her eyes in hers, "From me. From everything."

Nesta nodded, then cleared her throat, finding her throat dry, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Why didn’t he, were the unspoken words.

Mor bit her lip, "It's my fault," she said apologetically, "I've been dealing with the opinion and criticism of the rest of the world my whole life. I didn't know you and all the guys' exes were always very quick to judge me without knowing anything at all about me. By the time I realised you weren't like the others it was too late."

"You can flip me off if this question is too personal, but why didn't you move out sooner? Why stay in that house if..." she didn't know how to finish the sentence, but it was enough to make the other answer.

"They controlled all my money and I was in no position to ask for financial support from the boys. I couldn't find anyone willing to help me get back what was mine by right, but we're looking for a way now. Az just got a job at a law firm, he just needs to convince them to take the case on probono." she smiled tensely and Nesta could tell that even that small act of generosity from her friend was weighing heavily on her.

Nesta ran her hands over her face, taking a deep breath as each piece fell into place and each question mark disappeared. Now that she knew the truth, it all made more sense.

But did that change things between her and Cassian? Did it change the fact that he had lied to her, despite for good reason?

She didn't have an answer.

But she did understand Mor. She understood why she had asked him not to tell her anything. It was the same reason she had never told anyone about Tomas except Cassian.

Looking at her out of the corner of her eye, as she poured herself another glass of water and drank it in one go, she made a decision.

She owed it to the person sitting next to her, to give Mor something back for the trust she’d put in her, she’d tell her everything about Tomas, her mother. The way her family had managed to heal and left her behind, alone, until Cassian.

She was about to open her mouth when Mor's phone rang and an amused smile appeared on her face. She lifted the phone so Nesta could see the caller's name and wrinkled her nose, "His ears must have been ringing, hmm?"

Mor chuckled and then answered, "Hello?"

In the deathly silence of the house, Nesta clearly distinguished the man's words.

"Mor, I'm so sorry about last night, we didn't mean to get drunk like that, I promise it won't happen again. I didn't think about what you would-"

"Calm down you overbearing mother hen," Mor said harshly, "but yes, it won't happen again."

"Where are you? Come home so I can make it up to you somehow."

The blonde smiled wickedly and looked at her nails before saying, "I'm at Nesta's."

A pregnant silence made its way into the room.

"What do you mean?"

"We're talking," the girl continued undisturbed.

Nesta had to restrain herself from laughing because she could well imagine the expression on his face at that moment.

"Mor, stop bullshitting."

"I'm not bullshitting, I'm serious, listen," and then she pushed the phone towards Nesta, who's eyes went wide, shaking her head. Mor nodded at her and she murmured a weak, "Hello, Cassian." before the blonde retracted the phone, bringing it to her ear again. "See?"

"What the fuck."

"Don't worry, I'll be home in less than ten minutes. I think." then she eyed Nesta, covering the microphone with one hand as Cassian began to insult her in every way imaginable. "Do you want to come with me?" she asked her with a hint of hope in her tone, "To talk to Cass maybe? I understand if you don't want to come, maybe you need more time."

But Nesta knew the truth now, and that seemed to be enough, so she nodded and smiled slightly at her. She owed it to Cassian too, to let him explain everything too.

Mor let out a squeak of happiness and then interrupted the list of insults that kept flowing from the phone, "Correction, we will be home in ten minutes."

“Morrigan-”

“Take a shower, we’ll be there in the blink of an eye.”

And then she ended the call without even saying goodbye.

Nesta snorted, "You gave him a heart attack."

Mor smiled at her, clapping her hands, "Do you need to get ready too?"

She looked at her clothes and thought that yes, she should have showered too, but furrowed her brow and grimaced, looking at her, "Actually, I wanted to apologize first. I know what it's like not to have the courage to talk about your problems and I know it must have been hard to talk to me. So thank you and sorry for calling you a cheating bitch."

Mor's eyes went wide, "He never told me-"

"Oh no, he doesn't know, but I felt the need to apologise for that too." she smiled sweetly.

The other burst out laughing and then they stayed at Nesta's for another good half hour, talking about their own terrible experiences with men, shedding a few tears and offering words of comfort only when necessary. They didn't notice how much time had passed until Az called Mor, asking if everything was all right. Overbearing mother hens, the blonde had said once the call had ended, but Nesta had gone to get dressed and now they were going to Cassian's house together.

Something had changed and she no longer felt the urge to slam Morrigan's head against the edge of the table every time she saw her, but things with Cassian would take weeks, months, before they were back to normal.

Or at least she thought so.

Cassian

"Cassian, where did you put... what the fuck are you doing?" asked Azriel as he entered his room.

His head snapped up, only giving his older brother a glance before he returned with his fullest attention to the room. He was running from side to side, tidying up as fast as he could, but with a broken arm, swamped with dirty laundry and cans poised on his fingers, he probably looked crazy now.

"Nesta is on her way here."

Azriel's eyes went so wide that for a moment he thought they were going to pop out of his head, "Meaning what?"

"Meaning that Morrigan," he grunted his friend's full name, wrinkling his nose when he found a pair of dirty underwear under the bed, "went to Nesta's house to talk and now she's bringing her here to-" he threw his arms up, dropping everything he'd picked up and feeling a note of pain in his left, but he didn't pay attention to it, "I don't know what she's bringing her here for, but this house is a mess and I have to shower and tidy everything up and find a way not to go crazy and make her-"

He froze suddenly again, feeling a gag of vomit rise in his throat after the unreasonable evening where they had probably scared Mor with all the alcohol they had ingested.

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair, "How long did she say they'd be here?"

Cassian shook his head, "I have no idea. I stared at the phone for ages after she hung up." he narrowed his eyes. "I need to wash up."

The other nodded, "Why don't you go take a shower and I'll clean up here? Rhys went out this morning and I don't have a clue where he is." he warned him, pushing him towards the bathroom.

Cassian had only grunted a vague reply to him and then gone to get ready and was genuinely shocked when he had come out and the house was actually all clean. He imagined that the two years he'd spent in the house with Rhys had paid off. He remembered how dirty and messy their room had been when they all still lived together.

He was tucking a t-shirt over his head when he heard Mor's ringing laughter followed by Nesta's controlled, but still lovely, laugh. Then Azriel said something else and they both burst into louder laughter and Cassian felt his heart tighten in his chest.

These last few weeks had been devastating.

When Nesta had told him to leave and never return, he'd had no choice.

It had been a matter of deciding between Mor's life and his relationship with Nesta, and as much as he loved her, there would be no way to convince his girlfriend that she had to go, that she couldn't let her friend get beaten up again. Or worse.

When he'd arrived at Kier's house, it had taken all his self-control not to grab the man's head and slam it against the wall and get it over with once and for all.

He'd spent the week after the breakup in bed, eating and only taking care of his body when others reminded him. With a broken arm it had been easy to tell everyone he couldn't do anything about it, but they'd heard him the times he'd cried at night thinking about Nesta and it had been Rhysand who'd told him to call her after ten days. He had simply shaken his head.

He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't drag her back into a relationship where his head wasn't one hundred percent present.

He should have left her long ago, he just didn't have the courage.

He heard Nesta's laughter again and shook his head, now was not the time to think about what had happened in Mor's life. He needed to focus on his own now. He had to at least try.

And if nothing changed, if he couldn't win her back, he owed her an apology, an explanation.

He slipped on the first clean pair of trousers he could find and then, with steps far too fast to seem vague, hurried down the hallway until he found himself standing in front of his brother, his friend and the woman he had been convinced would never leave him.

Her eyes immediately found his and the smile she was wearing instantly dropped when she saw him, but she gave a small nod, "Cass, hi."

He felt something break inside him and his gaze misted over.

Azriel gave a cough then walked towards the door, tying one arm around Mor's and pulling her towards the exit, "We'll leave you two alone, text me later, alright?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer and suddenly Cassian and Nesta were alone.

Alone after all that time.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Nesta lowered her arms along her sides and smiled weakly, "I think we should talk."

He couldn't get the lump in his throat down, so he just nodded, pointing to the living room.

She looked well.

Not well physically, but she seemed to be more relaxed, more at ease than the other day.

Her cheeks were still hollowed out and the dark circles under her eyes so deep that the temptation to ask her if they could go to bed and sleep, cuddled up like they used to, so they could both finally close their eyes for real without regrets and nightmares pulling them from sleep was so high that he felt something crack in his chest again, for the millionth time.

He only wished he could hold her one last time.

When they were both sitting up, mere inches between them, Nesta inspected him as he had inspected her up to that point and saw the way her throat moved when she swallowed air, probably trying not to burst into tears herself.

They must have looked pitiful.

"How are you?" she managed to say, in a weak voice.

Cassian looked at her face some more, deciding whether to lie or not. He took a deep breath before answering, "I've never been worse in my life."

The muscles in her face twitched as she tried to keep her emotions at bay. She nodded softly, shifting her gaze to the unlit television, "I've seen better days too," she murmured, torturing her fingers, "Even before you came into my life I didn't think I could ever be this bad."

"Nes..."

Her eyes closed tightly. Feeling the emotion attached to that single word, her name whispered with that clear desperation.

She tried to change the subject as quickly as she could, "Mor told me everything. Why you ran away every time like someone was holding a gun to your head," she began, getting straight to the point, not wanting to waste any more time. She couldn't look at him though, despite the fact that there was now nothing but truth between them. "It was because it was admittedly life and death situations."

Cassian took a sharp breath, "I shouldn't have-"

"You shouldn't have, no," she interrupted him. "You shouldn't have, and if we had communicated in any way - if you had even tried to explain to me what the hell was going on, you knew. God, you knew, I wouldn't have blamed Morrigan. That I would have offered her a home if I'd known how serious the matter was."

He felt his stomach clench so tightly he thought he was going to throw up.

"I just want to be able to trust you." she whispered after a few moments of silence.

"You can." he replied immediately, "You can." he repeated, trying to convince her.

Nesta looked up at him. She licked her bottom lip, biting into the skin there a moment later and then shifted her gaze to the floor, "I miss you."

Cassian had to swallow a breath before he could speak, "I miss you too."

She said nothing and he continued.

"I miss you every damn second of the day. And at night, when I can't sleep, thinking about you, I stay awake until I pass out from exhaustion." his voice became rougher as he tried not to think about the day they had met, when he had found her asleep on the floor of that filthy library. "And when sleep doesn't come I regret and blame myself for all the wrongs that have happened."

"Every unspoken thing. Every misstep, every broken promise." said Nesta in a trembling voice. When her eyes fixed on him one more time, he no longer knew how to breathe when she murmured, "Cassian you broke me."

And the single tear that rolled down her cheek broke the last whole part of him.

He couldn't stop the instinct when his hand reached up to her face, the tips of his fingers brushing against her cheek and they both sighed, locking gazes.

And in an instant, the second his palm clung completely to her skin and Nesta closed her eyes, reveling in that touch and thrusting against his hand, Cassian felt every broken piece, every splinter and shard of his soul return to its proper place.

"I'm sorry." he said, extending his other hand to cup her face as well. "I'm sorry, for everything. Please forgive me." I love you, Nesta, please forgive me.

And as if she had heard him, she opened her eyes and nodded slightly before they both let go of a breath of relief that still echoed through the room when she launched herself forward, crashing her mouth against his in a desperate kiss that tasted of salt and love.

five years, three months and two days before

When Cassian had invited her on a date, this was definitely not what she had expected. After all, she doubted it was even remotely close to what Cassian himself had expected.

Their second-first date wasn't supposed to take place in a hospital, yet there they were.

Cassian was lying on the bed when Nesta entered the room. A tight bandage around his head was the only sign of the actual blow he had taken when he had carelessly fallen down the stairs in his haste to leave the house.

As soon as he saw her, his mouth split open in a bright smile, "Love..."

Nesta, who had stopped in the doorway and replied with an equally dazzling smile, felt her heart tighten in her chest at that pet name. The morphine they had given him must have kicked in. She took a hesitant step forward, clasping her hands around her bag, "How are you feeling?"

Cassian chuckled, turning to the nurse who had accompanied Nesta all the way there - Gwyneth, she had read on the label attached to her scrubs - before saying, "She cares how I feel."

The flame-haired girl snorted a laugh, "No shit." she said in a mocking tone, this time turning to Nesta.

She had the decency to blush under the nurse's amused eyes. After all, she had come into the emergency room demanding to know what had happened and where he was at that moment.

Gwyneth had been the one to reach her first and tell her everything she needed to know about the physical state of Cassian, who had apparently lied about Nesta being his wife.

The nurse wasn't stupid, and she'd told her as much when she'd realised that neither of them were wearing wedding rings, but seeing how terrified Nesta had been as soon as she'd set foot in the emergency room, she'd turned a blind eye and assured them that after a quick check to make sure Cassian was okay, she'd give them some time alone.

"She cares how I feel," Cassian murmured again, almost not believing the fact that Nesta was there, for him. Then he turned back to her and opened his mouth wide when he realised what she was wearing. He brought his good hand to his chest, over his heart, and whispered, "You are killing me."

"Try not to die while I'm on duty, please," the nurse muttered, before warning them that everything looked fine and that if he passed out they should call her immediately. She walked past Nesta, brushing her shoulder and winking at her, but she hardly noticed.

She only had eyes for Cassian.

When Mor had called her, telling her there had been a little accident, the world had fallen in on her. She'd kept it together until her new found friend had told her that they'd taken Cassian to the hospital by ambulance after he'd passed out from a very hard blow to the head. She'd been vague about how it had happened, but Nesta suspected that Cassian had already been late and had been running down the stairs when he'd fallen.

She certainly wasn't going to ask him tonight, because her non-boyfriend was out of it and completely high on drugs. And the only thing she cared about at that moment was that constant sound of the machines monitoring his heart, assuring her that he was alive, breathing.

The second the door closed behind her, Nesta moved and it wasn't even five minutes before she found herself lying next to him on the bed, her heels forgotten on the floor as Cassian wrapped his good arm around her and intertwined their fingers.

She rested her head on his chest and felt the way his lungs released a sigh of relief at the contact of their bodies. She could feel the beat of his heart, rapid and steady, alive, beneath her fingers.

They weren't saying anything to each other, and Nesta knew there was no need to.

In the end, it had always been like that between them. Their mere companionship was more than enough.

It wasn't until an hour later, when she began to close her eyes, that Cassian moved his other arm up to touch her shoulder, drawing her attention.

She lifted her head enough to rest her chin on his chest, and when she met Cassian's eyes, she smiled faintly at the expression of pure love and devotion that shone on his face.

She saw the way his Adam's apple moved up and then down as he swallowed and the way his eyelids flickered and he hunched his shoulders, wrapping his arms around her body. Before Cassian could speak, she did, "I love you."

And maybe it was the moment, the emotion that had surely both built up in the weeks leading up to their date that had ended in ruin, the sheer desperation and loneliness they had felt in that long month away from each other, but Cassian closed his eyes, nodding softly, "I love you, Nesta."

She leaned higher, stretching her neck towards him and pressing their bodies together until her mouth brushed against his. The kiss was not hasty, not desperate like the emotions racing through their hearts. It was like a window to the future. Their lips moved slowly in harmony, without worry, without urgency in that infinite kiss.

Because they both knew that there would be no one else for the rest of their days and they had all the time in the world to show each other the strong emotions of life. In that moment, they were each other's calm and strength.

When they broke away, it was only because Gwyneth had brought them food. If cherry jelly could be considered food. Either way, they'd been forced to interrupt their make out session to stock up on some sweet, clear edible stuff, which Nesta had devoured like few things in her life. Cassian had left her half of his portion and then they had snuggled back under the covers, talking about this and that, happy just to be both alive in this cruel world.

four years, six months and twenty-one days earlier

"When did you say they were coming?"

Nesta shifted her gaze to Mor's face, who kept her head resting on her thighs while her very long, very smooth legs remained on display against the wall of their living room. The position couldn't have been the best, especially considering the amount of alcohol her friend had swallowed, but the blonde had promised not to vomit on her so Nesta had no choice but to accept her temporary role as a pillow.

She shrugged, taking a sip from her glass, realising that the wine had finished. "They said they'd be here around ten, so any minute now." Mor nodded absentmindedly, toying with a lock of Nesta's hair.

Someone took the glass from her hand and she lifted her head just in time for her lips to collide with Cassian's, who had intended to kiss her on the forehead. They both smiled into the kiss and when he made to pull away to go and refill her glass, Nesta grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to her mouth, making him laugh.

A cry of disgust came from down between them, "I preferred you when you weren't together."

Without taking his eyes off of Nesta's, Cassian told her to fuck off, adding shortly after, "Remind me who went to Nes' house to beg her to get back with me."

The blonde mumbled something not too nice and Rhys, who sat next to Azriel on the couch opposite to theirs, was about to retort, when the front door rang once and then twice. Az frowned, eyeing Nesta, "They're impatient."

Nesta shrugged again, a gesture she'd begun to pull too often and which Cassian said stemmed from her spending too much time with Mor.

That was going to be the night her sisters would meet her new group of friends from a few months back and Nesta knew it would go smoothly. Elain would be her usual kind and festive self and Feyre would have everyone in that room wrapped around her fingers in a matter of seconds. She didn't have to worry.

Besides, the only opinion she really cared about was her boyfriend's, and Cassian had had a chance to get to know his sisters well before their breakup.

Rhys had gotten up, staggering just enough to go answer the door, but Cassian had already done the honors, and when the youngest of the brothers looked up at the newcomers, he stumbled over his own steps for a completely different reason than the alcohol in his veins.

Feyre Archeron stood at the entrance to the living room in all her beauty. The tight black dress she had chosen to wear showed off everything the younger of the sisters had to offer and Rhysand looked more than ready to pick up every bit of whatever she threw at him.

Elain walked past her with nonchalance, greeting Cassian with a chaste kiss on the cheek, then introducing herself to Azriel and Mor, who had pulled herself up to hold her in a breathless hug.

Nesta felt Feyre's gaze on her and turned to her, waving whimsically. Feyre chuckled, shaking her head, "How much have you had to drink already?"

Nesta would have replied that she didn't know if Rhysand hadn't lunged forward towards her, risking bumping into Cassian, who was returning from the kitchen with a chalice full of wine for her and her sister.

Her boyfriend's eyes went wide, "What the fuck, Rhys, be careful."

But it was as if no one but Feyre existed for the man anymore.

Feyre stepped back, eyeing Cassian and taking the glass with a simple thank you. Az had approached as well, but as he tried to speak, Rhys interrupted him.

"Hello Feyre darling, I'm Rhysand."

Nesta rolled her eyes, just as Mor did beside her, and Elain chuckled.

Meanwhile, Feyre had never seemed so hesitant in her life. Nesta saw the moment she decided to let go and reached out to shake Rhysand's hand. And then Feyre used the voice that Nesta had only ever heard her use when her sister wanted to get something out of the evening and understood perfectly well how it was going to turn out in a few hours. "Feyre, but I assume you already knew that."

The look Rhys gave her and the nod of assent he did made her think that maybe they wouldn't even wait hours, but mere minutes before leaving the party to go find somewhere more secluded.

When the introductions were over, Cassian took a seat next to her, forcibly pushing Mor away until Nesta was clear of everyone else. Circling her shoulders with one arm and pulling her as close to him as possible, Nesta soon found herself sitting on his lap, sipping wine as one of his hands rested on her thigh, massaging circles with his thumb.

Hours passed between board games and indecent jokes exchanged between the younger in the room and Nesta thought she could never be happier than she was in that moment.

Relaxed as she was, it didn't take Nesta long to let herself go completely and when Elain and Azriel also started talking about their partners respectively, sharing funny stories on how they met, she closed her eyes as well, lulled by Cassian's breath on her face and the fleeting kisses he occasionally left on her cheek.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't find the strength to open hers, and it wasn't until Feyre and Rhys had left and Mor and Azriel had offered Elain a ride that Cassian held her tighter in his arms and carried her to their room, where a bed that had smelled like both of them for two months now remained unmade from that morning's activities.

And though exhaustion was at an all-time high, it wasn't until Cassian lay down behind her, pressing his chest against her back and wrapping himself around her, that sleep finally found them both.

the day

Nesta kept one hand on Cassian's shoulder and the other on his forearm as he rocked her on the dance floor of the venue they had chosen for their wedding.

A few feet away from them, over her husband's shoulder - husband, she was going to have to get used to that title from now on - she could see Elain by the buffet tables laughing carefree as she held onto Lucien, who was laying both hands on her ready-to-burst baby bump, talking to his girls. Nesta smiled as she thought of the countless times she had caught Lucien on his knees entertaining his two unborn twins with conversations about sports.

Moving her gaze to the other side of the runway, she saw Feyre clinging to Rhys, who was surely whispering to her about all the dirty things they could do in the wardrobe of that place judging by her sister's lost and giddy expression.

Trying not to think too much about Feyre in compromising positions, she found Mor and Emerie at the bar, drinking leaning against each other, exchanging jokes that Nesta knew had to do with the outfits of some of their relatives.

A little further on still, Azriel was pirouetting Gwyn so elegantly that she felt a note of jealousy. Az had a faint smile on his lips, but the way his eyes twinkled as he admired her friend's fiery red hair twirling as she spun and spun made her wonder how much longer he was going to wait before he proposed.

She was about to voice her doubts when Cassian's hands lightly squeezed her hips and she shifted her full attention to the man of her life.

Nesta's breath caught for the thousandth time that day when she looked into his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow in question. Cassian smiled, bringing a hand to her face and brushing her cheek, "You look beautiful." he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Her features relaxed and she smiled back, "You're not bad yourself, Mr. Archeron."

Cassian threw his head back, moaning awkwardly and drawing the attention of everyone present. Azriel gave them an amused look and Nesta waved a hand in mid-air, to say it was nothing fancy.

"Mr. Archeron." repeated Cassian, pulling her away from him for a second, as if expecting from that specific dance, only to pull her back against his chest a second later. "If I hear you call me any other name in bed from now on, I might file for divorce."

Nesta chuckled, moving a hand to his chest, "Of course, my love."

His eyes softened even more when they moved back to her face. And Nesta searched his expression for something to tell her that he regretted his decision. That he was lying to her and that in fact the idea of bearing her surname, of being linked to her, repulsed him.

She found nothing that day. Just as she would find nothing in the years to come.

Only adoration and love and respect for the woman she had become thanks to him.

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[my-darling-luna]

Your Majesty Chapter 2

Please note that NONE of the gifs that I use are supposed to show the reader’s skin color or weight!!! It’s so hard to find gifs on here because I’m new to Tumblr and idk how things work. I’m so sorry, I’m trying to learn lol.

Your Majesty Masterlist

Summary- It has been more than a decade since the Kingdom of Ultron lost their princess. (Y/n) was just a 17 year old that didn’t know much about her past. Realizations happen and lives are crossed. How will (Y/n) handle the new pressure?

Stucky x reader

---

     (Y/n) paced back and forth in the main entrance of the palace, her shoes making a soft thud on the marble floor. Tony and Pepper stood off to the side, watching as (Y/n) would pause, mumble something to herself, then go on to pace again. They had previously each tried to console the girl which had only ended with a firm glare and a quick push to gain space between the two. Rhodey left an hour ago to find (Y/n)’s parents and bring them over to the palace like she insisted and (Y/n) was becoming more and more restless by the minute. 

     A neigh and footsteps on the stairs caught the three royal’s attention, all of them pausing and looking over as the door opened. Her mother ran forward and tried to cup her daughter’s face, her smile faltering as (Y/n) stepped back from the hands. 

      “Did you know?” Her eyes went from her mother’s to her father’s, guilt shining in both of their eyes. Tears fell from (Y/n)’s eyes at the thought of being lied to. 

       “Not until you were ten.” (Y/n) sobbed quietly, looking away from the couple that raised her as theirs. Her mother rushed forward, pulling (Y/n)’s face in her grasp without letting go. “We didn’t know when you were brought to us.” 

       “Brought to you? I was yours! Your child.” Her father’s face crumbled, tears quietly fell down his cheeks. 

       Father shook his head. “You were left on our doorstep when you were a baby with nothing but a blanket and a card with your name on it. No note and no one else to claim you, so we took you in.” (Y/n) pulled out of her mother’s hands before grasping at her arms. Her chest raised and fell at a rapid pace as she gulped for breaths through her tears. 

       “You lied to me.” She hiccupped and her parents nodded with a grimace. Tony watched as his daughter began to fall, so he rushed forward and gathered her tightly in his hold. He rubbed her back softly. 

       “Why don’t we go upstairs to you can sleep a little?” (Y/n) nodded, her eyes slowly falling shut with the stress of the day on her shoulders. Tony led her up the stairs, pausing shortly to whisper something to a guard to the entrance of the stairs. The guard nodded and Tony continued walking, a arm around his daughter’s waist to hold her up. “This room is yours.” Opening the door, Tony walked her in and set her on the bed. “Go to bed, okay? I’ll see you in the morning where we can talk about everything.” He left as soon as (Y/n) nodded, but not before he pressed a quick kiss on her forehead. 

***

     It was mid morning when (Y/n) woke up. A quiet knock shocking her out of her dream. 

     “Miss?” The door opened and a woman with blonde hair stepped through the doorway. “I’m here to dress you.” (Y/n) nodded before she got up. The woman led her over to the mirror and began to undo the lace of the dress that she fell asleep in last night. A new dress was put on her, a simple gold and silver design covered the entirety of the outer layer.  

      “Thank you...” (Y/n) smiled once the maid was done with her dress and makeup. 

       “Lillian and it’s no issue, miss.” 

       “Lillian and it is to me.” Lillian flushed, but calmly explained how the guard outside of her room would help her to the dining room. (Y/n) nodded and walked outside to meet the man who brought her to see her family. Tony and Pepper sat at the table along with a little girl in a high chair. The three looked up to see (Y/n) walking in. She moved slowly and nervously before being ushered into a chair and pushed in by a guard. 

      “Good morning, (Y/n).” Pepper smiled kindly and (Y/n) smiled back, nervousness practically oozing out of her. 

      “Good morning.” (Y/n) looked over to Tony, catching his gaze.

“I’ve been thinking about how to go about explaining everything to you all night.” Tony began after setting down his silverware. “I have imagined finding you ever since you were taken away from me all those years ago.” He brushed a tear away as quickly as it fell, hoping that no one saw the small bit of water. “You were taken on the day of your first birthday. Your mother Leia had left you with a maid to help set up for the party that we were going to have. The maid was attacked five minutes after you were handed to her and she was fine, but you weren’t. We looked for you everywhere, but you were gone.” (Y/n) rested her hand on Tony’s as her heart dropped at the fear he must’ve felt in those moments. “The man who attacked you was found. His name was Grant Ward, a soldier in the Kingdom of Hydra. He refused to give up your location and we couldn’t find you until now.” Tony pulled (Y/n)’s hand up to his lips, kissing the back of her hand before encasing her own in his.

“What happened to my mother?” (Y/n) asked quietly, her eyes trained on her father. Her real father.

“She passed away ten years ago from pneumonia. She refused to get help until it was too late. Too stubborn. I married Pepper five years ago and this,” he motioned towards the little girl who was eating pancakes in Pepper’s lap, “is your half sister Morgan. She’s three.”

“And a haf!” Morgan squealed, pausing from her pancakes to look somewhat angrily at her father although she didn’t look very threatening after she mispronounced ‘half’.

“And a half.” He chuckled sadly before turning to his eldest. “I’m so sorry (Y/n).” She shook her head, tears trailing down her cheeks.

“It wasn’t you.” (Y/n) said simply and Tony sniffed. “Do you except me?” Pepper and Tony looked up in surprise at (Y/n).

“What do you mean by except?” Pepper asked, her eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Well I’m not taught and I lived in a cottage for almost all of my life and I’m not what a princess should look like.” (Y/n) ranted, the fear of losing her real family seemed too close. She knew that her family back in that little cottage was loving and safe, but how was she supposed to go back knowing that they knew and lied to her for years? She couldn’t. She would have to beg and she knew that.

“Dear,” Pepper reached across the table to grab her step-daughter’s hand, “I know that I might not be your real mother and I will never ask to be that, but we aren’t letting you go back to that cottage unless you want to. We want you here with us and for the not being taught part, we’ve already got a hold of the best teacher in the kingdom for you if you want it.” Tony nodded at Pepper’s statement.

“Of course I want to stay here and I want to learn.” The two adults sighed and relaxed in their chairs slightly, their posture still rigid and tight.

“Well I think this calls for a welcome back party.” Tony smiled at his daughter, his eyes brightening at the thought of a way to celebrate the appearance of his long lost daughter. Pepper laughed, wrinkles appearing at her eyes, showing the wear and tear of life with (Y/n)’s father. This was exactly where she wanted to be.

***

“I would like to speak with my family down at the cottage.” Tony stopped scratching on the piece of paper laying in front of him. His heart dropped slightly, but relaxed again at the sight of his daughter’s nervous face.

“That can be arranged, is there any reason?” She knew what he was doing. (Y/n) had been living at the castle for only a week and she was quick to notice how Tony would ask questions in what seemed like a nonchalant way to get answers out of her. Almost like he didn’t care, but he so clearly did.

“I want to talk to them about how they knew.” Tony nodded before looking down at the paper he was supposed to sign.

“Okay. Tell Vision to go with you. Be back before dark, okay?” (Y/n) nodded before leaving.

It took a little less than half an hour to arrive at the small cottage sitting on the outskirts of Hydra. The house looked dark and empty, but to be honest, it never looked like it was fit enough to be lived in. Vision held his hand out to stop (Y/n) from moving out of the carriage.

“Wait here, there’s something wrong here.” Vision’s pessimism scared (Y/n). Everything looked completely normal to her, but she did let the soldier go first while she waited. It took two minutes for Vision to run back to the place were the carriage stood. Slapping the side of the white iron outside.

“Vision what is going on?” (Y/n) yelled, confusion taking over at the fast movement. He forced her off of the seat and down to the floor.

“There has been a murder and your caretakers were the victims. ‘You will be next’ was written on the wall. You are no longer safe. Hydra has just started a war.”

--

Taglist- @austynparksandpizza @aikeia @simplyfandomish @baby-noodles​ @lili-ann-love​ @rebloggingeverything​

[a-cure-for-writers-block]

#100 Song Lyric Prompts

No one specifically requested, but I wanted to do this so bad! Here we go...

“Will nature make a man of me yet?”- The Smiths, This Charming Man

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?”- Lynyrd Skynyrd, Free Bird

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her.”- Hozier, Work Song

“I don’t think that we should be alone together, when we’re in a room you get my eyes, you open your mouth I’m hypnotised”- The Neighbourhood, Single

“She looks as if she’s blowing a kiss at me and suddenly the sky is a scissor”- Arctic Monkeys, That’s where you’re wrong

“You think you want to be alone, just wait until you’re crying on the shower floor” “They’ve got a pretty face, but they’ve got a pretty empty head.” “But how the hell do you fall in love, the last time I checked you can’t fall in slow mo”- LANY- The Breakup *There were too many good ones in this song, I couldn’t help myself*

“I know it’s mad, but if I go to hell will you go with me or just leave?” - Panic! At The Disco, Do you know what I'm seeing?

“I don’t know who’s protecting me, but we hit it off”- Drake, Sandra’s Rose

“Do me a favour and break my nose, do me a favour and tell me to go away?”- Arctic monkeys, Do me a favour

“Baby just came back around, said she needs time to explore, said I can’t love her no more”- The Neighbourhood, Baby came home

“Just one mistake, you say you’re not in love no more, but was it really love if you can leave me for something so innocent is this the end?”- LANY, Thick and thin

“You can have Manhattan, I know it’s for the best, I’ll gather up the avenues and leave them on your doorstep. I’ll tiptoe away so you won’t have to say you heard me leave.” “You can have Manhattan, the one we used to share, the one where we were laughing and drunk on just being there. Hang onto the reverie, could you do that for me?”- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

“You don’t love me, big fucking deal, I’ll never tell you how I feel.” “I'll send my best regards from Hell”- Marina and the Diamonds, Starring Role

“I been writing these songs ‘bout how I can’t be with you. I don’t want to be a monster, but I’ve been here for days, drinking too much now I want you, can’t get you off my brain.”- Henry, Monster, Eng. version

“Change lives, get better, yeah that be the plan” “That’s why you see me winning, yeah, even after I lose”- Jay Park, Ask bout me

“Love is not looking over shoulders, Love is you should trust what I told you” “Love is not struggling to say I love you”- 6LACK, Disconnect

“All these people taking miles when you give them an inch, all these followers but who's gonna follow me until the end?”- Drake, Emotionless

“She’s in the rain, you wanna hurt yourself I’ll stay with you, you wanna make yourself go through that pain, It’s better to be held than holding on,”- The Rose, She’s In The Rain *Absolutely love this one, don’t @ me, I will die for the The Rose**

“Sex by the fire at night”- Bruno Mars, That’s What I Like

“I’ve got the good side of you, sent it out into the blue.”- Troye Sivan, Good Side

“Standing by the window, rain falling, I want to have you full in my embrace and tell you, even when I’m born again and love you, even then, will you be with me?”- KREAM, 선물 Gift *Translated*

“It all passes, Someday, For sure, Certainly”- RM, ft. NELL, everythingoes *Translated*

“Please stay as long as you need, can't promise that things won't be broken, but I swear that I will never leave. Please stay forever with me”- Sleeping With Sirens, Scene One- James Dean & Audrey Hepburn

“When you move, I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“Wake up and smell the coffee, is your cup half full or empty?”- Billie Eilish, come out and play

“Am I a bad person? Or am I just in pain?”- DEAN, Sulli, Rad Museum, Dayfly *Translated*

“Kiss me on the lips, a secret just between the two of us, deeply poisoned by the jail of you, I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew the grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway”- BTS, Blood Sweat & Tears *Translated*

“When the sun sets and darkness comes, I only remember your warmth, where the stars wrap around us. I’m going there, I’ll be there”- SEVENTEEN, Highlight *Translated*

“I don't ever wanna feel like anything I do ever had a fucking resonance or meant a thing to you.”- Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, I Hate You

“You can’t take this away from me, the way I hit the melody, the waves bring clarity, running through me”- Tom Misch, Del La Soul, It Runs Through Me

“It was a lie when they smiled and said you won’t feel a thing”- My Chemical Romance, Disenchanted

“The fog has lifted and things get clear, all the lies pass by like a reel of film. I hate you”- EXO, 내가 미쳐 (Going Crazy) *Translated*

“I’m sorry- no, I’m not sorry, I’m just getting started and my life’s a party”- DEAN, Eric Bellinger, I’m Not Sorry

“Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?”- Paramore, Ain’t It Fun

“Ready or not, we are coming back- yeah, we’re over, we can tell you ‘bout what you need. You can look it up when you’re older”- Evergreen, Cargo Cult

“You, you got so much potential, every moment spent with you I bet was always eventful”- Aminé, Kehlani, Heebiejeebies- Bonus

“Could you imagine the taste of your lips if we never tried to kiss on the drive to Queens? 'Cause I imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips in the backseat”- Halsey, Roman Holiday

“Forever isn’t for everyone, is forever for you?”- Arctic Monkeys, Snap Out Of It

“Wish you good luck being lonely, I’mma push red every time you phone me. You vow to be a memory”- Ella Mai, ft. Ty Dolla $ign, She Don’t

“I’ve been dazed and confused from the day I met you, yeah I lost my head and I’d do it again”- Ruel, Dazed & Confused

“I just want you closer, is that alright? Baby let's get closer tonight”- Paolo Nutini, Last request

“You have no idea how pretty you are when you wake from sleep, you have no idea how beautiful you look as you get ready for bed”- Zion.T, No Makeup *Translated*

“I was thinking I could fly to your hotel tonight, baby, ‘cos I can’t get you off my mind”- Shawn Mendes, Lost In Japan

“She's soothing like the ocean rushing on the sand, she takes care of me, baby, she helps me be a better man. She's so beautiful, sometimes I stop to close my eyes, she's exactly what I need”- Jeremy Passion, Lemonade

“And her lips are like the galaxy's edge and her kiss the colour of a constellation falling into place”- Arctic Monkeys, Arabella

“It's how you look, not how you feel. A city of glass with no heart”- Queens of the Stone Age, If I Had a Tail

“I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife”- Hozier, Take Me To Church

“Bitter and hardened heart, Oh, aching- waiting for life to start”- Keane, Bend & Break

“When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“She said, ‘Baby, I'm afraid to fall in love, 'cause what if it's not reciprocated?’ I told her, ‘Don't rush girl, don’t you rush, guess it's all a game of patience.’”- Pink Sweat$, Honesty

“Share a casket with you, we’ll be buried alive, me and her playing truth ‘til the day we die.”- Granata Ft. Phoniks, You Dont Need Me

“And hope that I had survived yesterday, and today is jealous of tomorrow.”- Emeli Sandé, Breathing Underwater

“Heaven if you sent us down so we could build a playground for the sinners to play as saints, you'd be so proud of what we've made.” Stephen, Crossfire

“Tell me how do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night? How do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night?”- blackbear, make daddy proud

“If anyone looks perfect, you look perfect next to me.”- Nick Wilson, Obsolete

“When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you were my future), I’ll know (I was your yesterday). When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you protected me), I’ll know (I desired you).”- SEVENTEEN (Wen Junhui & Xu Minghao), My I *Translated*

“I need my sex n’ drugs, I need my money first, bless me with all my sins.”- Abhi The Nomad, Ft. Harrison Sands & Copper King, Sex ‘n Drugs

“Naked and fallin' in love, look here I got you. Safe where there's no one to judge, keep it insightful.”- Keiynan Lonsdale, Preach

“All alone, all we know is haunting me, making it harder to breathe, harder to breathe.”- The Neighbourhood, Leaving Tonight

“Now I see you get off of the subway, haven't seen you in months but it's okay. I'd forgotten but I feel the same, hate that I still wish you were...”- Claud, Wish You Were Gay

“A perfect stranger lying next to me, he's playing God with broken figurines. He keeps calling me his little queen and I believe.”- Jake Wesley Rogers, Little Queen (This song deserves way more recognition, make sure to give it a listen!)

“Hell is so close to Heaven, hell is so close to Heaven. Hold on don't look back, you know we're better- we’re better than that. Lost and thrown away, you know we're better- we’re better than that.”- Sleeping With Sirens, The Strays

“Alone tonight, I’m drawing my dreams across the sky farther than I can imagine- She wants it.”- CIX, Movie Star *Translated*

“Yeah I mixed words and some whiskey on the flight just to make sure I landed on time and I wrote me a song I could sing just in case I forgot everything.”- Marc E. Bassy, Last One I Love

“Don't ask questions you don't wanna know, learned my lesson way too long ago.” “Deadly fever, please don't ever break, be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate”- Billie Eilish, my strange addiction

“And it's worth it, it's divine, I have this some of the time.”- Hozier, Cherry Wine

“And I realize you're mine, Indeed, a fool am I.”- Queens of the Stone Age, No One Knows

“Look in the mirror ‘til I forget everything I know, everything I did was just a way to make the time feel faster.”- Miya Folick, Stock Image

“Do you feel how I feel? Are you numb? Do you tread crystal waters, bound to be stung? Are you scared? If I see you, we're upon, will you dye your hair dark so you're no longer blonde?”- Isaac Dunbar, Cologne

“Tell me; To you I’m bad & hurtful. Because I’ve been busy, you’re hurting. Bad, bad, bad, I’m bad, bad.”- Crush, NAPPA (나빠) *Translated*

“Just for the record, the weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of: A. Indifference or B. disinterest to what the critics say.”- Panic! At The Disco, London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By Machines

“‘Cause you don’t say what you feel, I'm the one driving but you take the wheel. You wanna wait, 'til we're older, I'm the one who started this, but now I just want closure.”- Ieuan, Closure

“Our names carved in the pavement, sealed by what's left of our handprints, now. I told my mom, she'd love to meet you, but it's too bad she won't get the chance to.”- COIN, Malibu 1992

“I'm running outta time to hold you close, running outta time to be your man. I'm just lost in this moment, I've been zoning.”- blackbear, 4u

“Standing on your mama's porch, you told me that you'd wait forever. Oh and when you held my hand, I knew that it was now or never”- Bryan Adams, Summer Of ‘69

“I'll go out, grow my hair too long, sing your least favourite songs at the top of my lungs. I'll go out, kiss all of your friends, make a story and pretend it was me who made this end.”- The Vamps, Hair Too Long

“Getting my mind right, I'll wait 'til the time's right. I'm meaning to tell you why it's hard to sleep at night. There's nothing to fear now, girl, we should be here now. So why don't you hear me out?”- Jeremy Zucker, Ft. blackbear, talk is overrated

“We haven't spoke since you went away, comfortable silence is so overrated. Why won't you ever be the first one to break? Even my phone misses your call, by the way.”- Harry Styles, From the Dining Table

“Look overhead at the stars and the ocean, foggy emotions, moments, erosion. This supernova could cause a commotion, my minds of the notion, you'll still be my motive”- Ansel Elgort, Supernova

“I love that new dress you bought, yeah, you sure look nice. Heard you liked that new restaurant, you know, I've been there twice. And the way that you switch up your hair, all of the moments we've shared, strolling the streets back in Rome, oh, how I wish I was there. It ain't fair.”- Ruel, Face To Face

“Welcome to your life, there's no turning back. Even while we sleep we will find you acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature.”- Tear For Fears, Everybody Wants to Rule the World

“I'm wide awake, not losing any sleep, I picked up every piece and landed on my feet. I'm wide awake, need nothing to complete myself, no.” Katy Perry, Wide Awake

“If you don't realize, all of the things your life can do you will be left behind, swept up by the storm of those you knew.”- Meltycanon, thankful

“I always knew that we'd be by each other's side forever, now our time has come and I'd be satisfied if we died together. Yeah, our climate's fucked, we might as well enjoy the weather, our time is up and I'd be satisfied if we died together.”- Samsa, Anthropocene

“There's still so much to say, I'm faded, broken, pretending you're on the line, wasting my time. Sinking deeper, watching you spend your night, like I'll be fine and I'll be over this.”- NYK, Faded

“I’d rather go to hell, than be in purgatory, cut my hair, gag and bore me, pull this pin, let this world explode.”- My Chemical Romance, Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)

“I reached for a shooting star, it burned a hole through my hand Made its way through my heart, had fun in the promised land.”- blink-182, Wishing Well

“Let go of your baggage, but don’t think I don’t understand it’s probably a challenge,”- Isaac Lewis, Fly

“It's been a long night in New York city, it's been a long night in Baton Rouge. I don't remember you looking any better, but then again, I don't remember you.”- John Mayer, Who Says

“They say that love kills, it ain't quite what it seems, don't be shocked when you lost what you called ‘meant to be’.”- StayLoose, Bryce Fox, Sociopath

“When they come for You, I will shield Your name, I will field their questions, I will feel Your pain.”- Kanye West, Ultralight Beam

“Two steps forward, one step back and it won’t be long til my heart attack, yup! And common sense falls second place to the way it feels when you kiss my face, yup!”- The Band CAMINO, 2 / 14

“Leaving empty souls when he avenged, evil spirits flowed, he drank the blood like lemonade.”- Morcheeba, Blood Like Lemonade

“Your smile will become a classic; the brilliance of sunlight, the haziness of the moonlight exist for the sake of promises.”- WayV, Moonwalk

Dear God, I hope you got the letter and I pray you can make it better down here. I don't need a big reduction in the price of beer, but all the people that you made in your image- see them starving on their feet.”- Lawless, Sydney Wayser, Dear God

“Down below, sandy, like the ocean floor, quiet, like I like it; here I'll never be alone.”- slenderbodies, anemone

“I love everything, fire spreading all around my room, my world's so bright, it's hard to breathe but that's alright- hush.”- Sub Urban, Cradles

“I'm telling myself, I'm telling myself, ‘I don't need you anymore’.”- Lia Marie Johnson, Cold Heart Killer

“So I moved to California, but it's just a state of mind, it turns out everywhere you go, you take yourself, that's not a lie. Wish that you would hold me or just say that you were mine- it's killing me slowly.” Lana Del Rey,  Fuck it I love you

“See, she knows that I love her, but I don't think she'll stay and she knows that I need her, but my love's lost its weight. Spend my days longing for something real, spend my days stuck in the way I feel.”- JOBA, Sad Saturdays

[nightjarteeth]

Day 4 of the Midsummer Masquerade: Sensory Deprivation

(thanks to CrinklyTinfoil for helping me write the spicy bits <3)

Word count: 3258

Pairing: Valdemar x Finch

Warnings: lemon, tentacles, sensory deprivation, nudity, no actual penetration

(for those who follow my writing, this fic diverges from this chapter of Vervain, Mugwort, & Other Magiferous Plants. this is in no way necessary reading, though.)

“Would you like to see the dungeons?” Quaestor Valdemar asked inquisitively, touching their fingertips together.

“After all, I’d say you’ve earned it after getting past that lock.” Their words implied that Finch was being treated to a reward, but Finch got the distinct impression that they really just wanted to show Finch whatever horrors were lurking down there.

“Oh, no thank you,” Finch replied a little tersely. “I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your valuable time, after all.”

And more importantly, they were more than eager to leave this dark, damp tunnel the Quaestor had lured them down with the promise of a supposedly “intriguing lock.”

As Finch turned to leave, the Quaestor made a pointed coughing noise.

“Are you quite sure about that? You know, I’ve recently acquired some… let’s say, specialized new equipment I could show you. I’ve been looking for someone to test it out on for a while.”

Finch paused. Specialized equipment…?

Wait a second. Was this related to that Midsummer Masquerade thing?

A few days ago, Finch had found an envelope surreptitiously slipped underneath their guest room in the palace. Inside was an invitation written in stylish scarlet ink — and it appeared to be playfully alluding to its intentions, rather than stating them forthright.

Finch had furrowed their brow as they deciphered what exactly the invitation was getting at. It seemed to be a clandestine event… of a decidedly more adult nature.

“Is this some sort of… sex party?” they’d muttered. They approached their door, cracking it open a notch and peering out in an attempt to see who had slipped it under the door. There was no one there.

Whoever had given them the invite had disappeared abruptly, leaving their identity a mystery.

They glanced down at the parchment again.

“Hmmmm. Nope, won’t be attending whatever that is,” they concluded. Finch would be the first to describe themself as a private person — they weren’t a big fan of parties to begin with, much less sexually-inclined parties. To put it lightly, this Midsummer Masquerade thing wasn’t their cup of tea.

For the last two days, they’d been using the invitation as scrap paper, and had nearly forgotten about the upcoming event.

But now…

Perhaps the Quaestor themself had been invited to the Midsummer Masquerade, and was struck in a mood. And perhaps they also preferred to keep such activities private.

Arriving back from their train of thoughts, Finch looked up again. Valdemar’s red eyes were fixed upon them, interestedly waiting for their answer. Finch felt their face flush a little.

Even though just a minute ago they’d been considering how creepy Valdemar was, with their peculiar mannerisms and open adoration of the plague, Finch found themself reevaluating the physician.

They… weren’t unattractive. Actually, once you got past a few minor details — like how they never seemed to blink, or the strange bandages swathed around their head — Finch had to admit there was a certain elegance to their figure.

And who knew? Maybe some experimentation with some questionable equipment in an underground dungeon could release some of the tension of the last few days.

“I have to admit, I’m… curious about your equipment,” Finch confessed, wincing at the accidental euphemism.

“Oh, wonderful,” Valdemar replied. “I’ve been looking to find someone to test it out on for ages.”

They seized a bar of the iron gate, and it juddered open with a loud creak that echoed along the stone tunnel walls.

“In you go,” they instructed, beckoning Finch to walk inside a small elevator that looked like it could just barely accommodate a single person.

“Can two people really fit in there?” Finch asked, unconvinced.

“Don’t fret your little mind over it,” the Quaestor assured them in a not-very-assuring voice. “It will be a tight squeeze, but I’m absolutely sure you won’t mind.”

Finch entered the elevator, noting that the metal platform beneath their feet shuddered a little as they placed their weight on it. How stable was this thing, exactly?

Valdemar moved in swiftly after them, and their chest pressed in closely alongside Finch’s shoulders. Somehow, when they stepped upon the platform, it didn’t shudder at all.

“See? Very comfortable,” Valdemar said, resting a chilly hand on Finch’s head. “Down we go.”

With no indication of them pulling a lever or pressing a button, the elevator rattled on downwards.

Finch shivered against the coldness of Valdemar’s perfectly-still chest. Were they just imagining things, or… did the Quaestor somehow not have a heartbeat? It didn’t feel as if they were even breathing.

But before they had time to fully evaluate this, the elevator had come to a stop, and the iron gate was opening once more. Outside, there was nothing but pitch darkness.

“Well? Come along,” the Quaestor said, looking back behind at Finch, who was not budging.

“Hmmm, that’s right, you need additional lighting. Well, I wouldn’t want you stumbling on anything — an injury might ruin the integrity of the whole experiment. I’ll be right back.”

Valdemar momentarily left Finch with no light except for the dull red glow of whatever magic powered the elevator. Then, they emerged from the dark with a torch in their hand.

“That’s better, yes? Now follow me,” they instructed.

Now that the torch illuminated the area in soft orange brightness, Finch was able to take a decent look at their surroundings. The dungeon was spacious, looking like a place that formerly held a great deal of activity. Tables and chairs were strewn about, with an empty operating theater set at the dead center of it all.

As Valdemar led them through the room, Finch took note of how many of the tables were equipped with sturdy-looking leather straps. One of them still had polished scalpels and a bonesaw arranged neatly across its surface.

Finch gulped. They had a feeling that whatever “equipment” Quaestor Valdemar had mentioned might be of the BDSM variety… but how much could Finch really handle?

“I’ve been searching for a volunteer for this simply forever,” Valdemar wistfully sighed in the meanwhile. “It would’ve been much easier back in the days of the Red Plague — there was no shortage of potential participants in the dungeons back then… but nowadays finding someone sturdy and willing can be a real challenge.”

That’s a very strange way of saying that you’ve been having trouble finding sex partners lately, Finch thought, but kept quiet.

“When I saw the schematic a fellow scientist invented, I simply couldn’t resist recreating it myself. This will be so much fun.”

The way Valdemar said the word “fun” made Finch’s stomach turn in knots. Either this was going to be a weirdly enjoyable time, or it was going to be the most frightening moment of Finch’s life.

In any case, this was bound to be an intense experience.

Eventually, Valdemar stopped at a stone archway with a dark room beyond its threshold.

“It’s right in here,” they said, shining the torchlight so that it illuminated the room.

Finch peered in. The room was empty, with no visible contraption they could see… and then they glanced down at the floor.

Set into the stone tiles was a circular black pool of water. The orange light of the torch flickered over its mirror-like surface, revealing nothing of its depth.

“Wait, what is that?” Finch asked, a nervous twitch entering their normally stoic expression. This… was not what they had been expecting.

“It’s a sensory deprivation pool,” Valdemar replied, their voice laced with excitement. “And you’re going in it.”

Finch felt at that moment that they would’ve been more comforted if there’d been the table with the scalpels and bonesaw inside the room. At least that would’ve been more aligned with the BDSM situation they’d been previously anticipating.

For the first time, they began to question if this whole invitation really was a sex thing.

“I’m going in there?” they asked, taken aback.

“Oh, yes,” Valdemar answered matter-of-factly.

“Is… there anything in that water that I should know about?” Finch asked next, peering into the opaque surface of the pool. It was all too easy to imagine some deep sea leviathan idling under the surface, waiting for someone to dip their toes in.

“Goodness, no. The water’s far too salty for any extant species to survive living in it. And don’t worry about sinking, either… the primary purpose of all that salt is that it’ll allow you to simply float in the water.”

“Any further questions?” the Quaestor asked, suddenly far too close to Finch’s ear. Finch paused for a moment, trying to think of any excuse to get out of this situation they’d foolishly signed up for.

But before they could even formulate a response, Valdemar had already taken their silence as an answer.

“Good, good. Then you may proceed to disrobe.”

Finch hesitated, wondering if they should wait for the Quaestor to leave the room before stripping their clothes off. Instead, they tilted their head at Finch, red eyes looking directly at them.

“If you’re nervous about disrobing in front of me, you needn’t be. I can assure you that whatever’s under that cloak of yours will not surprise me. Unless, you’d rather I leave you in total darkness to remove your clothing?”

“No, that definitely won’t be necessary,” Finch quickly replied, not fancying the idea of tripping over their clothes in the dark.

They weren’t particularly embarrassed about being nude, but they had to admit that the Quaestor’s unyielding gaze was a little unnerving.

Finch turned away to undress, the dungeon air chilly against their skin. When they were fully naked, they looked back. The whole time they were undressing, Valdemar’s eyes hadn’t moved, their face expressionless and giving nothing away.

Finch couldn’t decide if this was vaguely arousing or downright creepy.

They cautiously clambered down the stone steps leading down into the pool. To their surprise, the water was pleasantly warm to the touch.

“All the way in,” Valdemar instructed. “And then situate yourself so that you’re floating on your back.”

Finch did as they were told, leaning back into the pool and letting their limbs go limp. Just as Valdemar had said, they floated with no difficulty, the water seeming strangely supportive of their weight.

“...now what?” they asked after a moment. Gazing up from their position in the middle of the pool, they glimpsed a razor-sharp grin.

“And now I leave you in the dark,” Valdemar said, and turned away.

“Wait! What exactly is supposed to happen to me in here?” Finch asked, suddenly concerned again.

“That’s the whole experiment,” Valdemar stated. “Examining how the mind reacts when deprived of stimulus… Well, there’s all sorts of delightful possibilities. The schematic suggested that it might induce hallucinations — oh, I do so hope it does induce hallucinations.”

Without another word, Valdemar moved toward the stone archway, and the orange torchlight was extinguished. Finch found themself absolutely alone.

If I died in here, it’s likely that no one would ever find me, they thought. Experimentally, they moved a hand in front of their face. Nothing — their eyes didn’t detect even a hint of movement.

After several more minutes, however, they began to feel their mind calm. The chamber was perfectly silent and still — unlike the rest of the bustling Palace, which Finch was still adjusting to staying in. In the complete dark, it was unexpectedly easy to forget that they were deep underneath the building, trapped in a creepy dungeon.

With the pleasantly warm water beneath their body, Finch noticed the tension in their muscles start to gradually fizzle away. Maybe coming down here wasn’t actually an awful idea, even if this hadn’t been the experience they’d expected.

Just as their body began to truly relax, Finch felt a current of water move underneath them. They braced themself. It’s probably just from whatever mechanism’s warming the pool, they rationalized, trying to keep calm.

Then, something smooth and whip-like brushed against their ankle.

Finch jolted on instinct. They thrashed in the pool, trying to regain their balance, but was thrown off by the sheer buoyancy of the water. Finally, they were able to grasp at the pool’s edge, sputtering and panting raggedly.

There couldn’t be anything living in here, could there? The water was, in fact, too salty — Finch could taste the bitterness of it on their lips.

An idea sprang to mind. Maybe this was one of those hallucinations Valdemar was talking about — one of the results they were hoping for. After a few minutes of no sign of further movement in the water, Finch released their hold on the slippery stone edge.

Slowly, they allowed themselves to drift back out into the center, once more closing their eyes and concentrating on staying calm — a more difficult task now, with their heart pounding in their chest as they floated along the surface.

It had to be just their imagination... but underneath, they felt the water shift again, as though something was rising from the depths.

Finch tensed slightly, taking in a deep breath. Halfway through it, the breath caught in their throat as they felt that soft brush against their ankle once more. They focused more intently this time, trying to ignore it.

Whatever hallucination this was shouldn’t concern them. Hell, this experience might be an opportunity to learn something about themself. What would their mind come up with when left alone in the dark?

There was only one way to find out.

The whip-like appendage slowly began winding around their ankle. Finch shivered, their skin feeling as if it were on fire.

Finch felt their limb pulled, the motion deliberate and almost experimental. Whatever was in the pool with them was behaving in a very intentional manner, ruling the possibility of “sea monster” out of Finch’s mind.

On impulse, Finch opened their eyes, but there was nothing to see but the dark. Briefly, they considered reaching their hand out to try to touch whatever was currently wrapping up their exposed thigh and causing their heart to beat wildly.

For a moment, they stretched out their fingertips, only to release them back into the water. Just hallucinations — that’s what the Quaestor had stated. No point in reaching for something that wasn’t there.

A small gasp escaped Finch as in an abrupt motion, the tendril that gripped their leg began to move upwards, sliding between their legs and over their torso.

The water shifted again, and Finch bit down hard on their lip as they felt another tendril join the prior one, sliding gently between their legs as it did so — and sending an alarming spark of pleasure crackling up their spine.

Finch had started to breathe more heavily, feeling the urge to press their legs together onto the unidentifiable tendril as their toes curled. The prior tentacle that had snaked up between their legs prevented this, though, and so they were left a bit of a panting mess as they drifted in the dark.

Then, several more tendrils erupted from beneath, rippling at the surface of the water. They coiled around each of Finch’s wrists and ankles, seizing them firmly.

The message was clear: stop moving.

More tentacles continued writhing up Finch’s body, wrapping them in a peculiarly soft grip. Their chest, arms and legs were soon wrapped and unwrapped as the appendages below seemed to explore them. Soft touches trailed across their body — trails of fire that made Finch’s face redden more and more with every second.

Just. A. Hallucination! Finch frantically reminded themself, trying and failing not to react.

Finch stifled a moan, their hands balling into fists as the tentacle situated across their nether region pressed down none too lightly, rocking back and forth in an investigative manner.

Their bare skin prickled with sensation, and they once more frantically fought to stifle a cry as a warm glow enveloped them. These were some very vivid hallucinations, Finch frantically tried to justify to themself.

After all, if they weren’t hallucinations, what else could they be? Finch literally couldn’t think of any other possibility… but then again, it was difficult to think at all at the moment.

Finch sensed their face going red as they felt a tentacle lightly wrap about their neck. A soft tip stroked down their jawline, its motions careful and precise, like a doctor making an incision.

Another stroked across their cheek, pushing damp hair off to the side as the slit between their legs began to burn with an absolutely vicious heat. Finch felt trapped and slightly frightened, which apparently was really doing it for them judging by the sensations coursing up and down their body.

The appendages continued to glide over their skin, seemingly keen to explore every inch of Finch that was available. Sparks exploded inside of them as the tips of the soft feelers paused on their nipples, beginning to twist and play with them and leaving Finch feeling ever-so-slightly dazed.

They weren’t sure how long they floated in the dark before the shivering and quaking of their body began to mean they couldn’t possibly hold still a second longer. They twitched and shook in the unyielding embrace of the tentacles that had extended from the depths, their breath coming in shallow gasps.

It was as this happened, their world disappearing into a vision of noiseless pleasure, that a surge of heat swept through them. They gasped, and if sinking in the water had been possible, they were sure they would’ve surrendered to the depths below them.

One by one, Finch felt the tentacles fading away. They slipped from between their legs, and removed themselves from their chest and arms. Finch heard the soft splash of water as what they imagined to be thick writhing shapes disappeared back underneath.

The last one to go was the one that lingered about their neck. With one last caress of their chin, it slowly released, sliding gently back into the depths and leaving them once more floating unhindered in the water.

After a few minutes in the perfectly-still darkness, Finch detected the orange light of the torch in the corner of their eye. As the room swam back into view, they felt themselves become reoriented once more.

Finch looked upwards. Valdemar loomed above them at the edge of the pool, head tilting with curiosity.

“You’re back,” Finch noted, hurriedly getting out of the water and desperately hoping Valdemar didn’t notice how flustered they looked.

“Hmmm? I never left the room,” Valdemar informed them. “After all, I had to examine you during the course of the experiment.”

Finch immediately flushed. What… had they seen?

“And besides,” Valdemar added, cracking a sharp grin. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun in that sensory deprivation pool alone.”

Finch decided that for their own peace of mind, they were not going to ask any further questions on this matter — or think too hard about the worrying implications of what Valdemar had just said.

Instead, they asked another question.

“Quaestor… by any chance, have you ever heard of an event called the ‘Midsummer Masquerade?’”

“Midsummer Masquerade…?” For a moment, Valdemar looked genuinely confused — an unexpected sight.

“Ah. I do recall finding an invitation delivered to my estate — but as a rule of thumb, I don’t attend such events unless my presence is absolutely required. I never opened the envelope,” Valdemar replied with a shrug of their shoulders.

Of… course, Finch thought.

Naked in the cold depths of the dungeon, Finch started putting their clothes back on.

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Chapter 14: A Bounty of Hours of High-Flying Birds is up! The boys’ first night together in Skyros, from Patroclus’ POV. Smut, cuddles and feels galore :)

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

For a long while, I simply held him.

I wrapped my arms around him, hid in the hollow of his throat. Felt his lungs, the way they swelled with every breath. Listened to his heartbeat, the way it pulsed in his neck, in the dark. I traced the channel of his spine with my fingertips. It was hidden under layers of fabric, but I knew the subtle dip between the shoulder blades, the curve of the lower back. I knew it, better than my own. I had followed it countless times; I could have done so in my sleep.

Achilles’ fingers smoothed up my back, caressed the back of my neck, threaded through my hair, mirroring my own movements. We had only lit a single lamp and left the window open, and in the moonlight that streamed in he was silver-bright and luminescent, a flame flickering in the dark. I gazed at him, and wondered how I had spent a single moment, a single breath without gazing at him; it all seemed so far away now, incomprehensible. A nightmare that disperses upon waking, yet its echoes still leave a trace of bitterness, of fear, behind.

None of that mattered now. Nothing mattered, not when he was breathing, his pulse beating, the moon shining upon him while I held him in my arms. I breathed deep, the deepest I had breathed in days, weeks, months— I breathed like I never had before, like all the air around me had been sucked the moment he’d been taken away, and it was now given back to me in abundance.

I breathed. We breathed.

Achilles did not speak. He hadn’t spoken a word since we’d walked into the room and closed the door behind us. He leaned back to look down upon me, his eyes searching my own. He would do that, every so often, as if he could not believe I was there, as if to convince himself that it was truly me, and not some ghost, some mirage, some half-formed dream. Long, delicate fingers traced the sides of my face, as if to make sure.

“Patroclus,” he whispered.

I took in a shaky breath. I did not take my gaze off him— I do not think I could, even if I wanted to. I watched his eyes the whole while, the way they gleamed beneath his eyelashes, the way his pupils widened like a hunting cat’s in the night. His fingers moved lower to trace the line of my jaw, smoothing down the column of my neck. He caressed my collarbone with his knuckle, then followed its line until it let him to the clasps of my tunic.

An intake of breath. The whisper of fabric as it fell loose over my shoulder.

“Patroclus,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss the skin he’d exposed. I shivered, my head falling back on a sigh when I felt his petal soft lips on me, his breath warming me.  

He moved on to the other clasp to unfasten it, his lips following where his fingers had touched. His palm smoothed down my chest, pushing my tunic down. When I was standing before him in nothing but my skin, he undid the laces, clasps and sashes that kept his own dress in place with quick and sure movements. It was swiftly discarded in a pile on the floor, next to my own clothes. Then, he drew me flush against him, holding me so tightly I thought my breath would leave me, his lips gliding over my own, his hands roaming, roaming.

“Patroclus.”

“Achilles—” I gasped when I was suddenly lifted off the ground. I laughed despite myself, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms coming around his shoulders. My nose was buried in golden curls, rich with the smell of him, the taste. Rose water and sandalwood, pomegranate, him. His scent suffused me, filled me to the brim— my lungs were close to bursting, yet I wanted more. I needed more. I needed to breathe him in, to drink him in, to keep him safe within me, forever.

“Achilles,” I whispered into his hair, squeezing my eyes shut when I felt them burning.

Don’t leave me.

With his arms around me, keeping me aloft, he walked me to the bed. I held on to him tightly as he lay me down, with my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms locked behind his neck, feeling his lungs that swelled and his heart that beat against my own. He felt so solid, so real against me. It was as if we’d never been apart, as if the last two months had been but a blink of an eye, while at the same time I could still feel the hollow of his absence as if he was not there at all. I thought of all the nights that had gone by in an endless, dizzying stream, nights that I had spent dreaming of him, wanting him, aching.

“Achilles,” I whispered into the soft hollow of his neck, and I was aching still.

Stay with me.

He spoke my name again, I think. He was kissing me everywhere, whispers interspersed, warming my already flushed skin, lips and hands mapping every inch of me. Our kisses, from slow and gentle, had turned fierce, exploratory and possessive, as if in the span of a single night we could make up for all the lost time, like we could unwind those shimmering threads and wrap them all again around us, for us.

It wasn’t long before his deft fingers slid down between us, quick and agile like watersnakes. I gasped when I felt them wrapping around me in a firm grip. He knew the rhythm I liked— oh, he knew it well— and his eyes were on mine now as he stroked me, faster now and faster.

I might have spoken then, perhaps. I might have said something —I missed you, I missed this, I need this— but words were slipping away from me, like so much sand through my fingers. I surrendered myself wholly, unable to hold back. I reached down too, past his chest, past his stomach, past the soft tangle of golden curls at his navel. He was hard and slick with dew and ready already, and I watched him, drinking in the sight of him as every stroke of my fist brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“Patroclus,” he moaned, thrusting in my hand, “Patroclus—”

Release was quick to come, for both of us. He came with a gasp, spilling messily over my stomach. The beads of his seed shone all over me, pearlescent in the moonlight. I wasn’t far behind, riding the crest of that wave while he kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me.

“Achilles,” I sighed against his lips, drawing his breath into my lungs, dizzy with the sweetness of his mouth. He was smiling when he collapsed on top of me, his arms coming around me to hug, to hold, to keep. Weak shivers were still running through me when I hid my face in his hair.

Never leave me.

Sleep was just at arm’s reach.

~

Later, the chill breeze that blows through the window stirs me awake. Achilles is sprawled over me like a blanket, like the fox furs we would throw over us in Pelion to keep us warm in the heart of winter. He is smiling in his sleep. My eyes fall closed again, and I think:

Don’t leave me.

He stirs, still asleep. His lips press against my cheek as if by instinct, and I think:

Stay with me.

“Patroclus,” he breathes, still reaching for me, even in his dreams, and I think, I think, I think-

Don’t leave me. Stay with me. Never leave me.

~

We slept for a while like this, tangled in each other’s arms. Legs under legs over legs, arms beneath necks, hands going numb and tingly from the weight. When we finally peeled away, we were both sticky, sweaty; we laughed at how little we cared. A brass bowl of water with strips of clean cloth had been left for me by the servants before I came in, and we washed ourselves hastily before moving back to the bed.

The moon beyond the window was bronze and full now, slipping sideways, dipping towards the west. The Pleiades were twinkling, in the far away.

Achilles lay on his back on the narrow bed, his chest rising and falling softly with his breaths. The oil in the lamp was almost gone, and in the light that was fading he looked hazy and indistinct, his outlines blurring in a soft, shimmering halo.

I lay on my side, watching him. I let my gaze sweep over his smooth brow, his sharp profile, the bridge of his nose, his bow-shaped mouth. He swallowed, and I reached out to ride the tiny motion with the pad of my finger. That made him smile.

“It tickles,” he said. His fair eyelashes fluttered, revealing sleepy jade green eyes.

I shifted closer to him, pressing against the length of his body, and he lifted his arm to hold me. I felt safe there, wrapped in his undulating warmth, in the heat that always seemed to emanate from him. It was because of his divine blood, he’d explained to me once, that his skin was so warm.

I had nodded then, but it still made little sense to me. Thetis was as frigid as the dark waters of bottomless oceans. I could not imagine her bone white skin being warm to the touch. Achilles radiated like the sun; Thetis was as cold and distant as the moon. He was honest and direct when she was scheming, golden and resplendent when she was sharp, cold, cruel to the core.

It mattered not. He was Achilles, and he was beautiful, and he was there. He was my light, my life; Thetis would readily take both from me. I had never feared, nor hated, anyone as much as I did her, right at that moment.  

Sullen determination sparked within me. I would never let him go, regardless of how little she thought I deserved him. I would defy the gods themselves, if I had to.

“What are you thinking about?” came the drowsy, sleepy question.

I stayed silent for a moment. I did not want to share with him the acid of my thoughts, and I did not want to lie to him. I simply said, “Your mother was trying to hide you from the war?”

Achilles’ eyes cracked open, when they had been half closed, and he shifted to face me. Sleep was gone now; his attention was entirely focused on me. “She does not want me to go to Troy. It’s too soon, she says. I’m too young. There will still be wars to be fought, she says, and Troy should not be it. I think...” He paused for a moment, considering. “I think she wants me to be safe, and you with me.”

I frowned. Thetis had always wanted him to fight. If there was something I had come to know about her, was that nothing she ever did or said was simple or straightforward. I wondered where the knife lay, amidst the flowers.

“So it was not because of me? This…” I gestured at the remnants of his disguise, his hair that was still hanging in its womanly curls.

“Deidameia was because of you, I think. But the rest was the war.”

I struggled to understand it. Achilles could explain it no better than I could, so we simply stayed silent for a long while. The wick in the oil lamp was sputtering softly when Achilles’ fingers smoothed gently up my arm.

“I missed you,” he sighed.

His touch made my skin prickle. Desire sparked readily within me, just with the feel of his breath brushing my cheek as he shifted closer to me still.  

He flattened his palm down my sides, following the curve of my hips, brushing down my thighs, claiming every inch of me. “I missed you,” he said again, more fervently, urgently.

I kissed him in response. There were no words to encompass the depth of my need for him while we’d been apart, the hollow that his absence had left behind. I touched him as he touched me, following his movements, like a flower follows the sun.

“I thought about you.” His breath was shaky when he rolled over me, washing over me like riptide, waves that rolled over a golden shore only to retreat again. His jade eyes were blazing through his golden lashes, and his lips were flushed and glistening. “I thought about you all the time.”

His words warmed me and I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillows as I looked at him. The tips of his curled hair caressed my face like feathers.

“You did?”

“Yes. I thought,” he whispered in my ear, his voice raising the hairs all over my body, “of holding you like this. Touching you like this.” His hands moved ceaselessly, endlessly wandering, as he planted kiss after kiss on my lips, my eyes, the angle of my jaw. “Did you think of me?”

I blushed; I could feel my cheeks catching fire. Of course I had thought about him too. All those nights that had seemed never ending, when it felt like the ship would never reach the shore, and I feared I would remain trapped in the interstice between darkness and the unknown, I always thought of him. I would summon his image in my mind, like a talisman to ward off every terror. The way his hair looked in the bright sun, strands of molten gold heavy with water, clinging to his skin when we went swimming in the stream or in the sea; the droplets that glittered on his curved eyelashes and in the space between his full lips like beads of morning dew.

“I did,” I said, a touch strained, when his tongue flicked over my earlobe. I felt alive, vibrant; more than that, I felt bold. I tilted my head to the side to give him better access to my neck as I asked, “What else did you think about?”

Read the rest on AO3!

[anxious-logic]

Day 7: Free Day

(this is late- whoops...)

(Find more chapters and Ao3 link in my pinned post!)

@analogicalweek

Day 7: Free day

Ship: Romantic Analogical (Logan/Virgil)

Chapter Warnings: None

Ao3 Rating: G

Word Count: 1,398

Summary: "You're going to make me cry. It's just... you're getting married."

Logan nervously adjusted xir skirt, looking xirself up and down in the mirror. Xir hair was styled back with gel and bobby pins, xir face highlighted with a bit of natural makeup. Xe was wearing a white outfit that was a combination of a dress and a jumpsuit, with mesh and lace three-quarter sleeves and a skirt attached to the side and back of the hips on the top like a dress, revealing long pants underneath. A beaded belt accented xir waist at the front.

Xe would be married to Virgil in less than thirty minutes.

Xe couldn’t help rocking back and forth on xir feet just a bit at the thought. Xe couldn’t believe it; the two of them had been planning the wedding for more than a year, choosing everything to be just as perfect as they’d both imagined it would be. And now… now it was really happening.

Xe looked up at a knock on the door. “Come in,” xe called out.

The door opened to reveal Patton, xir best man. Patton’s eyes went wide and glassy at the sight of Logan.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Thank you,” Logan said, feeling xir cheeks go slightly red as xe glanced at xirself in the mirror again.

“Virgil’s not going to be able to think,” Patton continued as he stepped closer to Logan, pulling a small, flat cardboard box out of the pocket of his suit. He held the box out to Logan.

Xe took the box, curiously pulling off the lid to find a sapphire necklace laying on the cotton inside.

“I- this is gorgeous,” xe said, tilting the box back and forth slightly to watch the stone sparkle in the light. “You didn’t have to.”

Patton gave xem a smile. “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, right? Well… you already have the old and borrowed.” He nodded at the white flats that Logan was wearing that xe had borrowed from xir grandmother’s wedding outfit. “So now, something new, something blue.”

Logan carefully put the box down on the nearest surface, then held xir arms out to Patton. His best friend carefully put his arms around xir shoulders, hugging xem tightly.

“You’re going to make me cry,” Patton said, and Logan could hear how tight his voice was.

“That’s my job,” Logan said, pulling back. Patton swallowed and nodded.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just… you’re getting married.”

Logan shook xir head slowly. “I know. It still doesn’t feel real.”

“It will soon enough.”

Logan gave a quiet laugh, then shook xemself slightly. “Anyway- will you put the necklace on me?” Xe picked up the necklace from where it was sitting on the table, carefully taking it out of the cushioning and unhooking it, passing it back to Patton. Xe felt the weight of it settle at the hollow of xir throat as Patton latched it, and xe brought a hand up to touch it.

“Okay,” Patton said, touching Logan’s shoulder to turn xem around and looking xem up and down one last time. “Let’s go.”

Logan gave him a smile. “Let’s go.”

***

Logan sucked in a breath as xe saw Virgil at the end of the aisle. They were wearing a violet blazer buttoned in the middle over a tulle-skirted A-line dress, emphasizing their waist and making them look ethereal.

“Hi,” xe whispered as xe got to the front of the aisle. Virgil gave xem a smile.

“You look stunning,” they murmured under their breath. Logan felt xir face warm with a blush, and quickly turned back to Roman, their officiant and closest joint friend.

Most of the wedding went by in a daze. Xe vaguely heard the things Roman was saying about love and trust and understanding, but most of xir attention was taken up by staring at Virgil: their eyes, emphasized by mascara and a touch of eyeliner, their lips covered in a shimmery lipstick just a few shades darker than their lips.

Logan was startled out of xir reverie when xe realized Roman had gone silent, and was looking at xem expectantly. Xe cleared xir throat in embarrassment, quickly turning around to Patton and holding xir hand out. Patton handed him xir notes for xir vows. Xe took a deep breath, doing xir best not to show how emotional xe was feeling, before looking up at Virgil.

“Virgil,” xe began. “The first time I saw you, it wasn’t the magical moment that so many novels speak of. There were no fireworks, there wasn’t an instant connection. But that only made our relationship all the more special in my mind. We got to know each other over the course of weeks, months. It was almost a year of knowing each other before I invited you on a romantic outing with me.”

Xe took a breath, xir eyes tearing up just a bit. Xe quickly blinked the tears away, bringing one hand up to wipe them without ruining xir makeup.

“But that time only made it all the more precious when we did eventually begin a romantic relationship. It allowed me to know the ins and outs of you and your lovely, wonderful mind. I have fallen more in love with you every day since I recognized the feeling, as impossible as that may be.”

Xe took a deep breath, glancing at xir notes before looking up to make direct eye contact with Virgil, seeing their eyes go shiny as xe spoke.

“I promise to always be an ear when you need comfort and a rock when you need stability. I will be a light when the world seems dark and endless. I will be a support when you are weak, and a raft when life is a storming sea. I will be a weight when you are flying too high and must be brought back to earth, and the wind beneath your wings when you need to be lifted up.

“Virgil, I love you. And I promise to continue loving you until the end of our lives.”

Tears were spilling out of Virgil’s eyes, and they were sniffling in an attempt to keep their composure.

“Oh my god,” they said, the phrase punched out of them on a sob. The guests in the chairs snickered, and Virgil quickly wiped their eyes and nose.

“So I don’t know how I’m expected to follow that up, but I’m going to try,” they said, pulling a few index cards out of a hidden pocket in their blazer.

“Logan,” they began. “The first time we met, I will fully admit I thought you were the most gorgeous human I had ever laid eyes on. Now, that’s a little different – I know you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I also know that you are the smartest person I’ve met, and the funniest, and just- the loveliest human in the world.”

Virgil took a shaky breath.

“That being said- you’re also really freaking annoying sometimes.”

Another chuckle came from the guests, this time a little louder.

“But I promise that I won’t leave when it gets hard. I promise that I won’t give up before we finish talking it out. I’ll never stop trying when you need me more than ever. I’ll love you until the end of time. I’ll be your best friend. Your rock. Your always. Logan, I love you, and I’ll never leave you.”

Logan was fully crying now, droplets of tears dripping off of xir jaw and onto xir dress.

“You may now exchange rings.”

Logan turned to where one of Virgil’s younger cousins was holding the rings on a pillow. Xe picked up Virgil’s ring, gently holding Virgil’s left hand and slipping it onto the ring finger, repeating the words after the officiant. Virgil did the same to xem, laughing just a little when it stuck on one of xir knuckles.

“I now pronounce you married. You may seal this with a kiss.”

Logan stepped toward Virgil, bringing xir hands up to cup their face. They laced their hands behind xir neck, a huge smile coming across their face.

“We’re married,” Logan heard Virgil whisper just before their lips touched, gentle but full of emotion nonetheless.

Xe pulled back slightly to rest xir forehead against Virgil’s.

“I win,” one of them said, and neither knew who said it, but it didn’t matter.

***

inspiration for Logan's outfit here

[boliv-jenta]

Reflection

Casskane on AO3

Summary:

More Mando fluff. Spoilers for season 2 'The Believer'. Din tells you about something that happened on the mission, fluffy times happen.

Work Text:

You stood watching the reflection of the flames as they danced across the Mandalorian's helmet. His stillness would be off putting to most but to you it was telling. It's not as if Din didn't often sit so still that he resembled a powered down droid, you just knew him better. You'd travel with him on and off since he rescued the kid. You yourself had broken into the Imp's base after hearing the little green guy calling for help. You had escaped with Mando just to get off the planet. It was only during a quiet moment on Sorgan that you told Mando about exactly how you had hear the kid and realised you were better off sticking together.

You had been laying low in a cheap motel on Navarro. One night you awoke, laid there in the relative silence listening out for the sound that had woken you. You were shivering despite the heat. The hairs on your neck stood on end then you heard it. You'd had months to think about that night by the time you explained it to Mando, even after going over and over it in your mind, you still couldn't quite describe it. It was akin to listening to the melody of a long forgotten song and having some of the lyrics come back to you. You couldn't make out exactly what words were spoken or the language that was being used but the message was clear to you, "Help me".

After 'acquiring' a Trooper uniform you'd infiltrated the base, only to come face to face, figuratively at least, with Mando. He drew his blaster on you but hesitated for a moment. In that couple of seconds you heard a door open behind you. You instinctively dropped to the floor and drew your own blaster. Between the two of you you took out the four Troopers that piled though the door. After a quick silent exchange you both lowered your blasters and you lead Mando to the child. You'd later asked Mando why he hesitated. He'd shrugged and said he thought you were a little short for a Stormtrooper. It was the first hint of humour you'd heard from him. Rising up to your full height, from were you had sat in the cargo hold, you quipped that you were tall enough to be a Mandalorian, pointing out that you were only a couple of inches shorter than him. He'd let out a breathy chuckle and you'd blushed slightly when you realized how close you had been standing to him and the way it has made you feel.

You made a firm decision to lock any thoughts about Mando stemming from that moment away in your mind and never open them. Starting something more that the necessary partnership you two had had bad idea written all over it.

You suddenly realized that Mando had turned his attention from the fire to you standing in the doorway of your accommodation for the night. You had all decided to get some rest before going after Moff Gideon. Boba Fett brought you to a tiny abandoned outpost on a backwater planet. Each hut was only big enough for one person, all they contained was a bed, small cupboard with a lantern on top and a chair. Seven huts in total with a fire pit in the middle. It's position on top of a hill made it defensible. You looked at each other for a long while. It was just getting to the point of being uncomfortable when Din stood and made his way to you. "Can we talk?" His voice was raspier than usual and his tone told you that what ever he had to say was important. "Of course." You moved back into your hut, you gestured to the chair intending to sit next to him on the bed.

After you closed the door you realized he hadn't taken a seat rather he stood facing it. You took a moment to study his body language. Even though he was weary and sore was the mission on Morak his posture was still stiff and tense. It wasn't that surprising considering the situation but Din usually had a way of coping with stress and taken his downtime when he could.

"Mando?" you asked lowering the hand you had unconsciously reached out to him with "Are you ok?".

He slowly turned to you, a bitter huff of laughter escaping him. You realized how stupid your question was given the circumstances. You opened your mouth to clarify when he spoke again "I removed my helmet. In front of others." The weight of what he had just said hit you in the gut. You had begged him to let you remove his helmet on Navarro to save his life. It was the moment you had realised how much he meant to you. He had refused and in turn begged you to get yourself and the kid to safety.

When you met up again after him meeting some other Mandalorians, that removed their helmets freely, he told you all about it and his resolve to his creed seemed as strong as ever.

You stayed silent, you had no idea what to say to him. After a moment he continued "Mayfield saw an officer he served under. He didn't want to take the risk of being recognized so I tried to access the terminal." his voice sounded distant as if he was telling a story that happened to someone else "It scanned my helmet and started a countdown..I...I didn't have a choice. It was the only way. If I lose the kid..." he trailed off.

You moved closer to him, anyone else you'd reach out to them, offer a comforting touch but laying your hand on Mando's basker didn't seem to offer the same meaning to you. "You did the right thing." you smiled brightly at him. "We're going to get him back."

His shoulders dropped like a tension wire between them had been snipped. "I know and until I seek guidance from the Amourer I will continue to honour my creed."

You gave another reassuring smile "So you're good for now?" He let out a long sigh

"No." Your heart sank. This time you did lay your hand on him. His arm had been raised slightly across him body and you placed your hand on his forearm. He looked down at the contact.

"Din?" You pressed. You'd never spoken his real name before. His helmet snapped up to you at the sound of it.

"I've thought about removing my helmet...." he paused at your slight gasp."....once or twice. Never did I think that Mayfield would be the first person I knew in over 30 years to see my face." He looked down at your hand again. This time he covered it with his own. "I thought....well, I thought it would be you."

He pushed your hand down gently to remove his arm from where you had now begun to grasp it. Before you could fully comprehend what he was saying he lifted his hands to his helmet. There was a hissing sound just as you grabbed his arms to still them.

"Wait!" The gravity of the moment struck you. What this meant to him. What you must mean to him. You began to ramble, trying to convey your feelings to him. ." You don't have to...I mean, it doesn't change anything....the helmet, it doesn't change how I feel...I still..." you took in a quivering breathe unable to finish the last thought out loud, only silently admitting it to yourself.

You heard a smile in Din's voice as he said "I know." You loosened your grip on his arms and let him remove his helmet. He dropped it with a dull thud onto the bed as you stared at him. Something between a nervous laugh and a chuckle of delight bubbled up from inside you. He narrowed his eyes at you before you explained. "Maker, you're handsome." You mentally berated yourself. The poor man was risking something that was a huge part of his life, his identity, his life in an incredible, beautiful gesture to you and that's all you can say.

"Really?" Din asked nervously running his hand through his hair. He had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Your big, tough faceless Mandalorian being suddenly being so vulnerable and awkward in front of you. He began to laugh too. Once the laughter subsided you couldn't help but reach out to touch his face. You laid your palm against the side of his face and rubbed you thumb gently over his cheek. He leaned into you touch. He removed his glove and mirrored the same action to you. His hand was warm and softer than you would have thought. You removed your hand from his face to take his hand in yours. You turned you head slightly as you brought his hand to you lips and laid a gentle kiss to his palm. Din closed his eyes and moaned lightly at the feeling.

You intertwined your fingers with his pulled him closer to you. His free hand made it's way up to cup the side of your head. You took a second to lean into it before looking back at Din. His warm brown eyes were looking into yours and you notice the tip of his tongue quickly sweep across his bottom lip. He leaned in towards you. "Mando!" Boba Fett's voice rang out across the outpost. You could hear his heavy footsteps approaching. Din replaced his helmet just as you saw Boba's armoured shoulder pass the small window behind Din. He knocked on your door. "Y/N?" Din sighed before answering for you "I'm here." Din dipped his head apologetically towards you, heading out the door to speak to the other man.

You sighed, taking a moment to try and sort out all the feelings rushing through you. Most prominently, annoyance, at Boba for interrupting. Din had left the door open so you moved forward to close it. Still lost in your thoughts you were startled when Din's gloved hand gripped the edge of the door and pushed it open. He slipped back inside, kicking the door shut with his foot while removing his helmet. He moved in a blur. You felt the cold of his baskar helmet press into the small of you back, as he wrapped the arm that held it around you. His ungloved hand came to the back of your neck and he pressed his lips to yours. They were softer than you'd imagine all those time lying in the dark aboard the Razor Crest. He kept them firmly pressed to yours for few moments before pulling away. For a very tame, chaste kiss and considering you'd never been at a lost for company in your life, it was easily the most passionate, incredible kiss you'd ever had. He leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning your face as he panted slightly. "I told him I had something important to do. I better go see what he wanted." Replacing his helmet he slipped out into the night leaving you to flop down on your bed as you grinned like a giddy teenager.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 28

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

There are several times in life when you don’t exactly know if you’re dreaming or if you’re living in reality. In all honesty, there are some dreams that are either so purely done or so terrifying that you don’t even know when waking up if you’ve either passed out or if its only a product of your mind. In this case, Y/N wasn’t entirely sure if she had dreamed her whole interaction for the past weeks with Sebastian or if it was real life. In all honesty, she kept waiting for her alarm to go off and for her to wake up only to realise this was only a fruit of her very creative imagination. 

That plus other things kept rushing through her mind as she packed her suitcase once again to go and spend New Years with Sebastian and Gwen at the Ritz. There was no more cruel case of third wheeling than spending New Years with the couple of whom the husband she’d been rather attracted too. Either else, she just couldn’t help it and while most her mind was screaming at her to go away to Paris and start a new life, the other part telling her to stay in NYC with Sebastian to ensure he’d be alright, to ensure he’d be loved well enough. She knew Gwen to be capable of love, in her eyes everyone was capable of love but she also knew that Gwen wasn’t that interested in being married. Some people just don’t want to be married and Gwen was one of them. 

Grabbing her suitcase, she went downstairs where Sebastian was typing away on his phone, a small compact matte black suitcase by his feet. She smiled, watching the little lines by his eyes and how his black scarf perfectly wrapped around his neck made him look like the most attractive man she’d even seen. 

     - Are you ready? - Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, relishing on whatever contact she could get before they both arrived at the Ritz where Gwen would be for certain. 

     - Yes, my angel, just sorting some details. - he sighed, putting his phone away to look at her. Y/N always managed to make winter apparel look effortlessly beautiful despite all the layers, and he couldn’t deny that she looked precious in her little white beret. However, what put a smile on her face was the Kelly bag beautifully hanging from her elbow. - Excited to return to your handmaid duties?

     - I wouldn’t describe it like that. - Sebastian’s arm snaked around her waist, kissing her coat covered shoulder. As he pressed for the lift, Y/N started rummaging through her bag to ensure she had everything. However, she quickly realised her phone was missing. - I forgot my phone, must’ve left it in my bedroom.

     - It’s alright, just stay here and I’ll go get it for you. - Sebastian kissed her forehead before rushing up the stairs to get her phone, leaving Y/N to hold the lift out for the two of them. Entering her room, he noticed how tidy it was despite the very quick nature of the packing and as he stepped more into the chamber, he spotted her phone on her bedside table. As he got closer, he noticed a folded blanket on the bed. 

Normally he would’ve just let it be and let Y/N have her privacy, however, his curiosity got a hold of him and instead of grabbing her phone and go meet her downstairs, Sebastian decided to pick the blanket up, noticing the name Ella inscribed into it. Ella. He didn’t know any Ellas and he knew Y/N to be a rather private person with a very small if not non existent inner circle.

    - SEB! - he could hear her call out for him. - The lift is here. 

    - I’m going. - quickly, he folded her blanket and picked her phone, rushing downstairs to meet her inside the lift. His eyes wandered to her wondering if she was hiding something from him. She wouldn’t hide anything, she was much to good to do so.

     - Why are you staring at me? - she questioned, pin pointing a difference in his eyes. 

     - Why shouldn’t I? - he cleared her queries with that boyish-like charm that only she got to see. She wondered how things would be if he showed his more compassionate side in business yet again the mob didn’t work on compassion, it worked on intimidation and getting the upper hand. Compassionate people normally don’t last long or at least that what Dan used to say. Y/N didn’t like to believe in that, she liked to believe that being kind had the sort of magic needed to fix anything but yet again she was mostly thought to be a pathetic little fool and, if Daisy Buchanan was indeed right, then the best thing a girl could be was a fool, a beautiful little fool.

The two were ushered into the car by Elias and once inside, the car took off leaving and bursting the little bubble the two of them had been living in for the past days. Still, his hand lingered over hers, thumb caressing the top of her palm as if he was trying to silently sooth her. As the car came to a halt she could see Gwen and Mr. Forrest waiting outside the Ritz with polite smiles. 

The valet opened the door of Y/N’s side allowing her to step out first while Sebastian came right behind, hand leaving hers much to both of their dismay. Before any of them could say a thing, Gwen was already speaking. 

    - Is that a Kelly? - she pointed at Y/N’s bag. - Where did you get a Kelly? How did you get a Kelly? I don’t have one of those. 

    - Oh ... I got it from a charity shop. - her eyes briefly moved towards Sebastian who held in a laugh as the heiress inspected the bag dangling from Y/N’s elbow. - I’m excited you wanted me to spend New Years with you and Sebastian. 

    - Father wanted you to come. - she rolled her eyes before locking gazes with Sebastian. - We have a rehearsal dinner to prepare. 

   - I thought our rehearsal dinner was on the first of the year. 

   - Most of our associates are here with us. I thought it would be best to make it a bit sooner. Besides I’m sure Y/N can’t wait to go to Paris. 

   - Paris? - Sebastian felt his composure slip away slightly before he coughed up, reassuming him outer harsh appearance. - Very well then. 

   - Come on, you have to help me pick a dress. - Gwen gave Y/N very little time to even try and apologise to Sebastian. She practically dragged the handmaid up to her bedroom, closing the door before starting to throw dress after dress onto the bed. - I need one that says bridal, virgin, mob boss wife. 

   - I don’t think you can fit the later with the first two. - Y/N mindlessly folded some of the dress that had landed on her lap. - Are you sure you want to do this, Gwen? Get married, spend your life with someone who you’re not in love with?

   - Listen, Y/N, more than half regular weddings end up in divorce. All this “love” you talk about is merely due to all the brainwashing those books did to you. 

   - I don’t think that’s true. I think that everyone has their other half. 

   - Well then, where is yours? - she snakily replied, putting a dress in front of herself and staring at the mirror. - What do you think about this one?

   - I think I need to go lay down for a bit. - Y/N sighed, grabbing her keypad before leaving Gwen to shrug while trying on dresses. Her heart was heavy as she thought about Sebastian’s reaction once Mr. Forrest let it slip that she was going to Paris.

As she looked at the main map by the lift, wondering and looking for where her room was, she noticed Sebastian followed by some associates walking down the hall. Normally, she would wait for a rather more private occasion to address the touchy subjects, however this particular subject was weighting on her and she owed Sebastian an explanation as to why she hadn’t at least mentioned that she had gotten a house in Paris.

  - Sebastian! - she managed to call out through her breathless state as she ran after him and the men surrounding him. They stopped, a few associates turning around to stare at her, inspecting her from head to toe. 

  - Aren’t you the Forrest’s handmaid? - one of them practically stopped her from coming any closer by raising a hand. - Were you not taught any manners? 

  - I’m terribly sorry but I really need to speak with Mr. Stan. - she smiled apologetically. 

  - So does everyone, now if you don’t mind. - her eyes gazed slightly with Sebastian before she was left in the middle of the hall as the men entered the room leaving her right outside of where everything seemed to happen. 

  - It’s okay, birdie ... - Y/N’s skin shivered at the very recognisable voice at the moment. She daren’t turn, hoping that if she remained perfectly still he would just disappear but Mr. Williams behaved more like her new living shadow much to her dismay. - Most mistresses don’t even get half the attention you do, I wouldn’t be so upset. 

  - I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, you seem to forget yourself. - she remained still, frozen almost like a statue. - I would think you’d be inside with the rest of the associates. 

  - I still can’t figure you out. I’m not sure if you’re smart and are climbing your way into the society by sleeping with a mob boss or if you’re innocence enough to actually care about him. 

   - What I do with my life is none of your business, Mr. Williams. If you excuse me, I must find my bedroom.

  - Don’t kid yourself, you’re nothing but a distraction. 

She closed her eyes tight as she left the hall, almost as if telling herself not to cry, telling herself that maybe he couldn’t speak to her and that he would come and find her when he could. Her bedroom was located away from Gwen’s, instead being thrown in the same floor as Dan and other associates. Tired, she sat against the white sheets of her bed, eyes glued to her hands as she tried to convince herself that she was just being emotional, it wouldn’t be the first time she was gonna be emotional. 

Much too enthralled in her own thoughts, the handmaid decided to lay down against the soft Egyptian cotton sheets and soon sleep came to her, lulling her to sleep. However, the sleep didn’t last too long as in what felt like only a few seconds of sleep yet in reality had been hours judging by the darkness of the room, there was a light knock on the door. Slowly, Y/N opened her eyes, gazing at her wardrobe, wondering if she should even reply to the knock and instead sleep more. Despite how pleasurable that sounded, Y/N decided to walk off her bed and to her door, opening it to see Elias ready to knock again.

   - You must be on the dinning hall in exactly 30 minutes, Miss. I thought it’d be nice to warn you.

  - Thank you, Elias. - she smiled sleepily before returning to the inside of her room, rubbing her face as she looked at what she had that would be the right type of clothing to wear. In all honesty, Y/N didn’t feel like getting dressed up and go downstairs, however she knew she had to and with that she just picked one of her dresses along with a pair of shoes before quickly bringing herself back to the dinning hall.

It was a big hall which normally used to work as a restaurant yet, possibly due to the nature of the event, had been completely emptied and reserved by the Forrest family. There were candles everywhere which gave the room a dream-like yellow hue and for every candle existing there seemed to be a waiter holding golden trays with champagne flutes and other small entreés. She stepped in along with various other associates and their families, getting lost in the sea of people and soon blending with every single other smartly dressed people whom had paired up for various discussions. Y/N, however, remained in the same spot she had been for an hour, holding a champagne flute in one hand as she scanned every single aspect of the room. She was almost entirely sure Sebastian and Gwen had already entered the room judging by a much crowded area of the room, yet, Y/N still decided to remain

   - Not interested in congratulating the couple? - she turned her head to see a slightly taller than her man holding a champagne flute in his hand. He couldn’t be much older than her and like every single man in this room, was dressed in an expensive designer suit, his being a dark burgundy hue. Yet, unlike the other men around he had a much more boyish appearance to him with his short shaggy ginger hair and wide chocolate eyes. - I’m Jude Dubois, pleasure to make your acquittance.

  - The pleasure is all mine. I’m ...

  - Might I guess? - he politely interrupted her. - You’re surely from the Deschamps family. Those eyes are like their ID card, can spot one from across the room. 

  - I’m afraid you’re wrong. I’m Genevieve Forrest’s handmaid, my name is Y/N. 

  - I could swear you were one of the Deschamps. Either way it is my absolute pleasure to meet you, I’ve never met a handmaid before. 

  - It’s not the best type of person to meet. 

  - I must say I only introduced myself because you caught my eye, Miss. You are a very lovely woman. - Y/N merely thanked him for his statements, eyes wandering to the crowded place of the room, noticing Sebastian’s cerulean eyes glued to where she was standing before returning to look at his soon to be wife.

  - Will you excuse me, Mr. Dubois? - she wanted to get out of there, mostly due to her discomfort of the whole event but also with a sprinkling of pain of seeing Sebastian along with Gwen as if they were the closest of couples. 

Moving through the seas and seas of people too interested in getting a piece of the new couple, she found an open window with an empty balcony. Getting away from all the song and gossip, she leaned against the railing of the balcony, watching the full moon stood in the cold NY skies.

  - We need to talk. - Y/N didn’t bother turn her whole body around, merely rotating her head slightly to see Sebastian standing just a bit behind her. - When were you going to tell me about Paris?

  - I don’t know. - she actually didn’t know. She had mostly compartmentalised it in her brain, forgetting about it in the midst of all that seemed to be running through her mind. - I got the apartment from Mr. Forrest for Christmas, I never said I was gonna move immediately. I really meant to tell you.

  - Well, are you moving to Paris? - his hands subtly grasped her waist, moving her so she was fully facing him. His brows were ever so slightly lowered, a little bit closer to his eyes than usual which had tiny little crow’s feet on its sides. He was worried. 

  - I don’t know ... maybe? You’re gonna be with Gwen and I, I can’t stay with her forever. You said it so yourself that she might even move to LA.

  - Just because she might doesn’t mean you should.

  - And what are we gonna do? Are we gonna continue to do this behind Gwen’s back while you build a family with her? 

  - I’ll figure something out, angel. You have to trust me that I will, I promise I will. Please don’t leave. 

  - And what are you gonna figure out? You can’t cancel the wedding, it’s written down in contract. I don’t want to be the reason why there isn’t a reason for your relationship not to work.

  - There is no relationship between me or Gwen. Angel, c’mon, we’ll figure something else, I promise you. - his hands cupped her face. - Please.

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[laurelsofhighever]

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again. 

--

CW: sleep paralysis in the beginning

Something hunted her. Avarice, perhaps, or Glory. The light in her hand drew them ever closer, blinding them to the glint of the dragonbone Talon she kept unsheathed by her side, the blade that longed to sate itself on their spirit flesh. For one, the rose was a trophy, for the other, the essence of all she hoped to gain. The forest around her hung close, crooked branches girdled by beards of hoary lichen, roots trying to trip her, the light above blocked by the canopy so that only the bobbing green glow of wisps remained to guide her along the path. They drifted towards her and darted away again like shoals of curious fish, and as ever, the demons gained. She would have to turn soon, to stand and fight though exhaustion snapped at her heels. And something else nagged at her too, a weightlessness, a disconnect between her actions and the world around her as if chains dragged at her limbs.

A dream, then. In realising it, she slipped into sunlight as the forest dissolved around her, opening her eyes to rich furnishings and sheets of gold brocade overlaid with soft pelts to keep out the cold, the warm pull of an arm thrown over her stomach. Alistair lay already alert beside her, the details of his face blurred by the haze of first waking but no less dear because of it. As her body rolled and turned into him, he rose above her to bring her close, untangling his arm from the bedclothes to embrace her.

“Bad dreams?” he asked, in a voice that didn’t quite reach her sleep-fogged ears.

She felt no desire to reply, and instead slid her hand into the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down to her mouth. His touch stirred the banked embers in her chest, his weight melding them together, one body, one lick of heat through questing limbs –

But he had no scent. There was no scratch of stubble against her cheek.

Her consciousness erupted into the prone form of her slumbering body, but got no further. She commanded it to move. Her flesh responded like stone, and panic rose like water to freeze her lungs. Avarice might be leaning over her, its claws poised above her to rend life from her bones and claim her skin as its own, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t even feel her sword in her hand. A finger, an eyelid – anything that might bring her back to herself. She fought. She screamed inside her own head, pushing back at the darkness and at the illusion it fed her of her hands moving, the iron of her will useless against the dead weight of her limbs.

It must have been only moments before the paralysis recoiled and broke without warning, but it felt longer. It left her gasping in the dim, moonlit confines of an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar shape lumped among the pillows next to her. Despite her sudden start, the figure breathed in deep, even lungfuls of air, and as her eyes grew used to the dark, Rosslyn made out Alistair’s bearded face poking from the covers. His eyes roved under their lids, his lips parted slightly, while his hair – though longer than it had appeared in her dream – stuck out at all the odd angles she remembered. The certainty that she could not have imagined him so calmed the race of her heart and brought her back to where she was, the knotted string that had led her back into his life.

“No, Ambassador, I didn’t say that…”

His mumbles trailed off as he shifted under the covers, and she bit down on a smile. They had been in Highever when she first found out he talked in his sleep. She had teased him about it, and all the salacious things he might have uttered without the filter of his conscious mind to stop him, but even as her hand reached out to smooth his hair away from his face, the sweetness of the memories turned bitter. They had shared so little time together without the world getting in the way, brief weeks after only a year of knowing each other, and since then, she had lived two years in an endless Void, without anything to bar the sound of her own breath from her ears. He, meanwhile, had grown into the grace of his kingship without her. She had known he would, but it didn’t stop the whisperings of the snide voice at the back of her mind that told her he no longer needed her. What if everything, including his image, were just another dream?

She withdrew her hand without touching him.

Carefully, so Alistair wouldn’t notice, she shimmied out from under the covers and set her feet into the thick silk pile of the rug that guarded the bed like a moat. She counted her fingers, pressing her thumb to the tip of each one in turn, and then along the scar on her wrist that she had received from an accident in the training arena when she was still a beginner. The movements had become habit by now, but experience had taught her habit itself was dangerous, a way for the mind to skip over inconsistencies in favour of familiarity, and so to ground herself she closed her fist around Talon’s blue leather scabbard. Slowly, making sure to feel the difference between cool metal wire and rough drakeskin, she half-drew the blade and winced at the scrape of the dragonbone as it came free.

Here lay the test; she breathed deep relief when her reflection showed her eyes, a slice of the tapestry behind her, and nothing else. It did not warp into any monstrosity, or move while she sat still, and with a roll of her shoulders she eased the sword back into its rest. Not that it stopped her hands from shaking. With a last long glance over her shoulder, she rose and padded across the expanse of gilded carpet, with Talon held tight in her left hand so the buckles wouldn’t jingle.

No expense had been spared in the appointments of the Emperor’s bedchamber. The high ceiling had been painted blue and dusted with silver stars that glinted in the moonlight spilling in from the windows. The largest of them mapped out the constellations visible in the night sky, though as she gazed upwards, Rosslyn noted that they had been arranged according to aesthetics, rather than accuracy to the true heavens her mother had taught her to read as a child. With a rueful twitch of her lips, she turned away and skirted the suite of chaises and spindle-legged sofas that clustered around the fire, their fine silk threads a heady texture under the trail of her fingers.

She found the opulence garish, from the sculpted marble halla framing the hearth to the tapestries on the wall that showed scenes of nobles hunting or riding into battle on horses with faces that seemed almost human, and she imagined the expression Alistair might have let slip when he first opened the door. Only the drift of woodsmoke from the fire brought her any familiarity, the faint, whining hiss of its heart filling the silence as she explored. A bookcase stood in the corner of the room at the edge of the fire’s shaky glow, but close enough to spark against the gold-leafed titles on the spines. Still unsettled, she tilted her head to read them, mouthing their names to herself before she pulled out a likely tome concerning natural science and let the pages fall open on a discussion of dragon anatomy. She forced herself to see the shape of the words as well as their meaning, the first sentence on a page and then the last, and then the first again to make sure it hadn’t changed.

“Rosslyn?”

She dropped the book and turned, Talon already ringing out of the scabbard as she sank into a defensive crouch at the unexpected voice. Blinking groggily, Alistair sat up in the bed, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. His eyes shifted from her face to the weapon in her hand and the battle-ready stance she was too slow to hide.

“What are you doing over there?” he asked as she turned towards the window and tried to calm the race of her pulse. She heard him kick the covers away, the grumbled command to the glowstone, and the pad of his bare feet across the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Even though she heard him coming, she flinched when he touched her arm.

He edged closer. “Bad dreams?”

She clenched her jaw against the chill of déjà vu down her spine. “Something like that.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

A sigh tumbled from her lips as she ducked her head, as she leaned into the hand sliding into the small of her back and fought against the part of her that wanted to make light of what he must have seen. And yet, hadn’t she been trying for months to find him again? His lack at her side had been a physical ache beyond even the scars the Fade had left on her; to shut him out now when he was reaching out seemed too much like madness, like being bested by the fear she had pushed back for so long.

“When I was in the Fade, it was difficult sometimes to tell what was real,” she admitted, drawing her hands around herself. “When I had to sleep I’d wander through the dreams of others, and when I woke up I could never really be sure that I really was awake or if it was just some trap set by a demon. It’s been… hard to adjust back.” She kept her gaze on the carpet, but then she didn’t need to look to feel the cautious sympathy radiating from every line in Alistair’s body.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I…” The heat of his palm was a distraction, a reminder of all the times she had opened her eyes on his image and wondered whether the illusion might be worth succumbing to it. She had been alone too long, and left too many pieces of herself behind with the corpse of the Nightmare. But he was too clever, reading her silence and the fear behind it as if the words were scrawled across her face, and he moved close so that his bulk and his scent might fold her away from the world, cupping her jaw to lay a kiss at her temple.

“What will help?” he asked.

Rosslyn let herself wrap around him; her body acted on its own initiative and buried into his shoulder as her mind drifted back to the bad episodes of the first few days, when Merrill had led her through reality and shown her all the ways to rely on her senses again.

“Details,” she said, content to lose herself in the rhythm his fingers made against the back of her neck. “Things to ground me, that my mind can’t make up.”

“Such as?”

“Words on a page, smells…” She allowed herself a smirk. “That damned beard.”

“More baseless attacks against facial hair?” He tutted, shaking his head and deliberately mussing her hair with the accused beard in the process. “You’re still as cruel as ever, dear lady.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’m still ‘dear lady’?”

“Always.”

When she could stand to lean away, she looked up at him, gazing at her with the same oak-bronze eyes she remembered, the same flecks of gold, the calm and the rapture and the certainty that had steadied her soul from the beginning. Unable to bear the weight of his expression, she turned her focus to the slight bow-curve of his mouth, and the growth of hair that accentuated the strong line of his jaw. It was several shades darker than that on the rest of his head, though as she gently raked her fingers through it, strands of copper and gold caught in the glowstone’s light. His eyes slipped closed at the touch and she smirked wider.

“You like that,” she murmured.

He hummed. “I never thought it would feel so nice.”

If they had been together, they would have discovered such sensitivity long ago.

“Rosslyn?”

She bolstered her crumbling smile. “I just thought of a use for these bristles of yours.”

“Mm?”

Instead of answering, she closed her fingers and drew him down with the lightest pressure until they met in a soft brush of lips. “That’s a much easier way of getting you to kiss me.”

“Easier than just being in the same room as me?” he teased. “Easier than being brave and beautiful and everything I’ve ever wanted?”

She let go. His smile was earnest but she couldn’t look at it, blinding and stealing her breath as if she were stepping out into the sun on a winter’s day. And still, his sigh cleaved her like a butcher’s knife as his hand skimmed the length of her arm to where Talon still rested in a white-knuckled fist.

“I have guards outside,” he told her. “You’re safe. Whatever hunted you before, I won’t let it get you here.”

She remembered another night, after an attempt on her life, when he had sworn himself to her defence. “So Orlais has run out of assassins, then?” asked lightly.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured, raising her knuckles to his lips. “Or – we could read one of the books, if…”

“If I don’t think this is real? You don’t need to worry about that, I’m convinced.”

The tension knitted tight through his shoulders unspooled. “I’m glad.”

“You don’t have to stay up on my account.” A smile ghosted across her mouth, brief and unconvincing. “This is hardly my first night without sleep, and from what I overheard earlier, you have negotiations to attend in the morning.”

“And rob you of the company? Perish the thought. Besides,” he added, bending past her to pick up the book she had been skimming, “Une étude de draconides du sud sounds fascinating.”

“It’s rather dry, actually.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Then maybe it’ll send us back to sleep faster. Come on, those chaises look comfortable, even if they’re gaudier than any furniture has a right to be.”

Defeated, Rosslyn sighed and let herself be tugged along, unable to entirely fend off the infectious grin sent her way, or the squeeze in her chest as she sat and Alistair knelt before her on the floor to wrap a heavy blanket around her shoulders.

“Will you read to me?” she asked.

His smile softened. “Of course. Now budge up.”

Negotiating the chaise took more effort than the bed. Despite being wide enough for the voluminous panniers favoured by Orlesian fashion, the springy, overstuffed cushions had not been designed to accommodate even one person lying down, much less two who had become unused to coordinating their limbs. After a lot of awkward folding and a brief interlude where she made him sit up again to take one half of the blanket, Rosslyn settled on her side with her back against the chaise and her cheek resting on Alistair’s shoulder in order to see the pages as he read them. Talon, still within reach, had been propped against the armrest.

“Now, let’s see, where shall we start…”

Heaving a contented sigh as he flicked through the pages, she snuggled closer and wrapped her free arm more fully around his waist. The movement pushed up the loose hem of his nightshirt, and without thinking she followed the feel of warm skin and slipped her hand beneath the fabric, pleased with the small hum elicited by the movement. After a moment, however, she paused, frowning. Instead of the smooth expanse of muscle she had once known almost as well as her own body, her fingertips tracked along a line of hard, raised tissue that curved across the point of Alistair’s hip.

“What…”

“Rosslyn?”

She levered herself upright and lifted the fabric to get a better look at the scar. “I don’t remember this.” Three long, uneven stripes stood out pale against the richer tone of his skin, faded enough that the initial blow must have been healed by magic, but still livid pink beneath where the new flesh didn’t quite meld with the old.

“Oh, that. It’s nothing, really.” He pulled the shirt down again to cover it, and dragged her hand to his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It looks like it hurt,” she pressed.

He smiled, too wide. “Barely felt it, actually. This looks like a promising page –”

“What happened?”

“Just leave it alone!”

Stunned, she flinched away to better look at him, at the immediate regret in his eyes and the wariness that still lurked behind it.

“Rosslyn –”

“It happened at Ostagar, didn’t it?” she said, and felt her stomach lurch as he sat up and hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

“It… It was while they were still clearing the rubble. There was still hope, but not much, and every rock they lifted where they didn’t find you…” He bit his lip. “It all got too much in the end, so I took a party out to hunt down the demons that escaped the rift’s collapse. One got a lucky swipe.”

All because of her. She shut her eyes and dropped her forehead to his shoulder to banish the image of him, wounded and grieving and hating her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured “You’re the one who was always telling me not to drop my guard.”

“If I had been there…”

“No. Don’t do that. I’ve spent two years wondering what might have been.” Arms wrapped around her waist, fingers under her jaw coaxing her to look at him. “You’re here, now, and everything’s going to be alright.”

Still unsure, she shook her head. “I thought this would all be so easy. I thought I could just… walk back into my life like none of it happened. But everything’s so different.” Just because she had been stuck in time, she had assumed the same of everything else, that she might return to the moment she first struck the Nightmare and still have her place as the Falcon without politics or resentment to cloud her triumph. The worst of it, the part she could barely admit even to herself, was that everything from her return to Harrowhill to the painted stars above her might not be real at all, and yet she had wearied so much that not even the guilt of surrender could make her care. Perhaps the real Alistair had died along with her at Ostagar, the only thing left of him this illusion, a phantom set of hands around her waist the closest she would ever get to him again.

The pressure of those hands tightened before she could move away, drawn into his lap instead with the blanket forgotten around her knees.

“Not everything is different,” he said. “Not the important things. You’re still my wife.”

Her breath caught in her lungs.

“Unless…” A pause. “Rosslyn, when this is over – when you’ve done what you have to for Flemeth and these trade talks have been hammered out – you will come back with me, won’t you? Ferelden still needs its queen.” He swallowed. “And even if it didn’t, there’s not a moment that’s gone by that I haven’t needed you. It’s been awful, I’ve missed you so much.”

Something sharp constricted in her chest as the firelight caught in his eyes, on the tears he rapidly tried to blink away. “I didn’t know if you’d want me like before,” she confessed.

“Of course I do.” For the second time, the book tumbled to the floor, this time displaced from his lap so he could turn and take her face between both of his hands. “I love you. I never stopped.”

“I’ve caused you so much pain –”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, again, stroking her face with his fingers as he leaned forwards and pressed his brow to hers. “You came back to me. It’s alright.”

Soothed by the patterns he was drawing across the back of her neck, she shifted until her legs pressed on either side of his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m here. Rosslyn, I…”

His hands had wandered again, palms ghosting down her back and over her thighs, pulling her closer while his knees came up behind her to take more of her weight, to tip her forward onto his chest. She cupped his face and kissed him before he could gather himself enough to speak, and then followed the line of his jaw with lighter brushes of her lips to the pulse point in his neck, her concentration only broken when he found the hem of her borrowed shirt and slinked into a tighter embrace against her skin.

His teeth rasped against her shoulder, a chuckle low in his throat. “We’re supposed to be reading, dear lady.”

“You’re the one who started this,” she murmured back, as her fingers inched beneath his collar.

“You’re the one encouraging me,” he retorted. “Maker, I can’t get you close enough – tell me you don’t want to stop.”

“It’s not that…” A worry tugged at the small corner of her mind not yet consumed by the sensation of being touched, growing in presence until it could not be ignored. “I don’t know if I’m – if we’re still, uh, protected.”

“Ah.” To her relief, he didn’t push her away, and instead leaned back against the chaise with his arms around her shoulders. “And you don’t have any of that tea with you?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to need it.”

For an instant, the shadow of thwarted expectation hung in the air, mingling with her worry about the cost of her hesitation, until with the breath of a low, rumbled laugh, Alistair sent the tension blowing away like errant cobwebs on a breeze.

“I’m sure we’ll dig some up from somewhere eventually,” he allowed, helping her adjust so she lay adjacent rather than astride his lap. “Besides, after two years, I can’t say it would have been my best performance anyway.”

She stretched up, careful not to jab a knee into where it wouldn’t be appreciated, and pecked him on the cheek before tucking herself back against his side. “The performance isn’t what I care about.”

“I love you. Have I said that yet?”

“I could stand to hear it again.”

Their fingers laced, and for a while only the fire made conversation.

“It occurs to me,” he offered eventually, with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows, “there are other things we could do. If you wanted. We could find out why that bed is so ridiculously big.”

“We could,” she replied, careful. “But… I think I want this over first. I’m still bound, and I want to feel like myself when I call you my husband again.”

Another sigh heaved through his body, shuddered with uncertainty. “‘Husband’. I’ve missed hearing that. I’ve missed –” He scrubbed at his eyes. “You know, we never got our honeymoon. We said we’d go to Eastwatch when the war was over, but we never made it.”

“We were going to take picnics to the riverbank.”

They’d had it pictured so clearly before Ostagar, a shining beacon for which to strive, when their responsibilities might fall away just for a little while and allow them the peace that had always at the last eluded them. Her family’s estate, couched in a slow meander of the River Rangett with the sweeping glades and pastures of Marl-land beyond, had seemed the perfect remedy to the demands claimed of them by war.

“I left Teagan in charge in Denerim,” Alistair mused. “There’ll have to be a progress to show you off to the people now that you’re back, but I’m sure we can persuade the guard to lose us on the Imperial Highway – what are you laughing at?”

She drew his knuckles to her lips. “You. Talking like a politician. Plotting. You’ve grown.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on the number of fine cheeses I’ve been sampling of late,” he huffed, shifting beneath her.

She recognised the deflection for what it was but let it go, realising the dark turn of her thoughts must have shown in her voice, the knowledge that so much of the person he had become was a stranger to her. And yet, as he reached down to retrieve the now sadly crumpled Une étude des draconides from where it had fallen, the way their bodies fit together and the logs cracking in the fire brought back all the promise she had felt in those few weeks by his side as they waited out her recovery from the Battle of Highever, the winter nights long and the frozen wind turned aside by the thick walls of her childhood home. He had read to her then, too, taking her away from the pain of her healing wounds to places woven by his voice alone, with his heartbeat under her ear and his fingers idle in her hair.

“Is the book alright?” she asked.

“A bit creased,” he answered. “But intact.”

“Good. Tell me about dragons.”

--

He read from the book until his voice turned hoarse, the winding prattle of academic language somewhat beyond his grasp of conversational Orlesian, but he tried keep the flow of words in cadence to at least get the general meaning. When he finally laid it aside and pinched his hands over his eyes to refocus his vision, the first rime of daylight could just be seen over the distant trees outside, a faint lilac stain against the ink of night swallowing the stars. Rosslyn didn’t stir even when he touched her shoulder to check her realness, when he gently carded the jet strands of her hair back from the wet patch of drool slowly seeping into his shirt. She had always slept heavily, like a true soldier, deep to dream and grumpy to rise, while he often started at phantom noises or spent hours trying to calm the whirl of his thoughts long enough to let him rest; more than once, he had used the slow, even rhythm of her breath to follow her into slumber.

He had so much to tell her. Without her to share it, his life had turned into one long road of nothing but duty stretching to the horizon, but now the details flooded back into his mind, full of colour. The two mares Fergus had given her as a wedding gift were stabled below as his own personal mounts, and Cuno waited back in Denerim, a pampered sire of many litters who would no doubt prove unbearably smug about being right that his mistress had survived.

The news could wait until they had more time, however, when they no longer had to hide her presence from Celene. For now, he had no wish to move her, but the angle of the chaise was beginning to hurt his back and they would both be in far more comfort on the bed.

“Rosslyn? Love, we need to get up, just for a bit.”

A wordless mumble was the only reply, tilting his mouth in a smile as he gave up and hooked one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. Had she been awake, she would have complained about being carried when she had two perfectly good legs of her own, but as Alistair stood the movement only turned her further into his chest and her hands closed around the folds in his shirt. He tried not to think about how light she had become as he laid her down again a moment later, how much colder.

After pausing only long enough to retrieve Talon, he slipped under the covers beside her and pulled them up until she was tucked in snug up to her chin. Too much did her trusting, easy breathing remind him of their last night together before the battle at Ostagar, the morning when he had unwound his arms from her warm body and left without a word, hoping to keep her safe.

He would not suffer that again.

Careful and quiet, he tore his eyes away and rolled over, reaching for the top drawer of his nightstand where servants had stashed a set of reed pens, paper, and a writing pad. Both of them had duties, he his meetings and she the destruction of Morrigan’s mirror, but as he dipped the nib into the inkpot and sponged off the excess, he breathed deep through his nose, determined not to waste the gift Fate had chosen to grant him. After their trials were over, he would make sure they could both be together again. Forever, this time.

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

Main Interlude — A Curious Attempt

Watching a tale from afar, in the midst of Carcosa, the Master of Chaldea decided to surprise their friend.

…If only their world wasn’t this… strange.

[Inspired by @hasjalterdoneanythingwrong , @hasmataharidoneanythingwrong (iirc), and others’ Pokémon posting as of late — I wanted to take a shot at this myself and include some neat writing on this topic. Check their works out as well — they’ve got some really neat stuff going on! (I probably missed a few people, but I’m very sleepy and can’t remember jack at the moment, lol)]

—

“Do these things even exist?”

I look in the mirror — fixing my orange hair, breathing a solemn sigh out.

‘Reality’ was already fairly subjective, wasn’t it? As I tried to ignore the buzzing of a fly that desperately wanted to give the flickering light above me a gentle smooch, my mind grew occupied with other things.

“…It’s an interesting pastime. Not to mention, it might do them some good to have something to play around with here.”

That, and a glance out the window told me things were already horrendously off.

The moon hadn’t so much as moved an inch since we landed here — it had to have been hours on end since then, the walk to this apartment itself taking one or two hours. Yet, the faint glow of moonlight still illuminated the outside, and cast a faint light on the bathroom floor where the flickering lightbulb couldn’t reach.

Something wasn’t right here already. As a Singularity, it only made sense — but something really was off.

…Perhaps…

“…It’ll make things a bit better for him, wouldn’t it? He has the others, and me, but… I think something else might be good for him.”

…I looked away from the mirror, and stepped towards the bathroom door. ‘Feeling’ out the mana I did have in reserves, I reckoned I’d have enough for the job.

Even with my mana output, surely creating a Mystic Code wasn’t beyond me.

—

…

…It appears it was beyond me.

The faint light of my desk table warmly illuminated small, spherical object so blatantly not what I had in my mind that it bordered on parody.

It had the bare minimum — a sphere separated into two halves, with a hinge holding the two together — but the latch was utterly broken, unable to keep a grip on the sphere if you so much as rattled it lightly. Even worse, the awkward shades of red and white made its vibes utterly horrendous, as though you left a fishing bob out in the sun for years and gave the whole thing a horrid yellow tint. The warm light, of course, made this atrocity even worse.

“…I didn’t exactly have any apricorns on hand, but… Holy hell.”

I couldn’t even dare look away from it — it was as though I had raised a monstrosity beyond human comprehension, like trying to find a poodle and instead raising a shoggoth. I hadn’t even tried to Mystic-Code-ify the damned thing yet — it still really only was a hastily-carved piece of wood that faintly resembled what an alien might consider a ‘poke ball’ at a passing glance.

…But even so, its appearance didn’t matter as much as if the Mystic Code worked. I could’ve made it into the beautiful visage of a filled mason jar, yet it would still fail if I bungled this next step.

So, the next step was to ‘encode’ this object.

“That which should not happen, yet does regardless -“

…That made sense, didn’t it? ‘Nothingness’ worked best for such an object, that made the impossible possible.

My finger traced its form, one eye closing, the other peering down at the wooden sphere as though trying to see through ‘its soul.’

“…There.”

Like a painter, brushing over an empty canvas, I dug my nail directly into the wood — as it slipped through it, seamlessly, almost akin to a knife into water.

Tracing ‘connections,’ ‘lines,’ ‘circuits,’ all throughout its figure — my eye remained, centred on the sphere, as though even blinking would cost me my life.

To create ‘something,’ that could bind a ‘something’ — a familiar — and even return it to what was a step before ‘nothing,’ swapping this being from ‘nothing’ to ‘something’ at a whim, without even harming the being within.

If it could even function, and work — was beyond me. Crossing one’s fingers, praying for success, was all I could do, tracing these ‘commands’ in the form of lines and connections, now sprawling over the entire sphere in glowing blue ‘cracks.’

In time, the sphere itself seemed as though held together purely from the bonds of its Connections — the ‘commands’ of what it was moved through it, like a ceramic vase broken and put together with enough glue to showcase its cracks. Lifting my nail from it, the cracks faded — turning from blue to a faint yellow, then fading entirely, leaving only the same wooden sphere I was met with.

“…Looks like the only thing left is to try and make it work.”

…I stood from my chair, fighting back a sudden pain in my chest, and lifted up the sphere — turning to the door of my barely-lit hotel room.

All that was left was to try and catch something.

—

…

…Things truly were off, here.

With all my wandering, the only animal I’d seen to date was the crow that ‘Quin’ kept close. Even so, that seemed to me an obvious familiar — something she wouldn’t take kindly to me trying to catch.

By now, I stood at an empty field — not far from the apartments, certainly, as I could still hear its chains rattling — watching the moon that lay just on the horizon, as though watching me right back.

“…Nothing.”

In time, my eyes slipped back down to the wooden sphere I gripped in my hand.

‘A wash, huh?’

…But it’s not as though it made no sense.

Even in a Singularity, the impossible did not suddenly become possible.

The moon may freeze, things may grow strange and scary — but biology, itself, would not bend to the whims of something as weak as a Singularity. Not so easily.

“…But isn’t there something you’re missing, Senpai~?”

…My eyes peered up —

—in front of me, behind me, around me—

—but found nothing.

“…I can’t quite get there now, but I can speak to you. How cute, hm~?”

“…I assume it’s convenient timing you find me aimlessly wandering around a field like a loon.”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I could almost feel BB’s mischievous gaze staring through ne.

“I… think I can help your problem. You want Cadence to have a little animal friend, right~?”

“…Yeah.”

“…Why is that, if I may ask?”

…I breathed out, and had to bite my tongue.

—

“…I don’t think Cadence will live through all of this, Master.”

—

“…I’ve got to make him smile as much as the others. He’s got enough on his plate — I want to help him take it off.”

…It seems she accepted the answer.

“Well, in that case, I have just the solution~! I’ll see if I can’t ‘hack into’ this Singularity and get you exactly what you asked for — since you asked so politely, Senpai~!”

…Even as she said that, something in front of me began to shift — shake, even.

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t come here? How can you do this?!”

“Well, Ritsy, I’ve got to try, right? What could possibly go wrong~!”

…The entire surroundings turned a deep, dark black.

“…That could go wrong!”

“Nonsense! That could, uhm, be a Darkrai! Yeah!”

“—Isn’t that what Cadence would need the least?!”

…A deep red light suddenly engulfed the field in front of me.

“—What the hell?!”

“I tried to make it a Cresselia! I tried!”

“—Are you absolutely sure about that?!”

“It’s something about this place! Everything I’m doing is—“

…Suddenly, her communications ceases.

And I was met with…

“—…—-…”

“..AA—,,,,—AAAUUAAA———AAAHH—-JAA—“

…A piercing, faltering scream.

The kind I could only imagine would come out of a nightmare.

It was this long, red, tetrahedronal thing, that was simultaneously everything and nothing around me. Surrounding me in its endless shade — almost singing, in a voice so cathartic and broken that it shifted between ‘endless pain’ and ‘desperate screaming’ while yet still feeling passionate — enjoyable.

‘Listen.’

My muscles froze.

‘Listen.’

My tongue stopped — calcified.

‘Listen.’

…

Its screaming —

—it became all I could think about.

This being —

—it wouldn’t move. It had me where I could only presume it wanted me, and yet it didn’t move a muscle.

“—AaAaAAaaAaa—“

…

…My calcified muscles —

—I could only move my arm, just that little bit.

Closing my eyes, I gently rolled the wooden sphere across what might’ve been the ground —

—and, after some seconds passed, heard a ‘click’ amongst the screams.

…

A roll—

—Another —

—…

…Another ‘click’ — and I fell to the ground, the pain in my chest feeling unending all at once.

…That sphere… would drain mana. It would drain it every time it were used — and now, just by capturing whatever that was, I found myself sprawled out across the ground of the plains, unable to so much as think about moving.

And that being — whatever BB had created — wasn’t a creature that should exist.

A step beyond even ‘something that shouldn’t exist, and yet does regardless.’

All I could tell, in that short few moments of being held in such a way, was that it were fighting for its right to exist.

Perhaps, in a way, its song was meant to validate itself.

To make it memorable, and ‘confirm’ its existence.

“…It… certainly achieved that.”

…

—

…A writer shifts its brow. A wrench in the schemes — and yet…

[I should have expected/understood as much.]

It only made sense — that beings like these Masters would find beings not unlike themselves.

…

[…It should not interfere. If it does — it could be written out far too easy to fret of.]

The writer, the director, breathes out, and raises a hand to the masked man on their left.

[Prepare yourself. If they attempt to use that… abomination, it will do itself in. Focus on your role.]

…The masked man nodded, and closed a locket on his chest — stepping away, and moving backstage.

—

—

…New Pokémon Discovered.

Adding to registry…

[♀.]

4 h Pokemon

Height: 80’3’’

Weight: 6099 lbs

Normal/Normal

A being that should not exist.

Outside of combat, it manifests as a red tetrahedron, and appears capable of sending other living creatures into and out of a ‘pocket dimension’ not unlike a Reality Marble. It appears this space is pitch black; and unlike in the real world, where it remains mute, it is capable of speaking here. However, it speaks in broken English only.

In combat, ‘reality’ notices the beast, and begins to try ‘writing it out’ of the world. This causes the being immense pain — with its only ability in this instance being to trap an opponent within its pseudo-Reality Marble, and ‘sing’ endlessly to maintain and validate its existence. Due to this, fighting with it is ill-advised.

If it is able to enter combat normally, however, it’s remarkably speedy for its weight, with decent bulk and strength befitting of its large size. It is weak to magical or special skills. Perhaps due to its unique ‘effect’ that comes with its singing, it lacks an Ability. Notably, this Pokémon inflicts extreme mental strain on its Trainer in combat due to the unique nature of its skillset, and as such, extreme precautions must be taken to ‘use’ the being normally —up to and including dedicated battlefields, with bushes in northeast corners, which seem to prevent some of this Pokémon’s more catastrophic effects.

(It appears that this Pokémon is technically a Noble Phantasm of BB, due to her being responsible for its birth. Due to this, it answers only to Cadence, BB, and BB’s closest ones.)