#Beyond the Starless Sky

[starknightgirl]

Beyond the Starless Sky, Chapter 1

This is the first of (hopefully) three chapters for my story for the @inklings-challenge. I'm on Team Tolkien and I chose to do a Secondary World story with the main theme of Comfort the Sorrowful. I'm not sure how well I did on the theme part for this chapter. As of the writing of this post, it is the only complete chapter. It is very unpolished so constructive criticism is entirely welcome.

-✦✦✦-

Chapter 1: The Shining City Below

“I, Camilla Rowen, on this, my majority, do hear-by swear to fulfill the Crown Trial.” I said, heart hammering in my chest as I knelt before the Regent Council. “I shall set forth from Adytum and I shall not return until the Crown is returned to our home.”

The crowd gathered at the back of the council chamber erupted in a flurry of whispers. But the Regent Council in front of me was stony in their silence. I swallowed nervously.

Finally, the Prime Regent in the center, a severe man named Braden, nodded. “Very well.” He said. “Let it be known that from tomorrow on, Camilla Rowen has set upon the Crown Trial. She shall be sent to the surface and shall not be welcome back until the Crown is returned.”

I stood and bowed before exiting the chamber. I managed to take four steps out into the city proper before what I’d just done caught up to me. It fell upon me like a heavy weight.

I had all but exiled myself from Adytum. The cavern city, with its familiar luminescent ceiling and walls. The only safe-haven from the Wraiths that stalked the surface. My home of eighteen years. What had I just done?

I’m not sure how long I stood outside the Regent Council Chambers frozen in fear. But it was long enough that Eskil, my best friend found me there. And he was furious.

“The Crown Trial?! What were you thinking, Camilla?!” Eskil yelled. He was still wearing his knight uniform. He must have just come off duty then.

“It’s the only way I’ll find out what happened to my brother, Eskil.” I said, throat tight.

“It’s a death sentence, Camilla! You and I both know what happened to Aidan. He died on that fool’s errand just like everyone else who sought the Crown!” Eskil said. “Or are you not wearing mourning braids for him even now?!”

I slumped slightly. Eskil was right. I didn’t wear my braids just for my parents. But even still.

“I need to know. I could be— We could be wrong.” I said, before adding in a whisper, “besides, you and I both know the only skill I know is illegal surface ruins scavenging, which I can’t exactly get a job doing legally.”

“You could be a knight like me.” Eskil said. “Please don’t throw your life away on this worthless quest! There’s a reason no one has tried since Aidan!”

“It’s too late.” I said, hoping I sounded more resolved than I felt. “I already swore myself to the Trial. I have to leave tomorrow. No matter what.”

Eskil sighed deeply. “I wish you had told me you were planning on doing this.”

“You would’ve tried to stop me.” I said softly. Might have succeed too.

“Yes, because it’s a bad idea!” Eskil said. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “But I suppose it’s too late for that now.”

“It is.” I said. “I’m sorry, Eskil.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He said. “You should go pack. You’re going to have a long night in front of you.”

“It’s alright.” I said, nervous to admit something that would probably make Eskil feel worse. But I pushed through it. “I packed yesterday.”

He sighed. “Of course you did. Alright, well, since you’re doing this, I’m going to look over what you packed. A second pair of eyes could help make sure you’re not missing anything you’ll need.”

“Thank you, Eskil.” I said.

“Don’t thank me yet.” He said. “I’ll be a bit— I should go drop off my kit.”

“Alright.” I said. Then, trying to be a bit humorous, I added, “don’t take too long though or I’ll leave without you.”

It didn’t really land well. He just groaned. “Please don’t joke about that, Camilla.” Which was perhaps a bit fair.

-✦✦✦-

My home was a small alcove close to the surface which had been walled off for privacy. There wasn’t much here. Especially not now that I had packed pretty much all of my worldly belongings into my backpack. My very battered backpack— the number of times I had to sew and patch that bag up, well. At least it would only have to survive one more journey.

Honestly, I was lucky to have a home at all. Even if it was a mere stone’s throw from the entrance to the cavern. Adytum had a serious overpopulation problem— the cavern wasn’t exactly designed for the population that had squeezed its way into it. Plans to expand the caverns had been proposed, but they were dangerous. The last thing anyone wanted was for the cavern to collapse on the city.

Still, there was a cowardice in the way that the Regent Council refused to consider any plans to expand. But then, I suppose it was easy for me to judge from the outside looking in. I tried to remind myself of that every time the Regent Council’s petty in-fighting and self-interested selfishness got on my nerves. It was rather hard at times.

Maybe finding the Lost Queen wouldn’t help. I wanted to be optimistic about it all. I wanted to believe I would find my brother alive and we would bring the Lost Queen to Adytum. But even if I managed to succeed in all parts of my quest, there was every possibility it would just make Adytum’s precarious situation more unstable. The Regent Council all swore an oath to support the Queen when she returned. But how many of them would uphold it?

I shook my head. That was putting the chicken before the eggs. I had to find the Lost Queen first. I had to succeed where so many before me had failed. Some much more well equipped than me.

“Well, this place looks slightly more bare than usual.” A voice said from behind me.

I jumped, my heart racing, before I realized who it was. “Don’t scare me like that, Eskil!”

“Sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer.” He said, walking over to me. “I figured you wouldn’t mind me just entering.”

“You don’t have to knock, Eskil. Just don’t sneak up on me like that!” I said as I turned to face him. He had indeed taken off his gambeson, mail and helmet, leaving him in a dark tunic and pants. He also had what looked to be a large pole wrapped in a cloth. “What’s with the pole?”

“It’s a gift.” He said. “I’ll show you in a bit. First, what did you pack?”

“Nothing too crazy. A canteen of water. Hardtack, some oats and a bit of honey. A small metal pot and spoon. A fire-starter. A bedroll. Linen and rope for shelter. A spare change of clothes. And, of course, my crystal lantern.” I said.

Eskil smiled fondly. “You were so disappointed when Aidan gifted that to you. But that little lantern has probably saved your life several times.”

“Well Aidan wasn’t too happy when he realized giving me it allowed me to take more risks while scavenging.” I said sheepishly. “So, what do you think?”

“Seems like a pretty good kit.” He said. “I don’t want to know where you got a fire-starter, do I? You know they’re heavily regulated here.”

“I only got it a few days ago, Eskil. Don’t worry, I haven’t been sitting on an illegal fire-starter for years.” I said.

“I said I didn’t want to know, Camilla.” He said, but his tone was fond.

I shrugged slightly. “I mean, I didn’t tell you where I got it. Just when I got it.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Eskil said.

I grinned at him, half-bowing sarcastically, “with pride.”

“There is something you’re missing though.” He said, with a slight air of theatricality.

“Oh?” I said. “Might that be your mysterious present?”

Eskil unwrapped the object he’d brought. It was a sword, securely held in a rust-colored leather scabbard that matched the hilt. “I meant for you to take this on your Knight Trial but luckily it still works for this too. I hope you never have to use it. But just in case.”

“I— I don’t know what to say, Eskil.” I said. “Surely this cost way too much.”

Eskil rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, actually, I made it.”

“What?” I said, staring at him in shock. “How? What about the Smith Trial?” I couldn’t comprehend the idea that Eskil of all people might’ve broken the law.

“I’m not selling it, it’s a gift.” He said with a grin. “It’s a bit of a loophole but no one ever said you needed to pass any Trials for gifts. Oh, speaking of, you haven’t seen the best part yet.”

With a flourish, Eskil unsheathed the sword. But surprisingly, where I expected to see metal, was instead a crystal blade. It shone, filling every shadowed corner of my home with light.

“Wow.” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, but it’s also practical.” Eskil said with a shrug, dropping the scabbard on my bed. “If, heaven forbid, you end up running into some Wraiths, this should help more than a regular sword.” Then he gently handed the sword to me.

I stared at it, baffled. “Weird.” I said. “I expected it to be heavier. I mean, not that it’s light by any means, but it’s made of bright crystals right?”

“Well, sort of.” Eskil said. “There is a bright crystal core to it. But you’re right. Bright crystals alone would’ve been too heavy— that’s probably why no one has made a sword like this before. But notice how the surface is clear? I used aninite.”

“But aninite isn’t clear.” I said, turning the sword in fascination. Most of the cavern walls here were made up of ainite; that lucky fact had probably saved us all because aninite was a very light, yet strong rock. But those walls were also every shade of dark gray.

“It’s not usually, no.” He said. “But I heard of some bright crystals that don’t glow. And I got curious. And it turns out, they’re not bright crystals at all. Under the right circumstances, aninite can be everything from a smoky gray to full on clear like here.”

“That’s amazing.” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?”

“I’ll feel better knowing you have it.” Eskil said. “I made it with you in mind. Besides, I can always make another one.”

I gently set the sword down on my bed and grabbed Eskil in a tight hug. “Thank you, Eskil. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Camilla.” Eskil said. “Now come on, if this is going to be your last day in town for awhile, you deserve to have some good food for once.”

I tried to smile, even though I could feel the weight of the Trial looming over me. “Alright. Let’s go.”

-✦✦✦-

I shifted nervously standing before Adytum’s main gate. There were other, narrower tunnels out, even though there weren’t supposed to be. Most of those I knew like the back of my hand. But I had never actually left by the main entrance. My surface expeditions were illegal after all and the main gate was where the guards stood watch.

My new sword was an unexpected weight on my right side, but my backpack was little heavier than I was used to. It should’ve felt almost like a normal expedition. It really didn’t. There was something about knowing how I might never return. It weighed on me.

Last night had been amazing. I had never wanted it to end. But eventually it had, Eskil forcing me to go home early to get sleep for my early departure time. I had not slept well.

Surface travel was going to be hard. On my expeditions I had always left just after sunrise and come back before sundown to avoid the Wraiths. I no longer had that option. A nocturnal schedule would allow me to defend myself at night. But traveling by day would be safer. There didn’t seem to be a good option.

“Nervous?” Eskil said as he walked up from behind me. It was his day off so I wasn’t too surprised to see he had once again forgone his armor.

I nodded, turning to face him. “Mostly I’m waiting for them to be ready. Well, that and trying to determine if it’s better to travel by day or by night.”

“Try by day first.” Eskil said. “A properly secured campsite might be able to save you from having to fight Wraiths at all.”

“Or get me killed.” I said, shifting nervously.

“You’re going to be fine, Camilla.” He said. “I believe in you. Trust me, the surface is survivable. And I know that you of all people can do it.”

“I’m going to miss you.” I said. “Especially if— if I fail.”

“Hey, don’t think like that.” He said. “You’re going to be the one to pass this Trial.”

“You didn’t think that yesterday.” I said, slumping slightly. “What if this is really as you said, a death sentence?”

Eskil sighed. “You’re right. I didn’t think that yesterday. But that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. Me and my fears. Because when I really stop to think about it, I know you can do it. I believe in you, Camilla.”

“Thanks, Eskil.” I said.

“Hey, it’s all I can do for you now.” He said.

“It still means a lot.” I said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“You’ll just have to pass your Trial then.” He said, slowly pulling back. “Go onto victory and safely return.”

“May your path be lit until that day.” I said softly.

“For having known you, it will be.” He said with a bittersweet grin. “Now, go on, you’re going to be amazing!”

“That’s not part of it!” I said, shaking my head fondly, turning towards the gates. The guards were changing to the day shift which meant it would be time soon.

“I don’t care, it’s true!” Eskil called after me.

“If you say so!” I said, not even bothering to turn back. In front of me, the guards finished swapping. I walked towards the one on the right. He was in charge of the gate. That meant he would be the one alerted to my Trial and subsequent departure. I felt surprisingly steady all things considered.

“You Camilla Rowan?” The guardsman asked. He probably didn’t see too many people trying to leave given the circumstances.

I nodded. “That’s me.”

“Here. Your Crown compass. Don’t lose it.” He said, handing me what looked like a compass made of dark opaque crystal.

I’d only seen one once before, when Aidan had set out on his quest, but its appearance was seared into my brain. A dark opaque crystal compass set with white markings hung on a leather strap. An enchantment on the needle would make it always point to the Lost Queen. It would be my guide for the Trial, leading me in the straightest possible route. Of course, it also didn’t account for obstacles in the way.

“Camilla Rowan,” the guardsman said sternly, “Return with the Crown or not at all.”

“I— I swear I will.” I said.

The guardsman opened up a door into the guardhouse. Another guard stood there to lead me out. The last memory I had of Aidan was of him walking this same route.

At the time, I had imagined that they would open the portcullises for him; I imagined I would watch him walk up the cavern entrance until he vanished from sight. It had rather broken my imagination to learn that there was a hatch between the two portcullises that single travelers could exit via rope ladder. Only one portcullis need open, the outer one.

In hindsight it was a silly assumption because they didn’t even open both portcullises when the Knight Trial candidates needed to leave. They cycled the portcullises, first one the the other.

The journey through the guardhouse was short— I spent most of it lost in thought and was quite surprised only a few minutes later to have already made it to the exit. The hatch was larger than I expected, but certainly not beyond measure. The guardsman anchored the rope ladder and then opened the hatch. He threw the ladder down.

My hands felt clammy as I slowly climbed my way down. The ladder seemed to sway with every step, sure as they were. Compared to the walk through the guardhouse, the short climb down seemed of interminable length. Still, eventually I reached the end. I stepped off the ladder and had but a moment to catch my breath before one of the portcullises slowly rose.

It revealed a tunnel of dark gray rock, much more wide than the passages I was used to sneaking out of. Maybe that was what made it feel so different to leave. Maybe it was that the Crown Trial had just begun. At any rate, I was on my way.

-✦✦✦-

1 2 3 - Next Chapter >

[lnights]

BC fan week day 5: favorite lyrics

Ooo so many!

Literally the entirety of My Heart is a Hurricane but specifically

I'm done with the past, it's no more than a ghost I'm not coming back, but tomorrow's unknown I'm used to this pain, but what hurts me the most Is knowing I'm wrong when I'm letting you go

Alive or Only Burning

Left to die so many times That deep inside, I think I might deserve it I walked through fire, somehow survived Now I don't know if I'm alive or only burning Alive or only burning

Thank You for the Pain

Got the same fear, now there's only longer way to fall When the smoke clears is there anybody left to call? I'm not a wise guy, don't seek me out for wisdom Yeah all this fame is fun but have you ever fucked the system?

Scream

An empty room

And every thought is so violent

I hate this silence

Red Tail Lights

I don't need your love, but I need your car Disappear into the night like a shooting star On the run, on the run, running from my heart Red tail lights is all I've got

Die Another Day

Holding on to errors I find in myself Holding on to horrors I try to forget I'm waiting for the end and I need a meaning to make me whole again

Died Enough for You

This is where we fall apart This is where I'm giving up I'm getting out, I'm signing off I'm done with you

So go and mend your broken heart

This is where I'm giving up I'm getting out, I'm signing off

Another Sun

Somewhere beyond this starless sky Through the darkest days of mine Another sun will rise That tiny spark kept me alive Through the darkest days of mine I keep holding on

Lanterns

When the dark takes over When the stars refuse to shine Light a lantern for another You know the night is darkest 'fore the dawn So turn it on

Of course had to include Dark Side

I'm in a cave of man-made misery Digging a grave for myself and my enemies Of all the dark things that keep me wasted You're the sweetest I've ever tasted

[glassydiatom]

Rowan and Elphaba - they're not from the same universe but they're both haunted regardless

[livebeforeyoulearn]

Touch You Softly

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: A soft, fleeting encounter of stargazing with a stranger.

-

The night is cold, biting, with winter's chill clinging to the air, but somehow you’ve ended up on the beach, surrounded by the warmth of friends and the soft glow of a bonfire. The flames crackle and snap, sending sparks into the air, which disappear against the backdrop of a starless sky. You pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the sand shift beneath you as you sit close to the fire. Your friend, ever considerate, sits beside you while the rest of the group is scattered around – dancing, laughing, and sharing drinks. Their joy is palpable, the kind that comes with alcohol and carefree moments. But you? You’ve never been the type to drink or throw yourself into the wild abandon of nights like these. You’re content to watch from the sidelines, the quiet observer in a scene of chaos.

Your friend, aware of your tendency to withdraw, has stayed with you, perhaps out of solidarity, perhaps because they know you’d prefer not to be left alone. You appreciate it, even though neither of you says much. The silence between you is companionable, the kind that doesn’t demand filling. From your vantage point, you can see everything, every detail of the evening. Your eyes, sharp and observant, catch sight of a group of women walking towards your friends. They’re laughing, their voices blending into the wind that blows in from the sea, and they’re dressed for the cold in thick jackets, scarves, and beanies. You can almost feel the contrast between the warmth of the fire and the bitter cold beyond its reach.

One of your more intoxicated friends notices them first, stumbling forward with an exaggerated wave, calling out an invitation to join. You cringe inwardly at the slurred enthusiasm but watch as the women react. Some of them hesitate, exchanging glances, but three of them move forward, accepting the offer with grateful smiles. They integrate themselves into the circle with ease, accepting drinks and joining in the chatter, their laughter soon mingling with the rest. They’re friendly, easygoing, the kind of people who blend in anywhere. The group around the fire swells with new energy, and soon the air is filled with louder conversations, the rhythmic beat of feet dancing in the sand, and the clinking of bottles. 

But not all of them have joined in. Across from you, a couple of women sit off to the side, much like you and your friend, preferring the quiet to the noise. They talk softly between themselves, their words indistinct over the crackling fire and the sea’s low roar. It’s then that you notice her. One of the women, sitting slightly apart, bundled in a puffer jacket with a beanie pulled low over her ears. She looks cold, hunched into herself, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her knee bouncing as if trying to generate warmth. The firelight flickers across her face, and though the distance between you makes it hard to see her features clearly, there’s something about her that draws your gaze. Even from here, she looks stunning – otherworldly, almost. Her hair spills over her shoulder, caught in the occasional gust of wind, and she occasionally squints, her face contorting against the heat of the flames.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, the warmth of the fire reflected in the warmth you feel just watching her. She looks thoughtful, her attention shifting between the fire, the waves lapping at the shore, and her friends, but she doesn’t join in with the group. Much like you, she seems content to remain on the periphery, to observe rather than participate. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that you’re not the only one who prefers the quiet moments, the subtle joys of watching rather than doing.

Your breath catches in your throat when her eyes finally land on you. It’s a brief, fleeting glance, one that you’re sure she hadn’t intended to linger. But then, as if realising something, she looks back. This time, the moment stretches out, her gaze locking with yours across the fire. You feel rooted in place, your heart picking up a rhythm that surprises you. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s a softness in the way she looks at you, a curiosity maybe. Before you can process it, her eyes drop to the sand, her face turning thoughtful, as if she’s considering something. Still, you can’t look away. There’s something about her presence that captivates you, something unspoken hanging in the space between you.

When she looks up again, it’s with purpose. She tilts her head subtly, nodding toward a darker part of the beach, away from the fire and the crowd. You follow her gesture with your eyes, trying to figure out what she means, and then it hits you. She’s asking you to follow her. 

You glance back at her and nod, your own heart giving a nervous flutter. She rewards you with a soft, almost shy smile. You quickly turn to your friend, mumbling an excuse that barely registers, and when they don’t seem to notice or care, you stand, your movements almost mechanical, spurred on by an invisible force. 

As you start walking away from the fire, you sense her moving as well. Neither of you rushes, your paths gradually converging until you’re side by side, walking along the darkened shoreline. The soft crunch of sand beneath your shoes and the distant echo of the waves fill the silence between you. There’s no need for words right now, no pressure to break the stillness. You don’t know her, and she doesn’t know you, but that’s okay. 

You can feel the pull of something unspoken between you, a shared understanding that words might only complicate. You both seem to enjoy the quiet, the simple act of walking side by side as the noise of the bonfire and your friends fades into the background, leaving just the two of you, the sea, and the stars that have begun to peek through the clouds above.

The sand feels cold beneath you as you settle beside her, both of you sitting just close enough for the proximity to feel intimate, but not intrusive. You glance at her, feeling a strange, fluttering sensation in your stomach. She looks calm, her gaze fixed on the sea in front of her, and you feel a pull to say something, to break the silence that has settled so comfortably between you. 

“Why aren’t you enjoying yourself?” you ask, your voice soft, careful not to disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

She turns to you, a small, delicate smile spreading across her face, and it takes your breath away. It’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s warm enough to make your heart stutter. “What makes you think I’m not?” she asks, her tone light, almost teasing.

“You were sitting alone,” you reply, your words tentative, not wanting to overstep. There’s a vulnerability in saying it, in admitting that you noticed her, that you’d been watching.

She raises an eyebrow, the teasing glint in her eyes now unmistakable. “You were too,” she points out, her voice lilting, playful in a way that makes your lips twitch in response.

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, the kind that isn’t from the fire. You hesitate for a moment, then admit, “I’m enjoying myself now.”

Her smile softens further, the teasing edge disappearing, replaced by something gentler. “So am I,” she whispers, her voice almost lost in the sound of the waves. The simplicity of the exchange leaves you both with a feeling that lingers, a shared warmth that seeps into the space between you. 

For a few moments, neither of you speak. She turns her gaze back towards the sea, her expression serene, as if the sea holds answers she’s not ready to share. She’s beautiful, more than you had noticed from afar. Up close, the softness of her features, the way her lips curve just slightly, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes – it all captivates you. 

But then, she lies back on the sand, her head tilting up to gaze at the stars. You realise, with a jolt of disappointment, that you can’t watch her without being obvious. So you follow her lead, lying back, the night sky stretching out above you, an endless canvas of stars. You can hear her breathing, soft and steady beside you, the rustle of her puffer jacket as she shifts. 

Your eyes dart toward her again, your head turning slightly to catch another glimpse. She’s focused on the sky, her eyebrows knit together just a little as if she’s studying the constellations. The moonlight casts a soft glow on her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her nose, the way her lips are still curved in that faint smile. Your gaze traces over every feature, as if trying to commit her to memory. There’s something peaceful about the way she looks up, absorbed in the beauty of the night. You can’t take your eyes off her.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, she glances towards you. She tries to be subtle, but you catch her. Her cheeks flush slightly, the blush barely visible in the dim light, and she offers you a bashful smile before turning her eyes back to the stars. 

The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, a whisper barely carried by the wind. “You’re very beautiful.”

Her head turns towards you again, this time more slowly, and you realise you’ve shifted closer to her without meaning to. Your shoulders are now touching, and the closeness feels intimate, like a secret shared between you. She seems surprised by your words, her eyes widening slightly as they search yours, but then her lips part in a soft, almost hesitant, “Gracias.”

Your hand moves on its own, a gentle, instinctual action. It rises to her face, your palm cupping her cheek with the lightest of touches. You search her expression for any sign of discomfort, any flicker of hesitation, but there’s none. She stays still, her eyes fluttering shut as your thumb brushes over her skin, tracing the gentle slope of her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose. Her breath hitches softly, the sensation clearly calming her, as though your touch is lulling her into a peaceful trance. 

You pull your hand back, afraid you might have crossed a line, but before you can fully retreat, she reaches up and gently catches your wrist, guiding your hand back to her cheek. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice so soft it almost dissolves into the night air. “It’s nice.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you give in to her request. You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow to better face her, while she relaxes back into the sand, her eyes closing again. Your fingers trace her skin more confidently now, memorising every curve, every soft breath she takes. You run your thumb over her lips, a tender, barely-there caress, and her eyes flutter open, meeting yours. 

Your breath catches as you hover over her, your voice a mere whisper, “I could kiss you right now.”

She doesn’t answer immediately, taking a few shallow breaths, her chest rising and falling under your gaze. You wonder if you’ve pushed too far, but then she smiles – a bright, wide smile that makes your heart soar. “Please, kiss me,” she breathes.

You hesitate, giving her a moment to change her mind, but when she doesn’t, you lean down slowly, your lips finding hers in a soft, lingering kiss. She melts into it, her hand coming to rest on your hip, her thumb tracing gentle circles that send warmth coursing through you. It’s a delicate kiss, one that’s innocent.

When you pull away, your breath is heavier than before, and you look down at her. She’s still so close, her lips slightly parted, her eyes half-lidded. “Kiss me again,” she whispers, her voice so quiet, like it’s meant only for you.

This time, you don’t hesitate. You kiss her again, your lips pressing more firmly against hers, tilting your head to deepen it. There’s something meaningful in this kiss, though you can’t quite grasp what it is. It’s soft and sweet, but it feels like more than just a moment. It lingers, like something you know will stay with you long after it ends.

The kiss stretches on, and your breathing becomes more laboured, each breath shallow and quick. You lose yourself in the softness of her lips, the gentle way her hand moves on your hip, but eventually, you pull away, realising how long you’ve been lost in her.

Your eyes rake over her face, memorising every detail – the twinkle of her hazel eyes, the beauty spots dotting her skin, the way the moonlight makes her glow. She’s breathtaking.

“What’s your name?” she asks softly, breaking the quiet between you.

You shake your head, your voice low and hesitant. “No.”

A flicker of confusion crosses her face, but you lean down before she can ask why, pressing a delicate kiss to her lips, so soft it’s barely there. When you pull away, you stand, your heart heavy with the weight of what you’re about to do. Without another word, you turn and begin walking away, the sand shifting under your feet as you move in the opposite direction of the bonfire, of your friends.

She watches you go, sitting up slightly, but she doesn’t protest. She just watches, her heart heavy with a sadness she doesn’t fully understand. She doesn’t know your name, doesn’t know anything about you, but something in her feels like it’s walking away with you, leaving her behind. The kiss, the moment – it was perfect. She knows, somehow, that no kiss will ever feel the same again. Not with anyone else. Only you. 

And as you disappear into the night, without a glance back, she finally stands and returns to the group, a sense of quiet sadness settling over her as she looks out at the sea one last time.

part 2

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kiss of death

words: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, alternative universe, soulmates, grim reaper!rafe, talk of death, superstitions, reader kind of dies (its explained in the fic)

you swallow deeply as you step into the graveyard. the darkness is creeping into every corner, but you know it's not midnight, not yet.

you feel a pang of guilt as you walk through the rows of graves, briefly glancing at the names to distract your focus from the anxiety filling your chest.

it's an old superstition, but you're beyond desperate.

you stop at the hole in the ground and the temporary headstone, ready for burial tomorrow.

“sorry mr. crawford.” you whisper. you barely knew him, the town psychologist currently kept in the morgue. you could probably use him right now as you move carefully to your knees.

you recite the words from the local town lure, the promise of your true love showing up to kiss you awake at sunrise if you laid in the grave at exactly midnight.

all your other friends have found love, love that is so pure and beautiful it makes your chest ache with jealousy and wanting.

you look at your watch and let out a sigh. five minutes of looking into the grave until the hands of the clock point straight up, five minutes to change and regret your decision.

the minutes tick by but your resolve only grows. you're beyond desperate and the worst thing that could come of it is you spend the night sleeping in a hole under the stars.

you climb down the second the minute hand crawls to the 12 and lay back in the grave, blinking upwards towards the starless night sky, the bright sunlight reflecting off the moon blocking out any other suns.

you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you're exposed to worms and bugs and whatever else happens to be lurking in the graveyard at night. certainly nothing you want to come across.

soulmate. your soulmate. your one true love is worth one night in a grave as you fall into a deep slumber.

--

you can feel the light against your eyelids, but before you can open them, it's blocked out by a shadow.

you gasp as lips are pressed against yours, cold but soft lips. you want to open your eyes but they feel so heavy as you kiss back, hands reaching upwards but you feel nothing, just pressing into the freezing cold air despite it being the middle of summer.

you finally force your eyelids open and you realize who you have been kissing as he pulls away, more of a black figure then a true human form.

“no.” your voice quivers. “no!” 

“did you not want your one true love to wake you with a kiss?” he smirks down at you, hovering directly over your body.

“my-my true love is not death.” you thought it was just another superstition, the grim reaper, the one to facilitate your crossing to the other side, but when looking up you know that the mans face that looks back down upon you is nothing but pure and utter death.

“then tell me why i was called to this spot only to find you laying here.” his voice is smooth but deep in tone, not what you expected from the grim reaper as you almost find comfort in his soft words.

“this can't be right.” you look around you, realizing that all light from the rising sun has disappeared, along with the walls of dirt around you, replaced with darkness so thick it's like you could reach out and touch it. “am i?”

you can't make the word out fully. “kind of.” the reaper shrugs. 

reality shifts and despite you not changing positions, you can tell in the inky blackness that you're now on your feet.

“come with me.” the grim reapers legs push out from the black mass, appearing and disappearing as he begins to walk, somehow able to find his way, walking with the purpose of a destination that is unseen to you.

“what if i don't want to?” you question, even though your heart is pulling you towards him, telling you to follow and stay close.

“i will give you this option only once.” the reaper turns to you. “you can turn around and walk away, or you may follow me and be with your one true love and rule the underworld as my queen.”

you know your back should be towards the reaper as you begin to walk, but you can't go back to your earthly reality after discovering the grim reaper is just waiting for you to die, for you to take your place.

as you walk alongside the grim reaper, you begin to make out shapes moving through the darkness.

the first one scared you so bad as you whipped your head to the side, trying to make out what appeared to be someone walking the opposite direction.

“what is this place?” you ask, voice quiet, feeling as though you don't want to interrupt the figures pushing through the dark.

“the place between life and death. the farther we walk, the closer we are to death and my-our kingdom.”

“and the people walking the other way?” you turn to look over your shoulder as your feet continue forward.

“some have been revived. by doctors or desperate loved ones. but most made a choice. most got to the final step and realized it wasn't there time.”

“and is it my time?”

“you will not truly be dead.” he states, and you find yourself swaying to walk closer to him, his cold presence comforting as the only thing around you can truly make out. “i will keep you in the state that you are now for as long as you please. you will be in limbo, in status. your earthly body will still be yours.”

“so no one will know what happened to me?” you can tell that your body isn't left in the grave, that you're whole and complete right here, soul included.

“no.” he sounds almost regretful as the blackness ahead of you turns into a swirl of dark grey, making out the rolling hills as you get closer.

“your final choice.” the reaper says, and you don't mention that he already gave you what he claimed to be your final choice before you began walking.

it hits you then. the reaper is in just as new of a position as you are in, and your nerves don't outweigh him.

“what is your choice?” you parrot the question back. “do you want me… to rule with you?”

“i have waited an eternity for you. so long that the memory of how i came to be the reaper is no longer available to me.” the grim reaper pauses for a moment before continuing. “yes. i want you alongside me always.”

you nod and then take a step past what you can tell is the final film, the one separating you from whatever rolling hills of gray grass await.

a weight you didn't realize you were carrying leaves you as the grim reaper steps out next to you, the black mass of his body gone as he appears as a fully realized man, legs and all.

you don't mean to, but you reach out and touch him, seeing if your arms would move through him as they did before during your kiss, but your fingers just press against the soft fabric of his black long sleeved shirt.

“welcome to the underworld.” he says, taking your hand in his and pulling you to continue walking.

you can make out a castle in the distance, and the closer you walk towards it, the warmer the hand in yours gets and the less gray seems to be blotting out the world as the grass turns green beneath your feet.

you gasp the first time you see one, stepping closer to the reaper.

“they won't hurt you.” he clarifies quickly as the large wolf runs past you in the distance, several hills away.

“you control them?” you question.

“yes.” he nods. “and all the wolves on earth as well. they are part of my domain.”

“i thought it was going to be a three headed dog.” you whisper slightly sheepishly as you realize your hand has been intertwined with the grim reaper the entire walk, feeling so natural that you don't question the fingers snug between yours.

“everyone got something partially right.” he says. “the egyptians, the greeks, the christians. they all had pieces.”

“oh.” you don't care to question more, not yet. you're already overloaded with all the information.

you pause as you get to the door of the castle. it's not dead quite like you expected, you can hear voices chattering inside and when you look up you can occasionally see people passing by windows.

“people do what suits them best after death. what would make them most happy. for most, that's reincarnation. for some, that's helping others cross or serving me in other ways. everyone inside this home is dead.”

you like that he calls it a home and a slight smile stretches across your cheeks.

“do not ask them how they died or their life on earth. if they wish to reveal it to you, it will be on their own time.”

“okay.” you nod, looking to the grim reaper, your soulmate. “what should i call you?”

you certainly can't continue to call him the grim reaper, it would just be an upsetting reminder.

“rafe.” he smiles down at you, not the terrifying soulless being you thought he would be. “you may call me rafe.”

--

the tour of the expansive home is long, but you find yourself only half listening as you look at rafe.

his appearance is so different from when you saw him first, he looks less harsh, kinder, more alive.

“are you tired?” he asks as he pushes the doors open to what you assume is the master bedroom. “i know you just awoke but if you need to rest-”

“how does time work here?”

“there's night and day just as there is on earth. it's still morning.” he places a gentle hand on your back, pushing gently to get you to enter the room.

“this is our chamber.” he explains. “you may rest, or bathe, or eat.”

“i…” you look down at your clothes, dirt still covering your pants. “id like to change.”

a maid ushers in, and you try to see if you can get any visual clue that she's passed, but theres nothing as she opens up a cabinet and begins to grab out various jewel toned options.

“i must attend to some business.” rafe says. “ill be back soon.”

you get changed and dismiss the maid, wondering what kind of person chooses to serve like this for all of eternity and actually enjoy it, but you're too distracted with exploring your surroundings to think too hard about it.

you find a sitting room with walls covered in bookshelves, the grand bathroom, and a door that leads to a balcony.

you step out and look over the rolling hills, seeing as they turn to gray the farther away it is from the castle, seemingly encircled completely by the void.

you occasionally see a wolf running, or a figure floating, but you can tell none of them are your reaper. that must be the other helpers he was talking about. despite not being able to see their faces, you know it's not him.

you take a seat on the lush couch on the balcony. they must not have true weather here or it would certainly be ruined by the rain.

before you notice it, now dressed in clean clothes similar to rafes, your eyes are closing and you're falling into a deep sleep.

--

you yawn as you wake up, stretching as you realize you'd been moved to the bed at some point.

you sit up suddenly only to come face to face with rafe who is sitting in an armchair moved from the sitting room to the foot of the bed.

“did you move me?”

“yes.” he nods as you blink, looking outside, unable to tell how long you've been asleep. like he's reading your mind, rafe speaks. “it's the next morning. you were exhausted from the journey.”

“did you sleep in the bed with me?”

“i do not need sleep.” rafe answers, jolting you slightly before you remember who you are here with.

“then why have this bed?”

rafe gives you a pointed look as you replay his words in your head. of course it's for you. he's been waiting.

“come.” rafe stands, imposing his tall height again.

you slide out of bed, only then realizing that your clothes have been changed.

“a maid changed you.” he says quickly. “i will escort you to breakfast and as you eat i will finish my work for the day. then we can…”

he trails off like he doesn't know what the options are. “get to know each other.” you offer. “since you're my one true love i suppose we should… go on a date?”

a smile stretches across the reapers face. “yes. a date.”

--

“what is it you'd like to know?” rafe asks as you're sat in the front of the boat, moving slowly down a river that winds through the hills.

it scared you at first, but rafe certainly wouldn't be taking you anywhere where you couldn't come back.

“uh…” there's a million questions you have about life and death, about heaven and hell, but that's not what you truly want to know. “what's your favorite color? do you have to eat? can you sleep even if you don't have to?”

“well…” rafe chuckles. “i love deep blue. i don't have to eat but i can, same with sleeping. and your favorite color?”

“also blue.” you swallow deeply, eyes turning upward as the invisible force keeps the boat moving steadily in the water. “but sky blue. like on a warm summer day.” 

you're about to wonder if you'll ever truly see the sky again when you can make out a cloud in the distance.

“i-”

“for you.” rafe says as the color of the sky shifts, matching the exact shade you were thinking of. “everything here can be changed for you.”

the conversation flows naturally, you suppose it should between soulmates. every time rafe smiles, you get butterflies in your stomach, and by the time you're back where the river meets the castle, you have a question brewing on the tip of your tongue.

“can we… can we kiss again?” you need to know what it feels like, if it's the same cold lips despite his hands now feeling warm.

the smile comes back to rafes face, and then it gets closer and closer until he's kissing you, deeply.

you almost instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, able to fully touch him now as he kisses you, warm lips gliding against each other's.

you pull yourself closer until you can't get any nearer without climbing onto his lap, which you do next as you cling to him.

you thought your friends talking about the instant connection with their one true love was ridiculous, but you know what is between you and rafe is complete and real and right.

there's a woosh of air and when you pull away, you're still straddling rafe, but now in your bedroom.

“please.” he said softly, and the word comes out a little strange, like he's not used to saying it. “i need you.”

your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt before you lift and pull it off your body, revealing the bra somehow already in your size that the maid got out after breakfast.

rafes hands stop yours when you go to unclasp it. “let me.” he says.

his hands are large and warm as they undo your bra and push the straps off your shoulders so it falls between the two of you.

“can i-”

“yes.” you answer quickly. “do anything you want to me.”

you take rafes cheeks in your hands as you look in his deep blue eyes. “do everything.”

your reaper transports you again, this time only feet as you're laid on your back, head rested against the pillows as he hovers over top of you.

your clothes as well as rafes are completely gone, and you're both silent, breathing heavily as you admire each other's bodies. if someone would have asked you what your perfect mate looks like, you'd absolutely describe rafe in this state.

“i will spend eternity pleasuring you, but you'll have to forgive me for not being able to wait a moment longer.” 

rafes cock lines up with your entrance, and then he's pushing inside, his eyes shutting as he lets out a moan that makes you surge forward to kiss his lips and swallow the sound as his hips glide all the way in, fitting exactly inside of you like he's been your missing part all along.

“you're so- warm.” rafe manages to choke out. “ive never felt warmth like this.”

it makes you sad to think rafe spent so long as the cold and lonely reaper. you pull him into you, pressing your chests together as his hips begin to move, your moans growing and becoming in sync, creating a beautiful chorus even to your own ears.

you don't know what your future will hold. there will no doubt be ups and downs, hard times and great times, but you will face it all together with your reaper, your rafe.

[crguang]

the little… life?

this essentially explores a bit the disconnect between shalom’s mind and her body which she holds no particular attachment to. it is a tool, like her, and she’s discovered a new use for it.

gn!reader, smut…, bottom!shalom, no clear idea who tops here but shalom is the one receiving so, fingering, 3k words

A/N: my first path to nowhere work and it’s shalom smut because of fucking course it is. whatever man. if this feels a little clinical instead of something written by a horny lesbian it’s on purpose

The expanse of skin before you is a smooth frozen lake beneath your fingertips untouched by seasons and wandering souls, an unnatural landscape that the flow of time cannot scratch or sully. She doesn’t melt, no matter what, yet the vigorous torrent under her icy surface can only be seen from this close; with her slender neck bared to your gaze, the blue tendrils of her veins pulse in anticipation. Her meticulously cut hair, dark raspberry fading into a washed out cream, has been carefully arranged over her shoulder in an invitation to do as you’re used to on her skin and her head is tilted towards the clear patio doors allowing silver light to bask in this barren room even with no moon in sight. The sharp edge of her relaxed jaw obscures your vision of her eyes but having done this multiple times already, you know that their empty pink irises are fixed on the starless sky beyond the confines of her bedroom. Her breathing is inaudible, almost absent if it weren’t for the steady beat of her chest hidden by her slightly wrinkled blouse. She lies on her back beneath you, slack and as open as she can be, expectant and awaiting. Her arms rest clinically at her sides, her palms lax against the gray bed sheets, and you withdraw from the crook of her neck with a sudden uneasiness in your guts. This is always how she is, how she allows herself to be during nights like this one, but you’re reminded as usual of the distance of her mind compared to the presence of her body. She is miles away somewhere deep on a metaphysical plane you’ll never reach. You trace the faint pattern of a vein down the hollow of her throat with a fingernail. She senses your own distance, the loss of your parted lips on her skin, and her head slowly turns to face you. 

“Is something wrong?” Shalom lifts a hand to cup your cheek, an index finger stroking the back of your earlobe’s base. She’s learned that this gesture relaxes you somehow, and now she does it every time she requires your full attention. 

Her voice is soft, it blends with the stillness of the night around you and is tinged with curiosity, nothing else. Her bright eyes seem bottomless behind their beautiful shade of rose. At their corners, thin creases accompany her easy smile. She fixes you with a gentle look, you feel the coldness of her smooth palm seep into your skin. 

“Do you want this?”

Shalom finds your inquiry amusing. “I opened the door for you, didn’t I?”

“Yes…” you concede with a short pause, glancing at the crystallized stretch of her lips. You don’t voice your lack of comfort with her unresponsiveness, but she senses your hesitation regardless. 

“Oh. I was a little lost in thought.” Her reply visibly hurts you in a way she doesn’t understand. Your brows twitch indignantly, so she adds, “I’m sorry.”

“This should be enjoyable for you.”

“It is.” Her hand snakes around your neck in an intimate caress and her fingertips sink in your hair as she guides you closer. Her eyelids droop with the proximity of your face, gaze flitting to your mouth, and she lets herself feel your warm breath on her lips for a moment. “It is,” she repeats in a murmur before softly pressing her lips against yours. 

Shalom takes the initiative once she understands that this is what you need from her. She holds you near with a hand on your nape and another on your cheek and leads you in a slow dance that she deepens after a while, parting her mouth wider for her tongue to swipe along the seam of your lips. The warmth of your breath melding with her own, the gentle movement of your connected mouths, your tangible weight above her body; she absorbs those sensations like a dehydrated sponge in clean water, with greed and abandon. Her Mania reacts to yours and thrums right under her skin, lighting a spark she cannot feel otherwise. Your fingers wrap around her throat, pressed to her windpipe. Shalom makes a quiet sound, a sharp and involuntary intake of breath, and she relishes in the unexpected responses of her body. They’re always the same, yet they manage to surprise her each time. She slightly angles your head upward for your tongue to meet hers, they kiss wetly in a tangle of shared saliva. Her pulse quickens, that alien rhythm in the hollow of her chest and muffled in her ears. The temperature of her skin doesn’t grow warmer, she doesn’t sweat, but it’s okay; she feels electricity along her limbs zapping towards her brain and the feeling is intoxicating. She can only compare it to a surge of Mania within her body, that invigorating force that seizes her from head to toe and fills her with vitality she does not naturally possess. 

Shalom lets you kiss her breath away. She surrenders to her body’s physiological reactions, allowing them to ground her wandering mind if only for a few moments. She is entirely present as your hand brushes her protruding collarbone and travels over her thin shirt to feel her rising chest. You cup her breast fully, and there it is again, that delightful little gasp out her mouth. Her grip on the back of your neck tightens. Each response is eternally new, born from the disconnect between her mind, always working, and her physical form which has never been used for this purpose until mere months ago. She’s discovered a new utility to it outside of Paradeisos’ reach and the first time she tasted the ancient pleasures of the flesh, the influx of sensations that coiled inside of her and their release was so intense that she had felt like a person for the short minutes it lasted. Her thighs trembled, she caught a glimpse of that coalescence of colors behind her eyelids, her breath was squeezed out of her lungs and Shalom was certain, for this fleeting instant, that this was how life felt like. It could have been death, for all she knew of either— which is nothing. If she were to describe the feeling, the words would escape her. It has to be experienced first hand, to be lived through for it to make sense to anyone. She sought it out again after two weeks. Then again, and again, and she’s found that her body is like an endless source of pleasure that can be exploited whenever she desires it. It was a splendid discovery and now her moments of reprieve are marked in the calendar of her mind as are her daily communications with Paradeisos. 

The contrast of your warm palm and the bare skin of her stomach brings her out of her straying train of thought. 

“You’re elsewhere again,” you reproach her, teeth grazing her jaw.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave her too easily to mean anything. 

With both hands cupping your face, she brings your mouth to hers again. You feel the plane of her abdomen and the curves of her waist under her blouse. Her dips and crannies are familiar now, you’ve mapped them out with your hands often enough to know the hollow of her belly button makes her shudder when touched and the underside of her breasts is where she’s most sensitive. You take your time, Shalom wants the pleasure to build to a boiling point that has her toes curling reflexively until her release feels like salvation. You leave no inch of skin untouched, lift her shirt to expose more of her body to your restless hands, and they trail up the curve of her spine to reach the clasp of her dark bra. Undoing it takes a couple of seconds. Shalom reluctantly lets you withdraw from her lips so you can help pull her clothes over her head. You bare her upper body to your admiring gaze, slithering fingers touching all the parts even the sun doesn’t kiss, and instead of staring at the expanse of midnight blue outside, Shalom watches you watching her. She smiles when you meet her eyes, not ashamed in the slightest at her responses to your attention, the way goosebumps rise on her skin and her pink nipples stiffen under your contemplation. Her hair is only slightly tousled from the pillow and the deep kisses she planted on your mouth, most of it is still perfectly brushed as it always is. You feel scrutinized in the face of her stare, calculations and analyses veiled by the gentle smile on her lips. 

You firmly cup her perky breast once more. Shalom’s eyes show more activity, they gleam brighter in the moonlight. 

“What do you want?” You ask, watching the way her flesh bends to your will in the palm of your hand. 

“I want you close.”

You lift your own shirt over your head and discard it at the end of the bed. With a palm on her cheek, you bend low and steal another kiss from her, your body flushed to hers. Her freezing skin doesn't bother you much anymore, you’ve tried to warm it up with your own to no avail and learned to treat it as a stimulant that lights your nerves on fire. Your thumb circles her nipple, then applies sweet pressure on the hardened rosebud and Shalom sighs into your mouth. An arm around your shoulders keeps you pressed to her. Each ministration pleasantly tightens her guts, she feels ecstasy slowly building within her and the anticipation of sudden relief further excites her. She shifts beneath you, legs joined together to stimulate the need in her core. Still, you litter her jaw and neck with open-mouthed kisses and ignore the lower half of her body for now. She invites you closer with a tilt of her head. The love bites that follow your teeth and tongue will disappear before morning but that fact doesn’t deter you from mixing pain and pleasure to hear the soft sounds coming from the woman in your arms. You twist her nipple between two fingers, Shalom's lips part in an exhale. She’s not particularly loud during these moments but she doesn’t contain her reactions either, the need to be submerged in them easily wins out within her and she lets them come as they do in order to experience them fully. 

Your mouth draws a path from her throat to her smooth chest, layering kisses on every inch of skin at your disposal. Your upper teeth graze her sensitive nipple before it’s sucked past your lips. Shalom has a hand at the back of your head and her body arches further into your mouth, lidded eyes staring into the distant semi-darkness of the room. Her fingertips tingle as your tongue flicks over the bud, wetting her skin unashamedly. She’s a patient woman, so she submits to your pace and enjoys the slow ascent of pleasure within her. Her heartbeat is irregular, she can hear it in her ears, it’s still a strange feeling to be attuned to her own body when it’s simply something her superiors pay attention to to monitor the risks she poses. With you, she finds a maddening use for this form that she hasn’t considered in length before. Her chest is lavished with your genuine adoration and that is another unfamiliar notion difficult to make sense of. She’s never put her Mark on you.

Finally, your fingers travel down her torso to fiddle with the belt buckle over her skirt. It no longer poses any problem to you now but you distinctly remember Shalom’s amused chuckles the first time you faltered in front of it. You shake the embarrassing memory from your head. Her belt falls apart under your trained hands and Shalom lifts her hips before you can ask her to, allowing you to pull her long skirt past her legs. Your nose nuzzles into her, just below her jaw, to feel the rapid pulse of her artery as your fingertips slide beneath the waistband of her underwear. Her thighs part automatically for you. 

“Hush, you’re already dripping,” you whisper into her, lips brushing the skin of her neck with each word.

Shalom’s following laugh is soft and breathy. “That’s right… What will you do?”

“Mm…”

Two fingers trail down her wet slit under her panties, feeling the slickness gathered on her cunt and smearing it over her puffy lips. Your digits are coated in her arousal in seconds and they dip between her folds when Shalom spreads her legs further apart, another blissful sigh out her mouth. You explore her pussy like it’s your first time, leisurely and methodically, eliciting the sweetest breathless moans from her. You press more kisses to the skin within reach, sucking it between your lips and sinking your teeth into the flesh enough for it to sting. One of her hands is at her side, gripping the blanket below your bodies. Your closeness is an important factor in her pleasure, Shalom eventually figured out. Your skin on hers, your warm breath against her, your kiss-swollen lips wandering all over her body like she’s something to be adored; they all tighten the coil of her intestines in her lower stomach. Now, peppering kisses to the underside of her jaw as your pointer finger finds her needy clit, she can almost see beyond the hill of pleasure she’s gradually climbing towards. The fall is her favorite part, the fall is where “life” lies, this previously unachievable state that is purely physical and yet, that holds a thousand secrets she won’t ever uncover. 

You rub her clit from base to tip then suddenly flick it a few times. Shalom makes a sound of surprise where half of it gets stuck in her throat. 

“Ahmn…!”

“Oh? That’s a new one,” you repeat the motion, but it seems the element of surprise is crucial to getting such noises from her. What a shame. “Never heard this sound from you before. Aren’t you happy? There are still sensations we haven’t discovered yet, after all.”

“Ha…” Shalom shifts again, the onslaught of pleasure making her somewhat restless. “Wonderful…”

Your digits find her gushing entrance and circle it once before testing the resistance by slowly sliding a finger into her cunt. She takes it in stride with only a heavy exhale, but you feel her clench around you at the intrusion. You stroke her inner walls gently, coaxing her to relax, and after a short moment she does. You wish you could do something about the perky nipples on her chest, however, you’re lying halfway on her body and your other arm is around her neck, acting as a support for her head. You settle for licking a stripe up her jaw to the corner of her mouth. Shalom turns a little, meeting your tongue with hers. You push a second digit into her cunt and readily swallow the soft moan that bubbles up her throat. You slightly curl your fingers once you’re deep enough to reach the spot that makes her shudder and revel in the stutter of her chest in response. 

Each thrust into her is one less second on the countdown of her release, Shalom knows it’s soon to come by the telltale clench of her guts and the tension in her hand as it grips the sheets. Her breath is squeezed out of her lungs with the relentless kisses you freely give her, small tremors run through her parted thighs from the effort of keeping them spread for you and there’s a faint array of colors deep inside her mind where what was taken from her resides in constant indignation. She’s not close enough, she needs more, needs to venture farther.

“More,” she demands against your lips, fingers clawing in your hair. 

“More than two?... Another new one,” you mutter to yourself, hissing softly when Shalom pulls your head back in retaliation. “Getting a little needy, Hush?”

You say her alias like a nickname instead of something that inspires fear in Paradeios’ enemies. She doesn’t understand it. Amidst it all, Shalom chuckles breathily. You slide a third finger inside her, earning a low moan from her, and plunge them all at the same steady pace. Her bedroom, more of a place to rest than a living space, fills with the wet sounds of your digits thrusting into her cunt and the sounds of pleasure that spill from her lips. 

There it is, Shalom can feel it mounting within her, this indescribable feeling that her body is able to produce endlessly. She feels the blood rushing in her ears again and her lashes flutter, eyes not quite shut nor open, her pupils are blown with a white triangle gleaming faintly in her left eye. This is the instant where her body and mind connect, an exhilarating fall after such grand anticipation; her fingers quiver in your hair, a shuddering breath tumbles with difficulty out of her mouth and she sees those same merging colors glowing brightly against the obscurity of her consciousness, within reach yet forever unattainable— Shalom outstretches her hand towards them for the few seconds it takes her to reach her peak, and when she finally falls, she’s harshly brought back to the present by the titillating pleasure that overcomes her at once. She doesn’t hear the noise that leaves her. Her body shudders, that same spark form earlier has turned into jolts of electrifying bliss along her limbs, and she can only surrender herself to the sensations until they come to pass two minutes later. 

You easily slip your cum-covered fingers out of her throbbing pussy once she relaxes the grip she had on them. You bring them before you and watch how they glisten in the moonlight. You look at Shalom, who’s calmed down enough to meet your gaze with clear eyes, and brush some hair further away from her face. 

“Satisfied?”

She smiles. “No.”

[asongbirdandanoldhat]

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pool’ wc: 442 | rated: G | cw: none

Eddie Munson nearly didn't make 21. But even before becoming a buffet spread for interdimensional hell bats, Eddie never would've imagined spending his 21st birthday at Steve Harrington's. After wide games in the woods with the world's most metal teens, having his pale skin preserved by Nancy's stern gaze and endless sunscreen supply, and somehow surviving the dreamlike vision of Steve, tanned, topless, and happy, Eddie was ready declare his birthday a roaring success. But the glint in Gareth's eye, the way Jeff was watching him while chatting to Buckley, had Eddie on edge. He surveyed the suspiciously quiet yard. Absences noted, Eddie's eyes met Dan's. He tilted his head in question. Dan's hands rose. Eddie honed in. He was great at charades. But before interpretations could begin, Gareth slapped Dan's hands down. His hissed words didn't carry, but the shake of his curly head was unmistakable. Whatever was afoot, the band were in on it. The kids shuffled back outside in an extremely conspicuous formation. Eddie thought they might be smuggling Harrington between them, before he spotted Steve in the doorway, watching them, expression fond. Dustin was vibrating. "Present time." "We already did presents," Eddie said. "Sure. But there's one left." "The big one," Lucas added. "Don't ruin it," Mike muttered. "I didn't say what it was." "Do I get to know what it is?" Eddie derailed, amused. Dustin nodded to Will, who carefully counted down, "Three, two, one." The boys stepped aside, revealing Max, holding his present, and El, holding Max's elbow. Eddie felt tears prickle, as he took in the unnecessarily wrapped gift. There was no mistaking the shape. "You bought me a guitar?" he croaked. El helped Max place the gift in Eddie's lap. His hands slid instinctively around it, the weight felt just right. "Open it," El instructed. Ripping the bright paper revealed a familiar x-shaped body, not the dappled red of his world-saving sweetheart, but a solid black. She was a starless night sky. She was beautiful. "I- How?" "We pooled our allowances." Eddie didn't know how much they got, but he knew how quickly they blew through it. There was no way. Eddie's eyes drifted beyond the kids, finding Steve.

Steve, who'd given Eddie a card, claiming that he didn't have a present yet, hadn't known what to get him. Steve, who'd looked embarrassed when Eddie had called the party a great present and meant it. Steve, whose guilty smile all but confirmed him as majority contributor to the beautiful instrument in Eddie's lap. Steve, who Eddie would have to find a way to thank, to explain what this meant.

For now, Eddie smiled back.

[truerhearts]

Am I supposed to just let you go?

♡ Satoru Gojo x female!reader.

♡ 1.3k words. Angst, angst, angst!

You gaze out the window of Satoru’s apartment. The night feels heavy, full of unsaid words. The faint hum of the city below drifts through the cracked window, distant and so ignorantly indifferent to the storm brewing inside his living room. You sit perched on the windowsill, balancing between the cold glass on one side of you and the warmth of the room on the other, caught in that fine, delicate purgatory between staying and leaving. Every second stretches thin, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, seeing which side you’d fall to.

It feels surreal – this moment that shouldn’t be so complicated but somehow is. Your purse in your lap feels heavier than it should as you tightly clutch it’s handles. It feels heavy like the choice you’re about to make. Heavy like the weight in your heart you carried that led up to this moment.

Months and months of empty promises, stolen moments, and missed opportunities. A love that had to exist in the shadows because his world was so vastly different from yours. Loving him was exhilarating, but it came at a cost. And after months of deliberating with yourself on the nights he’d disappear, you finally understood the cost.

There would be times where he’d vanish without a word, returning with little more than a charming smile and a flimsy excuse, and a small gift for his inconvenience. He was always there but always just out of reach, his life tied to secrets and dangers he’d never let you see.

Every time he shut you out, and deflected with that infuriating grin of his, you felt yourself growing more distant. You needed more than his empty apologies, more than his promises of “next time.”

At the other end of the living room, Satoru is leaning casually in the doorway. But there’s nothing relaxed about the way his gaze pins you in place. His usual cocky grin is nowhere to be found. Instead, his bright blue eyes – normally so full of mischief and life – are so dim, filled with something raw, so close to sorrow. He stands there as if he’s rooted to the spot, like any move he makes will scare you off for good.

The space between you is vast, even though the room itself is small. His presence is close and overwhelming, and yet your stomach twists with the sickening thought that if you leave now that presence will dissolve into nothing more than a memory that you’ll carry alone.

He clears his throat, the sound cutting through the stillness like a knife. You shift under the weight of it, still refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, you tip your head towards the empty sky beyond the window. It was starless and clear. A black nothing. “This isn’t going to work, Satoru.” The words tremble, no matter how hard you try to keep them steady.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he exhales softly, choosing his next words carefully.

The silence is deafening, and lasts an eternity until he finally asks: “Am I supposed to just let you go?” You lift your head at the words and turn to look at him. His voice is low and laced with frustration. Its unlike him to sound this vulnerable. The way his head tilts slightly, as if the weight of those words surprises even him, makes your chest ache.

You look away because you know if you gaze into those endless blue eyes for too long, you’ll crumble. “What do you want me to say?” you whisper. “That staying will make everything okay? That love will be enough?”

Satoru lets out a bitter chuckle, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Maybe it won’t fix everything. But it’s better than pretending I don’t care.”

“Why do you care?” Your voice rises, sharper than intended. “Don’t care. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“You think this is easy for me?” He steps closer, closing the space between you. His height towers over you, the scent of his cologne – familiar and intoxicating – threatening to drown your resolve. “You act as if my feelings are on a switch I can just turn off whenever I want. It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately.” He slightly lifts his hand from his side, almost as if to touch you, before it hesitates midair and falls uselessly back in defeat. “I understand it’s difficult. Maybe one day I’d be able to show you but right now… I can’t. It’s for your safety. And I’m sorry- “

“Don’t” You snap. “Do not apologize to me right now. You apologize and apologize but nothing ever changes! I was sitting alone at a restaurant for 45 minutes yesterday waiting for you! It was humiliating. And the worst part was, that wasn’t the first time that happened either.”

Satoru’s jaw clenches, his gaze dropping momentarily before he meets your eyes once more. He ran a hand through his stark white hair, the sorrow in his eyes was now replaced with passion. “You think I want that for you? You don’t think I hate myself every time I have to cancel, every time I leave you with no explanation?” His voice is tight. “I know its not fair and I know you deserve so much more than I’ve given you.”

He pauses as he searches your face, as if there is something else, he can say to try and make this right. “I’m not trying to push you away.” His voice softens, almost pleading now. “I wish I could give you the world. I wish could be there, every time, in the way that you need. But you… have to understand that its not just about you and me. It’s everything else… everything I can’t control.”

There is another deafening silence before he utters, barely above a whisper with a cracking voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, (y/n).”

Your heart screams at you to stay, but your mind knows better. There’s too much risk, too much danger involved in loving someone like him – someone who carries the weight of the world and keeps it hidden behind a cocky grin and ridiculous sunglasses.

Tears blur your vision. “I’ve heard the apology so many times, Satoru.”

For once, he looks defeated. There is desperation in his eyes as he gazes at you. His eyes are wide and glossy. “Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t walk away. Not yet.”

You press your lips together to hold back a sob, but the tears are escaping now, betraying the resolve you are struggling to keep. You want to believe this time might be different. But you’re afraid that this might just be another in the long line of apologies, and if you continue there may be more heartbreak. He’ll fall back into the shadows he always retreats to, leaving you with nothing but the pieces of his promises.

Yet here he is, looking at you with a rawness you’ve never seen in him before, like he’s finally realized what he stands to lose.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, pushing yourself off the windowsill. His eyes widen, panic flickering across his features for just a moment. You avoid touching him completely as you make your way to the door. You fumble with the lock before getting it open, the tears now completely blurring your vision.

As you’re about to step out, he says one more thing. A string of words you haven’t heard from him yet, which makes leaving him that much harder now.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t stop you when you walk out the door, but you feel the weight of his gaze trailing after you, heavy and longing, as if you’ve taken something irreplaceable from him.

And maybe… you have.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ thanks for reading! ao3 | masterlist

[rachelillustrates]

"Five Orcs, among Many"

(in response to "The Rings of Power" season 2 finale. Spoilers ALL over the place below.)

(place setting inspired by HelenaMarkos' "Splint.")

(Orc Mom's name from @meilas )

~

His eyes snapped open.

He coughed, expecting blood – black bile, which should, HAD been pouring from his lips from his lungs from the myriad wounds his children (his children) had given him. Penance, for his folly, in falling once again for Sauron’s manipulations.

But the pain was gone. He breathed clean air.

Groaning, he sat up, the echo of that torment and his heartbreak still alive within him. The sky above him was an odd twilight. Starless, and grey-but-bright, as if Tilion had guided the moon to cover Arien’s bright sun. Black sand sifted through his fingers as he pulled himself to his knees and looked around him.

There was a light in the sky – something large and like Anar, but not – just at the horizon. He felt it…. pull at him. And he almost stepped forward.

But on the sand….. on this beach, for there was a darker grey expanse of water (ocean? a lake?) beyond the patch of grains, there sat many figures.

Familiar figures.

They all turned to look at him.

Uruk. His children, the ones that had already…..

Oh.

Adar moved to turn around, knowing he’d find more of the same in the expanse behind him, and his face connected with a raised fist.

He swore, nearly toppling over again as the punch threw his momentum. Instinctively he reached for his blade, but found it was gone – indeed, he was in a rough approximation of his own chosen clothing, from life. But no tools. No weapons at all.

That was over, wasn’t it?

He looked up, his nose – unbroken, unbleeding – still aching. And saw a face he’d last seen as a severed head, in the hand of the Troll Damrod, then tossed at his own feet. The Uruk was seething, their entire body taut with anger, but an unfathomable grief threatened to leak out of their eyes.

“Kathotar,” he whispered in the Black Speech. “I – I’m….”

Kathotar went to hit him again, and he stood to take it, but the action came out weakened. Several others had gathered to watch now, but stood stoic, unmoving, letting their sibling work this out on behalf of all of them (it would seem).

He would take it. He had never meant to hurt them. But he would take it.

After only a few more swipes at him, Kathotar sagged forward and against his chest. He caught them, firmly holding them although he felt he had no right, after everything that happened.

They sobbed together, sinking to their knees as one.

~

His eyes snapped open, and his hands scrabbled desperately at his chest, his throat.

The pain was gone. Why was the pain gone?

All around him was the strangest light, and beneath him….. sand? Was this the ocean? Where was he?

He sat up, staring numbly at the light at the water’s end, hearing its call but not understanding.

“Glug,” a familiar voice called from behind him.

His eyes bulged, a noise of torment (regret, anger, rage, pain, loss, regret) hissing from his entire being as he turned – looking past the multitude of his kin all sitting there, waiting – to gaze at his Lord Father.

Adar sat slightly up the sandy expanse, where the loose earth gave way to rocks, and even taller rocks rose like a cliffside above them all. Several other Uruk were settled around him, though it looked like none of them had been speaking.

Glug and Adar stood together, each walking forward to close the space between them, but Glug stopped a few feet away.

He had killed him.

He had killed him.

He had been so angry. He deserved to be angry – Adar had…… he had betrayed them all, even after claiming to love them. His children. Him, their father. And he, a father himself – oh, his child. His…..

His eyes closed again on the image of his mate, and their tiny, defenseless sprog. How long would they be safe in Mordor, now that Sauron had proven false?

He should have believed Adar.

He should have…. but he was so angry, and Adar had…..

One of his siblings that had been sitting closest to their father before he’d stood to come to him looked over at them both, then locked eyes with Glug, nodding slightly. That was….. oh.

“The Elf was right,” Adar said, so softly, as if to keep from startling a rabid animal. His expression was pained, but resigned, his hands empty and limp at his sides. “I was meant, by the designs of another, to bring us all to our ruin. To sacrifice you, my children, right back into his hands. He wormed his way back into my thoughts, and I did not see. I did not protect you, and I am sorry.”

“He fooled us all,” Glug whispered back, though the rage still sang within him – easier to bear than the terror he felt for those he’d left behind. “He told us he’d protect us, now, and that we’d find purpose and glory and safety under his rule. In his service.”

“Yes.”

“But there is none. Not anymore.”

Adar sighed. “I know not what this place is. Our penance, perhaps? Kathotar and the others say that sometimes, one of them gets up as if in thrall again, and vanishes out into the water. Into that light. And that pull, within, do you feel it too?”

He nodded.

“It feels like redemption.”

He nodded again, feeling uncomfortable.

“But for now…… we are here, with our deeds, and our regrets, and all we can do is wait.”

“What of the others?” he demanded. “He has them now – like you said he would! They are – they will -“

Adar carefully seized Glug by the upper arms, pressing their foreheads together. “I know. We cannot help them now.”

“You were right,” he shouted, finding his tears unable to fall (so, so angry), “Adar – lord father, you were right, and we -“

“No, I was not. I walked right into his trap – he meant for me to bring you to him, that he could ensnare you again. As I had already been ensnared, again.” Tears did fall down the ancient Uruk’s cheeks, though his voice remained steady. “I am sorry, Glug. I did betray you.”

Glug shook his head, his hand raising to hold his father’s in place. “What – what do we do now?”

Adar just looked at him sadly, and they both turned to look in shreds of mournful desperation at the light across the sea.

~

Her eyes snapped open.

Something had happened. Something was wrong.

Beside her, their baby wailed. And wailed. And wailed.

Sitting up, she realized that all the babies were wailing. Every single one, in every single home. The other parents that had been left behind – at least, the three in particular that shared her dwelling space for the moment while some of them were off to war again – had sat up too. One, standing at the fire pit with their soup’s spoon frozen over the cook pot, the others rigid as if they’d been struck, one now on their feet.

Just as she was.

“Garsemi,” one of them hissed. “What is wrong?”

She stared back at them, then grabbed her knife, shoving it roughly into place at her belt. She scooped up her child and strode outside, looking up at the sky for any clues. Looking around. But nothing had changed.

Still, the children wailed. And the others left behind had all noticed….. something.

Others looked at her askance, worried, curious, some hands going to their weapons as they all tried to gather their bearings again.

Something had happened. But what?

She tried to swallow the dread building in her chest as she shushed softly, trying to soothe her screaming offspring, and simply breathed.

[vangbelsing]

Emmrich X Rook: First Meeting Prompt for DADreams

So this was made VERY quickly and it's so rushed because I wanted to get it out before the night is over soooooo it's not gonna be good🫠 Please forgive the pacing, it's so bad LOL but I was running out of time😭 I may even revisit this at a later date because this doesn't really get Alinas character across that well... Also the ending is pure projection because I am sleepy and cannot force myself to make this better. ANYWAY here's wonderwall

She had met him with a gaze one might expect from a pampered noble woman who had just lain eyes on a sack of grain, or a King looking at the common man who lived with means far more humble: utter indifference. She spared no thought nor consideration in her appraisal of the necromancer. A quick summation of his physical attributes was all she had done, and even that was hardly committed to memory.

His eyes met hers then, as if suddenly aware of the unimpressed stare that had been leveled at him. She anticipated the furrowing of brows, the downward turn of his lips into a look of displeasure or familiar scrutiny. Or perhaps even for him to simply turn his eyes elsewhere, disregarding her with the same indifference she had afforded him.

What she had not expected, however, was the swift quirk of his lips into a welcoming - perhaps even charming - smile. A gesture easily forced, though she noted the way his smile seemed to reach his eyes with all the warmth and decency to which she was so unaccustomed.

Few words had been spoken then, as necessity demanded swift action. At least, few beyond that which accompanied a sudden and... colorful introduction; mere formalities and what could have been described as a review of qualifications. Alina noted the way Neve had practically rolled her eyes at her for all but making Emmrich recite a resume while they had been under threat of attack.

Now that they were back at the Lighthouse and with no pressing concerns, as they had finished the debriefing, she assumed everyone would go about their individual business. Her hope was that she would make proper use of that feather bed after having done enough training and preparation for todays excursion to make even a veteran caffeinated lunatic wince.

Yet, no sooner than she had undressed from her armor into more comfortable raiment was there a knock at her door. And there he was, not even changed from the attire she had met him in, all smiles and proper conduct. She couldn't help the way her eyes blinked at him, the surprise in her gaze likely just as apparent as the raven hair that cascaded down her shoulders like waves of liquid midnight across a starless ocean of sky.

"My apologies, I hadn't realized you had already made yourself comfortable." Emmrich said with a soft and apologetic chuckle.

"Right." She replied, obviously taken somewhat aback by the necromancers arrival, "Did you need?"

The man lifted a hand, dismissive of the suggestion. "Oh, gracious no, I should hardly think to allow myself such impropriety as to impose so brazenly upon a new acquaintance. It's simply..." he paused, his slender fingers reaching to perch at his chin, his expression momentarily pensive, "ours was an introduction made swiftly, and with so little geniality. I would like to correct that."

Her head tilted to the side, a sliver of her black hair falling loosely in her eye. She appraised him warily, gauging his intent as if searching for something. He seemed to notice her perusal of features and smiled, the gesture catching Alina off-guard.

"I...see. You're fairly friendly, for one of your profession." She mused, resting a hand at her hip.

He waved an ornamental hand, seeming somewhat amused by her assertion. "One might argue those in my line of work may benefit from a little friendliness. The dead rarely respond well to hostility."

Her lip quirked upward, the ghost of a giggle escaping her throat. "When framed like that, I can hardly disagree."

She held her out then for him take, her pale skin now bare as opposed to the black leather that had adorned her body earlier. The armor that covered her was now replaced with a scarlet chemise, the satin fabric hanging over her shoulders loosely.

He mirrored her gesture, taking her hand gently, almost carefully in his own, the jewelry he wore jingling at the movement as it reached her skin, the contact of cool metal causing a slight shiver to climb her back. Her hand was far smaller than his, she noticed then, her eyes peering at the way her hand seemed practically engulfed in his hold.

His other hand, balled into a fist, shot up to stifle the sound he made as he cleared his throat, his face then taking a pleasant smile. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Emmrich Volkarin, very much pleased to make your acquaintance."

"My name is Alina, and the pleasure is mine, mister Volkarin."

"Please," he said, taking her hand in both of his now, "there's no need for that. Emmrich will suffice."

He then broke the contact, releasing her hands with just as much tenderness as when he had taken them, the shifting of his body causing his chains and bangles to clang and clink once again.

"And now that we have met more properly, I believe I should allow you to return to your rest. Today has been quite the trial, after all."

Alina nodded, "True enough. It was... eventful, to say the least."

"Quite." Emmrich replied softly, the mirth on his features betraying the calm of his voice. "And as such, I should bid you good evening. Though I hope we will have more opportunities to speak with one another in the future."

She gave him a small smile, courteous and slightly mischievous, "I'm sure there will be plenty of time to mingle whenever we aren't occupied with the occasional beheading of Venatori and the like."

"One hopes. I haven't properly introduced you to Manfred, after all... But, that shall have to wait." He gave a quick bow of his head, "Goodnight, Alina."

"Goodnight." She returned his gesture, if perhaps somewhat awkwardly.

At that, he had turned on his heel, hands clasped together as he made his way back down the staircase that led to Alinas quarters. She watched him walk briefly, observing the way he moved and noting the posture with which he carried himself before finally shutting her door.

She wasn't fully convinced that he warranted special attention, but perhaps she had been hasty to dismiss him so readily. Or, perhaps not. Time would tell, and for tonight, as far as she cared, the only thing that mattered to her was the feeling of her body sinking into her bed. Everything else could wait.

[inklings-challenge]

2024 Team Tolkien Story Archive

Secondary World

All Things Great and Small by @supreme-leader-stoat (unfinished)

Ananse and the Haunted House Club: The Old Poe Place by @rosesnvines: Chapter One

Beyond the Starless Sky by @starknightgirl (unfinished)

The Executioner's Sword by @ladyminaofcamelot

Field Work by @phoebeamorryce

The First Magic Lesson by @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord

From the Other Side of the End of the World by @fictionadventurer

Homecoming by @shakespearean-fish (unfinished)

Honor Among Devils by @icwasher

Inklings Challenge 2024 by @secret--psalms--saturn

Inspired by True Events by @plainshobbit (unfinished)

The Invincible Spell by @bunnyscar (unfinished)

The Lake and the Moon by @rowenabean

The Princess, the King, and the Troubadour by @ladyminaofcamelot

Saint and Sinner by @brisingirl (unfinished)

Son of the Dragon King by @taleweaver-ramblings

Stolen Moments by @fictionadventurer

The Top of the World by @physicsgoblin

Unfinished Tolkien Entry by @shaylalaloohoo (unfinished)

Untitled by @catkin-morgs-kookaburralover

Untitled by @find-the-path (unfinished)

The Woodsman by @ripple-reader (unfinished)

Time Travel

Castaway by @incomingalbatross

Cherished Emery by @simplyghosting

Familiarity by @phoebeamorryce

From the Other Side of the End of the World by @fictionadventurer

In Saecula Saeculorum by @kanerallels

Last Rest by @thegreenleavesofspring

One Last Chance by @ladyminaofcamelot

Playing Catch-up by @lydiahosek

The Princess, the King, and the Troubadour by @ladyminaofcamelot

Stones of Memory by @healerqueen

Tell Me About This Time Loop, Again? by @larissa-the-scribe (unfinished)

Warning Signs by @fictionadventurer

[bravetimetravellingaussie]

And it feels like home

Chapter 2

Summary: Peter Parker makes a friend

Warnings: foul language, mention of injury? Not graphic or anything though

Again, possible spoilers for Spider-man: No Way Home

Days blur together when each day is the same, when there is no one you can share those days with, but unlike his coworker, who'd been stuck in a loop of shock, Peter's brain was finally knocked out of the loop.

For the past couple of months all that had really brought Peter joy was getting into bed and enjoying his few hours of peace, any inner turmoil didn't have a chance to keep him up at night when he was a second away from nodding off at all time. He'd been walking around a zombie for a while now, avoiding everything by filling his time and pushing himself to the limit and beyond, but now he felt something different, something good, even if it was just the itch of curiosity in the back of his head.

It was something.

This strange man with the weird costume and the many, many wounds, which he seemed completely unperturbed by, was a walking question mark, a puzzle to solve. Peter had forgotten how much he loved a good puzzle, how good it felt to scratch that itch of curiosity by getting answers.

When Peter put on his suit that night, he didn't even think about the possibility of throwing some punches, all he could think about was how he was going to find the man in red.

The temporary lack of bone deep emotional anguish and the replacement of exhaustion with excitement should have been enough warning for Peter that something was going to go wrong.

Peter had barely just swung out of his apartment when he ran out of web. A street light broke his fall. It also broke one of his ribs.

All of a sudden he was lying on his back staring at a starless sky and wishing he could stay like that forever. He couldn't hold his breathe forever though, and even though he tried to move as slowly as possible he felt a stab of pain in his chest.

Shit.

Peter gritted his teeth and felt his eyes welling with tears. Pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic. Every part of him was tense with burning hot rage. I am motherfucking spider-man, I have a job to do and-

The anger faded and all that was left was pain and tears. I am Peter Parker and I want answers. Peter sobbed quietly as he felt the pain, the pain he'd been feeling a long time now. There are so many answers I will never get but goddammit I am going to get this answer if it fucking kills me.

Peter took a deep breath, a mistake really. He waited a minute for the pain to die down before slowly getting up on his feet. He leaned against the lamppost and held out an arm to hail a taxi.

Once inside Peter slumped in his seat.

"Where to-" The driver glanced back at his new passenger.

"Take me to [insert street name here] or I'll-"

"No need for that! I'm a big fan of your work, spider-man," the taxi driver said with a smile, offering Peter a handshake, an offer Peter accepted. "My name is Dopinder."

"Nice to meet you, Dopinder." Peter felt a surge of something other than pain in his chest. It felt good.

"I'm happy to offer my services as an amateur mercenary to you any time, Mr spider-man, but I have to ask, why are we going to a high school?" Dopinder asked as he drove away from the curb.

"I uh," Peter hesitated for a second before giving up with the scepticism, he was too tired and lonely to refuse a chance to talk to someone. God knows it had been too long since the last time he'd had an honest conversation with someone. "I borrow their lab supplies sometimes. To make my web fluid."

"Ohh, so you don't make it naturally?"

"I mean I don't, I used to know a guy who did though."

"Right."

Dopinder tapped the steering wheel in time with the music playing on the radio.

"So what inspired the spider theme?"

"I got bit by a spider?"

"Oh." Dopinder was quiet for a bit, as if in thought. "My cousin got bitten by a spider once. It was one of the happiest days of my life."

"O-oh, okay."

The rest of the drive was quiet and Peter felt only mildly awkward.

"We are here, that'll be-"

"Yeah, I have no money."

Dopinder nodded.

"Somebody needs to start giving superheroes decent pockets in their super suits," he said with the tired tone of someone who encountered this problem frequently.

"No, I just- I wish I could pay you but I literally don't have any money." A little sheepishly, Peter added, "I was going to threaten you to take me here, and then run off."

Dopinder shifted in his seat to look at Peter. "I've always wanted to know what it feels like to fly."

"I'm a bit injured right now, but next time I see you I'll give you a ride spider-man style, does that sound good?"

"Yes."

"Well then, it was nice meeting you, Dopinder." Peter carefully got out of the car, wincing slightly at the movement.

"Anything else I can help you with? I've always wanted to break into a building under the cover of darkness."

"I'll be alright, thanks." Peter chuckled slightly. "Unless of course you know a guy who wears red leather and seems to be immune to pain."

"Oh. You mean Mr Pool?"

[scrunglepaws]

Tried to fit all my fic ideas on one page, but I still forgot some because they're like... scrawled on random pieces of paper all over my house/in different notebooks/ect. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I tried!

The little branchy-offy things are prequels/sequels of that particular series. Bleeped out things I thought might be spoiler-y to ongoing series. Things with * are super WIP-y titles because I dunno what to call them.

More ramblings under the cut! (Nothing spoilery for the ongoing series; just vague things!)

No Heroes Zone // - I have a lot more generalized worldbuilding, character notes, ect than actual stories. The story ideas are mostly vague/short... Though, I suppose I could stand to write some super short fics. - The exception is an angsty sonighty fic that's basically done, but I just have to fill in all the inbetween, connecty bits. And decide how sonighty-y I really want to go with it. That ship came outta nowhere, I tell ya. - NHZ is really mostly Tails (and Metal) angst, tho. The other day I was thinking about how he tries to latch onto Shadow and even Metal in the absence of having Sonic and was like "Wow, Tails, clingy much? What are you, Nine???" then I felt really bad. T-T; He just misses his brother...!

Kaleidoscope // - The name of this fic is based on an art piece I've been wanting to do for forever: A kaleidoscope of Tails/Nine/Mangey, looking at each other and seeing them each from their own perspective. Because that's the theme of the whole story, funky scifi weirdness aside. But uh, 1) didn't have a decent digital art program for a bit and 2) I'm not good enough at drawing the subtle differences in their appearances to really make it hit how I wanted. Also 3) Tails looks basically the same to all three of them, lmao. - "Mangey Remembers" is Mangey's backstory and "Loneliness*" is... Less of a backstory for Nine, more of a brief showcase of his character in general. Because we already know Nine's whole deal from canon. Same reason Tails doesn't have a backstory- he's supposed to be canon Tails. - "Starless Sky" and "Ruination*" are both poteeeential sequels, but I'm not set on doing them. Ruination would just be a short, noncanon "what if?" bad ending for the heck of it.

Someplace AU (Aquarius) // - Also halfway calling it Aquarius for now because I ended up continuing the first part of the story under that fic name.

- It was originally more focused on Sails, hence Someplace being a play on No Place. But now it's about equally Kit and Sails. I ended up getting SO MANY effing ideas for these dudes, man. ;w;

- "Hollow Existence*" isn't a specific story, but just a sprinkling of scenes/backstory bits that detail why Kit is the way he is. Mostly his relationship with Surge growing up.

- "Sails' Tales" is likewise a collection of random Sails backstory bits. I have a lot more specific/fleshed out things for him, though. BUDDY, did I have fun with the No Place lore. Also, his relationships with Catfish and Black Rose are so cute... ;A;

- The bits to the right are basically going to be chapters in Aquarius. They're vague enough not to be spoilery (other than the blipped ones...)

- "=D?" is a sequel that I'm very excited about. Probably shouldn't say much beyond that.

Everything Else // - CaveTails is a Journey to the Center of the Earth-esque silly, silly thing. That could maybe become a bit more serious? BAsically, I was thinking "Huh, kind of weird that my main kittails fic is with Sails. That'd be funny if I did ones with Nine and Mangey, too. Just for the lulz. Especially the Mangey one." This is the Mangey one. xD Except he's sort of like... Tails AND Mangey at the same time, character-wise? So? :? Also, potentially some wholesome Sonic+Tails moments because I weirdly haven't written any of those yet.

- "Kids" is just a continuation of that goofy Tails Doll+Cream oneshot. Just small ideas for another chapter or two. Cute friendship, fluff, and lots of comfort to make up for the hurt in the first chapter. :3;;

- "Alien*" is what it says on the tin. I have a couple different ideas for how it could go. One of them boots out Silver entirely and had Metal in his place. xD But I might have enough material to write an alien Silver AND alien Metal fic. We'll see whenever I get around to it. :3

- "Nine's Shadow*" is something I've wanted to write ever since I made that joke oc, Stales the Fox aka Zombie Tails variant from the Grim. Probably just a oneshot (or a few short chapters) fic that mostly focuses on Nine being "all alone" after the ending of Sonic Prime.

- "Why is Babies?*" is the second idea I had for a fic. It's just Shadow being awkward and not knowing how to look after a chunk of the main cast that are suddenly tots for unknown reasons. It's very lighthearted, comedic, and cute. Originally a Shadow+Metal fic until I learned more about Eclipse and just HAD to include him. Dude is literally a struggling single parent in canon, how could I not include him in a story about his brother going through something similar? xD Also, I might call this fic "Rascals" as a reference to that one Star Trek episode with a similar premise. Because! Star Trek. 8D

- "The Fifth Element" ... I have put off posting anything about this fic idea for so long because I'm EMBARRASSED IT'S SO STUPID AND CORNY DON'T LOOK AT ME,,, In case you're totally lost, the 1997 film of the same name is my. Favorite movie. So naturally, this was my first idea for a fic. It's so all-over-the-place tonally, though. Obviously, got a LOT of silly, especially the parts that follow the movie almost exactly. But I also added a lot of original bits that help flesh out the characters' relationships. The protag is Shadow, who is very, very soft and introspective in it. Which, like, how did that happen??? But I love it. Metal is his co-lead and is mostly goofy because he's a fish out of water. Sonic is VERY, VERY goofy like goddamn (he's Ruby Rod- if you know, you know). Then there's just the silliest shit ever like Silver. Silver is Shadow's cat. It's stupid, but it's also fun, and maybe even matters to the plot. You don't know. Blaze is the president. Dr. Starline, Surge, Eggman, and The End are in it. Tails has the smallest part of any of my fics, but I think I cast him well. I need to stop now or I never will. Don't look at me. xDD

~

But yeah, as I said, I forgot a lot of other ideas. A few more (still forgetting some, I'm sure): - "Creature from the Black Lagoon" ft. kittails - Steam Powered Giraffe-vibes 50's thing w/ Tails, Cream, and automatons of Kit, Surge, Metal, Belle, Gemerl, ect - Tails Doll trying to be a Real Boy(tm) - Kittails-focused folklore AU with Kit as a kelpie and Tails as a normal mobian. Bunch of other people as fae creatures and villagers, including Starline as the main villain. - Maybe a whispangle oneshot from the above au (Tangle is a mobian, Whisper is. basically a magic wolf? xD) - Knuckles/Tails role-swap

[the-admin-but-dumber]

"A canvas for you to paint."

I got some new brushes, decided to sketch these guys for the first time in a WHILE. I do like how it turned out, for something so rushed. Small drabble under the cut.

"O' Creator of worlds, master of swords, Romeo. What do we do now?" Romeo lets out a rough snort of amusement of his parnter's fancy language, he tilts his head to the admin beside him who crawls from the in-between beyond the bedrock. Together they stand under starless skies, only the glow of their armour offers light in a new world, untouched, unmoulded.

Romeo feels his muscles twitch, his fingers do as well, eager, planning out how he'd soon shape the world. It would be a fine world, perfect, but bland, colorless, his eyes glance to Wheatley who meets his gaze back. They wait for his response, an inhuman stillness in how they never breathe.

"We shall build a new world, one without flaw, one we will call our own." He responds, his chest wells with pride, Wheatley follows him across the endless valley of bedrock and pitch black skies. Wheatley does not respond, their thoughts filter back to The Underneath, Xara, Fred, could this truly be a world without flaw? Without them, surely not. But it could still be beautiful.

Following Romeo, they flicker between space, appearing and disappearing, chasing each other through barren lands until they stop. Romeo goes ahead, and Wheatley stands at the border, watching dirt form under their talons and grass bloom from the centre of the world. It splashes outward like a drop of water, curling and twisting to bloom life where it could touch. Wheatley takes a step forward, they fly up to not become trapped beneath a sea of stone and dirt, albatross wings growing from their spine to take them higher on a well placed breeze. Briefly, they consider letting themselves fall, so that they may grow into the world, but they do not.

Romeo terraforms and Wheatley watches, a blank canvas of towering mountains and deep oceans, valleys carved by a single blade, but so bland. The red admin meets Wheatley from their perch in the clouds, brazenly drifting circles until they rise to give him attention, Wheatley bows their head for the first time.

"I've carved mountains and valleys from the void," Romeo starts, he speaks with many voices, none his own. "A blank canvas, and one I will not paint myself."

Romeo takes their hand, they rise from the clouds, following Romeo into the open sky, darkness stares down at two traitors. "O' Master Artisan," he addresses, "my first gift to you, paint these skies for me, bring life to the land so this world truly sings with our power."

It's a soft request, and Wheatley accepts it.

In slithering forms their coil through the air like ribbons, Romeo keeps them steady and Wheatley paints the skies with all the colours they could. They create stars from their blood and with their hair, trees bloom across the once empty fields of grass and stone. Romeo carves caverns and caves, Wheatley fills them with light and jewels, they give life to the animals Romeo shapes from pieces of the past.

And then, their people, they create the first people together. Romeo forms their bodies from all the pieces of their world, and Wheatley breathes humanity and the ability to be what they chose to be.

Their first gift to this world, is existence.

[ladyseaforth]

Feline Arch Part 3.

Vincent Renzi x reader/oc

Here’s part three! Hope you enjoy!

It is evening and they have sunk two bottles between one another. Rich scarlet slips down the throat, leaving the lips tinged with purple and flavour. Kissable.

Your back faces the fireplace, one leg draped over Vincent’s lap. His hand rests upon your shin mindlessly, his chest shaking as he laughs at something Sandra said. His wine flicks in the bowl like the crest of a crimson wave. You study it loosely, head rocking on the sofa.

You are down to your loose linen shirt. The heat of the fire permeates the room, swelling the atmosphere with a tangible energy. Everything feels simultaneously far away and alarmingly close.

Studying Vincent’s profile, you smile as your eyes trail over the sweep of his silver hair, down his gently curved brow, his glittering eyes, his pinkened nose, small, quick lips. You study his lips as, every so often, he loses himself in his native language; you follow the foreign mouth shapes and sounds with rapture. The gestures he makes with thin, sculptured hands when he gets over enthused.

You turn your head to Sandra as though it were on a hinge, your movements lagging and unrefined. With a fist under your cheek, you absorb the lightness in her features and the colour that has returned to her face. Samuel-be-damned.

She quickly catches on to your slow, sleepy gaze and grins, “Have we already outdrank you? For shame!” Sandra cackles at your expression, your own smile widening into a falsely seductive, wine stained smirk. You feel Vincent’s gaze upon the side of your face now.

“Not at all!” you retort, perhaps a little louder than you intend. You hear Vincent’s light chuckle, shy and boyish as he runs his hand up and down your shin. Sandra tilts her head teasingly, arched eyebrow over narrowed, blue eyes.

“I just didn’t have dinner,” you acquiesce, eyes dropping to your glass and running a finger round the rim. The small whine elevates in the room, a soft, ringing background to the conversation.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Sandra offers, almost pleading, “I have not been up for using, or eating, anything; it will expire if not.” The tone simmers down a bit, the gravity of the situation returning to you all. You cease your finger’s movements on the glass. Vincent shifts.

“Perhaps, Sandra,” Vincent begins, “If you are up for it, we could go over a few developments in the investigation? It can wait until tomorrow - if not - I just thought you would like to get ahead of things.” His words drift away awkwardly and he clears his throat. Sandra looks suddenly lost in thought. You look between them.

“I can give you some space for that,” you offer, sliding your leg off of Vincent’s lap and placing yourself the right way up. “You guys will want to talk in private.” You search for eye contact with Sandra, who looks up at you and smiles gently, small and fragile. Vincent fiddles with his, now, unoccupied hands. His expression is mild.

“I’ll go for a walk around the house, won’t be far,” you gather up your wine glasses and head over to the kitchen sink, carefully placing them to the side. Something to worry about in the morning.

“Please be careful, the snow turns icy when the temperature drops at night,” Sandra says, elbows resting on her knees. You turn to her as you put your coat on and nod reassuringly. You sway slightly as you put your boots on and hope the pair aren’t watching, that they won’t stop you from getting that breath of fresh air you feel you need.

“See you soon,” you wave to them, and open the door. You carefully descend the steps onto the driveway and close the door beyond you, officially out of the space. The moon is bright and clear in the starless sky, a sign of the cold night ahead.

Vincent watches every inch of you as you disappear from sight, putting every part of you to memory before turning back to Sandra, who is watching the floor.

“How significant are these developments?” she finally asks, face stolid and resigned. Vincent sighs gently.

“Quite significant, but nothing we cannot work around,” he responds, training his face to remain neutral and unworried. “Shall I begin?” Vincent continues. Sandra nods solemnly and waves her hand, gesturing to start. And so, Vincent does.

The facts and discrepancies pile up, extracting the very air around her.

…

You stand and stare at the very site where Samuel is meant to have fallen. The ground is churned with the amount of footfall it has received, after the body was removed. Tomorrow they do tests with a sand-filled dummy to see if the way Samuel fell could be natural. That it was a sudden suicide. Or whether it was something else.

That is what Sandra said to you. Whispered over the fireplace. Her face had remained somewhat impassive. You stared into the blue.

The drop was extensive. Injuries consistent with a collision upon the shed’s corner, before finally slumping to the snow-covered ground. But it had to be checked all the same. They were to take it step-by-step.

You think of Daniel, worry about him tucked in his room. Wet pillow and misty-eyed in the dark as strangers invade his home. As they descend to determine whether his mother could have killed his father or not. Unable to look these strangers in the eye.

And Vincent would watch like a hawk. Staring eyes locked on everything they touch in Sandra’s house, anything they move, they affect. He will protest. Be the ever-intercepting lawyer, he will be good and he will be present. And you will watch him.

A chill runs through you, the sky vast and stretching over your head. What must it have been like to simply fall? To become a dead-weight, helpless and loose? At the mercy of gravity. At the mercy of it all.

…

You return to a household in darkness, safe for the last burning embers of the fireplace. Shrugging your coat off and hanging it on the rack at the front door, you see Vincent’s shape in the dying light. He is still on the same part of the couch that you saw him before. He looks over at you and gives a tight smile.

“Eh, Sandra has gone to bed. It will be a long day tomorrow,” Vincent begins, “she said she told you what will be happening?”

You nod slowly, “yes, the tests. Things to do with a dummy and seeing whether Samuel’s fall was accurate.” Vincent nods in response and shuffles a couple of papers that sit before him upon the coffee table. Silence falls upon you both.

“Do you think there is anything suspicious about Samuel’s death?” you ask, suddenly and without much thought. You shock yourself. Vincent’s head jerks up, lamp like eyes fixed on your own. He blinks a couple of times and frowns.

“Do you think there was?” he retorts, head tilting and gaze full of scrutiny. A lawyer at work. You blink back at him and hold your ground.

“I do not know all of the details or what the police find difficult to believe about the fall. What I do know is that Samuel was a bastard,” you speak firmly, holding eye contact with all the conviction you can muster. Vincent looks back, face unmoving.

“And why was he, as you say, a bastard?” he asks, thumbs running up and down the paper. You shift your weight and step forward. Vincent is forced to tilt his face upwards to maintain eye contact with you. He waits.

“Did you ever meet him?” you look down into Vincent’s face, intense and searching. He inhales deeply as his eyes traverse your face. Pupils flickering.

“Oui,” he admits, “once, or twice. A long time ago.” You lean down a little further, face coming closer to his own. You can feel his exhale on your face, ghostly wisps of air.

“Then you will already know that he was a bastard.” You hold his gaze, ensuring that the words hold enough weight to your satisfaction. Once content, you break away, turning to your haphazardly packed bag that lies at the foot of the other sofa.

“I’m taking this couch, by the way. Hope you’re ok with that,” you add rhetorically, not looking for a response. You hear Vincent shuffle a little behind you, placing down the papers.

“Yes, that is fine by me.” You hear him pull a blanket off the back of his sofa. You keep your back to him as you open your bag and pull out an old university t-shirt for your pyjamas. Still, you do not turn as you unbutton your shirt and throw it to the side, replacing it with the t-shirt. Yet, you turn to look at him before slipping off your trousers.

Vincent lies upon the sofa, blanket over his body as he faces you. His eyes flicker listlessly over you, seemingly without much control. The colour of his cheeks undecipherable in the darkness, the fire reduced to smoke. You turn away again and unbutton the waists, letting the pair drop to the floor. You step out of them and pull a blanket off of the back of your sofa.

You lie down and draw the blanket over yourself. You lie so that you face Vincent, whose vision continues to be dusky and unsettled. “Goodnight, Vincent. I hope you enjoyed the Merlot tonight,” you quip into the dark, only catching the glinting whites of his eyes.

A brief silence follows, and so you turn over to face the couch. You settle your head into the decorative cushion and exhale slowly. Eyelashes almost brushing the material.

“I enjoyed having a drink with you.” Vincent utters gently into the silence. He clears his throat in the following quiet.

You hear a similar shuffling, him finding a comfy position to lie in. You let his statement be the last word.

The tension only melts when sleep takes over.

…

The dummy makes a dull sickening thud as it collides with the shed, slithering onto the wet ground.

There are people standing at the top of the balcony, looking down over the pulley system which repeatedly throws the human form off the edge, and jerks it back up again for another go.

Vincent is on top of everything again. Surveying the scene, making sure they’re being good to the house, to Sandra. Asking ‘is this really necessary?’ or challenging a decision to photograph Daniel’s bedroom. He is protective, more than a proactive lawyer.

They pull the dummy up again, discussing it in their little group. ‘Yes, the head did collide off the corner but that does not account for this injury…’ and ‘there are discrepancies between the angle of the window frame and his collision with the shed…’ and ‘the marks on his skull allude to a blow more like this…’.

Marsha and Sandra were unable to force Daniel to stay away from the house whilst these experiments were being done. The boy had cited a fear of going alone to take Snoop for a walk, considering what had happened the last time. So he settled somewhere in the house, no doubt listening to the repetitive thumps of a dead weight beating the earth. The replicated sound of his father’s body meeting death.

You found yourself without a purpose, having made three cups of tea in the past hour alone. You had tried to write whilst all the commotion went on but achieved little. Sandra was determined to oversee her household, appearing stoic but frequently giving in to confusion and panic. You texted Salomé under the table, reassuring her of your whereabouts when she came back to an empty apartment.

The time dragged on as the house, Sandra and the fall were scrutinised bit by bit. The anatomy of it all laid bare and vulnerable. And heavy with suspicion and concern, it was.

…

It was a good week of this before they decided to conclude with the results they had recorded.

After a week, a meeting summoned you back to the city. You promised Sandra you would come back in a bit to see how everything was. That she was to call you if the investigation proceeded any further. She had nodded, eyelids heavy and her expression set, save for a small smile and accompanying squeeze of your hand.

Vincent watched you from afar, employing a new habit of standing at the opposite side of the room to you. In a thick, knitted jumper and hands shoved in his pockets, he looked you up and down as you said your goodbyes to Sandra. After a hug, you glanced over to him and met his gaze.

“When will you be heading back to the city?” you ask, picking up your scarf and arranging it around your neck. He shrugs, woolly shoulders jutting up to his ears.

“I am unsure,” Vincent begins, “possibly in the next day or so. The police may return again so I have to be near. They’re already making conclusions, and they’re being incredibly heavy handed about it.” He tries to keep his body language open, cooperative.

His eyes follow the winding material at your throat. You smile plainly. The cold air outside muffles the windows.

“Of course,” you say, “you are very dedicated.”

Sandra laughs at the expression upon his face, Vincent’s cheeks giving in easily to the rush of blood. He chuckles in response to his own reaction, tugging the sleeves of his jumper up his lean forearms. Vincent ducks his head as he approaches you.

“Do you have much writing to get back to?” Vincent ventures, “I presume you will be equally occupied.” His adam’s apple bobs under his pinkened throat. Tendons stretching into the collar of his expensive jumper. He reminds you of a nervous boy in a man’s body. Out of his element. You want to see him in court. You want to see him in his territory.

You smile wider, trying to catch Sandra’s eye, but find that she has turned away in favour of tidying the kitchen counter. Turning the labels of the jars, bottles, boxes of food items so that they face away from her. You look back and Vincent’s eyes glint.

“There’s always more writing to get back to,” you quip, meeting his gaze with a grin, “and you never really stop. I’m always writing - in my head.”

Vincent’s shoulders jump with a small laugh and he nods, bobbing his head in understanding. The conversation stalls quietly, the ticking clock in the empty kitchen becoming the primary sound.

“If you need me to transcribe anything for you, or write out any documents for your records or anything really,” you find yourself saying before your brain can catch up with you, “let me know. I want to help you out.” You smile restlessly, tucking a loose lock of hair behind your ear.

Vincent arches an eyebrow, somewhat taken aback. Sandra turns away from her food rearranging and looks to you in an amused surprise. A sparkle coming back to her eyes.

“With Sandra’s case, that is. I want to make sure you have more than enough hands for everything that’s happening,” you add, glancing between Vincent and Sandra. His face visibly warms and he nods again. Sandra’s eyes crinkle with mirth.

“That is a very kind offer, thank you,” Vincent says, “there is not much to do at the moment until the police conclude their findings but I will keep you in mind.” His eyes search earnestly into yours, trying to communicate his gentle gratitude.

Keep you in mind. One could only hope.

You blush lightly, and without having anything else to say, you duck your head in an awkward bow and reach for the door. As you descend the steps, you hear Sandra call from behind you, “Have a safe drive, liebe! Send my love to Salomé. I hope to see you in the city soon, we can write together.”

You turn and grin, waving your hand, “I will see you soon, Sandra! You will be a free woman soon,” you promise, eyelids fluttering under the bright sky.

Sandra laughs through the doorway, the shifting figure of Vincent disappearing behind her. As the door closes and you settle into your battered car, you continue to hear her laughter in your ears.

Flying towards the city, both your hands on the wheel, the atmosphere feels light but heady. It was a sign of things to come.

It would only be the very next morning that Sandra would be charged with the murder of her husband. The evidence stilted and accusatory.

The court beckoned.

——————

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

How to be Understood - a Crowley pov poem

posting this a little bit earlier but i dont think the poll is gonna change so here ya go :)

-

With wings of black, and eyes of night,

I soar through realms devoid of light.

For who will see beyond the mask,

And grasp the sorrows that I bask?

And who will dare to look within,

And see the brokenness I've been?

To be understood, it takes more,

Than mere words upon the floor.

For though I speak, my words unheard,

Misunderstood, my cries deferred.

To be alone, a fate I've known,

A weight upon my weary bone.

Yet hope flickers faintly in the gloom,

A fragile ember amidst the tomb.

Perhaps one day, someone will see,

The shattered soul beneath this plea.

Alas, I fear, it's all in vain,

My screams unheard, my tears like rain.

My scars unseen, my pain ignored,

As I journey on, my spirit floored.

No hand to hold, no voice to hear,

Just echoes of my silent fear.

In solitude, I drift alone,

In search of solace, of a home.

Alone I fly, through empty sky,

With every breath, a silent cry.

For who will understand my plight,

In this eternal, starless night?

-

this poem was inspired by jeremy bentham of all people lol sometimes inspiration strikes while you're doing homework

Thank you so much for reading!! Reblogs and comments are really appreciated💙

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