#vigil: the longest night

[galaxyhowl]

2° Anniversary for Vigil: the longes night

[pin-k-ink]

veil // fushiguro megumi

tw ⇢ friends to lovers, mutual pining, sexual tension, insomnia, codependency(?), teasing, nipple play, body worship, clit play, unprotected sex, marking, making out, mentions of violence and injuries

wc ⇢ 7.4k

Megumi sighed heavily as he stared up at the ceiling of his dorm room. As a third-year jujutsu sorcerer, he had seen more traumatizing events than most people could even fathom. The visions played on an endless loop in his mind - the grotesque curses, the brutal battles, the lives lost right before his eyes.

It made true rest nearly impossible to come by. Night after night, insomnia wrapped its icy tendrils around Megumi, holding him hostage to the waking world no matter how utterly exhausted he felt. His body craved the sweet release of slumber, but his mind stubbornly refused to quiet.

The only person who seemed to provide any semblance of peace, any eye in the storm of Megumi's turmoil, was you. You were a fellow classmate and a healer, frequently patching up Megumi and the others when they returned from missions bloodied and weary. While you didn't often join them on the battlefield directly, you had been by Megumi's side through it all for the longest time.

There was something about your calming presence, your unwavering care and support, that helped soothe the jagged edges of Megumi's psyche in a way nothing else could. He felt safe when you were around, like he could fractionally loosen the iron grip of hyper-vigilance that kept him tethered to consciousness.

It happened by accident at first, the realization that your company helped calm the storm in his mind enough to actually fall asleep. The two of you had been studying late one night, poring over ancient texts and trading observations in hushed tones. Megumi couldn't even recall when he had started nodding off, utterly unaware that he was drifting until his head came to rest against your shoulder.

The gentle warmth radiating from you and the faint floral scent of your hair had proven too soothing a lullaby. Megumi jerked awake with a panicked start sometime later, disoriented by the unexpected lapse in consciousness. But as his eyes landed on your peaceful, resting form beside him, he couldn't recall the last time his mind had been so blissfully quiet.

From that point on, a new unspoken routine slowly took root between you. With the dark circles deepening beneath Megumi's eyes, you began to pick up on his struggles to find any respite. So you simply...made yourself available to him, leaving the door to your room cracked in open invitation.

At first, Megumi felt paralyzed by indecision and unspoken hesitancies. But the bone-deep weariness eventually overwhelmed his reservations. He found himself gravitating to your door sometime after midnight, footsteps soundless in the corridor as he slipped inside without preamble.

You never acknowledged his presence beyond a slight smile and shifting to make room for him on the small bed. Megumi would settle in behind you, molding his body to fit the slender curves of yours as you tugged the covers up over both of you. Inhaling the comforting amalgam of your scents, he would finally feel the vise grip of anxiety start to loosen its chokehold as you laced your fingers through his.

Within minutes, the cadence of your breathing descended into deep, even respiration - an anchor amidst the turbulence of Megumi's mind. He focused intently on matching that peaceful rhythm until the world gradually receded and slumber claimed him once more in its warm embrace.

The arrangement continued nightly, becoming as natural as breathing. You never pried or demanded anything from Megumi other than to allow you to provide this small shelter of serenity. And he took unconscionable solace in your unassuming care and discretion, even as it stoked an undercurrent of deeper longing that went unspoken.

Megumi's crush on you was a secret he guarded with the same intensity and vigilance as he did curses on the battlefield. He told himself it was merely an extension of the profound gratitude he felt for how you grounded him, kept him anchored to reality when his psyche threatened to drift into darker depths. But his heart knew better.

With each passing night Megumi spent wrapped in the cocoon of your arms, his feelings for you blossomed into something deeper and more complex than simple appreciation. He found himself studying you in quiet moments - the rhythmic fluttering of your eyelashes as you slept, the gentle swell of your breasts rising and falling, the wispy tendrils of hair escaping their bindings to frame your face.

In those hushed interludes where the rest of the world seemed to fade into insignificance, Megumi drank in every nuanced detail as if committing you to eternal memory. The way your brow would occasionally furrow while dreaming, or how your fingertips would twitch restlessly against his skin in an unconscious caress that set his pulse fluttering.

He memorized the soft little noises you made as you drifted through the cycles of slumber - the nearly inaudible hums and murmurs that rumbled like satin against his jawline when you instinctively nuzzled closer. Each one catalyzed an answering riptide through Megumi's consciousness, an electric thrum of awareness and thinly-veiled yearning that he didn't dare shed light upon.

Because to truly acknowledge the depths of his burgeoning affections would be to open a door to possibilities and vulnerabilities that terrified him in equal measure. What if you didn't feel the same? What if the tranquil sanctuary you'd created together shattered under the weight of his selfishness? The mere prospect of shattering this fragile equilibrium became increasingly more harrowing than any curse Megumi could envision.

So he remained a silent supplicant, content - or so he tried to convince himself - to bask in your radiance from a respectful distance while allowing the steady cadence of your existence to lull his demons. He told himself the secret thrill igniting low in his belly whenever your bodies instinctively intertwined was simply gratitude given corporeal form. That the occasional ghost of your breathfanning across his lips didn't catalyze endless agonizing fantasies about capturing that elusive exhalation with his own mouth in a scorching tandem.

Megumi became adept at compartmentalizing those unbidden yearnings, shunting them into airtight chambers to be unspooled and examinedin the solitary, sleepless hours before you rejoined him each evening. With clinical detachment, he would sketch out every hypothetical nuance should he actually carry through on giving physical form to his deepest cravings.

The way your eyes might widen in surprise before fluttering closed in acquiescence as his mouth claimed yours with lingering insistence. How it would feel to map every sloped and bowed plane of your soft curves, adoringly tracing the constellations of silvered scars and incandescent birthmarks that comprised the physical galaxies of your existence.

He imagined your incredulity giving way to the same yearning need which strained against his composure with each passing night spent laced together in willful obliviousness.The intimate echoes of pleasure and wonder he would eagerly consecrate upon your body with his lips, tongue, teeth—

And just as the delirious spiral of ideation attained true escape velocity from the bounds of propriety, Megumi would forcibly abort the mental exercise. He fashioned those fleeting indulgences into a singular razor's edge to test his willpower and resolve against - proof that he could still discern the boundaries of what was permissible to feel for someone who had become such an indispensible part of his life.

Because the truth was, the fear of irreparably damaging the precious dynamic you had both cultivated outweighed any ephemeral cravings borne from his hormones or sublimated psyche. Having you close, feeling the tranquil balm of your very presence, was powerful enough medicine that Megumi would happily sacrifice his own needs to maintain it indefinitely.

At least, that was what he continuously reassured himself of in those shadowed, liminal hours where one's defenses deteriorated and brutal honesty took on corporeal form.

The fear of your potential rejection, or worse - revulsion and withdrawal - haunted Megumi like a curse given sentient breath. He refused to be the one to risk upending the profound unspoken covenant you had both entered into by broaching those perilous waters of intimacy uninvited.

He would happily consign himself to being your eternal shadow self if that's what it took to keep experiencing those nightly respites where the world became reduced to the twin rhythms of your conjoined breathing. To exist in that warm, blissful refuge beyond expectation or want of anything further.

Until, eventually, the sinuous pull of temptation became too seductive to ignore any longer. Until the idea of not indulging those carnal curiosities burned hotter than any consequences they risked catalyzing. Until the all-consuming gravity between you both attained criticality and Megumi could no longer resist the possibility of you both rupturing into brilliant coalescence...

The tension built slowly, anonymously, over the countless nights you and Megumi continued your ritualistic communion. What had started as a simple quest for respite gradually deepened into something more primal, more erotically charged as the weeks and months slipped by in your endless cycle of slumber and wakefulness.

Perhaps it was the sheer physicality of your sleeping forms twining together in such unguarded vulnerability that catalyzed the undercurrent of awareness. The way Megumi's heightened senses seemed to blaze with renewed intensity whenever he inhaled the warm, intoxicating amalgam of your essences mingled on the sheets. How your fingers would occasionally trail idle, unconscious patterns over the taut contours of his abdomen, trailing dangerously close to where he needed you most.

Or maybe it stemmed from the unprecedented intimacy of witnessing one another at your most unguarded and rumpled - hair mussed and defenses lowered in that indeterminate state between dreaming and wakefulness. The thin veneers of propriety sloughed away until you existed as little more than twin points of radiant energy thrumming in sympathetic resonance.

Megumi couldn't pinpoint the precise genesis of when he started permitting his subconscious to indulge in more sensually-charged reveries while tucked against your pliant form. All he knew was the gradual awakening of a profound, smoldering need that made each successive separation from your warmth more achingly profound.

It started small at first - like catching himself studying the gentle swell of your cleavage rising incrementally with each inhale a beat too long. Or feeling a forbidden frisson of arousal whenever your backside would cant backwards into the cradle of his hips as you instinctively cuddled closer while sleeping.

Megumi found his palms growing slickened with unconscious desire at those titillating moments of contact, fingers twitching with the impulsive need to boldly map the elegant geography of your curves rather than simply appreciate them from a chaste distance. To consummate those indefinable cravings with searing, profane action before the last vestiges of his restraint withered away entirely.

He fantasized about robbing you of that peaceful, slumbering purity - envisioning scenarios where he lost control over that banked reservoir of lust and simply took you in a single, consumptive rush. His calloused palms cupping the weight of your breasts as he nuzzled open-mouthed against the graceful column of your throat, chasing each shivering inhale with lips and tongue until you succumbed to awakening in a spiral of bewildered pleasure.

Or picturing your lithe form arching bowstring-taut against his awakened bulk as he worked methodical paths down the tempting vee between your breasts, teeth grazing hardened nipples through thin cotton until you writhed feverishly against him. Megumi would stifle your incredulous whimpers and plaintive cries into the blackened hollows of his palms, swallowing each punched-out exhalation as he rutted his painfully stiffened cock against your inner thigh in mute supplication.

He knew every ridge, every striation of musculature comprising his own physique in exhaustive detail after years of rigorous training. Yet the prospect of intimately mapping those same minutiae across your untasted terrains literally stole his breath at times. To splay his palm over your lower abdomen and simply feel those powerful, feminine planes flutter beneath his touch as Megumi brought you to the brink...

But just as those delirious reveries risked spiraling out into openly obscene territory, Megumi would reign them in through sheer force of will. Harsh, panting breaths rapidly cooling the molten burn of lust simmering in his veins as he tamped it back into submission. He could no more give literal expression to those basest impulses than he could forfeit the solace your presence provided.

Anything beyond the fulcrum point of temptation represented a line which, once crossed, could never be uncrossed. You'd proven time and again the depth of loyalty and unconditional care comprising your bond. But that depth of trust and acceptance could so easily be severed should Megumi press his desires too insistently.

So he continued subsisting on hazy intimations and fevered imaginings while keeping his more prurient instincts solidly leashed. Savoring the sensuality of each whisper-light caress and breath-mingled proximity while outwardly maintaining his carefully modulated impassiveness. Permitting himself to indulge in those lascivious mental sojourns until the edge of release loomed...before sublimating everything back into restraint with a harsh indrawn breath.

The rigid alternating current between unspoken need and staunch self-denial formed the pulsing heart of the ritual you shared nightly. You remained the serene eye holding the tempests of Megumi's warring compulsions at carbonized bay. And he...he simply basked in the tempering balm of your presence while the embers of want smoldered in secret - flaring incandescently before being ruthlessly banked once more.

An intricate dance of torment and grace, spiraling indefinitely around one another while the thermonuclear potential for something cataclysmic swelled with each passing cycle. Until the day that escalating tension breached the limits of its containment and detonated in a searing, irrevocable rush.

The nightly ritual of entwining yourselves together became more intricate with each passing week. What had started as simple proximity gradually deepened into a choreographed embrace, limbs instinctively mirroring familiar handholds and points of seamless contact.

Megumi found himself unconsciously cataloging and savoring each minute variation, eagerly committing the details to memory like a lifeline anchoring him against the relentless tides of his insomnia. How you would slightly angle your body onto your side to accommodate the hard planes of his chest molding against your back. The specific cant of your hips that allowed his arm to drape possessively over your waist while still permitting unimpeded breathing.

Each successive joining attained an elevated courtship of calibration that fostered unprecedented intimacy. Like two galaxies engaged in an inexorable drift towards eventual coalescence, your sleeping existence warped and bent in perpetual accommodation of the other.

Some nights the restless thoughts careening through Megumi's psyche demanded an even more grounding proximity. Those were the occasions where he found himself cautiously resting his head atop the slender practicality of your sternum, jugular notched against the crown of his brow. Here, tucked into the cradle of your neck, he could literally feel the solidity of your pulse thrumming through his awareness - a primeval mantra of vitality wresting equilibrium from his frenzied mind.

On those nights, you always seemed to sense Megumi's deeper unrest without any prompting or vocal admission required. You would instinctively burrow your fingers into the thicket of his tousled hair, blunted nails scoring heated trails across his scalp in soothing, repetitive strokes that cauterized the hairline fractures in his self-restraint.

Megumi remembers with vivid intensity the first time you combed your touch through his dishevelment that way - the liquid shock of sensation cauterizing every other intrusive external stimulus until only the molten rapture of your caress resonated. He fought not to stiffen with startled arousal, reminded himself to regulate each breath into an even, practiced cadence as your fingertips continued kneading shivery nirvana against his sensitized cranium.

From that point on, the act became like an invocation murmured between you in a language far older than spoken tongues. You cradled him to your heart's steady timekeeping, lulled his mind's frantic metronome into matching harmony through the steadying conduits of your tenderness. And Megumi absorbed the ritual like one of the world's most profound sacraments - folding himself into the sensual harbinger of your care until the disquieting echoes whittling away at his sanity peeled back into irrelevance.

Of course, the intoxicating pleasure of those protracted instances of physical intimacy was not without its tolls as well. Megumi spent countless bouts wrestling his painfully hardened cock back into submission, terrified you would somehow notice the evidence of his lascivious response to your ministrations. He fantasized about angling his hips in pointed invitation, grinding the formidable ridge of his desire against the plush give of your ass until the tantalizing friction robbed all capacity for forethought.

But somehow - through sheer force of will and practice - he always steadied himself before breaching that line of propriety entirely. Allowed the exquisitely tortuous yearning to crest and plateau before carefully redirecting the bonfire of his lust into more neutral, innocuous channels once again. Still, the agonized throbbing of his cock during those lapses in control served yet another agonizing reminder of how precarious his restraint remained where you were involved.

Then there were other nights where the metaphysical gravity between you intensified to a nigh-insupportable degree. Occasions where the low ebb of tension shading toward outright erotic charge became too much to simply bear in polite, silent observation. Megumi would find you seeking solace in the solid bracket of his arms wound around your waist from behind instead - your smaller form bracketed into his sculpted embrace with your back sealed flush to his chest.

Here, intimacy rankled in subcutaneous tactilities and the somatic topographies of skin all but extinguishing its own illumination. The physicality of your closeness overwhelming every dulled sense until each shallow inhalation fluttered through Megumi with gut-punched intensity. On these smoldering occasions, he could literally feel the downy caress of your exhales pebbling the bare skin of his forearms, teased the rarefied definition of every flexed musculature sheath bracketing your form.

He frequently surrendered to the delirium of nuzzling into the fragrant tumult of your hair during those times, drugging himself further on the precious methedrine of your proximity. Inhaled in ragged drafts the musky underlays of your exertions that day mingling in sublimated ritual with the powdered-silk bouquets of soap and shampoo until the composite scent became more intoxicant than oxygen itself.

Unconsciously, reflexively, his touch would grow more covetous - fingertips trailing intricate emblems against the exposed expanses of your abdomen in strange forgotten glyphics. Heated brands of delirious possession emblazoned like scripture against the divine of your body's topography as silent offering. Molten lust tamped down to smolder through ingrained ritual until only the indelible physicality of shared consecration remained between your inosculating forms.

In those fevered raptures of near-dissolution, Megumi orbited nearer to capitulating before the magnetizing gravities arrayed against what little restraint remained binding the sanctities of your bond together. It became increasingly harder to weigh the cosmic indifference of his need against the fearsome recompense that awaited any expression more literal than molten dreams and carnal hallucinations left unenacted.

You never called overt attention to the escalating delirium, never gave voice or acknowledgment to the unraveling stair-step of intimacies unfolding between you with each passing union. You simply absorbed the degrees of erotic intensification catalyzing in his embrace with the same serene grace and mindful presence that had allowed the ritual to precipitate in the first place.

An ouroboric trine of Megumi giving in to the pull of temptation by slow increments, only to reign himself in before the full dissolution of your communion - with you radiating patient understanding all the while.

Until the fateful night when the fragile membranes separating fantasy from reality ruptured entirely under the relentless onslaught of those gravitational accelerations. And neither one of you could profess any clarity on who crossed the event horizon first to send your orbits careening into the devastatingly inevitable.

The harmonic symmetry of your nightly ritual began taking on newer, increasingly charged dimensions as the weeks slipped past. Megumi struggled to pinpoint when precisely the lines between chaste intimacy and burgeoning eroticism had started to blur, but he found himself gravitating towards more indulgent variations of your standard embrace.

Certain nights, when the frayed edges of his self-restraint rayoned to diaphanous threads, Megumi allowed himself to settle against you in a new configuration entirely. Rather than wedging his head into the immaculate cradle of your neck and shoulder, he would burrow deeper - descending until the fevered crown of his brow came to rest in the plush valley between the gentle swell of your breasts.

Here, cradled against the supreme sacristy of your body's undulating topography, Megumi could absorb the vital thrum of your heartbeat through the heated stratum of your skin. The rhythm became an intravenous infusion mainlined straight into his faltering sanities, syncing the frantic piston-stokes of his mindfire back towards equilibrium.

On those nights, the two of you seemed to meld into seamless isotropy, bodies twining as one through elemental planes of gravity's maddening allure. Megumi's arms would wind inescapably around your waist, fingers instinctively spanning the narrow concavities between ridges of musculature before rooting against the flared terrain of your hip bones. Anchors thrumming mute benediction upon quivering expanses of flesh so achingly welcoming he thought he might disintegrate into the static charge between you.

There, suspended in what felt like a continuous drift across the eventuality of an intergalactic collision, Megumi allowed himself to telescope further into those fraught reveries silhouetting your sublimated desires. Imagination indulging the lascivious curiosities of devoting open-mouthed penance to those beckoning curves rising and falling in incandescent offering before his gaze. To splay prodigious fingers across the sloped flanks and reverently pepper the soft, vulnerable underswell with the calibrated intensity of his attentions until you arched in supplication to an even more consumptive benediction.

The decision to stay late one evening, when a badly injured student arrived on the cusp of hemorrhaging out, nearly unraveled Megumi's already tenuous grasp on reality.

You hadn't even spared him a backwards glance as you rushed to meet the emergency, instantly sublimating into a seamless triage protocol borne from years of battle-contested experience. Though more accustomed to demons as your primaries, bodies remained bodies - frail geysers of anatomy ruptured by violence no matter the catalyst.

Megumi drifted into the treatment bay behind you sightlessly, an errant moon trailing in your brilliance's wake. His presence registering only as an afterthought, a peripheral white-noise of observation as you went about prepping tools and sterilizing surfaces with economical grace. Only when you paused in mercurial deferential to bark clipped instructions did your gazes intersect momentarily - sending fresh riptides of heated consternation slaloming through his marrow.

He felt unmoored by your crisp, no-nonsense decorum in such surroundings. This whetted, highly-attuned aspect of your persona catching him off-guard in a way that transmuted the erotic undertones scaffolding your nightly intimacies into something more visceral and inflammatory.

So when you didn't dismiss him outright after the fact, Megumi remained transfixed on the periphery of the infirmary. A silent supplicant greedily trailing every deft juncture of your ministrations as you worked to isolate, debride, then definitively seal each sucking anatomical rupture. The sight catalyzed impressions of you peeling back layers like veiny petals, exposing rich carnal terrains of divine primality to his heated, overeager gaze.

At some point, Megumi had drifted closer until he stood a looming sentry presence directly behind you. Unwittingly or not, he radiated an indelible body heat that wreathed your shoulders in its feverish exhalations while you steadily worked. Yet if his covetous proximity registered any disquiet or distraction, you betrayed no evidence of such - your practitioner's aplomb never flagging even as Megumi boldly encroached upon your sphere of regard.

When at last the worst trauma had been staunched and dressed in immaculate, woven geometry, you let out a lengthy, tremulous exhalation that unleashed its own micro-shock wave of spent tension. Megumi was close enough that the resonant echoes of your breath feathered against his parted lips, igniting fresh smouldering in the banked, affective synapses sheathing his corporeal awareness.

Before higher reasoning or conscious thought could intervene, Megumi's hands had already settled in bold supplication upon the sweeping inclines of your hips. His thumbs instinctively spanned the concave valleys radiating from your sacrum, kneading small hieroglyphs of worship against the thin muslin barriers draping your skin as you swayed minutely back against his anchoring solidity.

Under the recycled ambience of the treatment wing, you slowly craned your head until the elegant willow-column of your throat bisected the charged ley lines separating your bodies. Megumi's gaze became immediately transfixed by the graceful relief of your jugular pulsing beneath tanned satin expanses - so deliciously bare and vulnerable that the yearning to mouth heated benediction against its thrumming cadence transmuted into pure visceral static shorting through his nervous relays.

When at last the vertigo of your shared proximity located a single tremulous point of intersection, your eyes blazed forth from beneath heavy-lidded admissions of naked need. In them, Megumi witnessed perfect reflections of his own answered compulsions, blurring thermal distortions of past reservations into gauzy irrelevance, catalyzing one final abeyance before conjoined surrender -

The intimacy between you and Megumi escalated rapidly in the nights that followed. What had started as simply holding each other for comfort was quickly evolving into something more charged with unspoken desire.

One night, Megumi clung to you desperately, the weight of the day's stresses bearing down on him. He pulled your body flush against his, hands roaming over every curve as if mapping out sacred territory. You could sense the franticness thrumming through him and tried to provide soothing caresses in response.

But your gentle touches seemed to inflame Megumi's need even further. He looked at you with an intense, hungry gaze, as if seeing you for the first time. When you met his stare with calm acceptance, any restraint still holding him back collapsed entirely.

In a sudden flurry of movement, Megumi rolled until his weight was pressed against you. He wedged his hips between your parted thighs as you arched up instinctively. Without hesitation, Megumi tugged aside your top and latched his mouth over your exposed nipple.

The feeling of his lips on your skin was electric. Megumi licked and sucked feverishly, savoring your softness and taste like a man starved. You cried out at the overwhelming sensations, back bowing even as your fingers threaded desperately through his hair to hold him close.

It was as if a dam had burst within Megumi after holding back for so long. He lavished open-mouthed devotion across every inch of newly uncovered skin. Your gasps and whimpers only spurred him onwards in worshipping your body.

You matched his ardor, nails raking down his back as you pulled him impossibly closer. The two of you moved with frantic need, exchanging gasps and whispered endearments. Rational thought ceased to exist, overwhelmed by the roaring hunger to finally culminate the intimacy that had been building relentlessly.

Every boundary, every tantalizing hint of temptation leading up to this moment disintegrated under the searing reality. You and Megumi were left teetering on the brink of something profound and life-altering. To cross that line was to tumble into the abyss together, scorched by the annihilating ecstasy of at last giving in completely to your deepest desires.

In the aftermath of that pivotal encounter, the dynamic between you and Megumi was irrevocably altered. What had once been a chaste, if intimate routine of shared comfort, was now electrified by the undercurrent of bared desire.

Each night when Megumi slipped into your room, the air felt thick with heated tension and unspoken hunger. You would pull him into your arms as always, molding your bodies together in that sacred muscle-memory embrace. But now, there was always that loaded pause where you both hung suspended - breath bated, skin hyper-aware as you awaited the first catalyzing spark.

Sometimes it was the slightest accidental brush of Megumi's fingertips skimming along the sensitive undersides of your arms that ignited the conflagration. Other nights, it would be you unconsciously arching into the solid wall of his chest, beckoning hips angling in mute provocation. But inevitably, one simple point of friction would unlatch the fragile tether still constraining you both.

And then Megumi would descend upon you with desperation befitting a man dying of thirst. His mouth would latch over your nipple with a heated suction that robbed the air from your lungs in a sharp gasp. Teeth grazed the pebbled peak with exquisite delicacy even as his tongue laved broad, revering strokes across the tender areola.

You trembled helplessly under the lavish attention, back arching on instinct as waves of molten pleasure radiated outwards from that scorching nexus. Megumi seemed utterly transfixed, working your breast with an almost spiritual devotion - alternating between feather-light flicks and deep, hungry pulls that threatened to unravel you entirely.

Each desperate whimper or broken moan only spurred him on further. His free hand would knead and tug at your other breast, nimble fingers rolling and plucking at the stiff peak until you squirmed deliriously. The rough pads of his palm abraded your silk-soft skin with delicious friction in stark contrast to the velvet heat of his mouth's reverence.

Megumi chased every quivering rise and fall of your chest, lavishing open-mouthed worship across the sloped swells until your every exhale emerged as a ragged, punched-out keen. He was inexorable in his devotion - laving, sucking, even nipping at your puckered areola until that singular point of contact became the entire axis of your existence.

You quickly grew addicted to the exquisite agonies of having him worship your body so thoroughly. The harsh rasp of Megumi's breathing overwhelming your senses as he discarded any remaining barriers between you. The searing brand of his palms mapping every plane and curve as if frantically committing you to permanent memory through tactile consecration alone.

On those nights, your pussy throbbed with relentless emptiness, weeping silent pleas against Megumi's corded abdomen as he ground his weight into you. You lost entire pressures of coherency, retreating into the madness of fingernails scoring pleasured firesongs down his flexing musculature as lightning dances of sensation arced between nerve clusters.

But no matter how deliriously you offered yourself in the shuddering apotheosis of his undoing, Megumi would inevitably regain control before claiming that final, most profound capitulation. He seemed to carry you both to the very brink of annihilating rapture before caging his own explosive impulses once more.

Only once your breasts glistened with the obscene sheen of his lingering efforts would Megumi eventually show mercy. Even then, he stubbornly resisted pulling away entirely, instead lavishing languid, consoling laps of his tongue against your nipple whenever the stimulation verged into overwhelming intensity anew. Only then would he descend, pressing his length against your side while burying his face into the damp, perfumed haven at your breast.

Megumi's grip would anchor around you with crushing finality while he fought to regain his tenuous grasp on composure once more. You could feel his cock throbbing through the layers separating you, sense the molten restraint burning through him as he trembled on the very precipice of violent culmination.

But he held himself back from that plunge with grim determination. And you paradoxically admired and ached for him in equal measure - as if some essential core of Megumi's being would utterly unravel should he ever relinquish those final threads of control entirely.

So you gathered what tattered strands of sensibility remained, gentling him through the shuddering aftershocks with languid caresses until his breathing evened out once more. Until the rigid planes of muscle gradually unwound into the boneless repose of slumber as Megumi slipped into the blessed refuge of unconsciousness, face nestled against your chest and cocooned in your warmth just as before.

Only this time, the hollows carved from nightly denial scored matching valences across both your souls in the aftermath. Reminders of how perilously, combustibly close you had come to breaching that ultimate horizon together before retreating once more. Stoking that banked wildfire anew with each passing cycle of slumber and wakefulness to feed its insatiable, all-consuming hunger.

The night draped the dormitory in hushed stillness, but sleep remained an elusive specter for Megumi. He tossed and turned, sheets tangling around his restless form as thoughts whirled incessantly. No matter how he tried to calm his racing mind, an inexorable restlessness took root.

Until finally, he could no longer ignore the magnetic pull drawing him from his solitary bed. Muscles coiled taut, Megumi rose and padded down the hall like a prowling panther. Each silent stride carried him inexorably closer to the one presence that could dull his frayed edges into blissful quiescence.

He didn't pause outside your door, didn't announce his arrival. Merely slipped into your room like a wraith, instincts guiding him through the familiar motions. You were already there in the rumpled bed, turned towards the door in seeming expectation of his arrival.

Megumi's breath stalled in his throat at the sight of you bathed in the moon's caress. He drank in the tousled spill of your hair, the perfect bow of your lips slightly parted in unconscious invitation. The naked vulnerability in your expression as you waited for him to join you lanced straight through to Megumi's guarded core.

He crossed the room in a few economical strides, body angling towards yours like branches entreating the sun's warmth. You didn't startle when the mattress dipped to accept his weight, simply made space amid the rumpled bedding for him to settle against you.

Your backs melded together in the practised ritual, his arm curved possessively around your waist as if to anchor himself. To tether his unquiet spirit to the only point of equilibrium.

Yet this time, Megumi's control stretched thinner than gossamer. He could no more ignore the fevered thrum of your pulses, the tantalizing warmth of your body cradled against his own. Scalding tendrils of yearning unfurled through his entrails as your familiar scent - crisp citrus and earthen musk - surrounded him in its intoxicating haze.

Megumi's fingers mapped the dip of your waist in a scorching caress, his calloused pads tracing the silken terrain as if committing it to memory. A tremor lanced through you at the molten intensity of his touch, your back arching infinitesimally into his solid frame.

He felt the nearly imperceptible motion like a lightning strike, every nerve ending suddenly hyper-aware of your proximity. Of the whisper-soft sounds of your breathing, the gentle cadence thrumming against his own ribs. The fragrant warmth of your hair fanning across the pillowcase, beckoning him closer into its silken snare.

Reason hazed into distant white noise, subsumed by the primal riptide pulling them into deeper, uncharted waters. Megumi's arm contracted around your waist with inevitable gravity, eliminating what little space remained between your entangled forms. His caged exhale gusted hotly against the nape of your neck, stirring the fine baby hairs there.

You tensed for a charged beat, attuned to the smoldering simmer of intent that Megumi could no longer leash. Then, almost imperceptibly, you melted back into the unyielding plains of his chest in wordless capitulation. An invitation and challenge housed in that simple motion.

He groaned out a ragged exhale, the last tattered vestiges of restraint unraveling. Megumi's palm cradled the juncture of your shoulder, urging you to roll onto your back as he followed like the inexorable path of smoke towards an inferno. Until his searing gaze bored into your own, igniting answering embers that danced across your half-parted lips.

In that electrifying stillness, the world compressed to a single point of gravity enclosed between your bodies. Then Megumi's mouth claimed yours with years of banked, seething hunger finally breaking free in a firestorm of fevered intensity...

Megumi's mouth slanted hungrily over yours, initial restraint giving way to unbridled fervor. Years of simmering tension, of aborted glances and near misses, combusted in that heated collision. His calloused palm cradled the arch of your nape as your fingers fisted in the fabric of his sleep shirt, anchoring him firmly against you.

You exchanged scorching kisses with ardent enthusiasm, bodies straining ever closer until not even a whisper of space remained between them. Your curves melded seamlessly with the unyielding planes of Megumi's torso, seeking that blissful union you'd both sublimated for too long.

When the primal need for oxygen finally overwhelmed the compulsive joining of your mouths, you broke apart with a ragged inhalation. Shared breaths mingled in the scant space, gazes locked in an electrifying exchange of unguarded yearning. Then Megumi dipped his head again, trailing a molten path of kisses along the swell of your jaw and throat.

A tremulous sigh tumbled from your parted lips as you instinctively arched into his smoldering caresses. You could feel the delicious rake of his teeth grazing your pulse point before he soothed it with an openmouthed kiss that seared like a brand. Your fingers combed through the silken strands at his nape, nails scraping lightly to elicit a full-bodied shudder against you.

Rational thought frayed and disintegrated like so much smoke into this blissful oblivion of tangled limbs and questing hands. There was only the unhurried rediscovery of sacred territories and the intoxicating thrum of Megumi's ardor reverberating through your bones.

You luxuriated in the exquisite agony of his mouth worshipping your bare skin. His lips and tongue and teeth traversed the graceful curve of your throat, leaving behind a searing map of claim. Then they skimmed across the slope of your collarbones, his breath a hot gust against your fevered flesh.

He pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before descending. Megumi trailed a blistering path along the valley between your breasts, savoring every twitch and gasp of pleasure elicited. Finally, his lips latched onto a peaked nipple, sucking and nipping and laving until the molten tension pooling in your abdomen tightened unbearably.

You cried out softly, a broken sob of desire. Your nails raked across his broad shoulders, seeking purchase. His answering groan was nearly feral, reverberating through you as he tugged at the stiffened peak with his teeth.

Your spine arched off the bed, hips bucking against his thigh that had wedged between yours. A whimper spilled from your parted lips as Megumi continued lavishing attention upon your breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip in teasing strokes. His hand palmed the other, kneading and pinching and tugging until the twin sensations became a dizzying feedback loop.

Every touch sent shocks of pure pleasure coursing through you, igniting sparks along nerve endings and setting your blood alight. You writhed against Megumi's muscular frame, seeking more, more, more. He answered your unspoken plea with a deep groan, his arousal hard and heavy against your hip.

The sound of his desire echoed in your core, the slickness between your thighs growing unbearable. Megumi was relentless in his ministrations, as if determined to worship every inch of your exposed skin. His tongue and teeth left a scorching path across the delicate swell of your breast, his hands trailing a fiery trail across the quivering plains of your abdomen.

The molten friction of his palms mapping the sloped concavities where hip met thigh, then the supple give of your ass, made you delirious with desire. Every part of you was alight with need, the coil of tension within you tightening beyond bearing. You writhed desperately beneath Megumi, the air filling with a symphony of broken moans and breathless pleas.

Then his fingers skimmed along the apex of your thighs, and the world went white. You were so wet, so ready, that the first touch sent a lightning bolt of pleasure arcing through you. Megumi's eyes blazed into yours as he stroked your aching folds, the heat of his gaze searing you more than his touch.

The slick glide of his fingertips against your swollen clit was exquisite, the pressure exactly what you needed. Megumi seemed to sense your desire, circling and rubbing the bundle of nerves until you were practically writhing beneath him. Your hips bucked up to meet his hand, thighs trembling and voice breaking.

With his free hand, he pinned you down to the mattress, fingers gripping your hip with bruising intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, his dark irises blown wide with lust. He looked at you as if you were a goddess to be worshiped, his expression filled with awe and desire.

Your climax crashed over you in a devastating wave, the pressure within you cresting beyond containment. A sob tore from your lips as the sensations overwhelmed you, the muscles of your abdomen spasming and your thighs clamping together around his hand.

Megumi continued stroking you, prolonging the ecstasy, until you were a quivering mess. Your whole body was alight with sensation, aftershocks of pleasure radiating through you with each ragged breath. You felt utterly boneless, sated beyond imagining.

Yet beneath that languid satiety, a renewed undercurrent of hunger simmered. The sight of Megumi's fingers, slick and glistening, only fueled the need within you. You watched through heavily-lidded eyes as he brought them to his lips, licking them clean. The sight was indescribably erotic, the knowledge that it was your taste on his tongue making you ache for more.

With a low growl, Megumi descended once more, capturing your mouth in a blistering kiss. His tongue slid against yours, the tang of your arousal filling your senses. Your arms wound around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. The press of his bare chest against yours sent a fresh surge of want coursing through you, your desire already mounting anew.

Megumi kissed you hungrily, as if he were a man starved. His hands roamed restlessly across your body, leaving a trail of searing heat in their wake. Your hips rolled up to meet his, the hard line of his arousal pressing against your slick core.

The friction was delicious, the need within you coiling tighter with each passing second. You were aching for him, desperate for more. With a muffled moan, you tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, urging them down.

Megumi pulled back just enough to shed the rest of his clothing, baring himself completely to you. His cock jutted proudly between his muscled thighs, the tip glistening with precum. Your eyes widened at the sight, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Megumi's gaze was dark with desire, his expression a heady combination of longing and restraint. He loomed over you, his body thrumming with barely leashed power.

You felt a frisson of anticipation as he settled between your parted thighs, the thick heat of his arousal pressing against your entrance.

Then, with a guttural groan, he sank into you. The stretch and pressure were almost overwhelming, but the delicious friction quickly overrode any discomfort. Megumi moved with slow, steady thrusts, his hips grinding against yours in a sinuous rhythm.

You clutched at his back, fingers digging into the corded muscles. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer. The room filled with the sound of your panting breaths and the slap of skin against skin.

The molten coil within you tightened, winding tighter and tighter. Megumi's pace increased, his thrusts growing more erratic. His breath was hot against your ear, his groans echoing in your skull. You could feel the tension within him mounting, his movements becoming more frantic.

And then, with a final, desperate thrust, he drove you both over the edge. Your climax shattered through you, wave after wave of pleasure rippling through your core. Megumi followed suit, his cock pulsing inside you as he shuddered above you.

In the blissful aftermath, you and Megumi remained entwined as one - a tangle of flushed limbs and shared breaths that defied any attempt at separation. Though your bodies had been driven to sublime extremes, there was no sense of depletion, only a profound fullness expanding within your joined spirits.

You trembled in soulful rapture, gasps intermingling with Megumi's own ragged exhales as the world gradually recomposed itself around you. Every nerve ending still burned with the rapturous afterglow, an exalted benediction lapping against the most primordial hollows of your being.

In that sacrosanct cocoon you had spun together through devoted passion, the fragile shells of individuality had fallen away to reveal the scintillant essence beneath. You didn't just feel sated, but spiritually transmuted - two souls having shed their chrysalides to be reborn as something greater through sacred rites of unity.

Boneless and weightless, you could only bask in the incandescent glow of that metamorphosis. For in that endless moment spanning innumerable lifetimes and worlds, you had glimpsed the divine truth at the heart of humanity's highest calling - to love, and be loved completely in return.

[nikachansstuff]

Imagine five hundred years of longing

Five hundred years of wanting. 182.500 days of needing from afar. Respecting boundaries, never taking action. The small gestures were all rejected.

The endless hesitation. The eternal control and vigilance.

Your hand, those deeply scarred hands, dare to reach her for one second. One impulsive moment, and the rejection was so sharp it burned. Burned you like your brothers did all those years ago.

So you keep yourself in the shadows, only watching the Truth keeper you swear will be your forever love. The one the Cauldron promised.

Five hundred years.

And then, sunshine.

It starts with just a flash of light, similar to when you forget that small glimpse in the curtains and it stings your eyes in the morning.

She asks you about flying. You tell her about how the wind sings.

The days passes, the sun is not always shining bright. But your hands, those deeply scarred hands, are enveloped by soft skin. And you swear you heard as she whispered beautiful. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Not your past lovers, not even Truth keeper.

Your hands burn again, but for a different reason this time.

She grieves and stare at the void. Those were the cloudy days, so you take her to the gardens. She also enjoys the silence, like yourself. But with her presence, the quiet is no longer cold. She is light, and she is warm.

In those tempestuous times of war, the enemy dares take that sunshine away. Suddenly living another five hundred years doesn’t seem as important. You would risk it all in getting her back. Because without this new found hope inhabiting the globe, what is the point?

Still chained, she kissed you in the open, in a display of gratitude. That warm light again; hitting your senses.

She saves the world armed with a part of yourself. And with a smile that lights up everything in the room, she expresses the wish of building new gardens. To give the world life and hope.

Five hundred years of restlessness are not heavy anymore. Because for once, you’re not alone.

She sees you. From your wings, your traumatized hands to your chronic headaches and silent brooding.

She sees you, religiously. And that’s when you first question…

What if the Cauldron was wrong?

Because you’re touching her and it feels right. In the gardens, by the kitchen. Brush of fingers, longing glances.

In your endless imortal time, that primal need is unheard of. Seasons change, and it still pulses there. You had changed houses, but the sleepless nights followed you everywhere.

You’re not supposed to be craving someone promised to another.

So you risk it again. In the longest night, you offer her what you have, she gives you permission to take it. In your hands, those deeply scarred hands. The promise of unrestrained touch nearly brings you to your knees.

But once again, fate fails you.

You’re interrupted. Initially by your brother, but it’s the High Lord speaking. Ordering you to stay away. To go into the shadows again, until you’re nothing, nothing at all.

You miss sunshine. Everyday.

W hat if the Cauldron was wrong?

[andreafmn]

Truth | Embry Call

Word Count: 5.4K Paring: Embry Call x Female!Reader Requested: Yes [@come-on-darling-honey | @treatiseofselena | @pinkdragonfandream-blog] Story Description: Embry and (Y/N) getting together was inevitable, and it seemed that the universe concurred. A/N: The requests didn't have any details so I grouped them together (hope that's okay.) I've never gravitated toward Embry so at first I had no idea what or how to write this.But I hope I did him justice with this fluffy friend-to-lovers. Now, I will definitely post more about him because I fell in love with my version of him 🤭🤭 Also, I'm trying to organize myself and my writing to upload more consistently, but chronic illnesses, family, and life always get in the way. Thank you to all of you who have bear with me for so long 🤍🤍 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Truth | Embry Call Oneshot

For the longest time, it had always been Jake, Quil, Embry, and (Y/N). The four of them had been friends since their childhood and had quickly become inseparable. If one was in sight, the probability that the other three were close behind was high. The group was simply thick as thieves. 

But there were two in particular that grew closer than the others. 

(Y/N) and Embry seemed to gravitate toward each other. Even when the four friends were together, the duo would be standing side-by-side. They understood each other in a way that Jake and Quil did not. Even without words, they could speak a language that no one else could understand. 

“You guys should just get together already,” Jacob had teased one day. “I mean, we all know it’s gonna happen sooner or later. Any day now you’ll tell us you’re a couple.”

“Oh please, Jake,” Quil laughed. “These two would be single their whole lives before they admit they like each other.” 

(Y/N) had thrown pieces of popcorn at them, chuckling dryly at their statements. “We’re just friends, guys,” she retorted. “With that logic, you and Quil should get together too.” 

“It’s just a joke, (Y/N). There’s no need to get so pissed.” 

“I’m not,” she quickly defended. “It’s just annoying that you guys bother us so much about it.” 

At that moment, Embry walked into the living room. He was quiet, as always, but vigilant. His eyes fell quickly onto (Y/N)’s. He could tell in an instant that something —more like someone— had made her feel embarrassed. 

“Guys, leave her alone already,” he quickly defended. “Can we not go one night without you guys bothering her?” 

“You don’t even know what happened!” Jake whined. “You always take her side.” 

“Well, 99% of the time you guys did actually do something to her,” Embry responded. “And I would bet everything I have that it’s not a 1% kind of occasion.” 

Quick and Jake slouched into the sofa, crossing their arms over their chests in defeat. Even though they were all similar in age, there was a sense of maturity in Embry that was unparalleled. At the end of the day, he was the voice of reason within the group. 

“There we go again. Her knight in shining armor,” Jake grumbled. “And they say they don’t have a thing for each other.” 

After the movies were done, Quil had long gone, and Jake mumbled something about going to bed, Embry offered to walk (Y/N) home. It was something he had accustomed to doing but it still made her stomach do a turn on itself. 

“So, what were those idiots talking about?” 

“The usual,” she sighed. Her hand was inches away from his. A simple stumble and she could have intertwined them. “How one day you and I will become a couple because of how well we get on.” 

“Oh,” he said coyly. 

“I know I should be used to it by now, but it can get pretty annoying, pretty fast.” 

Embry’s heart started to race as he listened to her words. He knew just how infuriating their friends could be, especially when it came to bothering people. But it only upset him because he did like her. 

At some point in time, his best friend had turned into the girl that he loved. She had become the protagonist of all of his fantasies, the reason for having a smile on his face, what he looked forward to every day. Somehow, she had become his center.  

“Why do you find it annoying?” Embry managed to croak out, suddenly finding his hands more interesting than the road ahead. “Like would it be that terrible?” 

“No,” she answered quickly. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was repulsed by him. Because all she wanted was him. 

Much like Embry, she didn’t know when that shift had happened. He was her best friend, her closest confidant, the only person that knew her better than she knew herself. But somewhere along the line, her heart would flutter at his nearness, a smile painted on her face at the mention of his name, her eyes trailed to his in every room they were in. 

“I don’t, uh. I don’t think it would be terrible,” she spoke meekly. “Do you?”

They stopped in their tracks, finally facing each other. 

“I could never find being with you terrible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. With a surge of bravery, his hand lifted to her face, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “It would honestly be a dream come true.” 

(Y/N) gasped quietly at the sudden touch. Her breath hitched in her throat and her hand flew to grasp at his forearm. “Embry, w-what… what’re you saying?” 

“I like you, (Y/N), and I have for a long time,” he told her. His brown eyes stared intensely into hers, looking for any sign that he was losing her. “I’m not sure when it happened but one day you slipped into my head and you have not left it since. That’s why it doesn’t bother me. Because deep down I’ve always hoped that day would come.” 

“Embry, I…” She stammered searching for her words, but nothing came out. 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he said sadly. “But I had to tell you already. It’s been eating me up inside for a long time and I had to confess before it consumed me completely.”

“No, Embry, I do,” she choked on her words, feeling the knot in her throat tightening as she spoke. Even if he was saying exactly what she had wanted to hear, emotions overwhelmed her. “God, I like you too. For a while now. I just never had the courage to say anything because I didn’t want to lose your friendship. You mean a lot to me.” 

“So we’ve been tip-toeing around each other for no reason then?” Embry laughed. “Are we seriously that oblivious to feelings?” 

“It appears so,” she responded with a chuckle. “What does this mean for us, Em? Where do we go from here?” 

“Well, first, I was thinking I could kiss you,” he smiled. “Can I?”

“I would die if you didn’t.” 

His hands cradled her face softly, his thumbs caressing over the apex of her cheekbones. He nuzzled his nose against hers, teasing her lips with his. He ghosted over the pink of her skin, wishing to the gods that he wasn’t in another one of his dreams. 

When he finally gave in, his lips crashed into hers and he could swear he felt the earth around him stop. There was no gravity, no air, no cold or warmth, it was simply him and (Y/N), and that was all that existed on Earth. 

“What’re we gonna tell the guys?” (Y/N) said as soon as they parted for air. “They’ll never let us live this down. And, honestly, I don’t think I could stand their pestering once they know they were right.” 

“We don’t have to tell them,” he responded, intertwining his hand with hers comfortingly as they continued their walk to her home. “We can have this just for ourselves for the time being. It will be our little secret.” 

“As much as I would love to shout it from the rooftops,” she smiled brightly. “But I like this too. Having something that is just for us. Something they can’t ruin.” 

“That does sound great, actually.” 

“Good. Because I don’t want anyone to ruin this. Especially not those two.” 

And for a couple of months, it was perfect. To their friends, it was business as usual. They were as friendly as ever, always by each other’s side, and taking Quil and Jake’s teasing with a grain of salt. No one could have known just how true their jokes had become. 

They got around with stolen glances, hidden corners, and nights. And how they loved their nights. They would spend hours curled up in each other’s arms after Embry would sneak into her room. They would talk about nothing and everything, they would sleep, and they would kiss. 

It was an easy routine to follow and they fell into it quickly and perfectly. In the morning, they were the best of friends. At night, they were falling more and more in love. 

At least, that’s what (Y/N) had thought.

She had fallen for him. Deeply. He meant everything to her and she thought the feeling was mutual. But when the first week of the second semester of their junior year came to a start and Embry had disappeared, she knew something was wrong. 

Not only had he missed school, but he also had completely iced out Jake, Quil, and, most importantly, (Y/N). He wouldn’t answer her calls, he stopped coming over, and he was nowhere to be found. Even his mother had told her that he wasn’t acting like himself and she was very surprised at his behavior. 

What none of them knew —what she didn’t know— was that Embry was going through the most surreal of transformations. He wanted to tell his friends, he wanted to tell her everything. 

Yet, bringing them into a world where the stories the elders told around the bonfire were real was something he could not do. Even if it meant that they never talked again, he would make sure to keep them safe from the dangers they did not know were real. 

He did everything he could to avoid (Y/N) specifically. He would never say it, or even think it now, but he was scared he’d do to her what Sam had accidentally done to Emily. Love wouldn’t protect her from what he was and what he could do to her. Avoiding her hurt, but not as much as it would if he did anything to her. 

But that Friday, after he had missed a whole week of school and he’d expertly avoided his group of friends for the past four days, everything had changed. As Embry walked the halls, careful not to run into any of his three friends, his eyes caught hers. 

That’s when it happened. The moment that changed his entire world. It hadn’t been meeting his friends, it hadn’t been his first kiss with (Y/N), and it hadn’t been his first phase as a shapeshifter. It was the universe telling him that it was her, and it would always be her. 

And it scared him. 

As she tried to move through the sea of students to get to him, all he could do was run away. Though deep down he hoped it was her once he knew what imprinting was, his fears of repeating history had grown. 

“Embry!” He heard her call out. “ Embry, wait!” 

But he was already out the doors and running to the only place he could think of. His brain was going a million miles a minute and his heart was tugging at his chest, begging to be with the piece that was missing from it. 

He opened the door to the small house, hoping anyone was inside. His breathing was staggered and his chest was hammering. He was panicking and had no idea how to make it stop. 

“Woah, Embry,” Sam called out. “I’m gonna need you to calm down, okay? You’ve gotta breathe, Call. Breathe.” 

“She’s… and I didn’t… I don’t,” he tried to speak. 

“Slow down, Embry.” 

“I can’t… I can’t do this to her,” the boy managed to croak out. “Not her.” 

“Is this about you imprinting today?”

“How did you…?” 

“Mind link, Embry,” the alpha reminded him. “I know everything that happens to you. Who is she?”

Embry sighed deeply, taking a seat at the dining table. “She’s my best friend,” he said. “And these past few months she became so much more.”

“She’s your girlfriend then?” 

“Well, we never labeled it as much,” he responded. “But kind of. Yeah.”

“Then why are you so worried? This is the best-case scenario.” 

“I don’t want to put her in danger. And her knowing the truth would put her right in the middle of it.” 

“And you don’t want what happened to Emily to happen to her,” Sam said softly. Embry’s eyes went wide as he realized what the man had said, quickly struggling to find a redeeming answer. “Don’t worry, Call. I wouldn’t want that to happen to anyone, for that matter. And as scary as it is to tell her the truth, you have to. As the days go by, you will both find it harder and harder to keep away from each other. It will be physically painful to stay apart.” 

“I can’t do that to her. She deserves to be safe,” he silently sobbed. “The further away she is from me, the better it will be for her. I can’t hurt her if I’m not with her.” 

Sam couldn’t help but feel pity for the boy. He had been in that very position not too long ago, running from the people he loved, fearing the hurt he could cause them. But he also knew how he could cause just as much pain by staying away. 

“Look, Embry, I won’t tell you what you have to do,” he said. “But speaking from experience, running away does more harm than good. Whether you like it or not, she is now a part of this world and the best way to protect her is by telling her the truth. Unlike with your mom, the secret of our tribe has to be shared with our imprints. She’s gonna need to understand why it hurts so much to stay away from you.” 

“What if things go bad?” Embry asked dolefully. “What if telling her pushes her away regardless?” 

“That is just something you’ll have to leave to chance,” Sam sighed. “But if you need any backup if you choose to tell her, you know Emily and I are here and happy to help.” 

“Thanks, Sam,” the boy responded. “But I think this is something I have to do by myself. I’m gonna tell her tonight and hope for the best.” 

“Well, I’ll be doing patrol tonight. So, if at my point you need me, just call out.”

---

“Wait, you actually saw him here?” Jake asked that afternoon as the three friends left the school. “I heard he was back but I have not seen him the whole week.” 

“He was standing in the middle of the hallway this morning and I tried to get to him,” (Y/N) explained. “But he ran away and literally disappeared. What the hell is going on with him?” 

“Apparently he’s been sneaking out of his house for a while now,” Quil added, making (Y/N)’s heart wrench in her chest. “And his mom says he wasn’t home that week he skipped school.” 

“I heard he’s been hanging out with Sam Uley’s gang,” Jake whispered. “That could explain why he’s acting so weird. He got involved with some shady shit.”

“Guys, this is Embry we’re talking about,” the girl defended, holding onto any hope that he was still the boy she loved. “Do you really think he would do something like that?” 

“You keep trying to defend your little boyfriend but it’s clear he wants nothing to do with any of us,” Jake spat. 

“He’s our friend, Jake,” (Y/N) seethed. “Sorry for actually believing there might be something else happening other than he might have joined a dangerous gang and has left us for dead.” 

“(Y/N)…”

“Whatever, guys. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She left both boys dumbfounded and disappeared into her home. Once inside she crashed against her front door and allowed the tears that were stinging her eyes to flow free. 

(Y/N) couldn’t accept that she had truly lost Embry. She couldn’t admit that she had fallen for someone that could act like she meant nothing to them, that could forget every moment they spent together, that could ignore everything they had admitted to her. She had trusted him with her heart and he had decided to shatter it without another thought. 

Somehow she had made her way to her bedroom and had crashed on her bed. When her eyes fluttered open again the sun had completely set and the moon was shining brightly in the sky. In the darkness, she searched for her phone, feeling the need to apologize to Quil and Jake for snapping at them. 

Yet, her screen lit up with Embry’s caller ID, showing her that it was the fifth call in the last twenty minutes. She debated answering the phone, wanting to make him feel just like she had the last two weeks. 

But her resolution was too weak.

“What?” (Y/N) spat. 

“Come to your window.” 

She walked to her window, her gaze falling on his figure on the road. Tears were quick to form in the corners of her eyes, her emotions close to their bursting point. “What do you want, Embry?” she asked through the phone, careful to keep her voice from cracking. “It’s late.” 

“I know, but I really need to talk to you, (Y/N).”

“So, you show up after two weeks of dead silence. Your hair is all chopped up, you’ve got a tattoo, and apparently, you’ve been hanging with Sam Uley’s gang. And you just come here and tell me now you wanna talk,” she scoffed. “Give me one reason why I should give you the time of day after all that?” 

“I know I don’t deserve another chance and you have every right to turn me away right now,” he told her. “But I promise if you give me a couple of minutes I can explain everything to you. After that, you can decide what you want to do. Please, (Y/N).” 

She kept quiet for a second, knowing that she didn’t have much to think about. Her heart knew exactly what she would answer before she could say it out loud. “Fine,” she said. “You’ve got ten minutes.” 

“Alright,” he smiled. “Come down.”

She couldn’t help the eagerness that overtook her as she wrapped a jacket around her and silently slipped out the door. And once she was face to face with him, it took everything in her not to run and wrap her arms around Embry. 

“Hey,” he smiled softly at her. “Been a while.” 

“Not really in the mood for jokes, Embry,” she responded. “I came out here to hear you explain. So explain.” 

“Okay, but I’m gonna need us to move into the woods.” 

“I’m not going into the woods with you, Em. Just tell me already.”

“Look, I know this is weird but I need you to trust me, okay?” he asked giving her those puppy dog eyes that she had missed so much. The same eyes he’d give her when he begged for a kiss or when he pleaded for a couple of more minutes away from their friends. “Please.” 

“Fine,” she sighed. “But your time is down to eight minutes.” 

“Alright. Just, come on.” 

Without thinking, he took hold of her hand, leading her to the darkness of the woods, searching for a place where no passersby could accidentally see him. 

(Y/N) found herself allowing him to drag her, remembering just how comforting his warmth was. Especially on such a cold night in January, it surprised her just how high his temperature felt. 

Once they were deep enough and Embry had halted them to a stop, she forced herself to drop his hand. She didn’t want him to forget the anger that still rushed through her veins, the disappointment that had found a home in her heart, and the hurt that she felt in every inch of her body. 

“Go ahead,” she told him, crossing her arms across her chest to keep them from reaching toward him. 

“Alright, first of all, I want to apologize for disappearing like that. It wasn’t fair to you or the guys. But you need to understand that I couldn’t tell you at the beginning,” he started. “(Y/N), what I’m about to tell you is gonna sound like the biggest lie you have heard, and you might even think that I’ve lost my mind. Still, everything I say is the honest truth.”

“Em, you’re scaring me,” she responded. “What’re you talking about?” 

Embry took a deep breath, finding every ounce of strength to be able to finally tell her the truth, to wrap her in the web of the supernatural and hope he was strong enough to keep her from the dangers of it. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to think back to all the stories our parents and the elders would tell us around the bonfire,” he said. “How our Quileute ancestors were shapeshifters and how it was their job to protect our land. When we were kids we thought that those were only stories, myths to keep us children entertained. But it’s real, (Y/N). Those stories weren’t just fantasies, they are our history. 

“The reason I disappeared was because I am now one of those shapeshifters. It happened the Saturday before starting school, at the back-to-school bonfire, when that guy was hitting on you when I walked away for a second,” he continued. His eyes never left hers, hoping —begging— that she believed him. “It happened so suddenly and I thought I was dying. I could feel anger taking over my entire body, filling me with this overheating rush that burned deep inside. 

“It was Jared Cameron that found me. He pulled me into the woods and I was so angry that I couldn’t even process what was happening. He kept telling me to give in to the change to listen to my body and allow it to do what it needed to. Suddenly, my clothes were ripped to shreds and I was this huge wolf. 

“After, Sam Uley and Paul Lahote joined him and walked me through shifting back, telling me to focus on my human form. It felt like everything around me was shaking, reacting to the way my body was transforming. And somehow, at just the right moment, I changed back into my human self. 

“I spent that week learning to control my emotions so I wouldn’t trigger a phase in front of everyone, learning about our history and our role in the rez. It turns out, those guys aren’t a gang, they’re actually a pack and our job is to protect the reservation from anything, supernatural or not, that threatens our land. No one can know about our existence other than the elders and current pack members.” 

“Wait, I don’t get it,” she stammered, her head spinning with all the information she was given. “This whole talk about wolves and supernatural beings… it’s crazy, Embry! A completely convoluted way of telling me it’s over.” 

“I can show you,” he added. “Just don’t move even an inch from where you are right now.” 

“What’re you…? Embry.” 

He put some distance between them, making sure he was safely away from her. He removed his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, ensuring his clothes were close enough when he phased back. He knew just how impossible everything he had said sounded. If he hadn’t phased that night, there was no way he would have believed it. 

But he needed her to believe him. 

One second he was standing before her in human form, and the next, a tall gray wolf with black spots was staring her down. She stumbled back as her eyes met the animal’s, a slight rush of fear flowing through her veins. 

Yet, she knew those brown eyes too well to be afraid for long. They were unmistakably Embry’s and they replaced her anxiety with a calming stream.  Something about him was calling to her, beckoning her to come closer. There was no danger, there was no panic, there was only calm. 

(Y/N) made her way closer to the creature, every step filling her with courage. The wolf didn’t move, his eyes simply followed her, waiting. Because he was the tactable answer to all of her questions. 

Her shaking hand raised and landed on the soft fur of the wolf’s head. As soon as she made contact, Embry nudged it, giving her the confirmation she was looking for. It was him and it was all true.

“You’re a wolf,” she softly chuckled. “You’re in front of me right now and you’re a giant wolf.” 

Embry let out a confirming growl that sounded almost like a laugh and nuzzled his nose against her. The small force knocked her back softly, siphoning from her the laugh he had missed hearing. 

“But if no one is supposed to know about you guys, why are you telling me all this?” (Y/N) asked before realizing he could not answer in his form. “Change back already. I have so many questions.” 

In the blink of an eye, Embry stood before her, scrambling to get dressed. “This is the most awkward part of phasing back,” he chuckled dryly. “It’s worse when you’re surrounded by guys you barely know.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” she sympathized. “Now, why me? Why am I the only one that you’re telling this to? Jake and Quil truly believe you’ve joined a gang and left us in the dust.” 

“Well, as with most things, there is an exception to the rules. One person that is allowed to know everything, even if they’re not members of the pack,” he explained slowly. “There’s something that happens after your shift that involves that person. It’s called imprinting. I’m the most basic definition: it's a soulmate. You are unconditionally bound to this person for the rest of your life, becoming whatever it is that they need from you —a sibling, a friend, a partner. Anything. 

“Your whole world changes,” he continued, his hands taking hers. “They become your gravity, your very reason for living. Even being apart feels physically painful. Everything falls secondary to them, and all it takes is one look.”

“This morning,” she breathed. (Y/N) had felt something change when they had locked eyes in the hall. His absence had become a harrowing pit in her stomach. “But I…”

“The bond affects the imprint as well,” Embry answered before she could ask. “But nothing happens without them wanting it. You are only what the imprint wants.”

“So it’s me,” she said, trying to hold back tears, her eyes falling to where their hands were clasped. “Is that why you ran away this morning? Because you imprinted on me? Was it… did you not want it to be me?” 

“No! I mean yes! I wanted it to be you,” he rapidly scrambled for his response. “But I was afraid of what the implications of you being my imprint would be.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“First of all, I could never forgive myself if I was the reason you were ever in danger,” Embry started, his hand cradling her cheek to lift her gaze to his, wiping away the strand that had fallen. “But what I was most afraid of was that it would make you feel things that you might not have felt had it not been for this supernatural intervention.”

“I’m not following, Em.” 

“Look, (Y/N), I love you —I’m in love with you. And I have been for a long time,” he confessed. “And even though I know you like me and we spent all this time together, I was afraid that if you felt more for me it would be because of the imprint bond and not really how you would have felt without it.” 

Finally, it was her turn to comfort him. “Em, I think I’ve loved you since the moment we met,” she grinned. “I don’t need a supernatural link to tell me how I have felt about you for the majority of my life. And I understand why you had to keep all of this from us. As much as I would love for Jake and Quil to know how much of an amazing badass my boyfriend is, we know how well I can keep a secret.”

Embry’s eyes opened wide at the word, loving how it sounded coming from her lips. “Boyfriend? You called me your boyfriend!” 

“Is that not what you are?” 

“Yes. Yes! And you’re my girlfriend!” he exclaimed as he hugged her waist tightly, twirling her in a hug. “God, being without you has made this the worst two weeks of my life.”

“I can tell,” she teased. “I mean you lost my favorite thing about you. I’m really gonna miss your hair.” 

“Unless you braid the wolf’s hair, I’m afraid we’re stuck with the short hair for a while.” 

“I can work with that as long as you don’t ever disappear like that again.” 

“I promise I will never willingly do that,” he responded. “I can assure you these past two weeks have been hell.” 

“Well, we won’t have that time back. But we can make sure we don’t lose any more.”

“I like the sound of that,” he grinned.

He placed both hands on either side of (Y/N)’s face, nuzzling his nose to hers as he had done the first time they kissed. He breathed in her scent. He listened to the patter of her heart, to the sound of her breath. He took her in completely at the moment, memorizing how she looked when they told each other they loved one another. 

“Are you gonna make me wait?” she let out a strangled breath. “Or are you gonna kiss me already?” 

“You waited two weeks already,” he teased. 

“So I’ve waited long enough,” she bit back. “Now kiss me, you dork.” 

Finally, he crashed his lips onto hers and everything felt like it had fallen where it was supposed to. There had never been secrets between them, and, now, there never had to be any more. The universe had simply confirmed what they already felt. 

---

“Well, Quil, looks like you’re gonna have to pay up, my man,” Jake joked a couple of months after that fateful night. All discord between the friends had died the second the boys that were kept in the dark phases as well. “I told you these two had been together for a while.” 

“No, you owe me,” he retorted. “They got together closer to the timeline I had set.” 

“Actually,” Embry interjected, his arm draped over (Y/N)’s shoulders. “If you look at the board of bets, you’ll see that I had put down the actual date and time that we got together.” 

“But that’s not fair! When we made that bet board we had no idea you two were actually together,” Quil whined. “There’s no way that should be an admissible bet.” 

“Not knowing the facts doesn’t exempt you from it,” (Y/N) chuckled. “A bet that falls under the set rules for that pile will remain intact, even if it’s under a loophole.”

“Of course you’ll say that, (Y/N),” Jake scoffed. “He’s your boyfriend after all.” 

“Don’t forget imprintee,” she grinned. “Now, both of you, cough up those twenty bucks.” 

Later that afternoon and forty bucks richer, (Y/N) and Embry sat in the Uley’s backyard, watching the other boys playing football farther away from the bonfire Sam had started. They had curled up together under a blanket, enjoying the fact that they were together, and the world seemed to grant them a day of peace. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Embry whispered into her ear, pressing her tighter to him. “Because I do. So much.” 

“Hm,” she smiled, melting into his touch. “You’ve told me once or twice. But I’ll never get tired of hearing it. Because I love you too.”

“And I’ll never get tired of saying it.” 

“Good,” she beamed. “Because you’re stuck with me until the end.” 

“Couldn’t think of a better life than that.” 

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[lexsssu]

Bliss (Diluc)

TAGS: Diluc/Dragoness!reader, smut, pregnancy, parenthood, drabble Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

The world is a dark and tainted place.

Behind its beauty lurked dangers all around, ready to prey upon those who’d lowered their guards enough. Diluc is certainly no stranger to the horrors that hid itself from ordinary eyes, lying in wait for even just a single moment to strike.

He would wake up every single day with trepidation in his chest, constant vigilance being his way of life ever since the day he was awakened to the cruelty of this world. Any day could be his last and any moment could be his final one alive. 

That is the reality he has come to grips with.

And yet, as you walk down the aisle with flowers in your ivory hair, so pure compared to his own flame-colored locks, you are a vision wrapped in lace as you neared him at the makeshift altar (hastily yet carefully prepared by his excited servants), Diluc found himself wondering if he was worthy of this happiness.

The Darknight Hero doesn’t believe in fate. Not when fate showed him exactly what it intended to make of his life, one filled with eternal suffering and a never-ending thirst to rid the world of its evils. 

He doesn’t think much of the disoriented young lady he finds at the outskirts of Dawn Winery, wearing clothes that didn’t seem to hail from any nation in Teyvat. But when he helps her up off the ground, he is met with a pair of innocent golden eyes and he feels something stir within the deepest recesses of his heart. 

Though what it was, he didn’t know at the time.

But now as he kisses you beneath the foot of the statue of Barbatos near Dawn Winery, the scion of the Ragnvindr family knows that despite the darkness and dangers that lurked about, there is still hope. Suffering and sadness existed so that humanity can know what happiness and love are.

And by the archons, he never knew what true happiness was until he’d whisked you off to your new shared chambers within the manor. He knew no other anxiety than that of the uncertainty of tomorrow, but even he couldn’t help but swallow the lump that formed in his throat when you fully bared your body to him for the first time. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, reverently caressing each dip and curve in your body with soft yet firm hands before latching his mouth on whatever patch of skin caught his eye, nibbling and sucking until it turned a pretty pink color. “So sweet and so soft...I could eat you right up.”

And eat you up he did.

The ginger painted your skin with bruises and lovebites, a canvas for his wandering mouth and hands. He made sure that the ones on his favorite spots would take the longest to fade, unabashedly wanting his claim over you to be obvious that only a blind man can’t see that you were utterly his.

“You’re already this excited from my mouth and hands alone? Forgive me for neglecting your most precious place then, my darling. For my negligence, I will make sure to compensate you handsomely.”

You are practically sobbing when Diluc finally relents in his assault and pulls away from you with a final obscene slurp. You could barely look at him straight as he licks off the clear viscous fluid that stained the corner of his lips all the while staring at you with clear desperation and want.

“You taste exquisite, my love. However, I believe it is about time we begin the main act. Shall we?”

And so, the rest of the night was filled with debauched screams, moans, and whimpers of pleasure as your new husband made love to you until daylight peeked out of the darkness. If you hadn’t been draconic in nature you’d have probably passed out by the 2nd hour, but thanks to your other-wordly stamina the two of you kept each other up without trouble.

Thanks to that, it wasn’t any surprise that 9 months after your wedding night, the residents of Dawn Winery welcomed their newest young master. 

Diluc sat at your bedside after you and your son had been cleaned and wrapped in new clothes. His eyes never leave you both as you fed your son his first ever meal, marvelling at the sight of this little creature that both of you created together out of love.

“What shall we name him, my love?”

“I like the name Aurick...Aurick Daemon Ragnvindr”

“A splendid name it is”

Diluc smiles and repeats the name softly under his breath.

The taste of bliss has never been sweeter than where he is right now.

[maniculum]

An Excerpt from the Aberdeen Bestiary

I've started preparing the bestiaryposting, and have encountered one entry that doesn't really fit into what we're doing. Not only is it one of the longest entries, but instead of "let me tell you about this animal", it's taking more of a "we all already know about this animal, so I'm going to share some stories about specific ones" approach. But out of a sense of completionism, I can't just not post it, so here you go.

Dog

The Latin name for the dog, canis, seems to have a Greek origin. For in Greek it is called cenos, although some think that it is called after the musical sound, canor, of its barking, because when it howls, it is also said to sing, canere. No creature is more intelligent than the dog, for dogs have more understanding than other animals; they alone recognise their names and love their masters.

There are many kinds of dogs: some track down the wild beasts of the forests to catch them; others by their vigilance guard flocks of sheep from the attacks of wolves; others as watch-dogs in the home guard the property of their masters lest it be stolen by thieves at night and sacrifice their lives for their master; they willingly go after game with their master; they guard his body even when he is dead and do not leave it. Finally, their nature is that they cannot exist without man.

Also of the nature of dogs

We read that dogs have such great love for their masters, as when King Garamentes was caught by his enemies and taken into captivity, two hundred dogs went in formation through enemy lines and led him back from exile, fighting off those who resisted them. When Jason [Licio] was killed, his dog rejected food and died of starvation. The dog of King Lysimachus threw itself in the flame when its master's funeral pyre was lit and was consumed by fire along with him. When Apius and Junius Pictinius were consuls, a dog that could not be driven away from its master, who had been condemned, accompanied him to prison; when, soon afterwards, he was executed, it followed him, howling. When the people of Rome, out of pity, caused it to be fed, it carried the food to its dead master's mouth. Finally, when its master's corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the dog swam to it and tried to keep it from sinking.

When a dog picks up the track of a hare or a deer and comes to a place where the trail divides or to a junction splitting into several directions, it goes to the beginning of each path and silently reasons with itself, as if by syllogism, on the basis of its keen sense of smell. 'Either the animal went off in this direction,' it says,'or that, or certainly it took this turning.’

Again on the nature of dogs

Often, also, when a murder has been committed, dogs have produced clear evidence of the guilt of the accused, with the result that their unspoken testimony is for the most part believed. They say that at Antioch, in a distant quarter of the city at dusk, a man was murdered, who had his dog with him on a lead. A soldier had been the perpetrator of the deed, with robbery as his motive. Undercover of the growing darkness, he fled elsewhere. The corpse lay unburied; the crowd of onlookers was large; the dog stayed at its master's side, howling over his sad fate. It happened that the man who had committed the crime, acting confidently in order to convince people of his innocence - such is the cunning way in which men think- joined the circle of onlookers and, feigning grief, approached the corpse. Then the dog, briefly abandoning its doleful lament, took up the arms of vengeance, seized the man and held him, and, softly singing a pitiful song, as in the epilogue of a tragedy, moved everyone to tears; and the fact that the dog held that man alone, of the many that were there, and did not let him go, lent weight to its case. In the end, the murderer was at a loss because the evidence in the case was so plain; he could not clear himself by objecting that he was the victim of anyone's hate, enmity, envy or spite, and he could no longer rebut the charge. Because it was very difficult for him, he suffered punishment, because he could offer no defence.

A dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it. A dog's way of life is said to be wholly temperate. A puppy's tongue is generally a cure for internal injuries. It is characteristic of a dog that it returns to its vomit and eats it again. If a dog swims across a river carrying a piece of meat or anything of that sort in its mouth, and sees its shadow, it opens its mouth and in hastening to seize the other piece of meat, it loses the one it was carrying.

In some ways preachers are like dogs: by their admonitions and righteous ways they are always driving off the ambushes laid by the Devil, lest he seize and carry off God's treasure - Christian souls. As the dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it, the wounds of sinners, laid bare in confession, are cleansed by the correction of the priest. As the dog's tongue heals man's internal wounds, the secrets of his heart are often purified by the deeds and discourse of the Church's teachers. As the dog is said to be temperate in its ways, the man who is set over others diligently studies wisdom and must avoid drunkenness and gluttony in every way, for Sodom perished in a surfeit of food. Indeed, there is no quicker way for the Devil, his enemy, to take possession of man than through his greedy gullet. The dog returning to its vomit signifies those who, after making their confession, heedlessly return to wrongdoing. The dog leaving its meat behind in the river, out of desire for its shadow, signifies foolish men who often forsake what is theirs by right out of desire for some unknown object; with the result that, while they are unable to obtain the object of their desire, they needlessly lose what they have given up.

Some dogs are called licisici, wolf-hounds, because they are born of wolves and dogs, when by chance these mate. In India bitches are tethered at night in the forests to breed with wild tigers, by whom they are mounted, producing very fierce dogs, so strong that with their grip they can pull down lions.

[objectbiologist]

on object sleeping habits

(image ID: a doodle of amelia from ONE on a black background, drawn with white outlines sleeping upright with her legs tucked underneath her and her arms laid out in front of her. the second picture shows airy next to her in the same position, legs tucked underneath him, waking her up. /end ID)

something that has been very heavily debated in the community are object sleeping habits, how they sleep, the science behind it or whether they even need to sleep at all. this post aims to go a little more in depth about it, though it won't cover everything.

for one, the anatomy and biology differs wildly between families and even individual object species. this of course affects their sleeping habits and even their circadian rhythm.

with people and animals, the way they sleep is much more obvious. humans are granted the freedom of sleeping comfortably on their backs or curled up on their sides without much issue (aside from certain health complications that may arise due to the condition(s) an individual might have.) many mammals sleep curled up, or on their sides. birds sleep with their heads tucked in their wings, or in flight if you're a swift. bats hang upside down and horses can sleep standing up on lying down. crocodiles shut off one part of their brain in order to keep a lookout or maintain flight. swifts remain in the sky for most of their lives and only ever land due to sickness or to nest, which means they fly in their sleep too. so this begs the question, how do objects sleep?

it's different for every species. due to their wild differences in anatomy as discussed earlier, they often have to learn unique adaptations that help them thrive. this extends to sleep as well. for the longest time, it was thought that objects did not need to sleep at all, though recent observations have shown otherwise. it wouldn't be feasible to cover every object's sleeping habits and patterns, so i'll be going into some more recent studies.

for one, as with the images above, objects that have flat bases or rounded bodies may find laying on their backs or sides difficult or uncomfortable. these objects sleep with their legs tucked underneath them, sitting upright or leaned against a wall or other surface. occasionally they may be found laying down if it is comfortable, but it is not often.

it also isn't uncommon to see boxes dozing off within seconds, limbs tucked beneath them, or for coins to flop onto their backs. both of these objects have body structures that compromise their abilities to rest comfortably in any other position.

objects that have a tendency to roll, like glasses or cylindrical shaped objects may rest on their backs or sides with their arms propped up by their elbows, providing a stop to keep them in place. these species tend to be very light sleepers as well, so that in the event of a threat they can awaken quickly and spring upright. this especially applies to glass objects, who exhibit unihemispheric sleep in order to remain vigilant (in other words, they sleep with only one part of their brains at a time). they are also prone to night terrors, and tend to sleep in groups that alternate between keeping watch.

[smilingformoney]

The Eternal Summer

V. Welcome to the World

Summary: The world ends, but time keeps moving forward.

AN: This was only supposed to be a smutty fic. Then again, I said the same thing about Sins of the Flesh. I hope you enjoyed the ride, everybody! If you're wondering what becomes of your family, here is your family tree (I have given reader characters names because it's easier for me) - you might recognise some of the modern-day descendants!

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

It was the longest night of your life. You sat by the window for a while, looking out across the station. Elliott was sat on his porch, revolver in hand, waiting patiently for Quigley to make his move. He glanced back at you on occasion and his frown would soften, the grip on his gun would loosen slightly, and your heart would ache when you locked eyes with one another.

William, meanwhile, was trying to keep himself awake, reading one of Elliott’s books and occasionally standing up to stretch his legs. He was using a cane to balance himself thanks to the wound in his leg, but he refused to listen when you insisted he should stay seated.

By midnight, you were struggling to stay awake.

“Go to bed, [Y/n],” William said when he saw you trying to keep your eyes open. “You don’t need to stand vigil.”

You couldn’t care less about Quigley, but what you did care about was Elliott, who was letting his anger and his pride get the best of him.

But you were tired, and despite what Elliott said, you suspected Quigley was telling the truth about waiting until dawn, so you supposed a little sleep would do you no harm.

With Elliott waiting for Quigley and William guarding you, you had no warm body to hold as you drifted off, but you were so sleepy that you were able to make do with holding the pillow which now smelt of both Elliott and William.

You woke at dawn to the sound of gunshots.

You’d been so tired when you went to bed that you’d forgotten to change into your nightgown, and so it was in a rumpled dress that you came into the lounge to find William peering through the curtains to see outside.

“What’s going on?” you asked blearily.

“A man’s been shot. Stay away from the windows, [Y/n].”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t bloody know. Don’t worry, your boyfriend’s fine. What on earth is he doing?” William questioned as you both heard the sound of horses galloping out of the station. “He’s throwing his men at him like lemmings. Didn’t I just tell you to stay away from the windows?”

You were by his side now, looking through the other curtain to see what was going on. Elliott was crouched below a wagon, gun in hand, as three of his men rode out across the plains.

“He’s not here, he must be in the cutting,” you replied.

“If he shot that man from afar, he can shoot you too.”

You shook your head, your eyes still on Elliott.

“He won’t.”

William scoffed. “Oh? And what makes you so sure of that?”

“He said he wouldn’t.”

“You can’t trust everything men say, [Y/n].”

“Not even you?”

You surprised yourself at your own audacity, but William surprised you more when he didn’t react with anger. Instead, he chuckled and stroked your cheek.

“That’s different, darling. I’m your husband who loves you. Matthew Quigley is an evil man, a murderer - is he sending more men out?” William interrupted himself as he spotted another few men riding out on horses. “Has Elliott completely lost his mind? At this rate, he and I will be the only men left before Quigley even gets here.”

“Maybe… maybe I should go and talk to him. He always seems to calm down when I’m around. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

William frowned, but he shrugged. “Maybe you can suck his cock or something, that’ll calm him down.”

You blushed and ducked your head, and William just snorted.

“Don’t act coy, darling, I know you’ve been sucking his cock. Go on, go and see if you can talk some sense into that thick skull of his.”

You made your way out onto the porch, where Elliott was stood leaning against a pillar, staring into the distance with a frown so severe he might have been hoping to kill Quigley just by looking at him. He jumped slightly when you put your hand on his shoulder, but just as you’d predicted, the tension in his shoulders eased when he saw you standing there.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close. You felt your own tension lifting too, as if all either of you needed to calm down was one another’s presence.

“We’ve been watching from inside. Are you planning on throwing men at him until you run out?”

Elliott chuckled, then kissed the top of your head affectionately. “If that’s what it takes. I’d rather expend ten men and kill him before he gets here than let him come and risk him getting to you.”

“Don’t sacrifice your men for me!” you insisted, fear rising in your heart as you thought of all the lives Elliott was willing to sacrifice for you.

“I can always hire more men, [Y/n]. There’s only one of you.”

You frowned. “There’s nothing special about me, El —”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Elliott hissed, interrupting you. “There is no one in this world like you, you understand me? Any man I hire can shovel cow shit or plough a field. No one else can do what you do for me.”

“There are whores in Melbourne…”

Elliott frowned at you, looking almost disappointed.

“Do you really think I’m talking about sex? Have you forgotten everything I told you at the graveyard yesterday?”

Elliott scoffed and shook his head.

“You really don’t know the effect you have on the people around you, do you? You don’t know what William and I were duelling for.”

“Then what?”

Elliott sighed and held you closer, looking out across the horizon as if the words to describe you were somewhere out there with Quigley and the dingos. And maybe they were, because he seemed to find them, and he looked down at you and smiled.

“You don’t know how bright you shine.”

You stared at him, stunned. You might have kissed him, but you knew your husband was watching through the window, and besides, your attention was drawn away when you heard the sound of a galloping horse coming closer, and you both looked to see Elliott’s two remaining men riding back into the station, dragging something along the ground behind them.

Elliott released his hold on you and met his men in the middle of the station. You watched from the porch as he bent over and you realised he was talking to not something, but someone that had been dragged across the dirt.

As Elliott taunted Quigley, you heard the thump of William’s cane as he came up behind you and put a hand on your shoulder.

“You should go back inside, [Y/n],” he said softly.

You shook your head, your eyes still firmly set on Elliott.

William’s grip on your shoulder tightened.

“Do as I say, [Y/n],” he said, more curtly.

You looked up at him then.

And somehow, in that moment, you knew.

Maybe you’d known all along.

“No.”

Before William had a chance to respond, you were dashing across the dirt to Elliott’s side. He was standing in a familiar position opposite Quigley, flagged either side by O’Flynn and Dobkin. Just last night you’d seen him standing in the exact same spot across from William, but this time his opponent was a lot more well-versed in duelling.

“Elliott, please don’t do this,” you begged, skidding to a halt at his side, grabbing his hands desperately. “Just let him go, nobody has to die —”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Elliot said smugly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll make it quick for him.”

“I don’t care about him, Elliott, I…” You felt a tear running down your cheek. You ignored it.

“Just survive this, okay? Survive this… and I’ll marry you.”

A grin broke out across Elliott’s face and he kissed you passionately, not caring that O’Flynn and Dobkin were nearby, that Quigley was standing opposite, or that your husband was watching from the porch. All he had to do was kill Quigley, and you’d be his.

“That’s the best good-luck token a man could ask for,” Elliott murmured when your lips parted. “Get yourself a safe distance away, sweetheart. I won’t have a stray bullet coming near you.”

“You’re an idiot,” you sighed.

Elliott grinned and winked at you.

You retreated back to the front porch, where William and Tommy were waiting for you. Your husband said nothing about the scene that had just transpired.

There was a long, tense moment as Elliott and Quigley stared one another down. It may have only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like hours to you as you stood, waiting…

And four shots rang out in quick succession.

It happened so quick, it took you a moment to register what had happened. Quigley was still standing - O’Flynn and Dobkin were on the ground - and Elliott was on his knees.

He fell back almost in slow motion, and you screamed.

You dodged the hands of both William and Tommy as they tried to hold you back, and the dust on the ground bloomed into clouds as you ran to Elliott.

One look at him was enough to know there was nothing you could do. His white shirt was stained red, blood pouring out from his torso.

One hand was still on the handle of his gun, which dropped to the ground when you lifted Elliott’s head from the ground to cradle him in your lap.

“Elliott… Elliott, please, look at me…”

The light was quickly fading from his eyes, but still he smiled when he looked up at you.

“[Y/n]…”

“Elliott, please - please, don’t die - please, I need you!”

You couldn’t see the way the morning sun reflected off your hair, shining as bright as you always shone to Elliott, and he wondered if dying gave him a glimpse into divinity, because surely you were an angel come to save his soul in the weeks before he died.

He could only hope he’d done enough for you. Loved you enough, taught you enough, shown you that you were worth so much more than you knew.

“Elliott, please, you’ve got to live, please,” you sobbed. “We’re gonna get married, remember?”

Elliott wheezed, attempting to laugh as blood filled his lungs.

“A mortal man can’t marry an angel,” he croaked.

You shook your head. He must have been delirious.

“I’m no angel, Elliott. I’m just a girl. And I… I love you.”

You sobbed harder, knowing it wasn’t enough. Your love would never be enough.

Elliott smiled, his head lolling towards your chest as his eyes fluttered closed.

“My angel…”

You screamed so loud, the birds in the trees were startled away.

This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t possible for a single human being to feel this much pain and survive. How could you survive, when your heart had been torn from your chest? Why would you want to, when the only good thing you’d ever known was an empty husk beneath you?

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. You had nothing your whole life, you were nothing, and you’d accepted that until Elliott came along and made you feel like you were worth something, worth love and affection - and he’d been torn away from you.

Torn away by an evil man for no reason at all - a man who, you remembered suddenly, was still standing. Still living. How many men had he killed? How many other women would grieve their lost loves now because of Matthew Quigley and his stupid fucking rifle?

You raised your head and, through your tears, saw Quigley standing with his back to you. He didn’t even care about the crying woman behind him. He was just watching as the last of the servants left, returning to their native land now Elliott was gone.

They could go. You didn’t care about them.

But there was no way Quigley was leaving this place.

You didn’t even hesitate. You grabbed the gun Elliott had dropped.

“Needle,” you mumbled.

You checked the barrel. Full but for one empty slot.

“Thread.”

You pointed the gun at Quigley’s back.

 “Hole.”

You pulled the trigger three times for good measure, each bullet landing in his back, each hitting some organ or other and throwing Quigley to the ground before he even knew what was happening.

You tossed the gun aside. You didn’t care to check Quigley was dead. You only cared about Elliott, motionless in your arms, and even knowing he was gone, you pushed his hair out of his face to look at him.

It was the most horrendous sight. The eyes that usually blazed so fiercely, whether it be with love or lust or anger, were extinguished. You could barely even register that it was Elliott in your arms, he looked so unlike himself. You recognised the eyes, the nose, the cheekbones and the lips, but… the man you loved was gone.

You couldn’t tell how long you sat there, sobbing, clinging onto Elliott’s lifeless body as if as long as you held him, there was a chance he’d wake up again.

But he wouldn’t wake up, because he wasn’t asleep. You’d watched him sleep. Even asleep, he was alive. He breathed, fidgeted, responded to your touch. Now… nothing. Not a breath, not a twitch, not a sound.

He was gone, and he’d taken a piece of you with him.

You were only snapped back to reality when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You let out a yelp of surprise and held Elliott tighter, as if the hand belonged to someone who’d take him away from you.

“[Y/n]?”

The voice was so small, so tentative. You almost didn’t recognise your baby brother’s voice.

You looked up at him. He wouldn’t take Elliott away from you, would he?

You knew you should say something reassuring, but you had nothing. How could you reassure him when the world had already ended?

He was saying something, but you couldn’t even hear. It was like the world was on mute. All you could hear was your own breathing, your own sobs, and you couldn’t tell which had come last when you passed out.

---

Time passed in a haze. You slept, you woke, you cried until you slept again.

Sometimes you’d wake and see Tommy sitting on a chair nearby. Other times, you’d find William sleeping next to you. Once or twice, you woke and saw a man you didn’t know, a stranger in an army uniform. Food and water would appear on your bedside table, and you’d get as much down as you could before you began to feel sick.

Tommy would try and engage you in conversation, but you didn’t have the energy to talk. The soldier, whoever he was, didn’t talk to you.

William was usually asleep, though once you did wake to see him placing a bowl of soup on your bedside table.

Maybe none of them knew what to do with you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

After some days - you couldn’t say how many - you were awoken by someone shaking your shoulder, and your eyes fluttered open to see Tommy by your bedside.

“We’re going to the church in town soon, to - to bury Mr Marston with his wife. Will you come?”

You nodded groggily, and when you finally emerged from the lodge in a black dress Tommy had brought you from your luggage, you winced against the bright sunlight, having seen nothing but the muted light through the curtains for several days.

The station looked strange so empty. For so long there’d been the hustle and bustle of men at work, but now it was like a ghost town. At the gate, William was waiting for you with two horses, and somewhere beneath the numbness of your grief you thought he looked handsome in his black suit.

Tommy had his own horse and you sat behind William on another as you rode into town. You wrapped your arms around William’s waist and rested your head on his back from your side-saddle position. You closed your eyes, hoping that to look away from the landscape would ease the soreness you felt looking at the land Elliott had worked so hard for.

Later, you’d barely remember the funeral service. It was small; a lot of people didn’t like Elliott very much, and those that had had died at Quigley’s hands. The burial itself was even smaller; only you, William and Tommy. And fortunately so, because you might have embarrassed yourself with the way you broke down crying when you saw the tombstone. Only days earlier, you had stood on this very spot with Elliott, he promising a life of freedom for you and Tommy if only you’d marry him.

He had sworn never to come back here; now here he was forever.

Here lies Victoria Marston 1826 - 1860 and Elliott Marston 1820 - 1865

You calmed yourself eventually, but when the coffin was brought to be lowered into the grave, you broke down again, seeking comfort in William’s arms.

And he held you. Your husband was never one for public affection, but he held you.

“Would anyone like to say a few words?” the reverend asked when he’d finished his prayers.

You shook your head. You had no words to say. There wasn’t any combination of words in any language that could encapsulate the grief you felt, the love you had for him, the future you had lost.

William kept an arm around you the entire time. He sat you in front of him on the ride back to the station, guiding the horse with one hand while the other held you.

He told you to pack to return to Melbourne that night, so you braved crossing the threshold of Elliott’s house.

You gasped, but held yourself together when you saw that his lounge had been stripped almost bare.

In the bedroom, your breath caught in your chest to see the bed you’d spent so much time in with Elliott, but still your tears appeared to have run dry.

That was, until you opened the wardrobe, and you were hit by Elliott’s musky smell wafting from his clothes, still hanging in the wardrobe, waiting to be worn.

You fell to your knees and sobbed then, burying your head in his shirts, trying to cement the memory of his smell in your mind.

It wasn’t until William came to find out what was taking you so long that you were able to pull away. Even then, William had to lift you up and pull you away, ignoring your screams of protest as he parted you from your lost lover’s scent.

He guided you outside, told Tommy to keep an eye on you, and went back inside.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, William had packed your belongings and loaded up the wagon.

The journey back to Melbourne was torture. None of you well-adjusted to the Australian weather, you travelled by night, sleeping in the day, the men taking turns to stand guard against wild dingos.

Not that it mattered to you when you travelled; you just slept as much as you could, willing away the travel time until you arrived in Melbourne.

The house William had found for you both was not dissimilar to your home in London. William told you to get some rest while he unpacked, and when he deemed the job done, he found you sitting out on the balcony that led from your bedroom, looking out across the streets of Melbourne.

“[Y/n], I know you’re in shock,” William said, surprisingly soft for him, and you almost didn’t recognise his voice. “But we must talk about what happens next.”

You nodded. You still hadn’t said a word since Elliott’s death.

“After you fainted last week, the army arrived. Tommy took the blame for Quigley’s death. Two soldiers stayed behind after their platoon left, to help me with moving the station’s contents and… the bodies.”

William paused. You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ll sell the land tomorrow. Tommy tells me his former employer may be interested in it. We have until October before we return to London, and then we can put this whole mess behind us.”

You spoke for the first time. Your voice was hoarse and hardly more than a whisper, but William heard you.

“Tommy?”

“His employment reverts to me. I’ll keep him in my employ as a messenger boy for now, but he cannot return to London with us. He’s your brother, I know, and a hard worker, but his sentence is his sentence. I cannot be seen to revoke that for sentimental reasons. You understand that, yes?”

You nodded. You hadn’t expected anything more. In fact, you’d expected less. You were glad to know Tommy would be around at least until you left.

“Good girl, [Y/n].”

William placed a hand over yours. Your fingers twitched in a vague response, but otherwise you remained unmoved.

“I know you grieve for him — I do too. But we have work to do. I am still a judge of her Majesty’s court, and I have responsibilities; just as you do as my wife. I’ve given you time to recover from the shock, but tonight I expect you to resume your normal duties and serve your husband. Understood?”

You nodded again.

He left you alone.

---

Judge Turpin was starting to get irritated now.

It was four months since his cousin had died. Four months since he’d reunited with his wife. What he’d expected to be a joyous affair had been marred by the undoubtedly shocking end of Matthew Quigley’s rampage, and he’d been generous enough to grant you a week to process the difficult event. And just as he’d demanded on your return to Melbourne, you took his seed thrice daily in the hope of your belly quickening.

But still, you remained consumed by your grief. If this was how you reacted to the death of a man you hardly knew, he could hardly imagine how you’d react to his own death.

You hardly spoke. You never smiled, not really; not in a way that reached your eyes. Turpin would often come home from a day at court to find you’d not moved from the same spot all day.

And when he made love to you, there was no engagement, no thrill - you just opened your legs obediently and let him use you for his own pleasure.

It was getting boring and it was getting frustrating. So Turpin went to a doctor, who prescribed electrotherapy, but all that did was make you scream and cry, and that was worse than seeing you feel nothing, so he quickly put a stop to the therapy.

He was in the middle of giving a judgment in court when Tommy ran up to his bench and placed a note in front of him.

He paused, hoping Tommy had good reason for interrupting a judgment.

On reading the note, he quickly adjourned the hearing, leaving very stunned counsel in his wake as he dashed out of the courtroom.

He had shed his wig as he stood, but he was still clad in his judge’s robes when he entered the hospital and demanded to know where you were.

A nurse led him to your room, explaining the circumstances in which Tommy had found you unconscious in bed, a half-drunk bottle of arsenic in your hand. If it hadn’t been for Tommy’s quick thinking in inducing vomiting, you may have died. Instead, you were alive, but unconscious.

Turpin angrily sent the nurse away when he entered the room, demanding no one to disturb him. The door closed, he rushed to your side, and his heart broke to see you laying in the hospital bed, looking peaceful and serene as you slept, as if you had no idea the fear you’d struck into his heart.

“You stupid girl,” Turpin sighed. He sat perched on the edge of the bed and took your hand in his. Your fingers didn’t even twitch.

“Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeated. “Don’t you dare frighten your husband so. What on earth convinced you this was a good idea?”

Of course you didn’t respond.

Turpin stayed by your side for several days. Tommy brought him food, drink and fresh clothes. A clerk from the court came to take his instructions that he wouldn’t be hearing any matters until his wife woke up.

He read to you from the books the nurses had lying around. They mostly had silly romantic books, but by the end of Pride & Prejudice, Turpin found himself surprisingly invested in the story and glad that the two lovers had married.

When he wasn’t reading to you, Turpin spent a lot of time talking to you, or thinking to himself.

He knew why you were grieving so deeply.

He had loved his first wife, Charlotte, and yet she had fallen for a sailor boy. Lucy had loved Barker; Johanna had run away with Anthony.

And now you had fallen in love with Elliott.

Was he doomed to only love women who loved another?

He had punished Charlotte, yet she had run away anyway. So when he fell for Lucy, he sent Barker away, but still she rejected him. When Johanna believed she loved a boy she had only seen and not spoken to, this time he tried locking her away; but she only escaped.

Turpin didn’t want to do any of those things to you. Was he going soft in his old age? All he wanted to do was to bring you back from the deathlike trance you were in, to make you happy again. He hadn’t realised how much joy you brought into his life until it was extinguished, but extinguished it was and he wanted it back. He wanted his wife back.

“I don’t know what Elliott had that you don’t see in me,” Turpin whispered to you on the fourth day. “But I swear to you, [Y/n], if you tell me, I shall match it. I’ll be whoever you need me to be. I just… I need your light, [Y/n]. I need you to remind me of the goodness in the world. Can you do that? Can you stay good, stay pure, stay exactly as you’ve always been? Or must you change? Must your light be snuffed out by the evils of the world?”

You still didn’t respond.

Turpin bowed his head and sighed.

He hadn’t sung since that day in Todd’s parlour. He’d never been one to sing really, but he’d been lulled into a false sense of security that day. And today, he wondered if it might help him understand his own thoughts. So, with no one around but you, Turpin sung softly.

“I sit here, a man infatuate with love Your ardent and eager slave Please wake up, don’t leave me all alone Your love is all I now need to know Please tell me, my love, how I can show I’ll love you until my grave

You set my heart and soul afire One might think I’d be vexed 'Tis true, dear, love can still inspire The blood to pound, the heart leap higher What more can one require than love, dear? More than love, dear…

Kindness? Maybe kindness… Care and kindness.”

He stopped suddenly, his attention caught by a strange movement: from beneath your hospital gown, something appeared to be moving around your abdomen.

Turpin gently lifted the gown to reveal your belly. It was protruding a little, perhaps from the poor diet you’d been eating since returning to Melbourne.

It moved again. An unmistakable wave of movement across your belly, as if…

As if there were something inside.

Hardly daring to get his hopes up, Turpin put his hand over your belly.

And then he felt it.

A kick. Definitely a kick.

Something - no, some one was moving inside you. A baby!

Finally, after so long trying, your womb had quickened!

Turpin dashed out of the room and flagged down a passing nurse.

“Nurse! Come quickly!”

“Is everything alright, Lord Turpin?” the nurse asked, slightly alarmed at the usually stoic man’s sudden sense of urgency. “Has Lady Turpin woken?”

“No, but I’m certain I just felt her womb quickening. Do you have a method of discerning if she’s pregnant?”

“Goodness!  Yes, although I’ll have to fetch Dr Stephens, he’s the expert on maternity.”

“Then fetch him immediately!”

“Yes, sir.”

The nurse rushed off, and Turpin returned to your side. He beamed at you and took your hand in his, for once not caring to maintain any sort of stoic facade.

“I hope you can hear me, darling,” he said softly. “You’re pregnant. Do you hear me? Do you know? Can you feel him? Our child, growing inside you, an heir for our legacy…”

“Care and kindness, that’s what it takes To make our love stronger Care and kindness, what a wonder Care and kindness…

Now we’ll have our child, the answer to my prayer I feel a change in the air Care and kindness that we’ll show him And I’ll show you also Stay forever, if you’ll have me Care and kindness Care and kindness

I know that you will love and Raise my son and heir Even when I leave I’ll still be there He’s there Care and kindness that you give me And I’ll give you, and we’ll give him, and he’ll give us How it makes a man sing Proof of heaven, as you're living Care and kindness, love Care and kindness, dear Care and kindness, oh, care and kindness…”

You were confused when you woke up.

You weren’t supposed to wake up.

Wasn’t that what the apothecarist had said? One drink from the bottle and you’d sleep forever.

So why were you awake?

You opened your eyes and panic rose in your chest when you didn’t recognise the room you were in.

Someone was holding your hand. You turned your head to see William, sitting by your bedside, your hand in his and his head bowed as if in prayer.

Your finger twitched slightly, and his head shot up to look at you, wide-eyed.

”[Y/n]!” William exclaimed, relief evident in his voice. He grinned and held your hand to his lips. “You’re awake! My prayers have been answered.”

“Where am I?” you mumbled, your voice dry and hoarse.

“The Royal Melbourne, darling. You caused us all quite a fright. How are you feeling?”

“Um… okay, I think.”

You went to sit up, and William adjusted your pillows behind you to support you. He took your head in his hands, examining you as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

“You’re sure? Are you hungry, thirsty? I’ve done my best to feed you while you’ve been asleep.”

“Yes, I’m fine - maybe a bit thirsty.”

“Of course. There’s water here.”

William poured a glass of water from the jug by the bed, and you glanced around the room.

It was mostly empty, and a bit miserable-looking. A stack of books lay nearby. You were dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, which had been pushed around your waist, and you tugged it down to cover your privacy.

“How long was I sleeping?”

“Four days. Here - drink.”

You must have really worried him, because you’d not seen William so eager to look after you before. He was like an entirely different person, his usual restraint gone, and you noticed when returning your empty glass to him that he was wearing only a shirt and trousers, nothing of his usual formal attire, and there was stubble on his cheek.

“Darling, I have to tell you something,” William said with a sense of urgency, taking both hands in yours. “And I must tell you now, so you’re not to interrupt me.”

You nodded.

“I know you fell in love with Elliott.”

Your heart dropped. This was it, he knew, he was going to divorce you for adultery —

“And yet, I know you didn’t try to leave me for him, much as he tried to convince you to. You showed me unwavering loyalty, even in spite of what your heart yearned for, and for that I thank you. I know I’m not the kindest husband, and though I provide for you, I can do better. I must do better. I swear to you now, [Y/n], with the Lord as my witness, I will do everything in my power to be the best husband I can for you, to honour Elliott’s memory, and… to be the best father I can for our child.”

He placed his hand tenderly over your stomach and smiled.

“I felt it, darling. The quickening. I saw him move and felt his kicks, only minutes before you woke. At last we’ll have the child we’ve yearned for.”

You felt paralysed with shock.

You were pregnant. You had a child inside you, a life, entirely dependent on you.

If you’d succeeded in what you’d tried to do, the child would have died too. You were so consumed in grief, you’d almost snuffed out the last trace of Elliott in the world.

The thought came to you so naturally, it was as if you just knew.

Maybe you did. Maybe a mother always knows.

Elliott was gone, but he was still with you. He’d left you with child.

Did William know? Did he want to know? Did the suspicion even cross his mind?

He looked so happy. Here he was, promising to be the best father he could be. If he even suspected the child wasn’t his, he would never react like this. He would probably force you to abort it to make room for his own child.

He couldn’t know. He could never know. The child would be Turpin, and he would never know who his real father was. It was a secret you had to carry to your grave, for all your sakes.

You looked up at your husband. He looked at you searchingly, waiting for you to respond to the news of your pregnancy.

“Can we call him Elliott?”

---

Thanks to some herbs from an apothecarist in Melbourne - not the same one who’d given you the useless bottle of arsenic, as grateful as you were for their negligence - you managed to make the two month journey back to London without regurgitating your meals any more than an expectant mother would normally do.

Your belly grew substantially over the journey, and though you’d managed to carry your own bags onto the boat in Melbourne, there was simply no way William was allowing you to attempt to carry them off again in London. You counted yourself fortunate that he didn’t insist on carrying you off the boat himself.

You’d said a tearful goodbye to Tommy in Melbourne, but you left knowing you’d see him sooner than expected; although he claimed there were no personal reasons for it, William had drawn up a law before you left that a convict who spends his sentence in the employ of the British army would receive a day off his sentence for each day served. It just so happened that shortly after enacting the law, he had Tommy enlist in the army, and therefore so long as he stayed safe and served the army well, he could return to London in as little as seven years.

You arrived in London just a few days before Christmas, and you were greeted with warm welcomes and congratulations by other churchgoers on Christmas Day, many of them pleasantly surprised to see Lord and Lady Turpin had safely returned from Australia and that you were heavy with child.

William forwent his usual New Year’s celebrations in favour of looking after you, since you were now so pregnant you could hardly get out of bed.

The New Year had hardly begun when you went into labour, and if you weren’t so distressed with your pain, you might have been amused at seeing the usually stoic Lord Turpin fretting with worry over you, refusing the doctors’ advice to leave the room. Instead, he insisted on staying with you, and made no complaints no matter how hard you gripped his hand in the throes of pain.

You were just about ready to pass out when finally you were free of the weight of the child, and William had to keep you awake as the nurse washed the baby, wrapped him up and handed him to you to nurse.

“Is he alright? Is he healthy?” William asked urgently, addressing the nurse but his eyes fixed firmly on the sight of you, sweaty and exhausted and utterly beautiful, holding your son to your breast.

“Yes and yes. And he is indeed a boy, congratulations!”

William beamed at you. “I never doubted it for a moment.”

Although he’d never say it to you, he had had doubts of the child’s paternity for months. And yet, looking down at him now, he realised he didn’t care if the child was half him or half Elliott. He was half you, and that was all that mattered.

William leant down and kissed the boy’s head tenderly.

“Welcome to the world, Elliott Turpin.”

Twenty Years Later

Being the eldest child was difficult sometimes. As the heir to the Turpin estate, Elliott had all the responsibilities, while his three youngest siblings were free to leave after marrying and start families elsewhere.

Elliott, though, stayed in the family home with his wife and young son. His wife, bless her, never complained - she liked having his mother around, she said. It was nice to have another lady around, especially when Elliott’s youngest sister, Eleanor, married and moved out almost as soon as she turned eighteen.

What he hadn’t expected was to lose his mother so soon after Eleanor left.

He had been the one to find her motionless in her bed.

And fortunately he had, because while in one hand she held an empty bottle of arsenic, in the other she held a letter addressed to him, and when he read the contents, he knew nobody could ever know the truth contained within, not even his wife.

Elliott —

I know I’m leaving early, but since my darling William left us ten years ago, I’ve been aching to follow him. In truth, I stayed only because my duty on this earth was not done. But now Eleanor is married, all four of you have families, and I’m needed here no more.

I must tell you a truth, Elliott, a truth I kept only to myself since before you were born.

You know you were named for William’s cousin, who we briefly stayed with in Australia in 1865, who was murdered before our very eyes.

But there’s more to your namesake than that.

For some time, William worked in Melbourne, while I stayed with Elliott at his station.

I fell in love with him.

If it weren’t for his death, I might have left William for him. But events transpired as they did, and I lost the love of my life. All I had left of him was the gift he’d given me: you.

The very moment I discovered I was pregnant with you, I knew he was your father. I wonder sometimes if a part of William knew too.

You knew William as a supportive if stern father, who laughed but reluctantly, and who adored me and all of you.

He wasn’t always like that.

The early years of our relationship were fraught with darkness, but that tale is done. That version of William died long ago.

He worked hard to become the man you knew. And he did it because of Elliott. He did it because he saw the love Elliott and I had, and although at first he was jealous, he took it as a lesson to become a better man.

I have loved every version of my husband. I loved Elliott too. Both these things can be true.

And of course I have loved you. I can never prove that Elliott is your father, but I have always known it.

You remind me of him sometimes. Your laugh is the same. He fancied himself an American cowboy, so you can imagine how it brought me both joy and sorrow to see you play Cowboys and Indians with William Jr, always insisting on being the cowboy.

But the resemblance I see most is in your family, the way you love them, care for them, protect them no matter what. If your father was anything, he was a protector.

He taught me to speak for myself. He showed me that I can make choices for myself. And it’s because of him that you exist, and that will always be the greatest gift of my life.

I love you, Elliott. Be the good man I know you are.

All my love,

Your mother, [Y/n] Turpin

[shadowqueenjude]

One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them. “Shit,” Cassian spat, and was instantly there— And met a wall of blue. Azriel had sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrapped around Eris’s throat, Rhys said, “Enough.” Azriel squeezed, Eris thrashing beneath him. No physical brawling—there had been a rule against that, but Azriel, with whatever power those shadows gave him … “Enough, Azriel,” Rhys ordered. Perhaps those shadows that now slid and eddied around the shadowsinger hid him from the wrath of the binding magic. The others made no move to interfere, as if wondering the same. Azriel dug his knee—and all his weight—into Eris’s gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Eris’s body. Beron’s flames struck the blue shield, over and over, but the fire skittered off and fizzled out on the water. Any that escaped were torn to shreds by shadows. Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

Silence fell again. Azriel nodded at her. “What happened to you?” She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it’d be gone entirely. “Nothing,” she said without looking at Cassian. “She fell down the stairs,” Cassian said, not looking at her, either. Azriel’s silence was pointed before he asked, “Did someone … push you?” “Asshole,” Cassian growled. Nesta lifted her eyes from her plate enough to note the amusement in Azriel’s gaze, even though no smile graced his sensuous mouth. Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.” “If they’re under a spell from Briallyn or Koschei,” Feyre asked, “then is it right to harm them like this?” The question echoed through the chamber, over the snarling of the hungry beasts. Rhys said after a moment, “No. It isn’t.” Amren said to Feyre, “The fog around their minds and the fact that they endured Azriel’s ministrations without showing an understanding of anything beyond basic pain at least confirms our suspicions.” “If that’s how you wish to justify it,” Feyre said a tad coldly, “then fine.”

"He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep." "She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence. But he could have this moment. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it." "Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them." "This was a mistake." "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." "I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway." "He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself too." "I'll defeat him with little effort." "He'd been so vigilant about keeping away from Elain as much as possible, and had stayed up here to avoid her, and tonight... tonight had proved he'd been right to do so." Why do people think Azriel is decent? I don't think he's good enough for Elain OR Nesta. I actually think he's a fucking creep.

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

'Regret'

THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD, why? because im lazy and tired, I spent a a while writing this, and if you notice it has more words and details then the john dory au? that's because this is an au that iv been working on for longer, and is the one I enjoy more(although I enjoy both but I have bias for this one)

WARNING:/ Blood, gore, near-death experience, Thalassophobia

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Five days. It might as well have been a lifetime since Brozone fell apart, scattering its members like leaves in a storm. Five whole days since Floyd had seen the faces of his brothers, their laughter now just an echo in his memory. But what really gnawed at him, deep in the pit of his stomach, was that it had been exactly five days since he had last seen Branch.

The forest floor beneath Floyd's feet crunched loudly, breaking the tranquil silence that enveloped the forest, His path was a winding trail through an explosion of colors, under a canopy of trees that seemed to stretch up to touch the night sky. Around him, the forest was alive with the chatter of critters and the rustle of leaves, painting a vivid picture of an ecosystem thriving in its magical bubble.

Bioluminescent flora cast an eerie, beautiful glow across the path, lighting up the darkness with hues of blues, pinks, and greens. The air was filled with the rich aroma of blooming flowers and the sweet, almost intoxicating scent of magical sap that seemed to seep from every nook and cranny of this enchanted world. Yet, despite the overwhelming beauty and the vibrant life all around him, Floyd couldn't shake off the cloak of loneliness that draped over his shoulders.

With each step he took, the weight of absence pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the void that Brozone's breakup had left in his heart. But even more so, Branch's absence cast the longest shadow on his soul, maybe he shouldn't have left, maybe he should go back.

As the teenage troll wrestled with his thoughts, a fierce battle between the urge to push forward and the longing to return, he concluded. The solitude was unbearable, an aching void that no amount of pride could fill. He yearned for the familiar warmth of home, the comforting presence of his grandmother, and the camaraderie with his brothers, but above all, he ached to see baby Branch. With a heavy heart but a spark of resolve, Floyd turned around, ready to retrace his steps back to the troll tree, back to the place he belonged.

However, the moment his feet pivoted, a sudden stillness enveloped the forest. The vibrant life that had buzzed and hummed around him just seconds ago seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving behind an oppressive silence. The only sound that dared to break the quiet was the gentle murmur of the river nearby, its flow now sounding ominously loud in the absence of the forest's chorus.

This eerie quietude sent a shiver down Floyd's spine, igniting a flicker of concern for his safety. The forest, once a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors, now felt like a different realm altogether, one where every shadow could hide a threat and every whisper of the wind seemed like a warning. Floyd's heart began to race, not just with the fear of the unknown, but with the realization that this sudden silence could mean something was amiss.

Torn between the desire to rush back to the safety of home and the instinct to tread carefully in this changed environment, Floyd took a cautious step forward. His eyes darted from one shadow to the next, trying to pierce the suddenly thickening gloom, while his ears strained for any sound that might signal danger. The forest, with its sudden mood swing, had transformed from a friend into a foe, and Floyd knew he had to be vigilant if he was to navigate his way back home safely.

As Floyd cautiously navigated the forest path, a palpable tension hung in the air, thickening with every step he took. The usually vibrant and luminous plants seemed to retreat into shadows, their glows dimming as if to hide from an unseen menace, plunging the night into an even deeper darkness. The magic that once painted the forest in ethereal light now appeared to be snuffed out, replaced by a suffocating gloom that seemed to swallow everything in its path.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a sound so chilling, it froze Floyd in his tracks. A distorted cry, eerily reminiscent of a woman's scream, pierced the night, its source unclear yet unmistakably close. Floyd's heart hammered against his ribcage as he turned toward the sound, his eyes scanning the darkened foliage until they landed on a sight that would haunt his dreams for years to come.

Perched atop a giant mushroom, was a creature so ghastly, it seemed as though it had crawled straight out of a nightmare. Its body was a grotesque patchwork of shadows and twisted limbs, with skin that shimmered like oil on water, reflecting the faint moonlight in unsettling patterns. Its eyes, if they could be called that, were hollow voids that seemed to suck in the very light around them, radiating malice and hunger. Long, spindly fingers ended in claws that resembled the thorns of a rose bush, sharp and gleaming in the dim light. The creature's mouth was a jagged tear across its face, from which the distorted cry seemed to emanate, a sound that mimicked human anguish yet was devoid of any true emotion.

At that moment, every instinct in Floyd's body screamed at him to flee. The forest, with its sudden transformation into a realm of terror, and the appearance of this nightmarish entity, ignited a primal fear within him. His fight or flight reflexes didn't just suggest, but vehemently urged him to run, to escape this horror and never look back.

Without a second thought, Floyd turned on his heels, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm as he bolted down the path. The forest, once familiar and welcoming, now felt like a labyrinth designed to trap him in this nightmare. Branches seemed to reach out to snag at his clothes, and the ground beneath his feet felt treacherous as if it too was in league with the horrors that lurked in the shadows. But Floyd didn't dare slow down; the terrifying creature and the oppressive darkness of the forest propelled him forward, driven by the singular desire to escape, to survive, to see the safety of home once more.

Floyd's legs pumped furiously beneath him, propelling him through the darkened forest with a speed born of sheer terror. The creature, with its nightmarish form, was alarmingly fast, its twisted limbs carrying it over the ground with a grace that belied its grotesque appearance. Floyd could hear it gaining on him, the sound of its pursuit a constant, horrifying reminder of the danger at his heels. But just as despair began to claw at his mind, fate intervened.

A deer-like creature, innocent and unaware, crossed paths with the monstrous entity. For a moment, the forest held its breath, and then the creature's attention snapped to the new, closer prey. The diversion was brief, but it was all Floyd needed. He didn't look back, not even as the sounds of a terrible struggle reached his ears, a mix of the predator's ferocity and the prey's agony cutting through the night.

Pushing his body to its limits, Floyd darted farther into the forest, driven by a primal urge to survive. When he finally dared to stop, he found himself beside a large boulder, surrounded by tall, thick bushes that offered a semblance of hiding. His chest heaved with the effort of his flight, each breath a loud, ragged sound in the silence that followed the creature's distraction.

Fearing that any noise might draw the creature's attention back to him, Floyd pressed a hand firmly over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his breathing. The distant cries of the deer-like creature, caught in the throes of agony, sent shivers down his spine, a grim reminder of the fate he'd narrowly escaped. The forest around him seemed to echo with the sounds of the hunt, a haunting symphony that kept Floyd frozen in place, too terrified to move, too scared to make a sound.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, Floyd remained hidden behind the boulder, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts of escape, survival, and the hope that he would never again encounter the terrifying creature that hunted the shadows of the forest.

The silence that had reclaimed the forest was as ominous as the stillness that had heralded the creature's arrival. Floyd could hear its heavy footsteps, a sound akin to sludge or mud squelching under a great weight, each step accompanied by the foul stench of decay. For a moment, the sounds ceased, and the quiet returned, so profound that Floyd dared to hope the nightmare was over, that the creature had abandoned its hunt.

But survival instincts urged caution. Grasping for any semblance of protection, Floyd reached for the guitar strapped to his back, its familiar weight offering a shred of comfort. Yet, as he drew it forward, the end of the guitar brushed against the bushes with a soft rustle, a noise seemingly inconsequential in the vastness of the forest. However, it was all the invitation the creature needed.

With terrifying swiftness, it burst over the bushes, its maw clamping down on Floyd's leg. The sharp pain was immediate, Floyd's white pants soaking up the blood that flowed freely from the wound. The creature reared onto its hind legs, dwarfing Floyd in size, and shook him violently, exacerbating the bite with its ferocity.

In the midst of this chaos, Floyd's grip on his guitar never wavered. With a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, he swung the instrument with all his might, connecting with the creature's inky, shifting face. The impact shattered the guitar, sending splinters scattering through the air, while a significant portion lodged into the creature's face. Its scream, a harrowing blend of pain and rage, echoed through the forest like a distorted woman's shriek.

With one final, forceful shake, the creature released Floyd, sending him hurtling through the air. He crashed against the stem of a mushroom, the collision spraining his ankle and sending waves of pain through his already battered body. Lying there, dazed and injured, Floyd knew escaping would now be an even greater challenge. His adversary, momentarily deterred by the assault, might not be down for long. Pain throbbing through him, Floyd realized he had to move, hide, or do anything to survive the night. But with a sprained ankle and the forest shrouded in danger, every option seemed fraught with peril.

With desperation fueling his movements, Floyd's gaze locked onto the neck of the guitar, miraculously almost intact despite its violent separation from the rest of the instrument. Pain and adrenaline mixed in his veins as he crawled towards it, each movement a testament to his will to survive. Clutching the shattered neck, he used it to hoist himself up, the makeshift cane offering a sliver of support in his vulnerable state.

Behind him, the creature's torment filled the air, its frenzied attempts to dislodge the guitar fragments from its face creating a cacophony of destruction. It slammed into tree trunks and mushrooms, blinded by pain and rage, its screams a distorted symphony of agony. This chaos provided Floyd with a crucial window of opportunity, one he seized without hesitation.

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Limping with the guitar neck for support, Floyd steered clear of the trail, aware that remaining within the creature's line of sight spelled certain doom. The forest around him was a blur of pain and determination, every step a challenge, every breath a victory against the darkness.

Then, as if emerging from a dream, Floyd stumbled upon an old bridge. Its wood was weathered and worn, groaning under the weight of untold years, the ropes that held it frayed and thin. It looked as though a single wrong step could send it tumbling into the ravine below. Yet, beyond this precarious crossing lay the possibility of escape, a chance to put more distance between himself and the nightmarish creature.

With no other options, Floyd approached the bridge, each step measured and cautious. The guitar neck, now a lifeline, steadied his shaky movements. He tested the first planks with a tentative weight, heart pounding not just from his injuries but from the fear of the bridge giving way beneath him.

The old wood creaked ominously under his foot, a sound that seemed to echo through the still forest, loud enough, Floyd feared, to attract unwanted attention. With the creature possibly still in pursuit, Floyd knew he had to cross quickly but carefully. Every step was a gamble, every creak a potential alarm, as he navigated the treacherous bridge, praying it would hold long enough to carry him to safety.

Floyd's heart pounded against his ribcage, a frantic drumbeat echoing his mounting despair. He was so close to the other side, to a semblance of safety, spurred on by the hope that the creature's liquid form might falter at the touch of water. The bridge, with its creaks and groans, seemed to mock his desperate flight, every shake a sinister whisper of his potential downfall.

"Why did it have to be a rope bridge?" The thought flashed through Floyd's mind, a fleeting moment of dark humor amidst terror. But then, the shaking intensified, transforming from a tremble to a violent quake that threatened to fling him into the abyss. Heart sinking, Floyd turned, and his worst fears were confirmed—the creature had found him, its grotesque form navigating the swaying bridge with unsettling speed despite its awkward limbs.

Tears carved paths down Floyd's cheeks, each one a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening. His mind raced with apologies, regrets flooding in as he faced the stark realization that he might never return home, never fulfill his promises, never see his loved ones again. The thought of Baby Branch, innocent and unaware of the danger Floyd faced, filled him with an acute pain that eclipsed even the fear of the creature behind him.

Time seemed to dilate, stretching each second into an eternity as the added weight of the chase proved too much for the ancient bridge. The ropes, worn by time and weather, began to snap, the sound a death knell ringing through the air. Floyd and the creature, locked in a deadly pursuit, plummeted towards the river below.

The fall felt like a lifetime, every detail etched into Floyd's mind with painful clarity. The river rushed up to meet him, not deep enough to cushion their fall, littered with rocks that jutted out like the teeth of some gargantuan beast. Floyd's descent aimed him headfirst into the water, a final, cruel twist of fate.

Impact. His head collided with a rock, and a blinding pain flashed before darkness engulfed him. Consciousness slipped away to the sounds of rushing water and the creature's agonized screeches, a haunting lullaby as everything faded to black.

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At the edge of Rock Troll territory, near the imposing yet vibrant Volcano Rock City, a young Rock Troll girl idled by the river. She appeared to be around fourteen, her distinctive large, fluffy mohawk transitioning from fiery red to a deep black, a mark of her heritage and vibrant personality. Engrossed in the simple pleasure of skipping rocks across the water's surface, her attention was abruptly captured by an unusual sight—a troll, strikingly out of place with his bright colors, floating aimlessly in the river's current.

Instinctively, she sprang into action. Unlike the troll in the water, she was a Rock Troll, naturally endowed with strength and resilience. Wading into the river with determined strides, she reached the brightly colored troll with little effort, pulling him to the safety of the riverbank. Her heart raced, not from the exertion, but from the urgency of the situation. Gently, she placed him on the bank, leaning in to place her torn ear against his chest, searching for the faintest sign of life. To her relief, a heartbeat thudded against her ear—faint but unmistakable. He was alive.

Realizing the immediate danger wasn't over, given the troll's recent submersion, she knew she had to act fast to clear any water from his lungs. Despite her age and the lack of formal training, she had a basic understanding of CPR from the stories and bits of knowledge passed down in her community. Determined to save this stranger, she positioned herself and began the procedure, driven by a mix of adrenaline and the sincere hope that she could make a difference.

Her technique was far from perfect, her movements occasionally hesitant, but her resolve never wavered. She was a Rock Troll, strong in more ways than one, and today, she was this stranger's lifeline. As she worked to save him, a mix of fear and determination settled in her heart. She might be young and inexperienced, but she was his only chance, and she wouldn't give up on him.

As the young rock troll administered CPR, the pop troll abruptly jolted to consciousness, his body reacting violently as he expelled water from his lungs. Between harsh coughs and the effort to breathe, his condition was dire. Swollen and bruised, his ankle was a stark contrast to the severe wound on his leg. His complexion had turned alarmingly pale, a clear sign of his physical trauma. Despite his brief moment of wakefulness, exhaustion quickly overtook him, and he succumbed once more to unconsciousness.

With no time to lose and the pop troll's life hanging in the balance, the young rock troll lifted him onto her back. Muscles tensed and determination set in her eyes, she dashed towards the nearest infirmary, her resolve unwavering.

Bursting through the infirmary doors, her entrance commanded immediate attention. "Help! I need help here!" she cried out, her voice echoing with urgency.

The doctors in the infirmary turned, their appearances distinctively that of rock trolls. One had a stony complexion with jagged, slate-grey hair that seemed to mimic the sharp edges of a mountain range. His broad shoulders and muscular arms were adorned with tattoos resembling tribal markings and musical notes, a blend of tradition and rebellion. The other doctor, a female, bore a striking lavender hue to her skin, her hair a cascade of deep purple and silver, worn in a style that was both practical and indicative of her strength. Their attire, though reminiscent of traditional medical garb, had a rugged edge to it—leather belts equipped with various tools and instruments, and their scrubs adorned with metallic accents, giving them an aura of toughness and capability.

Without a moment's hesitation, they sprang into action, their expressions a mix of concern and professionalism. They carefully lifted the pop troll onto a stretcher. Swiftly, but with care, they wheeled him into the back, where the infirmary was equipped with the necessary tools and medicines to treat his injuries.

As they worked, their movements were efficient, a testament to their expertise. The female doctor assessed the wound on pop troll’s leg with a critical eye, cleaning it meticulously before stitching it up with a precision that belied her rugged appearance. The male doctor, meanwhile, tended to the swollen ankle, applying a cold compress to reduce the swelling before carefully wrapping it in a bandage designed to support and heal.

Throughout the process, their demeanor was calm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the violent world outside the infirmary walls. They communicated in hushed tones, their focus entirely on saving Pop Troll’s life. The young rock troll watched from a distance, her heart heavy with worry but filled with gratitude for the doctors' swift intervention.

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An hour had passed since the young rock troll had raced into the infirmary with the injured pop troll on her back. Sitting in the waiting room, her mind raced with worry and anticipation, her legs swinging back and forth in an anxious rhythm. The door to the back swung open, and the doctors emerged, their expressions somber but not without a hint of relief.

"He'll live," one of the doctors began, pausing as if to let the words truly sink in. "But his ankle is sprained and swollen pretty badly. And it's not just the open wounds—whatever happened to cause those wounds also shattered the bones in that leg. He won't be leaving any time soon."

The young troll stood up, her relief palpable but her concern for the stranger's well-being growing. It was then the female doctor added, with a tone of caution, "He's a pop troll. He shouldn't be anywhere near here. I think it's time to inform your father. He needs to know about this situation."

Realizing the gravity of the revelation and the complications it could entail, the young troll nodded solemnly. She knew what had to be done next. The implications of harboring a pop troll in rock troll territory were not lost on her, and the need for discretion and careful handling of the situation was paramount.

With a determined step, she made her way to seek out her father, the leader of their community. The weight of responsibility felt heavier with each step, but she was resolved to see it through, for the sake of the injured troll and the delicate balance of their community.

As she found her father and relayed the information, the air was thick with concern and the unspoken tension of what this could mean for their tribe.

"Father," she started, the urgency clear in her voice, "there's a troll in our infirmary. He's in bad shape, but he's alive. The doctors... they say his injuries are severe. And he's... well, he's a pop troll." Her father, a figure of authority and wisdom, absorbed the news with a measured pause. "A pop troll, here?" he echoed, the weight of the situation settling in. "This is delicate, indeed. We'll need to proceed with caution. And you did well to bring him to safety, Barb."

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[satoshi-mochida]

Some indie game recommendations from ones I’ve played or know enough about them to suggest them to others(mostly in no particular order), Part 5.

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9

Chained Echoes

Stray

A Short Hike

Unpacking

SUPERHOT

Dead Cells

House Flipper

Sifu

CrossCode

Advent Crossroad

Spooky’s Jumpscare Mansion

SEASON: A letter to the future

Coffee Talk

Heart Fragment

Donut County

World of Horror

Freedom Planet

OFF

Aragami

Cuphead

Evil Tonight

Vigil: The Longest Night

Find Love or Die Trying

Potionomics

Alba: A Wildlife Adventure

Rise of the Third Power

Dark Nights

False Skies

ASTLIBRA Revision

Rain World

Queen Beast(despite how it’s listed on Steam, it doesn’t seem to be that type of VN, according to it’s VNDB page’s contents)

LiEat

Noel the Mortal Fate

Katana Zero

Jenny LeClue - Detectivu

Mythic Ocean

Vengeful Heart

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite] prompt 2: horizon

It was the longest, coldest, darkest night.

“Starlight,” much of Eorzea called it, after the Ishgardian celebration that had grown so popular throughout the realm in recent years. In other regions of the star, it was often called “Midwinter,” a day of togetherness and feasting, coming together in the cold. 

To D’zinhla, and other Seekers throughout the realm, it was the Longest Night.

The midwinter celebrations held a lot in common, despite the differing names, because each version was recognizing the time of the winter solstice. In some places, this meant the wonderment of snowfall, and frolics within it, to enjoy the novelty. In others, it was about the cold and lean times, which provided sufficient reason to come together and care for one another, and make of it a holiday of togetherness. All recognized the fact that it was the shortest day of the year, if only to better mark their calendar for it.

To the Seekers of the Sun, who revered Azeyma, the fact that it was the shortest day was the most significant part.

The origins of the celebration they called the Longest Night were lost to antiquity and calamities past, but the shape of it was well-worn into place. She had discovered in her travels beyond La Noscea that Seekers outside her citystate home also observed the day, and the shape of it was much the same, with regional variance in some details. To Seekers, it was a day of feasting until sundown, a solemn vigil through the long, dark night, and a hymn to the Warden as dawn broke. 

D’zinhla remembered the first year she had insisted she was old enough to stand the vigil all night long, and she remembered the first night she actually saw it through, a few years later. She remembered the hearty meals of orange-glazed roast dodo, accompanied by foods of winter, like tubers, preserved fruits, pickled vegetables. She remembered a table holding foodstuffs to carry them through the night, mostly dried fruits, nuts, and meats. She remembered songs from her uncle and cousins as the candlelight was extinguished and only the hearthfire burned. She remembered stories from her grandmother, tales of when she was young, of the aftermath of the Autumn War and the days of unfettered piracy. She remembered her grandfather’s solemn reminder that the Longest Night was for looking after one another when the Warden was at her weakest. She remembered the youngest of them quietly bundled off to bed throughout the vigil, and sometimes the eldest as well, cared for by those who could see through the night.

She remembered the hush as dawn approached, as everyone bundled themselves warmly and went outside. She remembered the stillness of the pre-dawn air, the silence they maintained as they all took themselves to a place with a clear view to the eastern horizon. She remembered that the sky to the east was always clear, even if clouds threatened elsewhere.

She would never forget the first light of dawn breaking the horizon, each time.

Each time, it felt as if the light of the sun was pouring into her, renewing her after her sleepless night of vigil. It felt warmer and brighter than a summer’s noon, as the fires of the Warden’s symbol ignited the skies after a night longer, colder, and darker than any other in the year.

The moment that light broke, a voice would start to sing. It was a hymn to Azeyma, and each year the leader was chosen during the vigil, and they would time the first words to the reappearance of the light, singing the first lines alone, and then joined by all the rest of the gathered family, their voices rising with the sun, to thank the Warden for Her promised return, and reassure Her that in Her greatest absence, Her children had taken care of one another, and had seen the night through.

D’zinhla had met gods, and slain them. She had felt the presence of power beyond her comprehension, and stood both within and against it. She had, by the consequences of these experiences, grown apart from the beliefs she had once held close. The commonplace oaths still lingered in her speech, but with even less of the force she previously mustered. She dodged the subject of her personal beliefs, allowing others to openly assume that she was doing it as a matter of graciousness. She would not speak about how her feats made her feel when it came to matters of faith.

Yet every year, without fail, she would observe the Longest Night, to stand vigil through the darkness, and greet the rise of the new dawn with song.

[ashalsdream]

Ok… so this is gonna be random because tbh, I’m not thinking about anything at the minute except for this. And I’ll be honest, not the best at ship hc, so I hope this works?

1. Phil’s feathers would fall out every once in a while. When this happened the first time, Forever picked up one of his feathers off the ground and they started talking about Phil’s wings. Now Forever keeps the feather and just uses it as like a good luck charm

2. When Forever was passed out from the drug antidote and was carried out and put on the bench, Phil wrapped his wing around him, simply making sure that he didn’t get cold throughout the night. Phil refused to leave his side for the rest of the night. So they slept until the next day and they moved Forever to the hospital.

3. Phil has become protective over Forever, he always has been, but especially much more since the drug ark. So if he’s around and there’s even the slightest hint of noise, Phil will outstretch one of his wings behind Forever, even if he knows he can protect himself.

4. When Phil disappeared, and when Forever woke up, Forever instantly became worried as Phil didn’t come to see him, and he could remember his voice, what he said, while he slept. He laughed the entire time with Phil, it game him something to try and think about. It became all the more prominent as an entire murder of crows flocked the Favela and even at the presidential office. They were relatively silent, and if one did speak, they would instantly be shut up by the others. Back to my point, Forever searched everywhere for Phil, even trying to talk to the crows. They looked almost sick so he didn’t push it. When Forever noticed Phil was back, he knew something was off as he sounded exhausted, even if he had been sleeping the entire time. So Forever practically became as vigilant around Phil and he was around Forever.

Honestly, I don’t know what there is to say on my end. I’ve never really looked into hc for duos, specifically ships. And Philever isn’t my top ship so it makes it all the harder (Deathduo is my first). But I hope I did this right? Never done anything like this so I hope you get my point.

YYESSS I ADORE THESE!! also totally get the ship thing, i personally see phil and missa as queer platonic partners because they have the same vibes as me and my qpp when we play minecraft LMAO

as someone who owns a bird, feathers get EVERYWHERE bro they are all over the place. Forever keeps the longest one on a necklace but every so often when Phil loses another, he keeps them all in a small jar (something that I do with my bird, its very cute)

I can absolutely see them becoming more attached to each other after the drug/disappearance arc like Forever even goes to Etoiles to ask him about it and he doesn't speak to Etoiles often he just knows they're close. It becomes more worrying when they both realise neither have heard from Phil.

I love the idea that Forever has his own crow that follows him around, they keep an eye on him and make sure he's safe so that if he's not, Phil can get there quickly. Phil doesn't want to lose him again whether thats to the drugs or to kidnapping, he refuses to lose Forever.

I also love the idea that their relationship happened because Phil refused to admit he had feelings UNTIL Forever "gave up" and started flirting and spending time with other people and Phil was like "No wait- wait no,,, come back"

[losersimonriley]

WIP: Sundowning 👀💕

SUNDOWNING MY BELOVED ❤️ This is a fix-it for mwiii that I’ve been working on since November (help me.) Had to take a bit of a break from this one but we are so back baby. 24k words in and this is the longest story I’ve ever written. And it’s only 1/3 of the way done

Here is (quite a hefty chunk bc I’m weak) of the very beginning prologue! From Price’s pov, just like how the epilogue will be <3 Angst ahead—picking up right after…That scene. They think Soap is dead (no fear! He is not!)

John Price

London, England

21 November 2023 1800

He’s just lost two men.

After they defuse the bomb, it takes all but a second to realise it. Two pairs of eyes. One set stormy blue and…still laser focused. Even in death. The other set whiskey brown, huge and…scared. As if throughout all the unimaginable horrors in Simon Riley’s short life, this one is the worst those eyes have seen yet. It may very well be.

Simon had only just returned and now—

Now Ghost is going to shove him right back into that grave and never let him out again.

Because he might’ve been the one to physically pull himself out of the dirt and rot all those years ago, but Soap had been the one to truly set him free. Anyone could see it. Soap had been the one armed with the shocks that restarted Simon Riley’s heart. And now he’s gone. They’re both gone. Ripped away within the blink of a blue or brown eye.

And Price has only got his fucking self to blame.

So he calls it in. He tells Laswell one KIA, when he means two. She says the officers have just radioed her to confirm a clear entrance and exit. He fights himself not to look at the clean entrance and exit path through his own sergeant’s temples upon hearing those words.

She’s sending medevac down. About five minutes out. Not that they’ll need it for anything other than transporting John MacTavish’s dead fucking carcass out of here. Maybe three shock blankets, should they be so lucky. Not that he deserves the comfort at all.

Christ, there’s so much blood.

His mouth is full of cotton and his hands itch to kill. His body yearns to take a page out of Ghost’s book and fall to his knees just to feel the warm blood soak through his trousers.

But Kyle is pressing his lips together, trying not to let his face crumple, trying to be the perfect picture of composure. Trying to hold it together for what’s left of the team. Simon’s chest heaves with wheezing breaths that aren’t coming naturally like they should be, while stained gloves tremble over Soap’s chest.

And Price knows he does not have the luxury of falling apart right now.

No, that will have to wait until they’re back in Herefordshire. Base will hold the standard vigil, a ceremonious affair complete with bagpipes and candlelight for the youngest soldier to ever pass SAS selection. Later that night, he’ll have his own private wake in his office with the cheapest bottle of scotch, a good cigar and guilt thick enough to weaponise.

Actually.

Perhaps he will lose it sooner rather than later—in the form of cold-blooded revenge. He’s got the easiest target of a man in mind. Next best thing to Makarov himself.

The puddle of blood spreads to the toe of his boot. By the time the med team arrives, he is an island in a sea of red.

Ghost doesn’t break until the stretcher ready to load up Soap’s body is within sight. That is, predictably, what snips the final wire holding it all together.

Red wire.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Devil May Halloween 2022 - The Horror Amusement Park, Vergil's Path

It took me a little longer, but here is Vergil's! Hope you're all still in a spooky season mood ;)

*ALSO PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNING*

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: After Nico solved the puzzle box, you were sent to complete darkness. In an abandoned castle leading to a cemetery, you both might have to face more horrors than you thought that night would bring.

(a longer one too, 'cause I don't know what limit means)

TRIGGER WARNING: There's a lot of violence, even towards the reader, and PTSD/episodes regarding Vergil's trauma and discussion of him wanting to be dead or not. It gets very dark and, if you're struggling with something along these lines and think this might trigger you or be too much to handle right now, I do suggest NOT reading it.

Author's notes: I have a hard time not making Vergil's ones darker, but it's a little difficult considering his history. Not that Dante isn't traumatized and depressed as well, but I dunno. Vergil just got back from Hell after being enslaved for almost 20 I think. There's still a lot of healing to happen to him.

I hope you guys like it, though! It took me some time 'cause I was still trying to figure out what I wanted from his - frenzied Verge, kinda succubus kissing him, angst... It's a party indeed "^^

Devil May Halloween 2022 - Vergil's Path

You couldn’t really understand what was going on, but you could see darkness and a thick white fog tangling around your knees – you could barely see your feet and it was hard to distinguish where you were.

Extending your hands in the darkness, you tried to find the edge of whatever room you were in – given the rough floor under you, your feet were stepping in stones. You were clearly inside a room, but in what kind of building… That was still a mystery.

Soon, your fingers touched the cold, rough pattern of a stone wall. Smiling to yourself, you kept walking, running your hands on the walls until you found a door – or, at least, a way to get out.

It didn’t take long, really. When your fingers found wood, you searched for a handle – finding a cold, heavy iron one, carefully opening the wooden door. It made a faint strangled noise, but you were already proficient in demons to know it was loud enough for unnatural creatures.

Soon, you found yourself in an old, abandoned stone corridor, adorned with high, bluish mosaic windows, as far as your eyes could see. The sky was dark outside, only the ghoulish glimmer of the moon as a little bit of light for you to be able to move around with at least some knowledge of what lied ahead. The mist still danced around your knees and feet, apparently covering the whole place.

Wherever that was.

The sounds of footsteps, though, caught your attention. You tried to keep yourself in the darkest corner of that lonely corridor, damning the moment you thought Vergil had too many traumas when insisting on taking Yamato with him.

Traumatized or not, at least he was prepared.

You cleared your ears when the slow, calculated footsteps seemed to get closer. They had a cadence, a way of moving you knew like the sound of your own heartbeat.

“Vergil?” You whispered without leaving your hiding spot, noticing the footsteps coming to a halt.

For the longest seconds in your life, everything was drenched in silence and tension.

Until you finally heard the distinct sound of Yamato being unleashed.

“Vergil, it’s me. Y/n.” You were careful. You knew Vergil would never hurt you but taking him by surprise when he was in a high vigilant state like that one could cause an accident – you had to go easy on him.

“Show yourself.” His voice was low and serious, you could almost see as he barely moved his lips.

“Ok. Don’t be startled, dear. It is me.” With those words, you slowly left your hiding spot, finally seeing your lover under the pale moonlight shine.

Vergil was in position to attack, with Yamato half unsheathed and bended knees, looking exactly at the direction you were hidden. He had a very good sense of hearing – that was how he was training you to fight with your eyes closed, blindfolding you in order to enhance other senses in cases ‘you couldn’t trust your eyes’, as per his own words.

Vergil could fight with his eyes closed. And he was deadly.

“Y/n…” He finally sheathed the Yamato, immediately walking towards you. “I am glad to see you are fine.”

“Same goes for you, blue devil.” You smiled back, holding one of his hands and slowly caressing his skin. It was a simple touch, but it always seemed to calm Vergil whenever he needed it – and the tension between his fingers made you believe he did need it. “Is there anyone else with you?”

“No. I was sent here alone.” Unconsciously, Vergil started to caress patterns back in your hand as well. That made you smile. “And you?”

“Alone as well. I just got out of the dark room of doom over there.” You pointed the door behind you, giving way to a room filled with darkness.

“Hmmm. Our training has been paying off, I see.”

If there was something you loved and hated at the same time was that smug smile of pure pride in Vergil’s lips. When he wore it, the son of Sparda looked even taller, moving his head slightly up. You absolutely adored when he did that, but you also wanted to tear it off his face – especially when you were sparring, and he taunted you after defeating one of your moves.

Pride was the greatest sin of both you and Vergil.

“It has indeed, Dark Slayer.” But of course, you would banter back. As you sighed internally, you had to admit you loved playfully bantering with him. “Do you have any idea what that box in Nico’s hand was?”

“I read once of puzzle boxes being used as portals for other dimensions, but I have never seen it during my lifetime.” He started walking towards the end of the corridor with you, having his eyebrows furrowed in his usual pensive demeanor. Vergil always looked like that whenever he was reading something that sparked his interest or trying to make sense of some obscure meme.

“It was probably Hellraiser.” The certainty in your voice made Vergil stare down at you with annoyance. As soon as you noticed his look, you had to answer. “What? That’s exactly what the Lament Configuration does. Sometimes people get ideas for horror movies from real life.”

“I have to agree with you on that.” Vergil nodded, turning his head back to the path ahead. “But Hellraiser was a poor representation of what summoning demons would look like.”

“Oh, you’ve watched it?” You had a small smile hidden in your lips, but Vergil’s eyes were too smart not to notice.

If there was something he infinitely appreciated in you was how discrete you could be. Even if you had a somewhat sassy tone laced in your words, you never seemed to be making fun of him or actually trying to piss him off. It always looked like you were quite proud of his human part, really.

“I have watched it once. Perhaps it is time to see it again and refresh my memory.” He had the same smile hidden in his words, making your heart warmer. If there was one thing you loved, that was watching movies with Vergil.

You would’ve kept the conversation going if the corridor hadn’t got to its end: soon, a great, broken passage stood before you, hauntingly giving a view of what was outside. A long field of gray-bluish grass adorned with dried, rotten trees continued for miles and miles, while stone crosses, tombstones and weeping angels rose from the ground.

“Well…” You sighed, staring at that phantasmagorical view, still inside the castle. “It’s quite fitting for a necromancer, really.”

“Also fitting for Eric Draven as well…” Vergil murmured under his breath, his hand ready to unsheathe Yamato in the blink of an eye. “What do you feel, love?”

As soon as he asked, you turned your attention to the energy surrounding the cemetery. Vergil didn’t ask those kinds of questions for nothing: it was the type of thing he would say while you were training.

Quieting your mind, you remained in silence, walking carefully by his side. Your steps were almost inaudible, as if you were gliding through the mist entangling around your ankles. Lowering your eyes to your feet, it was easier to sense something when you didn’t rely on your sight to warn you if there was danger lurking in the shadows.

And, indeed, after a while, you sensed something. But it wasn’t just one thing.

“Two opposing energies…?” You furrowed your eyebrows, turning your head towards him. Even though Vergil remained serious, you could sense the pride in his voice.

“Two distinct energies. One much stronger than the other.” He analyzed, keeping Yamato by his waist and grabbing its hilt with the other hand. Vergil was more than ready to attack – and you just dreaded your decision of not carrying any sort of weapon with you that night. “If they are opposing, complimentary or feeding of each other, I do not know.”

“My, my… He is handsome and intelligent, isn’t he…?” A female voice echoed around you, making Vergil instinctively step a little bit in front of you and unsheathe his blade. You weren’t completely defenseless, though: around your head, a crown of white summoned swords was ready to attack. “It is indeed a pleasure to welcome you in my garden.”

The demon had the form of a voluptuous woman, breasts covered by long hair that dragged on the ground. You just couldn’t see more of her flesh because of the shadows playing around her legs, as if they were the only form of clothing she wore. You couldn’t deny it: she was beautiful. Deadly beautiful.

“I thought your kind was doomed to imprisonment for a thousand years.” Vergil regained his regal pose, head slightly shifted upwards, his hand still tightly around the Yamato. Curiously enough, he seemed to try to get between you and the demon even more – slowly, almost unnoticeable, but he definitely moved.

“Hmmm. You do know my kind, wolf eyes?” She asked back, as if the words dripped from her mouth. You’d guess she was a succubus, but Vergil’s reaction told you she was a little more than that – or a lot more.

“I do know all of you pitiful creatures should be dead.” His eyes got colder, making her finally shift her gaze to you.

“He is a harsh one, huh? You like that on him.” A devilish smile appeared on her lips, revealing a mouth filled with sharp fangs. “I can see it in your mind, my dear.”

“I tend to like everything about him. Even the most unlikeable of aspects.” You decided not to show you had no clue what kind of demon she was. Also, demons lied: you wouldn’t be scared of her just saying she could read your mind – most of them couldn’t. “That’s usually what humans call love.”

Strangely enough, you could feel Vergil’s free hand slightly touching your nearest thigh – as if telling you to stop the taunting and leave it to him.

That was the biggest red flag you ever had with Vergil: he never told you to step aside in a fight. He reveled in your power, watching you decimating hordes of demons and proudly calling you his mate, his lover. Vergil would only tell you to step down when there was something too dangerous about a fight – unfortunately, with the demon already there, you couldn’t ask him what it was.

After all, it was a power play. And as soon as she noticed you didn’t know what she was, you both would be in a disadvantage and Vergil would lose whatever power he had on that conversation over that demon.

“And isn’t that true…?” She answered with a sparkle of devilish pleasure in her dark eyes. “You truly adore him. Even his dirty aspects – and oh, there are so many in this one.” Shifting her gaze back to Vergil, that mouth filled with sharp teeth smiled again. “Your mind is a bottomless pit of suffering. I’ll enjoy playing with you both.”

“That wasn’t the deal!” Soon, your attentions were caught by a witchy figure in a flowy black long dress, holding an old book in one of her hands and having the other pointed at the demon. “I command you to stop! You cannot disobey me!”

“I am simply doing what you have asked of me, little witch.” The demon had a fake accent of innocence. Vergil just didn’t attack the witch because you held his hand: she was nothing but a teenager – and something was very wrong. “You did ask me to terrorize your guests.”

“They are not my guests!” The girl pointed back at you. “I don’t know how they got here, but they shouldn’t be harmed. I’ll send them back until the proper ones appear and you should not touch them!”

The earth beneath you started trembling – and you could finally see the she-devil’s eyes turning red.

“I played your game until now for freedom, little witch. You do not control me, and you will not deny me blood. Stop being a nuisance.” With those words and a gesture from her hand, corpses raised from the ground – demons coming up from the earth, raising from the depths of Hell – grabbing the girl and her book.

“I’ll deal with her later. You are more interesting right now…” As her newly distorted voice started speaking in an alluring song, none of you were quick enough to react to what happened – or better, you were certain Vergil didn’t move so she wouldn’t accidentally hit you while targeting him. In the blink of an eye, the demon was standing in front of Vergil, holding his face with both hands. “Show me that head of yours, handsome.”

Planting her lips in a deep kiss on Vergil’s own lips, everything turned black to you and him.

*

Vergil woke up startled, suddenly sitting on the bed.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked around, trying to understand what was going on. That house… It seemed familiar. The opulent decoration, the blue sheets on a big, couple’s bed... It was different, as if to accommodate his now adult self, but… It was home.

You weren’t laying by his side – but he did see your clothes tossed on his working chair. Vergil hummed a quick laugh: it was typical of you when you were tired. He usually just followed your trail of mess, putting things where they belonged. It was something that got on his nerves at first, but soon Vergil started seeing it as a way he complemented you – just like you complemented so many flaws of his.

With his bare feet on the wooden floor, Vergil put on one of his stay-at-home shirts he found in the closet – organized, your clothes carefully placed alongside his – and tried a few steps outside of the bedroom.

The house remained the same as he remembered – but, as he observed before, there was something different. Something of warm, something of happy. It wasn’t drenched in blood, ashes and sorrow as he remembered, but a new beginning. Going down the stairs, Vergil followed your humming voice until he got to the kitchen.

You were standing by the oven, wearing one of his pajama shirts – too big, too baggy for you, but something he adored seeing – while warming your hands over the pan you used to brew some tea. There were toasts from older bread fresh out of the oven, filling the kitchen with their warm smell, and some jam and butter next to both of your plates on the table.

For a few seconds, Vergil was certain he had finally died and achieved the peace his soul longed for his entire life. And he got to live that peace with you.

His eyes suddenly filled with tears as you still quietly hummed, the golden sun lazily filling the kitchen with a dreamy light. He could see his mother’s garden through the windows in the backyard, as if the flowers wanted to play with your hair in the morning sun.

The tears escaped his eyes and Vergil was able to smile as he felt a weight lifting from his heart.

“Good morning, love.” Your voice echoed as soon as you noticed him inside the kitchen. Vergil just smiled more, walking lazily towards you in that golden drenched morning.

“Good morning, fairest of flowers.” His voice was like dark chocolate, melting around you as his arms embraced you from behind – Vergil’s hands coming to play with yours, warming themselves over the steam of the brewing tea.

“Hmmm. Someone’s terribly romantic today.” You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips, closing your eyes as your fingers played alongside his. Vergil’s hands always looked so much bigger and calloused, but, despite everything, he managed to touch you with so much gentleness one would think he didn’t have inside himself.

“I am always hopelessly romantic when I’m around you.” He murmured near your ear – and you could hear the satisfied smile he had in his lips. It was the first time you ever saw Vergil so… Relaxed. He never had his guard down – but, that moment, he wasn’t tensing or in a state of alertness. He was just… Himself. “I love you.”

For some reason, your feelings decided to overflow from your eyes – quite a shock to you. Maybe that was what he felt to be crying before you talked to him that morning, but there was a peace inside your chest that couldn’t be felt anywhere else. Vergil had said he loved you before, but not like that. Not like just Vergil. Not completely vulnerable like he was at that moment.

“I love you too.”

His arms wrapped around you tighter, his hands coming to hold yours – entangling your fingers with his – slowly rocking you from side to side with him. Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered – nothing but you and him.

Unfortunately, good things never seemed to last in Vergil’s life. Breaking that moment of peace both of you thought would be eternal, he felt various hands grabbing his legs. Looking down, Vergil noticed you were both standing in a pit of glossy darkness – with claw-like hands raising to grab both of you… And drag you down.

“No… No.” Vergil’s voice was nothing but a breath in the wind, completely disoriented as he started back into your eyes, trying to hold you with both of his hands. “No. Don’t let go.”

“I won’t. I’ll never let go of you. Vergil…!” You tried, but the hands pulled your arms back, surrounding you and dragging you apart.

That was when he noticed: You were being held away from him, as the hands were dragging him down – slowly taking Vergil where he knew he belonged.

The realization made his heart sink inside his chest. As he slowly descended, Vergil closed his eyes and sighed, allowing tears to fall down his face. It was a path of his own making – and it was foolish of him to think he deserved any kind of paradise after all he had done. You were able to accept him, you were his paradise. And now, it was time for him to atone for his sins.

Opening his eyes once more, Vergil saw as you struggled and tried to reach out, crying while saying his name. You were an angel indeed, to fall in love with a devil. Just like his mother.

“I love you.” Those were his last words before being completely taken away from you – and all he could hear were your desperate cries of losing him.

He should be forever condemned to Hell for breaking your heart.

*

“I would have never expected you to be such a romantic soul!”

The voice of the she-devil who kissed him earlier echoed once again, and Vergil found himself kneeling on the grass of the cemetery – eyes glossy with tears, gasping for air. Taking a look around, he saw the witch girl being held hostage by decrepit, skeletal demons, unable to move and staring at him with agony in her eyes. She would be speaking if they didn’t cover her mouth – but her look clearly asked Vergil for forgiveness.

You, in the other hand, were nowhere to be found – at least at a first glance.

“You know what they say… The best way to kill a man is through his heart.” The demon smiled devilishly, walking around the cemetery while seeming to conjure something with her hands. Vergil was too weak to attack her right away – that kiss stole some of his energy, that now he was working on harnessing again. But it was hard to harness energy after such a strong emotional unbalance. He had to ground – even if there wasn’t enough time for that. “You know what a kiss from me does, right…?”

“It shows nothing but lies.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. It shows me the deepest parts of your soul.” She glanced wickedly at Vergil, finally stopping at some point of the cemetery, making the earth shake again. He got up slowly, getting back to his proud pose – Yamato firmly in his hands. “What heaven looks like – with your beloved human. And what Hell looks like.”

Vergil immediately started screaming as he was suddenly assaulted by memories of his tortured times in the hands of Mundus. The girl struggled, wanting to help him, scared of seeing that man in such pain. Vergil’s heart was burning, his mind freezing, his eyes about to cry blood. He wanted to die – as he did everyday when his torture seemed to have no end.

“But your heart does not belong to you, does it…?” With those words, everything started warping and both Vergil and the girl felt the warmth of wild flames.

The pain stopped and he looked around: the castle was on fire, burning to ashes, as the cemetery filled with demons wanting blood. In the distance, he finally saw you running – scared, powerless, being chased by a horde of demons. Vergil’s eyes widened as he recognized that scene, his heart filled with despair: you weren’t like him. You wouldn’t trigger as he did as a child. You would die.

“The best way to kill a man…” The she-devil started speaking, slowly mutating into one of the demons that attacked him that night – voice getting distorted and grotesque. “Is through his heart.”

As she set her hunt towards you, Vergil took a deep breath to think. He had to do something – and acting out of his emotions would be the worst something he could do at the moment. Thinking about it, he unsheathed Yamato, using his lightning speed to attack the demons surrounding the witch responsible for all that.

She remained frozen in fear as he slayed every single one of his adversaries in the blink of an eye. Vergil moved faster than she could think – with a look in his eyes that could only belong to a skillful and calculating killer.

As the demons dopped to their feet, she stood there, staring at him, without moving a single limb from her body. The girl didn’t know if she should thank him or beg for her life.

Vergil pointed the Yamato to her, inches away from the girl’s neck. Her eyes widened, crying as she questioned how it all spiraled out of control like that.

“You…” His words were cold as ice, running like a cube down her spine. “My brother is the soft hearted one with a rule of not killing undeserving humans. I started doing it his way, but be warned that if any harm comes to y/n, there will be nothing stopping me of ending your miserable life.”

The girl was a crying mess. She wanted to kneel at his feet and beg for forgiveness, explaining she never wanted any of that. She wanted to run away before he could say something else. She wanted to scream. She wanted him to understand she was not a bad person.

But inside those silvery eyes, there was no space for understanding – only murderous rage.

“Walk.” Vergil signaled the way with Yamato, setting a quick pace so they would get to you in time. In the distance, he could see white summoned swords as you ran, knowing that, for now, you could keep yourself alive. “Who are you and what happened?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want this! She was supposed to answer to me, they were all supposed to obey me…!” The girl started stumbling over her words, while Vergil’s unrelenting eyes kept on your form.

“You didn’t answer my questions.”

“I’m, I’m, I’m Blaire! My name is Blaire!” The teen witch blurted out, stuttering as she tried to explain herself. “We found a spell, me and my friends, we just wanted to scare some people at school who bully us every day! We got tired of it, we just… They were supposed to see how powerful we are and leave us alone! You ended up here by mistake, she had to obey me and let you go…!”

“Only a heavily inexperienced witch would make such mistake…” Vergil sighed, pointing at the demons in front of them. “She is a species condemned to forgetfulness, dangerous even to her own kind. Not a succubus, but still alluring and deadly: they prey on their victims’ minds to use their worst nightmares to break and kill them. Suffering only makes them more powerful. A weak arcane thing like you would never be able to control such a demon. You better pray she doesn’t decide to use all my memories.”

Before Blaire could say anything else, the girl screamed instead: Vergil triggered in an explosion of blue light, running towards the demons even faster than before – slaying them relentlessly in his own demon form.

Blaire protected herself behind a tombstone, watching it all in awe: she would have never guessed he was a demon himself, even though she was scared by him before. Watching you summon your swords for a little protection, she couldn’t stop thinking you were a powerful witch – wishing, someday, she could be just like you.

“Die, scum!” Vergil’s distorted voice echoed in front of you, making you sigh in relief.

You had been running for quite a while, completely out of breath. Summoning swords required a lot of energy and doing both could leave one completely exhausted.

“Thank you, love.” As soon as he felt your hand brushing on his arm, Vergil was able to come back to his human form – the rage in his heart calming slightly. It didn’t last long, though: soon Vergil was back to fighting and you had only a few moments to rest until a demon tried to approach you from behind and take you by surprise. “Vergil isn’t the only one who can use his father’s sword.”

With those words, you decided to use whatever energy you had left to defend yourself. Concentrating it on your hands, you were soon holding a white Mirror Edge, something you could only summon once in your life – and it left you extremely tired after fighting with it for a few seconds.

But you wouldn’t give in. You would fight by his side until all your energies gave out if you had to – and that was something Vergil admired endlessly in your soul. With all your differences and similarities, your will matched his own.

“I guess it’s time to make your heart bleed a little more.” The demon’s distorted voice suddenly started to change, as the scenery around you morphed into a place of darkness and desolation.

No one knew of that place, not even you. Feeling your feet sticking in the blood red ground, you kept fighting with whatever strength you had left, realizing the demons now resembled Angelos.

“Vergil! Don’t let her get hurt!” You screamed as soon as you saw Blaire being attacked by two demons much stronger than her.

He would never argue with you regarding protecting another soul. Vergil immediately ran by Blaire’s side, killing the Angelos with one swift move.

“Where… Where are we?!” The girl was horrified. It seemed like a church – out of the deepest corners of Hell, covered in demon corpses and blood. Vergil knew very well where they were.

“Inside my worst nightmare.” It was the only thing he managed to murmur before slaying another demon who tried to grab her.

Until he heard you scream.

“Silence, little one. It is time.” And that voice. The voice he knew very well. The voice that echoed inside his head and made Vergil lose every single drop of free will he had in his life.

Turning around in shock, he saw something even worse than the traumatic memories engrained in his mind: Mundus held your suddenly fragile body, the Mirror Edge buried on the ground. You tried to set yourself free, but it was to no avail. The demons followed their master in a procession towards a broken cross – the cross where Vergil had once his soul broken and his coronation as Nelo Angelo.

“What are they doing…?” Blaire could only whisper, now hiding herself behind Vergil. She had no possibility of fighting against those demons, of stopping whatever they wanted to do to you.

That was what Vergil feared most – and he didn’t even know that prior to seeing the possibility of you suffering the same fate as his.

A fate not of your own making, not carved by your choices – but by his. A damnation from loving him so much.

Blaire screamed once again as Vergil triggered – but, this time, his wings spread in the sky like an angel of death ready to take on his enemies. There was nothing but the desire to kill, to end every single living thing in that godforsaken place until there were just the two of you standing – and you safely held in his embrace.

Vergil was in a frenzy, you could see that. Even if he was a lot more ruthless than his twin brother, it was very rare for him to be taken by his emotions like that. With the Yamato slashing through the procession of demons, Vergil got covered in blood – gracefully performing his dance of death among his enemies.

The Yamato crossed Mundus’ chest as he was about to nail your hands in the cross.

You fell on the ground, trying to breathe once more. Mundus’ stumbled back, slowly becoming the she-devil who taunted Vergil in his own nightmare. With her eyes widened, she tried to claw herself away from the slowly approaching blue devil covered in blood – terrified of those fiery blue eyes.

You loved his harshness – the she-devil looked at you for a while, unable to comprehend. That version of him didn’t scare you and she couldn’t understand how you could love him even like that.

“It was her… She was the one who did all this.” The demon tried, pointing at Blaire, who just stared at her in shock. “She is the one to blame!”

“You expect mercy?” Vergil’s distorted voice felt like the purest ice. “You have been inside my head. You know who I am. All I did. I do not believe in mercy.”

Watching the Yamato glistening one last time, the demon died in horror as she realized – he was indeed the son of Sparda. Vergil, the one enslaved by Mundus’, the Dark Slayer who broke free from Hell with his body crumbling and nothing but the will to live. There was no mercy. If there was, he wouldn’t have survived for so long.

Her head rolled on the floor until stopping at Blaire’s feet. The girl screamed once more, before looking back at the demon who now approached her, menacingly.

“It was a mistake! You shouldn’t listen to her! I can get you out of here…!”

“It was a binding spell. I know how to reverse it.” There was no space left for warmth in his voice – no heart left inside Vergil. He was taken by his demon and the frenzy to desperately protect you from living the same thing he did. “We do not need you. This was your doing – it is time to face the consequences.”

Blaire walked back, fear taking ahold of her heart. She never thought a simple spell, that looked like they would have everything under control, could be the cause of her death – and such a horrible kind of death.

Before Vergil could continue, though, he suddenly felt soft hands on his wrist – the one with the hand holding Yamato. Stopping on his tracks and slowly looking back, he found you – bloody, bruised, scraped, but with a gentle smile on your lips. You slowly caressed his harsh skin, moving one of your hands up his arm to turn him around to you.

“Love… I’m alright. There’s no need for this.” Your voice was kind and Blaire just stared with her heart on her hands. Just like the demon before, she couldn’t wrap her mind around how you seemed to not be scared and even call him love. “She is just a child. Bullied, tired, making mistakes. Just like I did… And just like you did. It’s over, I’m alright. She’s a child, Vergil. You can stop now.”

You remained like that for a while, with Vergil just breathing harshly through his teeth. After a few moments, you caressed his face, pulling him to a kiss – and, before your lips could land on his fangs, your Vergil was back, and his soft lips kissed yours back. You remained with eyes closed, as you stroked his now soft cheek, his forehead resting on yours. You could feel him slowly relaxing under your fingers, his breath coming back to normal.

“I was afraid to lose you.” He suddenly whispered; voice coarse. “That I would not have enough power to protect you.”

“But you do, love. You are the most powerful being I’ve ever met.” You whispered back, a half-smile in your lips. “King of Hell.”

And Blaire suddenly froze up. Did she just almost kill the love of the life of the King of Hell himself? Despair took her over and she questioned every action she took since the day she found that freaking spell with her friends.

“Then you are part of royalty as well.” His answer was quick and silent, wrapped with a kiss on your forehead. Turning back to Blaire, the girl was more than ready to beg Vergil for mercy – even if he had said before he did not know mercy. “Where is the binding spell?”

With trembling hands, she gave it to Vergil – who left you for a while to undo the spell. You sat on a tall tombstone, right by Blaire’s side and the girl seemed frozen – obviously scared of both of you.

“Hey. I know he can be a little intense.” You tried to start a conversation, making her terrified eyes turn to you. “But there is a human heart beating in his chest. Vergil’s been through a lot and when he, or someone he loves, is in danger, he tends to go berserk.”

“He… Is the King of Hell…?” As she chose her words carefully you laughed it off. Somehow, that managed to relax her – even if just a little.

“It’s an inside joke. For a while, yes.” You shrugged, watching your lovely blue devil working his arcane arts, ignoring how Blaire stared at you with widened eyes. “Indeed, the most powerful being I’ve ever met.”

“You…” The girl almost whispered, admiring how your eyes stared at Vergil with care and longing. She couldn’t understand it: there was so much love inside of you for him, even though he seemed ruthless and without mercy. She always played tough alongside her friends, saying how badass it would be to date a demon, but seeing it for real for the first time made her speechless. “You really love him.”

“I do.” You sighed back, completely hopeless. With a little smile on your lips, you smartly stared back at her. “I know it seems like it makes no sense. But I can see the human he is under all that armor of harshness… And honestly, between you and me, he just wants to be loved back. Not having that terrifies him more than fighting the most powerful demons of Hell.”

You winked back at Blaire, making the girl smile. The box in Vergil’s hands started to glow and he finally looked back at you – it was time to go back home.

*

“Let me remind you it was your wicked idea to have me scare a group of teenagers.”

Vergil was a little done with haunted houses that night – and you couldn’t really blame him. After all that happened, you met Blaire’s friends and had the brilliant idea of asking the Dark Slayer to play a trick on their bullies – with Vergil half-triggered, he scared the kids until the witches pretended to exorcise him out of his demon.

It worked. Nothing you would have believed, but it was effective. The teens seemed to believe in the power of the group of witches and were positively scared of them – probably respecting the girls so they would never be bullied again.

The rest of the night, though, Vergil simply walked around the haunted houses as if nothing could shake him. It took him just a few seconds to cross an entire attraction – while the rest of the crew got scared, laughed and enjoyed the moment.

Only a few things could scare him more than what happened at that cemetery – therefore, Vergil was as expressive as a white wall.

“Oh, c’mon. I bet you loved the idea as well, my dear necromancer.” You had your arm entangled with his, walking casually near the exit of one of the haunts.

Of course, Vergil just strode through it and you followed, apologizing to the performers and assuring them they were indeed scary. So, there you were, killing time together while the crew was still crossing it.

“It was a smart one, I will not deny it.” Vergil had a little smile hidden in his lips, acquiescing with his head. He never ceased to act as if he was born in another time. “I wanted to ask you something, love. That… Vision. In the house, together… Was it conjunct or did you see something else?”

“I saw myself in your family’s house, with you. Brewing tea and making toast during a lazy morning.” You smiled back, remembering how warm you felt in his arms. How vulnerable Vergil was. “I dare to say it was conjunct.”

“Hmmm…”

It seemed like Vergil would say something else, but there were no words following his hum. You waited a little bit, remembering how he asked you not to let go but simply accepted his fate when he realized only him was doomed to Hell.

“You thought you were dead, right…?”

And if there was something Vergil admired endlessly in you was your direct words, never going around subjects like a dance before actually asking what you wanted to. He needed that kind of honesty, that kind of objectiveness. After years dealing with demons and unnatural creatures, Vergil came to get used to their ways of speaking through half-words, but not the ways of humans – your clear words were more than welcome to him.

“Hmmm.” Once again, he only hummed, but slightly nodded in confirmation. Vergil didn’t want you to think he didn’t want to live with you and that he was unsatisfied, but he did long for peace – a kind of peace he thought he would only achieve in death. “But I was delighted to think you would be in my eternal rest with me.”

“Hmmm.” It was your turn to hum just like him, caressing Vergil’s arm with your free hand. “I was delighted to have you by my side as well. It wouldn’t be paradise to me if you weren’t in it.”

Vergil’s lips curved up in a slight smile, while he tried to hide how those words took the breath out of his chest. To think he would be part of someone’s paradise… Vergil never thought of himself as someone so important. As someone deserving of something more than hatred.

Stopping with you in the middle of the park, Vergil put both of his hands inside his pockets, having you face him with intrigued eyes. He had his nose slightly up in the sky, with that convinced tinge on his lips you loved so much.

“Trick or treat.”

You smiled back, narrowing your eyes a little bit. That was odd – Vergil never seemed to enjoy trick or treating before, even if Dante said they were enthusiastic about it as kids.

His eyes encouraged you, though. After some seconds, you tapped one of his arms, expecting him to take something out of his pockets.

But then, Vergil leaned down and kissed you.

“You are my peace.”

[jtl07]

jtl07 fics, summer 2023

Kinda liked doing the half year recap in June and had planned to do another one at the end of the year, but since I had quite the posting spree this month, decided to do one now.

General stats

Total on this pseud: 12 (all avatrice / Warrior Nun fandom)

Fics posted (chronological order):

to all the girls (to you, to me) -- or: Ava watching people fall in love with Beatrice, including herself

leave it all behind (I’ll see you on the other side) -- or: Ava comes back - healthy, whole, quiet. Too quiet.

the long, delirious, burning blue -- or: the moody Top Gun 2 (Maverick) AU

another little peace (restful pieces): something old, something blue -- or: the girls buy cereal; or or: Bea learning the difference between safety and familiarity

looks for you in everything (finds you there) -- or: Switzerland vignettes based on items found in their bedroom

Enhanced Beings Tech Support transcripts -- or: What if there was technical phone support for “enhanced beings” like halo bearers?

another little peace (restful pieces): lets you see the wonder of it all -- or: Ava meets a member of her family

another little peace (restful pieces): like a boat -- or: Beatrice plays Stray Gods

late night vigil -- or: camila learns about beatrice's strap; she helps in her own way

another little peace (restful pieces): to always wake up to you -- or: avatrice proposal based off of SimplyKorra's fantastic headcanon

another little peace (restful pieces): perchance to dream (no more) -- or: Ava wakes up from a dream

can't go back -- or: Five times Beatrice tries a food for a second time

(More numbers, thoughts, and some plans below the cut)

More numbers

Total words: 36720

Shortest: 685 (to always wake up to you)

Longest (one-shot): 5987 (the long, delirious, burning blue)

Average/Median word count: 3060 / 2019

General thoughts

Nearly 10k more words in the past 3 months than I wrote the first half of the year - I guess being in a safe space after your life has been turned upside down makes a difference, huh?

I still don't know what happened this month - specifically, the two week period from 8/14 - 8/26 where my fingers were just trying their best to keep up with the stories pressing in my brain lol (willing to bet it's somethingsomething healing and how it can take many forms, like this kind of intense spike)

Fun fact: This is only the second time I've written a one-shot over 5k words this year (3rd time ever in my many years of writing fic). It's always interesting to look at the average / median word count because it's been firmly in the 2k range. I still want to challenge myself with longer work, they just take time and energy yknow? Under 3k, I feel really comfortable now, which is a cool feeling

Fic that surprised me:

Honestly, everything that happened in that intense two week period (i.e. everything posted after "the long, delirious, burning blue") was a genuine surprise. Every time one of those ideas happened, I felt like I was just trying to keep up. I was really glad to have the space - emotionally, physically - to write those stories.

And I guess what surprised me also was just how wide a range they all were. I've been trying to work on just "writing what will get written" and learning to turn off the judgemental voice in my head that says things like, "you should be writing more," or "you should be writing better ideas." It was a surprise that these ideas just kinda flowed without much friction, yknow? I'm taking it as a sign of growth :)

Fic that was the hardest to write:

Oh gosh hands down leave it all behind (I’ll see you on the other side) - I had to discard full drafts and start over from scratch multiple times to get to what's actually posted. I had tried different perspectives, different settings, different points in the story, but I just kept getting stuck. I think part of it was because when I write, I usually start with a vibe or an arc - with this one, I was starting with the turn, the twist - which I don't often write either. So writing this kind of story was new on all fronts

can't go back was also a bit frustrating to write - I've been dealing with a sudden recurrence of brain fog so I know part of it was that, but idk, I feel like it could have been tighter thematically

Fic that I'm proud of:

Definitely the Top Gun 2/Maverick AU, the long, delirious, burning blue. I mentioned this in a comment that when I first had the idea, I'd expected it to be more of an action fic - I don't often write action, so I thought it'd be a good opportunity to practice. But, as with most of my work, it ended up quite moody, more a reflection of grief and duty.

Why am I proud of it? Because despite my initial intent, and my initial disappointment when I realized the direction it was going, I allowed myself to go with it. Writing this piece helped me accept where I am in my writing, to accept the stories I choose to write and how I write them. This fic was not at all what I had expected, but it turned out to be exactly what I needed

Runner up: looks for you in everything (finds you there) - the final word count shocked me, honestly, I didn't expect to write so many vignettes. But I was mostly proud of the diligence behind this and letting my sappy side run free lol

WIPs in the wings

Lol my WIP list is hella long - and that's not counting a whole separate document I have that's just prompts. I still have some Supercorp ideas that I've not yet fleshed out that are more on the "experimental" side that play with form and formatting - I've also some avatrice ones in "genre" as well.

Surprisingly, I've a couple AUs I've been turning over in my mind - I blame playing Stray Gods for making me remember some video games I'd grown up playing lol Oh and I've been pondering how to do a litrpg/gamelit style fic as well.

There's a couple longer one-shots that I've been pecking at but are going to take me a while to finish - there's one that's sort of a sister to every leaf that falls (never stops falling) (not a continuation, more like a sister in terms of vibe and tone), and another that explores Ava having a new ability (will I ever stop being enamored with Switzerland era? The answer is no lol).

But mostly, I'm just going to vibe with happens - "write what will get written" and all. We'll see where it all goes!

If you've read this far, thanks a ton for your support and going on the ride that is my fics lol - much appreciation to y'all!