rc-catalog

[rc-catalog]

The Highs without the Lows. (Greg/Lane)

Title: The Highs without the Lows. Fandom: Heaven's Secret: Requiem. Pairing: Greg/Lane. Rating: M. TWs: Sexual content, not quite explicit but bordering on it. Word Count: 1792 words. MC: Cassandra, whisper of the devil + no compassion Summary: Modern world AU Greglane get lost. Used the prompt "roadtrip" from rc-catalog's first week of summer prompts. Taglist: @rc-catalog

"We are not lost." Greg said, looking over at the sun that almost taunted him about his lie, feeling like he was being cornered — on one side was the sun, on the other, his girlfriend, who most definitely was ready to call him out on his (attempts at a) bluff.

"We're just taking a detour." The classic excuse. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, leaning in towards her boyfriend.

"A detour. You have no idea where we are, do you ?" Truth be told, no. No, he did not have a single clue where they were. He was so sure he'd eventually find his way, but his guesses were clearly erroneous.

"Well, since you won't tell me anything, I'll just pray to Beelzebub or something to take our souls before we eventually resort to cannibalism once we've got nothing left to get us out here."

"Please don't say that, Cass." Greg wasn't showing it, but he was stressing out — and his red-haired girlfriend's snide remarks were not helping. She rolled her eyes and playfully nudged him.

"I was joking. Relax. But tell me the truth, you don't know where we are." "Not a single idea." "That's what I thought."

Well, at least that was cleared up.

Now came the problem of where they were going. There was no signal around here, so no Google Maps available for use, no matter how many aggressive shakes Cassandra gave her phone, followed by "stupid fucking technology" and "shhh, it's okay."

"Right." Greg spoke after a moment of frustrated silence from the both of them, turning down the radio that was barely playing any music right now. Mostly just static, which neither could qualify as their favorite type of song.

"Okay. What do we do now ?" He lowered his sunglasses to turn over to Cassandra, allowing her to lean in and give him a quick kiss. Easy boost for when he's down.

"Now, we go to that gas station you passed by earlier, we fill up the tank, we find a map, and we speed." "Sounds like a plan."

————————————

Soon enough, Greg found himself filling up the car with gas, Cassandra eyeing the displays inside hungrily, playing with whatever was left of her Cherry Coke - more specifically, the can.

"This is more expensive than I thought, damn... Daylight robbery, at this point. I'm gonna go inside to pay, feel free to get something to drink & some snacks." As if she'd ever say no to treating herself to gas station delights.

Walking in, Cassandra began to think. It wasn't fair that the world treated Greg this way. Making them get lost, and making Greg pay for it ? He had always been generous and giving — which is what pulled her to him. His bright smile, the warmth he brought people... Cassandra knew even she could be a lot to handle sometimes. Greg had been patient, even when it was tough for him.

Now it's time to pay him back.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Greg looking at protein bars... So she approached a tall, blonde man, eyes shining red while she felt Baal's whisper take over her, making her blood feel hot inside of her veins.

As he turned around to look at her, she didn't waste a second. Watching as his grip on the newspaper he was holding got looser until it fell at her feet, staring at the man in front of her. He was under her control.

"You're gonna go to the counter."

She watched, almost burning a hole into his back with how intently she stared, watching him move while Greg had just gotten there.

"And you're gonna pay for my boyfriend's gas and for whatever else he's bought."

As she bent down to pick up the newspaper without much interest, she could hear both the cashier and Greg's confusion, smiling to herself. Up until she looked up and saw him looking over at her. She could hear his brain putting two and two together, to which she responded by suddenly becoming interested in... pens. Yep. Pens.

She had originally wanted to just convince the cashier to let them walk out free, but she's not careless either. Numbers don't lie. And cameras can capture the two walking out without having paid - now there's money to back them up, no reason to arrest them.

————————————

"I know you were responsible for this."

Greg said as he pinned Cassandra against the car door, her piercing eyes staring into his brown ones. She knew he knew, but as a response, she moved her knee while talking so her leg could gently start to rub in between his muscular legs. And from the way he bit his bottom lip with a short breath, she could tell he liked what she was doing.

"For ? I have no idea what you mean..." She's pushing as she feels him grow harder. "Gonna have to be more specific..." Not stopping her movements, knowing he was going to have to drive hours with this problem. She likes making things hard, especially her boyfriend.

"I'm responsible for a lot of things, dear Greg."

"Fuck." He had whispered it, but her acute ears heard it. She knew he wasn't mad at her for what happened in the gas station— maybe surprised, but not mad. Greg kinda worked his charm on people the same way her— what'd she call it ? — whisper worked, only slightly less effective, and less... demonic. Whatever it was, he wasn't mad, and she knew it. After all, that's why she felt so comfortable teasing him like this.

Right where anyone could stumble upon the two. One of his strong hands moved under her— grabbing at her thigh and lifting it up to push against his waist, her red nails grabbing onto his back once he leaned in for a kiss.

The kiss was hot— kinda like the weather around them, hot, passionate, and a climate they never wanted to leave. Their mouths kept finding each other's, his free hand pressing so hard on the car window it might as well just have broken it while the hand on her thigh crept up her leather shorts, fingers sliding up and up... All the while, Cassandra's cherry red nails— which matched her hair— left small tears at the back of his t-shirt, hands grabbing onto Greg. Showing anyone passing by and showing him that he was hers. Hers. No one else's. Hers and hers only.

Hers. Forever. And she was his, just as he belonged to her. No one else was allowed to belong to him, and she'd deter anyone who tried to get in between the two.

She's all his, and he's all hers.

Heavy breaths were exchanged as they broke their kiss again, staring into each other's eyes, a string of saliva linking their mouths in a way that Cassandra would usually find gross, but right now had no problem with.

"You should tell me next time you do that." Greg said lowly, his lips against her ear, trying to gather himself and not crumble completely under her touch. "So I can.. help you along."

Greg had always taken notice of his girlfriend's... appetite for danger, but he couldn't lie and say the idea of being her partner in crime wasn't thrilling. Especially with those... immortal-level powers of hers. He knows it's wrong, but he wants to help her get away with whatever she wants. He's there for her. He's always been.

"You already help me with plenty." Her hand crept lower, nails soon gripping at his strong, muscular buttocks, biting her lip as she felt the flesh in her hands.

"You don't need to overwork yourself either. Just keep being perfect as you are." She leaned in to kiss his neck, sucking on his flesh, her lips leaving a mark, like a huntress marking her prey, a succubus leaving a stamp on the man who had summoned her and bound himself to her.

"I love you." Cassandra said, looking into his eyes, making him smile. Both were more of a physical type of affection rather than a verbal type, but she knew it was still nice to hear. She liked hearing it.

"I love you too, Cass." Greg chuckled, soon the two pulling off of each other, having... well, let's just say their little scene did not go unnoticed. That's when whatever they were planning got cut short, as they heard the angry, confused voice of a man with a russian accent — the pair looking at each other as they instantly knew who it was.

That guy she manipulated earlier. Fuck.

"You go find a map, I'll distract him." Greg said, to which Cassandra quickly nodded, hurrying to find where a map of the wider area could be located. Just her luck, some guy hanging around and smoking had one in his back pocket — fuck, that's a cop.

He turned around to look at her, taking his cigarette out of his mouth, licking his lips and looking at her up and down. But before he could speak — her eyes shone red. Just one command.

"Back off."

She knew the more she used her powers, the more Baal's influence on her grew, but she really couldn't care less. What mattered here was defending herself, and getting out with her boyfriend without any problems.

"And give me that map in the back of your jeans." And so he did. She relished in this power of hers, it was so easy to use on simple-minded people.

"Oh, and. Hand me that." She grabbed his cigarette out of his mouth, taking a drag as she walked away to get back to the car. She decided to take other way, sneaking up behind Greg, who made Cassandra wonder if he really was fully human. The way his charm worked on people, he had managed to calm the man down and even made him smile.

That is, until Cassandra opened the car door.

And he looked at her, attention taken by the noise.

"You. You."

Fuck. "Go." Greg turned away as the two immediately got into the car before anything else could happen, Cassandra taking out the map like a trophy, grabbing a can out of the ones Greg bought, handing him another which he grabbed with one hand, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek as a thank you.

"You're a problem." He laughed. His laugh was infectious, it made her want to laugh, too, even if she was usually not a very... lively person.

"I know. And you love following your problem around." Was her reply, taking a long sip of her Cherry Coke.

At least now, they knew where they were going. Even if they'd be late, it's fine.

They'd be late together.

[rc-catalog]

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[rc-catalog]

The Azure Letter (an HSR fanfic).

Title: The Azure Letter. Fandom: Heaven's Secret: Requiem. Pairing: Anna/Lane. Rating: T. Word Count: 1245 words. MC: Naomi, voice of god + unlocked compassion Summary: and when Naomi thinks of it, her fingers turn to fists. Taglist: @rc-catalog, @taemcains as she misses my lesbians

🎵: is it a crime - sade

Naomi stared at the piece of paper in her hands. Something she had never sent, something she never meant for Anna to see — although, when she wrote it, part of her was hoping that somehow, some way, Anna would see it. So she could understand the sheer anguish Naomi felt.

The moment she saw Anna with Donovan, she felt her heart sink into the ground, as she once had sunk. Her dark eyes felt like they were going to burn, she felt like the ice under her would break once again, and leave her drowning for good this time around.

So she had written her a letter. A letter detailing how she felt. A letter meant to be pragmatic and simple to understand — not something overly soapy. She was never one for the dramatics anyway, and neither was Anna.

"Dear Anna," Naomi had begun, after spending about twenty minutes thinking and rethinking how she would and should start said letter. Even translating the Book came to her more easily than this.

"I hope Donovan's treating you right." Despite the choice she had made, Naomi still wanted to know that Anna was okay. If she was safe, then there was a chance to get her back — one wrong turn isn't worth her sweet scientist's life being put at stake.

"We miss you." She wrote, when she fully and wholeheartedly meant I miss you. She felt selfish — but she didn't care what the rest of the squad thought in this moment, she wished she could have Anna back. To kiss her, hug her, hold her through the long Rotkov nights, feel her skin, fight away her fears, reassure her. It wasn't a want, it was an urge. A craving within her, an itch she couldn't scratch away as much as she tried.

It was... Maddening. It was a whisper she was willing to risk everything for. She knew she should be smarter than this, but her desire had led her to places she wouldn't even have gone with a gun.

She loved Anna. She knew she did, Anna knew she did, but recent events had left her a confused mess. Did Anna love her ? Did Anna even begin to consider Naomi's feelings as she chose to stay by Donovan ? Did she even think about her ? About the moments they had spent together — kissing at Portia's, how they thought they'd almost lost each other back at the platform, lovingly gazing into each other's eyes in the train to Oxford.

Had none of it mattered to Anna ? Did she think it all tradeable ? Was it all a game ? Was it serious ?

Naomi's head felt like it was going to split open, the overthinking driving her to insanity, blurring the lines between what was real, what she imagined, and what she thought Anna thought.

"I hope your research is going well. Translation's going as usual, you know." Of course she knew. Writing these boring banalities was a chore. Why was she even saying that ? Obviously Anna knew how the research was going - considering she had arguably been the most invested in it out of the entire squad.

What was she doing ?

Writing all these boring things on paper wouldn't bring Anna back, and it wouldn't make Naomi feel any better. And as she read the next part, her gut wrenched, the handwriting already getting a little messier as she gave up all formalities to reveal herself.

"I hate you." Naomi read the words, inscribed on the paper, feeling the texture change due to the tears that forever marked the paper.

"I hate you, Anna. I hate you so much. Do you like doing this ? Do you revel in others' suffering ?" She wasn't sure if she actually had meant this, or if accusing Anna was just a way to make herself feel better about the choice Anna had made. Trying to rationalize the girl she loved into being a sadistic villain who enjoyed hurting her felt better than facing the truth, that Anna chose the side that she believed in. Not out of spite for Naomi, not because she had been toying with her all this time — but because she believed in what she was doing.

Knowing Anna didn't do this to hurt her somehow felt even worse than if Anna had just been manipulating her and stringing her along this entire time.

"And I don't even hate you. That's the worst part. I want to. I want to hate you. I wish I could." Naomi remembered how it felt, crying over the letter, tears running down her face in despair. She'd have screamed out Anna's name if she could, she'd have thrown herself out the window if it meant she could land in the scientist's arms she felt so familiar in.

"I love you." She said, dark eyes moving left to right as she read the following lines. A repetition of those same 8 letters. I love you. I love you. I love you. She could have written entire letters of those three simple words if Anna wanted her to, she'd have done anything if it meant she could have her back. She'd have given up on the squad — on her mission to save the world, on the book, on humanity itself, if it all led to her getting Anna back, without ever separating again.

"Come back." By that point, she felt a ball in her throat, unable to let out a single coherent word, letting the pen do the speaking that she couldn't.

"Please, Anna. Come back to me." Her neat handwriting had turned sloppy, unfocused, messy. She wasn't focused on making it decipherable — she wanted to let it all out. How she felt, how dearly she missed her. How upset she was with her.

She had no right to leave Naomi like this. To abandon her — and yet, Donovan was her aunt. And a feeling of guilt resurged through her. Guilt. Something she had learned from Anna, after having forgotten it for those three empty years. The way Anna apologized for forgetting something, messing something up, bumping into someone. Naomi learned that from her. To feel guilty. To say sorry.

And now, she was alone again. As she had always been.

That's when Naomi had to put the letter down, the paper awakening feelings the cryptographer thought buried deep within herself. Feelings that she thought she had dealt with, compressed and processed already — what she did with whatever else she was feeling.

Leaning out the window, Naomi felt her body tremble. She didn't want to lose Anna again. Now that she had her, she never wanted to let her go. She felt guilty for being so possessive, but she wasn't sure just how she would survive if she had to lose Anna again. The thought haunted her. Would Anna betray her again ? Would she choose something — someone else ?

She took a deep breath in, before letting it out. There was no need to break down over hypothetical scenarios and thoughts of old events. Now it was in the past. Now she had Anna. And she was going to protect her, no matter what it took. No matter if it meant putting her own life on the line. Naomi was willing to forsake her own health, if it meant the scientist of her heart would be safe and sound.

The world could wait. It already had waited enough, it could stand to wait at least a few more moments.

[rc-catalog]

Infidélité: a VfV oneshot.

heyyy, here's me again with a smutty oneshot for rc-catalog's vday event, for which i mixed both of feb 4's prompts, forbidden romance and making out in secret !

title: Infidélité. fandom: vying for versailles. pairing: renée/madame de montespan rating: E. warnings: explicit sexual content, adultery. word count: 1123 words. MC: julie, altruism, has a secret relationship with montespan after having gotten lou executed. summary: cuckolding the king with his official mistress is a very dangerous path to go down on. luckily, julie's never been afraid of braving authority. an unapologetic, self-indulgent smut(-ish). taglist: @taemcains for supporting me, @rc-catalog.

Rich laughs echoed through the empty room as the two women embraced against the wall, their lips hungrily hunting for each other, a continuous game of predator and prey they were playing with each other.

It all felt revigorating. Spending this much time publicly, with the King, with all those courtiers — of course, Françoise-Athénaïs was a much brighter bird than her shut-in owl of a husband, but even this many falseties can exhaust even the lowest of liars.

Now, she could give in to her true desires, kissing the duchess passionately, leaving faint marks of lipstick upon Julie's mouth, viewing them as her mark of love.

Julie's hands lowered to caress the mistress's hips, one of her hands teasingly moving up, soon finding itself on the other's breasts, caressing all around. Mademoiselle de Noailles knew much about the female body and all its gifts ; and of course, while benefitting from said gifts herself, there was something simply... exquisite about appreciating its forms and tasting its delicacies in someone else.

"I do hope you can be better than Lou. Though endearing, his attempts were.."

The Official Mistress gave a flick of her jeweled wrist — letting the implication of his lack of fortune float into the air. His family didn't give him many important jewels.

That gesture couldn't help but let a laugh escape from Julie, leaning in closer to the other's red lips, pecking them — quickly, but not chastely. It would be more accurate to describe it as an entrée, an appetizer. A taste of what would be to come later down the line.

"I do like to think I'm more experienced in the female form than he is."

With that sentence, Mademoiselle de Noailles pushed her hand into the other's skirts, one finger snaking into the other's undergarments, toying with the edge of them, snapping them against the Madame's skin — leaving short-lived red marks decorating her thighs, making her moan in appreciation.

"More."

"More ?" Julie asked, grinning. This was exactly what she wanted — now, all she did ? All she did was pull away from Françoise-Athénaïs, leaving her mouth wide as she dusted off her blue gown.

"Madame, I do recall you saying you didn't give yourself away so easily, didn't you ?" The duchesse grinned smugly, running one finger over the other's lips, alluding to her affair with Lou that previous summer. An unwelcome reminder that her own words could and had just decided to bite her back.

"That being said..." She soon drove her finger inside of the married woman's mouth, taking control over her, her other hand temptatively going lower into her décolletage, palming at her breasts as if they were dough, making the other go red with pleasure. Soon, the shade of her face would match her lips' if she kept going.

"I could offer you relief from the banquet, tonight. Being so busy with the King must be a pain..." She took her finger out of her mouth, her hand moving to gently, yet mockingly, in a way, caress Françoise-Athénaïs's face.

"I doubt he can appreciate a woman of your kind the way I do. Or any woman, really. You deserve someone who is more... drawn, to your figure." Julie's words, though coated in honey, had a lightly teasing tone to it, which only made the marquise flush more.

"I can offer you that relief, Madame." Her hands moved to lower Madame de Montespan's dress's hem, pushing her breasts out of her stays, mouth latching onto them to cover them in soft, yet hungry kisses. She longed for Françoise-Athénaïs just as Françoise-Athénaïs longed for her.

Both of them couldn't stop kissing. Again, and again, letting their lips be stained by each other's beauty, Julie pushing Montespan down onto the bed. They couldn't get enough of each other. Neither of them wanted to leave, but they both knew she had obligations. A position like either of theirs could compromise them both, especially Françoise-Athénaïs's. Reluctantly, Julie pulled off, rolling to lay down on the bed with her beloved.

And in came the doubts.

Did Montespan value her as much as Julie did ? Was she her dirty little secret ? Something to pass the time while the King was busy ? Her thoughts, of course, did not spare her one second. She loved Françoise-Athénaïs, but she wasn't ready to risk her honor, her dignity, the thing that made her herself - all for a woman who valued this unfaithful, lecherous warmonger of a king that they had as the head of their country.

Official Mistress... what a humiliating position. Branding yourself as the number one of a man who publicly used you to humiliate his wife. But she didn't blame her. What was she supposed to do ? Everyone knew that was arguably the most powerful position a woman in France could get to. They didn't have many choices. They all knew this. Julie's arrival to court hadn't been by choice, either.

But this affair ?

They both chose each other. And in the end, that is what mattered. More than Versailles, than France, than the world. Their love. Love conquered it all. Julie shook away her thoughts, leaning in, giving the other a much more chaste, careful kiss.

"Je t'aime," She whispered into the other's ear, giving it a kiss as well. Montespan breathed out what Julie assumed to be a weak response, helping her get up. As much as she wanted to show the marquise just how much she appreciated her, she preferred not to. It was going to be late soon, anyway.

The two helped each other dress up, Montespan washing her face at the basin. "I'll go and freshen up for tonight. I hope to see you not too far from me."

"Duchesses come before the marquises," Julie replied sharply, a smile indicating she quite enjoyed giving Françoise-Athénaïs a taste of her own wits.

"But you'll see me. At the banquet.." She leaned in, her hand caressing the married woman's face, looking at her with yearning in her eyes. Truth be told, Madame de Montespan yearned for her as well, and she wished the two could just... be. But they couldn't, not in court. Not like this.

"And later." Leaning in, giving the other a kiss, blush rising to her face as Julie moved to help her with her gown.

"You make a fine lady-in-waiting. Had you been a maidservant.."

"Perhaps we shouldn't talk about what isn't." Julie said, not sure how she felt about being likened to her maid.

"Goodnight, Françoise-Athénaïs."

"Goodnight, Julie." The other replied, standing in the doorway, looking at her before she finally left, Julie watching her leave, observing her each step of the way.

[rc-catalog]

Un Désir Assassin.

first entry for the rc-catalog valentines event !!

decided to go with the prompt unrequited love for feb 2.

fandom: vying for versailles. pairing: renée/alexandre. (unrequited.) rating: M. word count: 1270 words. trigger warnings: unhealthy obsession, mentions of murder, stalker behavior. MC: isabelle, hedonism path, single, unrequitedly obsessed with the valet. summary: he's got those eyes that drive her crazy, and she's got eyes to watch him sleep. or, a treaty on obsession. special taglist: @liykaii (who made the banner thank you so much, love you kiki <3)

Sigh. He couldn't find the words. Bent over his letter, he continued to mindlessly dip the feather in the inkwell — before his eyebrow raised. Did he just hear a creak ?

Wordlessly, he turned around in his chair. Had he not been the spymaster that he was, the rustling would've gone unnoti—

"Isabelle."

One simple name spoken into the air. And yet, that was enough. The rustling got louder, clearly an attempt from the duchess to hide as he stood up, in his shirtsleeves.

"There is no need to hide. What are you doing ?"

Truth be told, this was a rhetorical question. He knew what she was doing, he knew why she was here. That being said, he didn't like it one bit.

That's when Isabelle, despite her attempts, finally revealed her hiding spot from under his bedsheets, dusting off her gown.

"I got lost."

"And, let me guess — tripped, fell into my bed, which followed to my sheets being possessed by who knows what devil trying to murder you ?"

...Perhaps Isabelle should have thought of a better strategy, or at least a better excuse. She stood there, embarrassed about being caught — but the flush of shame on her cheeks was quickly overtaken by a flush of desire.

She wanted him. She needed him. It ate away at her — the fact that he was never responsive towards her advances, she couldn't help but wonder if the problem lied within herself or within himself.

What could he not want ? She was beautiful, young, witty, wealthy — Oh my god. Perhaps he wanted someone else.

That's when her desire was replaced with burning hot jealousy, raging in her green eyes. Had someone else ensnared him ? She had to find a way to —

"Mademoiselle."

His stern voice snapped her out of her reverie, looking up at him, unable to hide her scowl.

"You can't deny what has grown between us, valet."

"Between us ? The only thing between us is the king, whom we both serve. There is no us, Isabelle."

"No us ? So I mean nothing to you ?"

"That is not what I —"

"Are your eyes set on someone else ?"

She sharply asked the question, threateningly taking one step closer to him, then another — Alexandre backing away in response, his back against the table which she kept him pinned against.

Her chest pushed against his, her eyes throwing daggers. How she wished she could take one of those daggers and stick it through his heart, tear it apart, piece by piece to see what preoccupied it.

Silence followed her question — and to her, that could only mean one thing.

She was right.

SHE WAS RIGHT !

Usually, she loved being right — but not this time. This time, she had been hoping to be wrong.

Meanwhile, Alexandre silently mused over what Isabelle could be thinking about, brewing up in that brain of hers — nothing good, at least that's what he was sure of.

"No."

He responded, his heart being... troubled. He knew he wasn't in love — so why was that word so... uncertain ? He wasn't unsure, was he ? Of course he wasn't — Louis didn't want him to fall in love, so why would he ?

Clearing his throat.

"No."

"You hesitated."

"Get out, mademoiselle."

He frowned at her, trying to appear threatening, but knowing that in front of her determined gaze, he could crumble.

Silently swallowing.

The silence was palpable, you could cut through it with a butter knife.

"I'm afraid you've had too much wine at the Prince's party," He said, fully aware that she was sober, trying desperately to hang onto the slight hint of rationality that this situation could benefit from. But part of him knew it was futile — you can't explain this situation with logic. The heart wins over the head, and the head falls in defeat.

"And I fear you long for a closeness that is not the one we should have."

"Is my status a problem ?"

"The problem is that I don't love you, Isabelle. And I fear your desire for closeness is leading you to see things that aren't there."

So he was calling her crazy. That's how he wanted to play it. Okay. She backed away, tempted to throw everything, grab a letter opener and stab him — or maybe grab him by the hair and throw him face first into the fire of the chimney ! No one makes a duchess feel this humiliated — especially not Isabelle de Noailles of all people.

But she stopped. Despite her spontaneous desires of destruction, she restrained herself. This was not over. He would love her, one way or another. This idea that his heart had been stolen by someone else bothered her a lot. He was hers. Hers ! HERS !

If she couldn't have him, no one would.

Turning away — not saying goodbye before she left for her room, feeling her heart break.

She had known many lovers. Many men, and women, who she could bed with. And yet, her eyes reserved themselves to him — the one thing she couldn't obtain. Did the gods enjoy toying with her like this ?

Isabelle made her way back to her room, to hopefully get the Moon's advice, and a good night's rest. She couldn't believe that she had — crumbled like this, in front of him ? How she wished she could undo it. It killed her that she couldn't have everything she wanted, as much as she tried. Wine, parties, dancing, arts, beautiful gowns and expensive jewelry — all of those meant nothing if she couldn't be with the man she loved.

But someone else would.

With that lingering thought running through her head, she went to bed.

Meanwhile, Alexandre's chest heaved up and down, looking around the room, slowly sliding to the ground.

His knees felt weak. His breathing was uneven. He didn't want to admit it — especially not to Isabelle — but he feared for his life in that moment. And rightfully so, the mademoiselle's hedonism was something to fear. Besides, he knew she was capable of disposing of him if she so desired. Desire is a powerful force, and so is lust — Louis of all people knew it best.

Louis. What would he do, without Alexandre ? Had he died, would he have missed his faithful valet ? Would he mourn ? Be sad, attend his burial ? Even organize one for him ? Or would he simply not bother ? Replace Alexandre as he does with all his other mistresses ? Why would he compare himself to those women ?

And yet, thoughts creeped in intrusively. What would it be like, to have Louis of all people miss him ? The driving force of France, missing him ? Begging for him to be back if he were gone ? Wearing black for his valet ? Why could he not push all repulsive thoughts away from his brain ?

Standing up, wiping his hands over his shirtsleeves, as if they were dirty, as if he was trying to get something off of them.

And that's when he realized. Something brutal, something he couldn't deal with, something that he was never going to admit. Something that would change the way he looked at himself in the mirror for the rest of his life.

Staring at the letter he was writing in horror, the feather dipped in ink suddenly resembling the golden apple that caused the Trojan war, lasting for ten years, destroying so many lives in the process, ending with the burning of the city.

He felt his eyes burn, each word on that letter addressed to the king changing, making him pale in terror.

He knew who he loved, and it wasn't Isabelle, or any courtier.

It was the King himself.

[rc-catalog]

SUMMER PROMPTS EVENT WEEK THREE!

Starting today, we are going to post three prompts every Monday until the end of August. You will have until the end of September to submit your creations. You can choose whichever prompt you like and submit it whenever, e.g. you choose prompt from week 1, but manage to finish your creation mid-September—it's fine!

The aim of this event is to help to keep your creative juices flowing during this lazy time that's filled with travelling and heatwaves draining us of all energy. As always, we accept any and all types of creations—just keep in mind that for this event, we only accept new creations.

WEEK 3 PROMPTS ARE:

beach bonfire;

stargazing;

summer fling.

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS:

Follow the submission guidelines;

Tag @rc-catalog and use the #rc-catalog summer prompt tag;

Use a page break for posts longer than 100 words and/or 9 pictures.

Have fun! We wish you fruitful creating! Remember to drink water, wear sunscreen and rest! 🌊

[rc-catalog]

SUMMER PROMPTS EVENT WEEK FOUR!

Starting today, we are going to post three prompts every Monday until the end of August. You will have until the end of September to submit your creations. You can choose whichever prompt you like and submit it whenever, e.g. you choose prompt from week 1, but manage to finish your creation mid-September—it's fine!

The aim of this event is to help to keep your creative juices flowing during this lazy time that's filled with travelling and heatwaves draining us of all energy. As always, we accept any and all types of creations—just keep in mind that for this event, we only accept new creations.

WEEK 4 PROMPTS ARE:

picnic;

amusement park;

cooling drinks/foods.

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS:

Follow the submission guidelines;

Tag @rc-catalog and use the #rc-catalog summer prompt tag;

Use a page break for posts longer than 100 words and/or 9 pictures.

Have fun! We wish you fruitful creating! Remember to drink water, wear sunscreen and rest! 🌊

[rc-catalog]

🖊️: fanfiction; 🖼️: moodboard; 🎨: art/edit; 🧵: web weaving; 👥: character profile; 🏳️‍🌈: lgbtq+; 💡: wip wednesday; 📸: gifset; 🎬: animation; 🔥: nsfw

Rating: General, Teen, Mature, Explicit

HEAVEN'S SECRET: REQUIEM

A Cruel Mercy by @wrappiey |🖊️🏳️‍🌈| Dmitry x Yan | TW: emotional abuse, alcoholism, drug abuse, graphic descriptions of gun violence and illness, body horror, light sadism | E

Are you angry ? Do you hate me ? by @lanesrequiem |🎨🏳️‍🌈| Dmitry x Yan | TW: flashing/flickering lights, photos with guns, cigarettes | T

KALI: FLAME OF SAMSARA

Saraswati Edition by @zealouscanonindeer |🖼️🏳️‍🌈| Deviya Sharma x Saraswati Basu | G

HEAVEN'S SECRET 2

Don't Smile by @laurathecunt |🖊️🏳️‍🌈| Vicky Walker x Plague | TW: major character death, blood and gore, swearing | T

HELL AND HIGH WATER

Week 2 - Sunflowers by @sazanes |🎨| Lori Kaplan | G

[rc-catalog]

The Lonely Fall of a Royal Mistress: a Most Lamentable Tragedie.

pairing: louis x renée (victoire, calculation + official mistress path) fandom: vying for versailles length: 5298 words. genre: angst, tragedy, a bit of horror. TW: misogyny, physical violence, murder, VERY negative talk of pregnancy, overall very depressing ending. also louis's an unfaithful cunt (unshockingly) & françois enables his behavior warning: this is kind of a sequel to they behead valets, don't they ? so while not necessary i would suggest reading that first. also massive vfv spoilers all throughout the fic

🎵: return to versailles - joshua kyan aalampour

Versailles, 1677.

10 years after Season 3.

Looking outside the window, Victoire sighed.

Versailles was beautiful, as it always was, and so was the King, but… the sun shining was not enough for her. Summer at Versailles was always beautiful, but it was also, strangely enough, the time where she felt the saddest - even as a child, she was not much of a sunflower, and more of a winter rose.

Summer at Versailles had been her main source of entertainment, but of course, that was all before 1667. The year Queen Maria Theresa died, and Victoire entered a morganatic marriage with the King. Publicly, of course, she was still the Official Mistress, but almost no one believed that.

Victoire herself believed she would be happy with this position, but to her dismay, it only isolated her from the court more. Sure, she had an almost stainless reputation… But at what cost ?

She could tell the way the other courtiers looked at her. The lecherous looks men gave her as they fantasized about what kind of services she could perform for the King, or the hypocritical looks the women threw her way, as if they wouldn't abandon their children's cribs to hop into the King's bed if they had the chance to do so.

Her friends barely told her anything. She could not attend their parties, and when they showed up at hers, they made a show of exchanging with the hostess as little as possible. This position that she has been longing for so long felt… ostracizing. Like she had moved from the heart of the court to its edge. As if she had become a bystander in her own reign.

"Mademoiselle?"

She turned - seeing her maid walk in, as she understood. It was time to dress for the day. After being assisted with putting on a silver gown, she wordlessly handed the maid a small purse of money and dismissed her. She moved to the basin, putting water on her face - immediately jumping back at what she saw.

A woman in the mirror was staring at her. Silver dress, hair left loose on one shoulder… But it was not Victoire. No. It was none other than Louise, staring at her in the mirror with a smile. Her first reflex was to grab her hairbrush and scream, throwing it at the mirror. She was haunted by these sorts of "visions" since her "wedding" with Louis.

As she stepped back, she looked briefly at the shattered remains of her mirror, hastily taking off her dress, almost tearing it to shreds, as if she were desperate to get it off her skin, and undoing her hair, sitting on her bed, arms wrapped around her body.

After a while of staying like this, she waited until she calmed down, taking a more… respectable pose before ringing a bell to call her maid back in.

"I would like for you to bring a new dress." She ordered, not even looking at her maid as her head turned in her direction, her voice getting sharper. "You should think twice about what kind of garments would flatter your mistress. Another mistake of this kind and I will make sure you're removed." The young maid meekly nodded, quickly walking out, and back in, to help her mistress put on a illustrious golden gown. And yet, in Victoire's eyes - that gold was nothing if not rotten. Bloody. Empty.

The maid's movements were fast, as if the slightest wrong move could risk angering the Official Mistress, and thus make her leave Versailles forever. Victoire had developped a reputation for cruelty -mildly induced by her own paranoia, and her lack of… companionship, one could say.

Walking out, Victoire painted her usual smile over her face, trying to shadow her thoughts - adjusting her hat. What a sunny day it was today. Down the Grand Canal, as the party of the day was going on - as usual, of course. Her black eyes tried to pierce through the crowd, but to no avail. No sign of her Louis. As appropriate, she joined her retinue, up until…

"Is something wrong, my dear?"

She asked one of her ladies in waiting, who seemed only halfway focused on the ongoing conversation and instead, seemed more preoccupied with what was happening behind the Duchess, biting her lip in fear. She then looked into her mistress's eyes, looked back into the direction where her eyes had been oriented, and silently nodded to Victoire towards where she had been looking.

And that's when she turned around, and saw them. Louis - on a float, with… This new ingenue, named Angélique. She had arrived to court some months ago, and he already had spent some time with her at her formal introduction, or on other occasions. She always felt suspicious, and blamed it on merely his courtesy, but now… They were together. On a float. That could not be his mere mirthfulness causing him to naturally be courteous to young women. It was more than that.

Victoire felt herself silently burn with anger, noticing everyone else's eyes on her, trying to see what she would make of this. She was usually calm, calculated, and always had some courtly sentence to win over a situation. Yet now, all she did was step forward. And as they walked down from the float, she could see the way he looked at her.

He had a very familiar kind of smile. That winning smile, the smile he has whenever he's 'hunting'. As soon as she saw that smile, Victoire felt herself burn, marching towards the float and slapping that ingenue right in the face, causing an almost unanimous gasp across the court, her black eyes giving Louis a glare, as if she were telling him he was next.

The King, however, was not happy about this, wrapping his arm around this newcomer.

"Mademoiselle de Noailles, your behavior is unacceptable."

Was all he said, but it was more than enough.

But she could not cry. No. She was not Louise - she was better than that ! She was! And yet when she looked around, all she could see were…

Smiles. Cruel ones. As if the whole court was silently wishing for her to be put in her place so publicly by the King.

She curtsied.

She humiliated herself like this, by accepting the King's will. What she vowed to never do - stoop so low to her own values - and yet, here she is. Curtsying before a man unfaithful to her, curtsying before a court of vipers, hoping for her downfall. Curtsying before her old friends whose goals collided with her ambitions.

"Yes, my Liege." She spoke, voice almost muted due to her anger, backing away with three curtsies before she turned around, shoving aside one of her ladies-in-waiting so she could go back inside.

Locking the door to her chambers, she angrily sat down on her bed, letting some tears come out - this wasn't the first time this happened, either.

Versailles, 1672.

Five years earlier.

After a masquerade, Victoire felt like taking a stroll down the Grotto of Thetys, smiling to herself as she wondered if she would find her beloved waiting for her there - at their little spot, one could call it. But what she saw was beyond anything she had imagined.

Louis was there, yes, but… He was not alone. He had someone with him.

A woman with whom he seemed to already be very close, kissing her neck as his hands travelled up her skirts, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist.

"HOW DARE YOU ?!"

Victoire was suddenly overcome by this atrociously green feeling known as jealousy, so… unsophisticated, unmirthful, and yet, so painfully human that it hurt her. Louis moved away his mistress to protect her as Victoire ripped away his mask, almost threatening to do the same to his face.

"Mademoiselle de Noailles, your behavior is unbecoming."

He spoke sternly, as if she were a child who was misbehaving at the

dinner table. But she could not take this, screaming at him before she

pushed her face in his chest, beating with her fists helplessly, crying.

She felt humiliated. He had managed to make her break her promise -

that no man would ever reduce her to this weak state.

He did not bother holding her, though. He stood still, looking down at

her with disappointment, hiding his shock. She had always been so

calculated with everything she did, pushing raw emotion away as

much as she could.

She continued to cry against his chest, looking up at him as her hands

stopped their fighting.

"Go." Was all he said to her. Not even bothering to look at her with the

slightest affection or understanding - looking at her sternly.

Just like he looked at Louise.

Versailles, 1677.

Present day.

A bright laugh suddenly broke out.

"Can't there be more than two people in a marriage?" A voice rang out suddenly, accompanied by a cold hand placed upon her shoulder. She suddenly moved away, turning around as her eyes squinted in shock.

A ghastly, pale Maria Theresa smiled at her eerily. But it was not a

sympathetic smile - not at all, it was a mocking smile. The kind of smile the courtiers threw Victoire behind her back.

"And what exactly did you expect would happen ?" She asked,

whispering - and yet, that whisper sounded almost like screaming to

Victoire's ears. She laughed, before continuing.

"He was not faithful to me, nor to Louise. Did you… Did you truly think he would be faithful to you of all people?" She grinned even more, before laughing again. She was mocking her. "Victoire - you are so naive ! And I thought you were smart."

The Mistress turned away from her. She did not want to answer, but... That was the start of her issues with Louis. Her innocent eyes going to

prying ones, seeing any woman approaching him as a possible threat,

whether they would be ladies of the court, maids, or even actresses

who occasionally came by Versailles.

In a way, she had been naive. Too naive. Childish, even. Thinking that she of all people could keep a man such as the King within her reach.

Once she turned around again, Maria had disappeared already, which

led to Victoire letting out a long breath, moving to look at herself in the shattered remains of the mirror installed in her room, to make sure the Official Mistress could admire herself for as long as she wanted. How ironic this was, looking at herself in a broken mirror.

Her gentle, yet firm hands ran down her down to her stomach. In her 12 year long reign as Official Mistress, she had not given the King an heir. Unlike… others. But the mere thought of having to birth a child -- it repulsed her, it was an atrocious idea. Why was she cursed with this… duty?

But her position had not just cursed her to such bodily functions. It

gave her a place in history. What would people think of her? The

Royal… Whore ? One of Louis XIV's women? The extravagant woman

who was sent away after asking for too much? No.

No. NO. She refused to be remembered as this - as the woman who got what she deserved after expecting an unfaithful King to stay by her side. She was not some crying Louise, or some gossiping Montespan. She was better than that !

She let out a huff, moving away from her reflection as doubts began to cloud her mind. As she looked out the window - she could see old scenes from years ago play out right there. And that's when she saw him. François - which was quite odd, he was never a truly present figure at court, so for him to show up, that means… The King must have needed advice. But what kind of advice would he need that he could not ask his beloved wife for ?

Her thoughts began to rush faster than they usually did, as she

watched François walk through Versailles - considering his relationship with Louis, he was most likely to not tell her anything. So, she took matters into her own hands, and slipped into a secret passage, waiting for the best friends to meet in the King's bedroom.

The conversation was fluid, chatting about usual court affairs - Victoire was about to leave, until the conversation began to spin towards Louis's love life. Her ears felt hot as she heard what the men were saying about her…

"I married her, François. In a secret ceremony."

"It can be annuled." He suggested, the mere thought filling Victoire with a burning rage. Annuled ? "It can't be proven you married her, after all." Proven ? Was that all that mattered when it came down to marriage ? Some silly documents ? Not the love between two people ?

"François, I must… I must find a way to send her away. Perhaps she can go to a nunnery, like Louise…"

That is when Victoire, in shock, stepped back until she felt the wooden wall of the secret passage against her backside. Getting her breath under control, she went back to spying on the two.

"Any pretext is good. Adultery, witchcraft, infertility - what good is

she, if she cannot give Christian France a political heir ?" François

asked, which made Victoire recoil in disgust. Was this all she was good for ? What her womb could birth? Comparing her to some… farm animal, whose goal is to breed lambs to the slaughter? Versailles - how animal-like it all was.

"You are right, my friend. Besides…" This sudden suspense caused her to hold her breath - as if she hadn't heard the worst yet, as if there was worse coming. And it came out.

"Angélique… She is pregnant." He revealed. Victoire could not stand it anymore, rushing back to her room and angrily knocking everything she could over, falling to her knees and sobbing. Is this all she deserved ? Being thrown away for her lack of a natural sense of motherhood ? For her occasionally egregious temper ? For influencing the King's decisions ?

These men - what right did they have over her bodily autonomy? Who did they think they were ? She was not a pin-box - or a doll for them to control, to tell her what to wear, how to move… And she was sick of them acting as if she were.

It was drastic, but she had to do it. She refused to let herself be sent

away, be paraded for this court of snakes like Cleopatra would have

been, had the asp not bitten her breast. A green - no, black bitterness

ran through her, stopping in her throat, as if she were ready to throw

up black blood, picturing how she was going to put an end to her

lover's life.

She felt sorry for him. But she, the Duchess of Marly, would not take

this disrespect - this humiliation.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, she slipped them inside of her dress's pocket - sewing pockets into her dresses is a habit she never lost, after all, even though the one who taught her that was gone - and made her way through the secret passages, her mind furiously spinning. Part of her was still unable to grasp the current events, after all - he had been everything to her. Her beloved, her Lord, her one and only. The Sun in court, and the Sun in her heart, too. Louis held the whole of France in his palm, and along with it, he held Victoire's heart.

But his once gentle palm turned into an iron grip, and crushed said heart as it bled for him. And Victoire couldn't forgive this. She couldn't live with herself. Can you imagine ? What would history books say of her ? She cried like a second Louise as she went to the nunnery ? She knew better, she knew her worth...

Her feet made their way to Louis's room, silently entering the room from a secret door - hearing certain... sounds, very, very familiar ones. Painfully familiar ones - his voice, his groans, his quick chuckles as he felt the skin of his beloved. It hurt her to hear him, each step she took made a piece of her heart break. But she could not afford being weak now - it was about her survival. She was, after all, a de Noailles. Survival ran in their blood, even though her uncle paid the price for his attempts at surviving. And she knew that they would not both make it out alive. It was going to be either her, or Louis.

One step. Two. Three. Hand slowly moving to take the scissors out of her pocket, mouth moving into a scowl as she felt her head burning with so many emotions at once - rage, jealousy, disappointment, shame, guilt, sadness. All those instances, all those circumstances that pushed her to do this.

And that's when she lost all control.

As her lover and his other mistress kissed, Victoire felt sick. How could he do this ? To her ? What had she done to deserve this ? She raised her arm and rushed, but before she realized, her target had changed. Somehow, Angélique had taken notice of her, and as an attempt to shield the king, she had shoved him.

And she paid the price. As she was striking, Victoire lowered her arm, which ended right in Angélique's stomach. Her brows furrowed, staring right at where she struck before she wordlessly moved her blade across the other's stomach, striking one specific part.

Her womb. The one thing she had that Victoire could not give the King, the thing that led his eyes away from her. In a rage-filled movement, she struck the blonde woman's womb again, and again, and again. As if she wished to destroy not only her, but also any parasite living in her stomach. She sadistically destroyed it, mad with jealousy, before pulling the scissors out.

The other woman fell dead onto the ground, and as Victoire was about to strike the King next - she suddenly saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

On the ground, instead of the woman she stabbed... She saw something horrifying.

It was a dead, stabbed version of... herself. Her face was pale, her black eyes rolled back as blood poured out of her mouth, and of her womb, making Victoire back away as she put her hand over her mouth and dropped her bloody weapon, the red fluid on her hands staining her once cold, impassive face.

Looking back up at reality, she saw a hand with red nails on Louis's shoulder. It was a woman with black curls running down her shoulders, in a red and white costume, blood on her neck as her red lips curled into a mocking smile. Madame de Montespan, or at least, what remained of her ghost, opened her mouth, laughing... Laughing at Victoire.

The laughter intensified, as she saw Maria Theresa again, kneeling above the corpse... which was Victoire's. She instinctively checked her stomach, but she didn't seem to have been stabbed... The Duchess raised her head again, only to feel surrounded. Louise had joined in the laughter, which was unbearable. She was losing her mind. She was going insane - putting her hands over her ears after throwing her knife away, blood getting in her hair and on her head.

The man looked horrified, taking one step at his beloved's dead body. In his brown eyes were so many emotions - pain, hurt, anguish, hopelessness and yet, fury. Anger. Rage. He couldn't even recognize the woman who stood in front of him, his own wife.

"How..." He spoke, stepping closer, maintaining his composure as King, as much as he wanted to mourn his lover.

"How could you ?"

How could she ? How could SHE ? How could HE ?! He was going to send her away without a care, ready to annul their marriage, kissing all those memories between them goodbye ! She had no choice. His... His willingness to behave as if she were the sole villain made her sick, taking one step closer to him. As she raised her voice, those ghosts disappeared, as if regaining her sanity for one moment.

"How could I ?" She repeated, as if to confirm what she was hearing, unable to believe he was saying this to her. "You.. How could YOU ?!" She screamed, feeling her control slip away from between her fingers again, but knowing it was too late to care.

"You MADE me do this ! You and your wandering eyes !" She spoke, feeling herself become closer and closer to sobbing. "You were going to send me to a nunnery ! You have NO right to do this !"

Louis stood still, face dropping once he realized she had heard his conversation with François. "My pearl.." He spoke, hoping she would hear reason - his reason, at least - but she did not.

"Your pearl ? Your pearl whose marriage you were going to ANNUL ? Your pearl who you abandoned for.. this ?! Your pearl.. Ha !" She couldn't even stop herself from laughing, the irony not lost on her.

"Your pearl..." She laughed, aware of how demented she looked in his eyes right now, laughing at this entire scene. The corpse laid there, this entire scene reminding Victoire of a theatre stage. She had stabbed a young woman, in cold blood, for a man who she now realizes never truly loved her. How ridiculous this all was - how insane she looked.

"So did you ever love me ?" She asked, a part of her knowing the answer already. "I did. I.. I do." He responded, although that last part was much more quiet than the start of the answer.

He loved what she was. What she could be. The roles she could play, the masks she could wear. She was a passing fancy that he once enjoyed, and that he now tired of.

"..I'm sorry, Victoire." He spoke, calling for his guards to take her away. She briefly looked at the window, before she was finally taken away. She had not resisted - it would have been futile. What could she do, anyway ?

Women are caught all the time. She was no expection.

---

Versailles, 1668.

Nine years earlier.

"Victoire... My sanctuary of answers, my Helen of Troy, my sweet pearl of heaven. You have been with me for four years now, and you have supported me in my every endeavor. My love..."

He spoke, as she looked at him, breathless, wearing a golden wedding gown that the King selected just for her, holding his hands as he wore his silver suit.

"Will you be Madame de France, next to the King of France ? Will you rule the heart of the world with me ?"

"I will." She spoke, tears running down her face of happiness once he kissed her, celebrating their marriage by themselves. No one else had been invited, besides a priest, and her maids.

"I cannot imagine of a time where I would tire of you." He spoke, smiling at her.

"Long may I reign with you by my side." He whispered to her, before adding ;

"I appreciate you, and I always will."

----

La Bastille, 1677.

Present day.

Getting thrown into this oh so familiar prison was not as scary as it should be for her. She couldn't feel anything, anything at all. Perhaps it was due to the unlawful nature her everyday actions so casually took, maybe she thought she could escape any kind of consequence as she was held up so high in society.

She remembered how scared she used to be, back when she was a young, capable thief, how terrified she was of ending like Marielle, behind bars, for the petty act of stealing bread or pawning jewelry. Yet, now that she in prison for something much, much worse, she...

She couldn't bring herself to feel anything. As if it was all a bad dream that would go away soon. She didn't even hear the guard, or de Montlezun's son talking to her, she wasn't even looking at them. She was lost, memories flashing before her eyes.

The day went by all by itself. Her last day alive - she could barely even believe it. But it was set, and nothing could change it. Soon, the sun set, reminding her of how close the end of her life was. And sooner than later, she fell asleep.

Victoire opened her eyes to a… strange scene. It was dark, she was in the woods. And that is when she realized she could not move. Raising her head, her eyes squinted a few times, making out the shape of 3 women wearing black, dancing around her, their faces covered by veils.

She struggled a bit more - coming to the conclusion that her hands were tied to what ressembled a stake. Her head raised to look at the night sky, which she expected to be lit by stars. Instead, to her astonishment, it was pitch black. She felt the cold air blow onto her exposed shoulders, noticing she was wearing her prisoner garb, long black hair loose.

The mysterious women's laughter got quieter, her attention now taken by footsteps approaching. An equally mysterious woman made her way to her, clearly dressed better than the others, holding a crown. Two of the women took away her veil, and Victoire almost choked upon seeing who it was.

That very same ghastly version of Maria Theresa, black blood dripping from between her lips as she seemed to hand Victoire the crown. The woman inclined her head, despite not wanting to do that, as if her body was actively working against her.

As soon as the crown was on her head, it began to feel heavy - as if it were crushing her from above, feeling… blood drip down her head. She frantically looked around, trying to say something - anything - and yet, nothing came out of her mouth. She was reduced to silence, as the women revealed themselves.

Louise. Françoise-Athénaïs. Bonne. All of them were however distorted versions of their real life counterparts - Françoise-Athénaïs's head was swaying from one side to another, and Bonne's skin was scarred from the hellish fate she suffered, on Victoire's order.

Oh so suddenly, a strange smell rose up to her nose - blood running down her clothes as she looked down, seeing flames rise at her feet.

Looking up, she realized that all of the women held torches - which they weren't holding one second ago. Before she could assess that thought, screams came out of her throat, screaming as the fire rose, the flames of Hell taking her back within their own, while a pair of male hands wrapped around her neck from behind, a deep, velvety laugh ringing in her ears.

And that is when she woke up.

Alone.

She wasn't dead, of course, but the events leading up to that nightmare were all real - as if they could be otherwise. No, that would have been too easy. A very long nightmare she had after dancing with the King, during her first night at Versailles, back in 1665.

No. That would be an easy way out - a salvation, for her. Salvation comes for no one. Not even for Victoire de Noailles.

Outside of her jail cell in the Bastille, Victoire could hear faint sounds of people flirtatiously laughing, sharing wisdom and witty remarks, bathing in conversation. Were they faint sounds coming from the court of Versailles ? Were they all in her head ? Was this the crowd coming to watch that very same head fall off, after they had spent so much time wishing, praying, impatiently waiting for her downfall ?

She got up and turned around her cell, pacing in a circular motion, looking around. Time passed. Once she got tired, she let herself sink to the ground, back against the wall. And she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting.

No one had come. No one had tried to visit her - to speak to her, to at least wish her good luck, or even tell her to go to Hell one last time. No one had come.

Why would they? She was a poisoner, an attempted regicide, a witch, a lowly, deranged, wicked woman. After a while, Victoire began to feel her vision getting blurry. Blurry with tears - marks of sadness running down her face as she finally screamed, hoping that someone would hear her.

But no one did.

She was raw - stripped of everything besides her emotions, letting them out as she threw herself at the bars in a desperate attempt to… She didn't even know anymore. All she could do was cry, and scream at everything.

Scream at Alexandre, who brought her into this snake den and left her to her own means as he tried to steal her influence and take credit for all she'd done. Alexandre, who she framed as a poisoner, and barely felt regret about, as he would have done the same if it meant rising in popularity in the eyes of his beloved King.

Scream at Louis, who caused her to do this, with his wicked, wandering eyes. He never loved her. He loved her masks, who she could pretend to be at his demand. Who she always pretended to be - the actress with a neverending part. The queen with a paper crown and a painted smile. Damn him. Damn all of them !

And she screamed. At the world, who condemned her father, her mother, herself. At this so-called "merciful" God, who doomed her, and her entire lineage, to horrid lives made of deception, pain and ruin. To this God, who gave her everything, only to strip her of it at the last minute. To this God, who punished her, and yet, did not touch Louis at all, as if He Himself had been afraid of the Sun King. Perhaps He simply enjoyed feeding this mortal's delusions that he was God on Earth, and was simply tormenting Victoire as He tormented the women of His entourage.

She mused on that thought. God and Louis being quite similar, but for different reasons that one might think. But those sudden, fleeting musings only brought a smile to her face for a few seconds. They did not stop the tears from running down.

Her red-rimmed eyes could not stop themselves, finally feeling free, in this sinister, drastic, and desperate self-expression of her emotions. She screamed, as she imagined all she could have done, had she never gotten close to him. Finally, all masks were removed, all skin was shed, now she lay in her prison garb, bare for anyone to see - if they were to see her.

Perhaps her loneliness brought her comfort. She doesn't know if she could bear the sight of anyone to see her like this. When had she lost herself ? As she was in her final moments, she seemed to find herself again, and it felt like the rest of her was laughing at her, or pitying her.

All she could do was wait.

No one had visited. And no one ever would.

Until she heard the door unlock, and her name be called to face the crowd outside.

[rc-catalog]

SUMMER PROMPTS EVENT WEEK TWO!

Starting today, we are going to post three prompts every Monday until the end of August. You will have until the end of September to submit your creations. You can choose whichever prompt you like and submit it whenever, e.g. you choose prompt from week 1, but manage to finish your creation mid-September—it's fine!

The aim of this event is to help to keep your creative juices flowing during this lazy time that's filled with travelling and heatwaves draining us of all energy. As always, we accept any and all types of creations—just keep in mind that for this event, we only accept new creations.

WEEK 2 PROMPTS ARE:

sunflowers

staycation

sitting on a patio very early in the morning, breathing in the crisp air, watching the fog lift slowly, and enjoying the slowly receding silence

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS:

Follow the submission guidelines;

Tag @rc-catalog and use the #rc-catalog summer prompt tag;

Use a page break for posts longer than 100 words and/or 9 pictures.

Have fun! We wish you fruitful creating! Remember to drink water, wear sunscreen and rest! 🌊

[rc-catalog]

It's finally time for what you all have been waiting for! Yep, time to reveal our newest Creator of the Month!! (Drumroll, please) Please, put your (figurative) hands together and welcome Liz, aka @reneedenoailles, as the new Creator of the Month!! Our team would like to give her huge congratulations!! She is someone who has been in the fandom for a while, and her hard work, resilience and dedication to telling her stories—and such wonderful stories at that—to the world are something we admire a lot! She was also a mod of the confessions blog and is now a very helpful addition to the Catalog team as well! ❤️ She found RC by accident, but we are so happy she did, because how else would we have got to see her amazing work? Underneath the page break, you will find, as always, a short interview with the winner.

💬INTRODUCE YOURSELF!

Hi!! I'm Liz <33 Some of you probably have already seen me around the fandom, I'm a relatively active member! I'm 20 years old, I'm an English student & I love hanging around here in my spare time. My favourite stories are (of course) Vying for Versailles, Theodora, Shakespeare's Code & Soulless, and my favourite LIs include Maria Theresa (VFV), Jack (TDR), John (THE), and plenty more!

💬WHEN AND HOW DID YOU DISCOVER ROMANCE CLUB? WHAT DREW YOU IN, AND WHAT MADE YOU STAY?

So, it's actually a funny story. I discovered it when I was in high school—me & a friend were sat in the back of the class, and we were bored—so, we decided to check out those VN apps that have ads of them online, and come to find out, one of them's RC! The first story we tried was VFV—of course—and while she didn't stick, I actually ended up playing it at home, but as it only had one season, I ended up playing OTI (who also only had one season then) & forgetting about it. A lot of time later, I remember it and decide to see what the app is up to, and so then I played it right on the January update, and since, I've been hooked & joined the Tumblr fandom right away!

💬HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN CREATING? WHAT FIRST SPARKED YOUR PASSION FOR IT?

I frankly don't remember. I do think I tried my shot at Wattpad fame at 13, and it was BAD. But I do think writing's always been my passion, I've always felt a certain calling to it, to words especially. And since then, writing's always been my thing to do.

My first ever RC fic was They Behead Valets, Don't They? which I actually wrote in class last year instead of listening. Looking back now, I could definitely improve it, but I think I was so starry-eyed when I first published it because it was my first way of putting myself out there!

💬DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST EVER CREATION?

Oh my god, unfortunately, I do, it was complete plagiarism. It was a full English translation of a book series I liked, but the characters were all replaced with characters from a TV show I liked. 

I must've been about 13! Luckily, I gave up, like, one page in, but that was definitely something. Little Liz did not know what plagiarism was, lmao.

💬DO YOU HAVE ANY RITUALS OR HABITS WHEN YOU CREATE?

I try to listen to music that fits the vibe of the story! Usually, I try to associate a specific song to whatever I'm writing, so I can loop it, but if I can't or just don't feel like looping, I generally just listen to stuff that I could see playing out for the fic. I also try to make sure I'm hydrated & not hungry, so I don't interrupt myself. 

💬IS THERE A PIECE OF ADVICE YOU WOULD GIVE TO YOUR YOUNGER SELF? OR TO READERS?

To middle school me: WRITE. LONGER. CHAPTERS. 1-minute reads do not keep your 3 Wattpad readers from the other side of the globe hooked, Lizzie!!!!!!

To anyone else: do not feel embarrassed to publish! Whether it be art, writing, edits, whatever you create! I get it can be a bit scary, especially when you're new in a fandom, but you totally should go for it!

💬CHOOSE 3-5 OF YOUR FAVOURITE WORKS AND RAMBLE AWAY!

(1) The Lonely Fall of a Royal Mistress: A Most Lamentable Tragedie [Renée de Noailles x Louis XIV]

okay, this fanfic... this was a result of me brainstorming a lot and LET ME TELL YOU this took MONTHS to complete & i think it shows. this absolute monster of a fic who ultimately came out just how i wanted it to. this piece was inspired also because at the time i was listening to a lot of like. sad music, so that really just fueled me you know. i believe i started writing it last year ? anyway this piece is extremely personal to me and i love it so very dearly !! fun little fact, this was actually supposed to end a little differently, with victoire's execution, but i decided it would hit harder if i didn't show her being executed.

(2) Un Désir Assassin [Renée de Noailles x Alexandre Bontemps]

soooo this one was kind of a comeback ? the valentines' event inspired me, i actually had more ideas coming up but the hit of uninspiration hit me. either way, this was something that i had thought of for a while, thanks to headcanons & such ! as you guys may have seen i have a very Random uploading schedule, but i'm trying to work on it 😔

(3) Infidélité [Renée de Noailles x Madame de Montespan]

this is why i love catalog prompts they're always a good way to get inspired <3 this is more self-indulgent smut partly because a) i wanted to show i can write more than angst and b) i love crackships / more underrated pairings, and i wanted to write up something for my girl julie <3 this is a piece i look to with a lot of joy :)

(4) The Azure Letter [Lane x Anna]

pride month so i chose to wrote these two ! i was actually super nervous about writing & even moreso posting it, since i had never written for hsr before. i think subconsciously i also wanted to show that i could write more than one story - also i just didn't have much inspiration for vfv. i wanted to keep the essence of what sasha had written - especially for lane's character - but i still wanted to appropriate it and make it mine. and i think i did a pretty good job ! though i don't know if topping sasha's a big achievement…

(5) The Highs Without the Lows [Lane x Greg]

my newest & freshest baby ! i've noticed there wasn't much greglane content at all, so i felt like gracing them with a big oneshot ! they deserve it <3 much more on the lighthearted side, this is definitely one of if not my favorite piece i've ever written & i hope you guys like it as much as i do ! fun fact, my main idea was "gas station chaos" while writing - and while brainstorming, i was having several ideas, such as an abomination bursting through the gas station or something, but this is what i came up with eventually !

Once again, congratulations Lizzie! 🌹

[rc-catalog]

SUMMER PROMPTS EVENT BEGINS!

Starting today, we are going to post three prompts every Monday until the end of August. You will have until the end of September to submit your creations. You can choose whichever prompt you like and submit it whenever, e.g. you choose prompt from week 1, but manage to finish your creation mid-September—it's fine!

The aim of this event is to help to keep your creative juices flowing during this lazy time that's filled with travelling and heatwaves draining us of all energy. As always, we accept any and all types of creations—just keep in mind that for this event, we only accept new creations.

WEEK 1 PROMPTS ARE:

roadtrip

thunderstorm

heatwave

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS:

Follow the submission guidelines;

Tag @rc-catalog and use the #rc-catalog summer prompt tag;

Use a page break for posts longer than 100 words and/or 9 pictures.

Have fun! We wish you fruitful creating! Remember to drink water, wear sunscreen and rest! 🌊

[rc-catalog]

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Hello everyone! A small update about the SUMMER PROMPTS EVENT, here at the Catalog!

For the sixth week, we will NOT be posting any new prompts. This way, creators can catch up with old prompts. We will resume the event next week!

You can check out the current prompt list for each week HERE!

Happy creating! Remember to have fun, drink water, and use lots of sunscreen! 🍧

[rc-catalog]

Selena/Liam + Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

@rc-catalog

[rc-catalog]

everything, always. (lane x anna)

oneshot

ao3 link: tba

tags: @rc-catalog

prompt: only one bed

rating: t

warnings: strong language, slight themes of homophobia, toxic relationship

word count: 3.7k

Lane was as she always was.

As always, she'd been forced to use her power in the middle of a mission, saved the squad from something dreadful, and became the hero of the day. She was still exhausted from using her power. While the rest of the squad had to make the long, bumpy ride back, running over infected and swaying over humps, she had a comfortable and swift journey in Cain's arms.

That goddamn angel.

And now, she was lying on a pallet in one of the rooms, separated for men and women, that had been built for workers to rest between shifts at the old pharmaceutical factory they had decided to take refuge in until dark. Anna called it a pallet because it was a far cry from a proper bed. Perhaps it was even more than that.

After they returned, everyone in the squad had taken on their own tasks. The men were preparing for the road, the immortals were trying to heal, and Anna had been checking the condition of the medicines left behind by the looters for hours. She had to constantly bend and get up because the narrow shelves had collapsed and tangled into each other. Her eyes were ruined from using the analysis tools, most of which were broken or barely working due to the dust. There were other details, too, but she didn't want to focus on each one individually and remind herself of her fatigue.

When she came back to the room, she desperately looked for other pallets. As she turned her head to Lane's side, she saw that Lane was sleeping with two pallets stacked on top of each other. She had also taken her sleeping bag. Anna sighed with a learned helplessness.

So yeah, Lane was as she always was.

She was supposed to hate her. She wanted to hate her so badly.

But she couldn't. She was pathetic enough to be jealous of the celestial entities. Actually, the sentence didn't even need to be that long. Anna was pathetic enough to be jealous of Lane.

In what capacity was she jealous of her? Or jealous of what? What was she afraid would happen? Was she in a position to comment on things that could or could not happen between Lane and someone else?

Anna sank to the base of the wall with a fatigue that she felt should be illegal, stretched out her long, slender legs, and crossed her arms in front of her. She wished for the gods of sleep to visit her soon. She had no intention of getting lost in this sea of thoughts. She didn't know how to swim.

She thought she needed to create an inventory for the hundreds of medicines she had found for the squad. Perhaps she should also add small notes about what active ingredients do and dosage information, in case something happened to her. Anna often considered this possibility. She knew she was the weakest link. She knew she was the most vulnerable. She had had a series of close calls, but she knew the day would come when it would cost her. Luck couldn't be on her side forever.

She remembered Lane noticing her by chance while they were escaping the platform and helping her get her leg out of the wire. They were almost caught because of her, but luckily Lane was there.

Or how she was able to escape the creature behind her in the forest thanks to Lane following them. Lane using her powers to save her.

Anna sighed deeply and looked at the girl tossing and turning uncomfortably in her sleep. It was hard to decide who was in a more pathetic situation. A girl who was paying the price for powers bestowed upon her by a creature from the other side as a curse, or another girl who would prefer to receive only one-tenth of the leniency shown to this girl?

What Lane did wasn't a sacrifice. The strong helps the weak, that's the way how it goes. They were on the same team. They were running to the same finish line with different motivations. Of course, she wouldn't leave her behind.

No matter how selfish and apathetic she was.

Anna frowned and started to study Lane more carefully. By the time she realized what she was doing, it was too late. There were a few words to define the feeling inside her. Disgust, envy, and... admiration.

She couldn't help but think how beautiful she was. It wasn't fair that someone so dark was so beautiful. It was as if someone had drawn her with a pen and brought her to life with some kind of magic. After all, they were living in a world where miracles were no longer impossible.

Her full lips, her shapely nose, and her slightly bony face. Her narrow eyes that she knew would pierce her soul the moment she opened them. The mole under her eye, her bright red hair. As if to represent how it was burning inside her. The resinous smell that filled the room the moment she entered. It was as if touching her skin would bind her to her forever. Anna's deep blue eyes found the mole under her eye over and over again. It wasn't fair that it suited her so well.

Anna had long since realized she couldn't sleep, but for some reason, she didn't give up her sleeping position. She wanted to hold on to the possibility of dreaming of a scenario where everything was fine, and the world was normal, and she met her. That they met at a university event in North Dakota and searched for the hall together. As she held on to that possibility, her eyes repeatedly traced Lane's body. It was funny that she looked so graceful and delicate after knowing her power. The curves that were so visible as she lay on her side were not very good for her sanity.

A while after Anna stopped counting the minutes, she watched Lane's eyes slowly open. She didn't feel like reacting. What could she say? She should have been mad at her, for the state she had put her in. But she only managed a clumsy gulp. Her eyelids were heavy now, but she didn't want to sleep for even a second after looking at the view in front of her.

"Anna?" Lane's sleepy and husky voice was not enough to bring Anna back to herself. She felt as if the ground beneath her was stinging her.

"Hm?"

"How long have you been there? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Anna didn't answer. She was just waiting for her to realize her own selfishness. There was nothing better she could do to someone who was punishing her with her good intentions. She finally looked away from Lane and pulled her legs to her chest. She tried to close her eyes and pretend to be asleep. Lane just chuckled at this. Anna realized that her body had gone rigid the moment she moved. She had been sitting against that wall for hours, watching Lane with her head bowed. Every muscle was seized up.

Anna struggled not to open her eyes and tried to close them more tightly. The smile on Lane's face as she watched the girl didn't fade; she looked so silly. She put one arm under her cheek and tried to watch her.

It was impossible for Anna to fall asleep with the eyes she felt on her, but she didn't give up her stubbornness. Even though she felt her bones ache with every second she sat on the cold ground. Her ambition and stubbornness only seemed endearing to Lane.

Lane shifted slightly on the pallet, patting the empty space with her palm and speaking in a half-whisper. She knew her well enough now to know that there was no hidden meaning in her voice. "Come here."

Anna froze for a moment and thought. She opened her eyes, gave Lane a clumsy, hard look, and realized it was pointless to fight the pain in her back. With a discontented sigh, she lay down next to Lane, turning her back to the girl. She knew Lane was about to speak from her intake of breath, and she tried hard not to flinch at the warm breath on the back of her neck in the cold room.

"Don't talk and go to sleep." Her commanding and angry voice reminded Lane of her brother. Lane rolled her eyes at this resemblance.

"Fine." Lane's indifference was unfathomable.

Lane couldn't complain about the beautiful scent filling her nose. It was the scent of her own skin. It was so warm it almost made her think it would burn her, but it was just as fresh. It reminded Lane of lavender and sage incense. It was funny, Lane used to hate incense before the world turned into a terrible circus show. The scent of sickly sweet flowers mixed with the smell of smoke would give her a headache. It wasn't like that now; the flowers smelled fresh, and the smoke just smelled warm. Was Lane shedding the things that made her who she was as she moved away from humanity? Was the world becoming appealing only after she no longer belonged to it?

Lane took a deep breath, inhaling the scent and trying to clear her head. This was a chance to quietly lose herself to Anna. Behind closed doors, when no one else was around. When no one could judge them, question them, or condemn them. When no one could pull them aside and scold them. Just her and Anna. When no other soul would mix with theirs.

When even God had forsaken them and the angels had stopped counting people's sins, Lane didn't know what "earthly beings" had to do with other people's feelings. If God were among them, Lane would pray that whoever was responsible for this festering sludge that pierced her brain and lodged itself in her soul, would be crushed to dust with his own hands. But he wasn't there. And if he had left them so easily, perhaps he had never been there at all.

Anna was good for her. She reminded her that she still had a beating heart somewhere and that she needed something to fill her soul. She knew Anna didn't feel that way about her. She also knew that if she told Anna these things, Anna would object and not want to hear them. She would immediately start talking about what others would think. It would create a strange, tense atmosphere between them forever, and she would have to live the rest of her life in this torment. That's why Lane wanted to live with the certainty that these things would never come to light; she didn't want to bear the weight of rejection. Anna would be a source that secretly nourished Lane. Instead of letting this uncontrollable power inside her consume her slowly and deliberately, and instead of turning this meaninglessness into rage, she wanted to hold on to Anna. Even if she didn't want it.

She needed even Anna's hatred, her sharp looks, and her cold attitude. Anything that showed that she cared about her, that she valued her. Something that would keep her by her side, something that would prevent her from being separated from her forever. Lane was looking for an invisible chain to bind her to her under every word, every look. Lane wanted to laugh at her own helplessness; she had never imagined that love could mean this. Or maybe she had never loved anyone before. Even though she had been loved.

Noticing that the girl was trembling, she took off her jacket and gently covered her with it. Then, hesitantly, she wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close, trying not to wake her. She buried her head in her hair. For the first time, Lane felt something she could call peace. This feeling was unexpectedly... empty. It was seamless, like a barrier between every other emotion.

Anna hadn't fallen asleep yet; she was hovering between sleep and wakefulness. She wanted to sleep so badly; she felt like she would die if she didn't. But with her by her side, her mind resisted her body. She wanted to stay awake, to live every second to the fullest. With her breath on the back of her neck, with her warmth enveloping her, with her hand resting on her stomach, and... her legs pressed against her hips.

Anna's heart was pounding as if it would burst. What was she saying? How could her mind come to such thoughts? Just an hour ago, flames were spitting from her eyes as she looked at her, how could a single touch reverse the needle so suddenly? She couldn't understand herself. And she hated Lane for making her unable to understand herself. What right did she have to confuse her?

Anna tried not to care. She didn't pull her hand away either. She just wanted to know that she was there, and to sleep knowing that. She wanted to prove to herself. And to her. That her presence didn't bother her.

She wanted to hate her. She should've hated her. She wanted to believe that she was a selfish person, that she was in the squad for her own good, and that she would stab every member in the back without batting an eye if necessary.

Anna found it hard to be fair about this thought. Was she never acting for her own good? Was she the one to accuse her of being self-serving?

As Anna drowned in her own thoughts, Lane seemed to hug her more tightly. The closer Lane got, the safer she felt. She needed her. She had to be with her. If she didn't have her, she would go insane.

Lane finally moved closer until they were completely interlocked. The scent of her skin was now intoxicating. She muttered, not knowing why she was doing it. "Anna..."

Anna squeezed herself to keep from answering, pressing her lips together. The moment she heard her name in her voice, her vision seemed to turn upside down.

Lane persisted. "Anna, I know you're not asleep."

"You're holding your breath."

Anna's heart was now beating so fast that she could feel the pressure in her ears. She had to shift all her focus to her speech to stay calm. "But I want to sleep. Let me."

"I'm so tired." She had to whisper the last sentence to be able to say it without stuttering.

"Me too." Lane reluctantly pulled her face away from Anna's hair to be able to speak comfortably. For some reason, Anna felt relieved as the distance between them widened. As if the closer they were, the easier she could read her thoughts.

Could she really do that? Like the other immortals. After all, her powers were similar to theirs. Anna shivered, remembering that the person lying next to her could kill her in an instant.

Even though she knew she would never. At least not tonight.

Lane spoke as if she had really heard Anna. "I'm not sure I want this power."

"Because it exhausts you so much? Every time." Anna blurted out.

"No. Because it makes me feel like a monster." Lane's voice was too emotionless for the confession she was making; all she did was trace her fingers on Anna's stomach. Anna felt like she was going to throw up.

"I'm afraid of hurting people around me." Her voice was inexplicably vulnerable.

Anna couldn't hide her shock. She knew Lane felt it even if she didn't see it. It was the first time she had heard her say that she cared about those around her. It felt like she had confessed her crimes.

Lane buried her face in the girl's soft hair again; her voice was barely audible. Not being able to read her emotions made Anna unsettled. "Especially you."

Anna couldn't say anything, she just put her hand on the hand resting on her stomach. Lane chuckled silently in satisfaction, the contentment of getting what she wanted. She pressed herself against Anna again and put one of her legs between the girl's pillar-like legs. Every inch they got closer made her lose herself even more. She was worried about losing control, but she couldn't stop herself.

Anna was, of course, surprised by what she had heard, but she felt safer. For some reason, she chose to believe her unconditionally. She couldn't resist herself, even though she knew it was foolish. It was as if there was something hidden pulling her towards her. She couldn't refuse her. She wasn't uncomfortable with her. She was just scared. Insanely so.

But fear had always been the thing that pulled her down. Her cowardice made her weak.

She wanted to change that.

"Because I'm the weakest among them?" Anna spoke through gritted teeth and slowly turned to the other side. She bent her lower arm and rested her hand against her ear. Her breath caught when she made eye contact with Lane; it felt as if a warm liquid flowed down the back of her neck. Exhausted but equally passionate eyes melted her spine. She cleared her throat and tried to focus. Although she knew her gaze would take over, she didn't look away from the dark eyes until she got the answer she wanted. Even though she knew she wouldn't like the answer she was about to hear.

"No." Lane briefly shook her head and continued.

"Because you're the only person I need by my side." Lane felt a great sense of relief just for being able to say that. She didn't think about the rest.

Anna blinked in astonishment; the words were on the tip of her tongue but didn't seem to come together. Lane didn't give her a chance to recover; if she did, she wouldn't be able to finish what she started. She had struck the match already. She had to start a fire now.

"I can't protect you from myself. It would be so fool of both of us to promise that." Lane seemed to be talking more to herself. Anna listened to her with trembling eyes. She didn't want to cry; just wasn't ready for what she was about to hear. She nodded helplessly. She knew it was true.

"But..." Lane gently brushed the hair that had fallen on Anna's face. Without her glasses, her blue eyes seemed even more piercing, more intense. Anna followed her hand with her eyes. She shivered on the inside with every movement.

Anna couldn't stand the silence. She wanted to hear what she needed to hear. She had no escape anyway, so she wanted to reduce the pain she would feel. "But?"

Lane cleared her throat and continued with a sigh. "But you can help me protect myself from myself."

"How?" Anna frowned, not understanding what she was saying. Lane's eyes traveled over the girl's beautiful face. First, they found her icy eyes, then they examined the details of her face one by one. Her small nose, her prominent cheekbones, and finally her full, lively lips. That's where Lane stopped.

"Like this." Anna felt Lane's breath mingle with hers. Their noses touched, and Anna felt a tickle and struggled to keep from giggling. They could both hear each other's heartbeats. Anna couldn't stand it anymore and closed her eyes; because with every second they made eye contact, Anna felt more and more like she was going to faint. Lane felt a tingling on her lips.

And finally, she joined her lips with hers. The moment she felt the girl's soft lips, all the blood rushed to her cheeks; she felt alive. The more she felt alive, the more eagerly she kissed her, pressing herself closer and closer against her and placed her palm on her cheek.

Anna let herself fall into Lane's arms as if she had found a foothold. She witnessed her muscles melt completely under her control. She wasn't kissing back; she was just trying to keep up with her rhythm. It was as if she was dancing to a song she had never heard before, she was taking random steps, trying to clumsily keep up with the rhythm. She was thrown off every time the rhythm changed, but she would watch the one in front of her and find the right one. Anna was as nervous and vulnerable as if she were walking on ice.

Lane's lips were dry and her movements were hasty. She hugged her more tightly and gripped her lips with a harder, more eager, more intense feeling. As if someone would come and take her away, as if she knew this moment would be short. As if she was floating in the air. As if it had to run all over her soul to let her fully enjoy it.

And so it did. Anna pulled her lips away shyly. Her face was bright red. It wasn't right. She couldn't continue. She couldn't love her, for her own good. She wanted to think of herself for once. She wanted to be selfish, just like Lane. She wanted to defy her. She wanted to resist, to turn this into a fight. She wanted to enter into a fixed fight. That's why she pulled away and gave her breath to Lane's parted lips, stirring slightly on the uncomfortable pallet. She wanted to break free from her arms.

But Lane was as she always was.

She pulled the girl to her as if this was the only thing she needed, and she pressed the girl's head under her chin. She wrapped both her arms around her and completely enveloped her. There was such a desire and longing in her embrace that Anna couldn't resist. The longing was for someone to need her, not to be alone. And she knew that Lane would do anything to get it. There was no escaping her. In every sense of the word. She had fallen under her spell now.

Anna didn't want to break free anyway. She had accepted her fate.

As she always did.

So Anna also let herself go into her arms. She surrendered to this strange feeling of security, with all her nervousness, and she closed her eyes, unable to endure the sleeplessness any longer. What a contrast. Just as it was from the beginning to the end of this story.

So everything and everyone was as they always were.

And perhaps that's how it was meant to be.

[rc-catalog]

SUMMER PROMPTS EVENT WEEK FIVE!

Starting today, we are going to post three prompts every Monday until the end of August. You will have until the end of September to submit your creations. You can choose whichever prompt you like and submit it whenever, e.g. you choose prompt from week 1, but manage to finish your creation mid-September—it's fine!

The aim of this event is to help to keep your creative juices flowing during this lazy time that's filled with travelling and heatwaves draining us of all energy. As always, we accept any and all types of creations—just keep in mind that for this event, we only accept new creations.

WEEK 5 PROMPTS ARE:

only one bed;

mermaids;

day out on a boat/yacht/kayaking.

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS:

Follow the submission guidelines;

Tag @rc-catalog and use the #rc-catalog summer prompt tag;

Use a page break for posts longer than 100 words and/or 9 pictures.

Have fun! We wish you fruitful creating! Remember to drink water, wear sunscreen and rest! 🌊

[rc-catalog]

🖊️: fanfiction; 🖼️: moodboard; 🎨: art/edit; 🧵: web weaving; 👥: character profile; 🏳️‍🌈: lgbtq+; 💡: wip wednesday; 📸: gifset; 🎬: animation; 🔥: nsfw

Rating: General, Teen, Mature, Explicit

HEAVEN'S SECRET: REQUIEM

A Cruel Mercy by @wrappiey |🖊️🏳️‍🌈| Dmitry x Yan | TW: emotional abuse, alcoholism, drug abuse, graphic descriptions of gun violence and illness, body horror, light sadism | E

Are you angry ? Do you hate me ? by @lanesrequiem |🎨🏳️‍🌈| Dmitry x Yan | TW: flashing/flickering lights, photos with guns, cigarettes | T

KALI: FLAME OF SAMSARA

Saraswati Edition by @zealouscanonindeer |🖼️🏳️‍🌈| Deviya Sharma x Saraswati Basu | G

HEAVEN'S SECRET 2

Don't Smile by @laurathecunt |🖊️🏳️‍🌈| Vicky Walker x Plague | TW: major character death, blood and gore, swearing | T

HELL AND HIGH WATER

Week 2 - Sunflowers by @sazanes |🎨| Lori Kaplan | G