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nnight-dances · 3 months ago

Text

ONE KISS, ONE LOVE

PAIRING: park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit

TROPES: established relationship!au, idol!wonbin, age gap vibes but no real mention, reader babies wonbin like he deserves to be, texts at the end, just sickening sweet stuff

WATCH: wonbin's night routine

NOTE: inspired by the video above! once again, these wonbin fics write themselves ... he might be my favorite boy to write rn or maybe that's just my way of coping!! anyway don't be surprised if i just start spamming u with the wonbin fics i just have too many good ideas. but they're all gonna be set in this same established relationship style, he's just so bf coded lol... anyway, enjoy <3

you've been in bed for a good twenty, clad in cream pyjamas and skincare intact, when you hear the frontdoor open – signalling your boyfriend, wonbin's arrival. you pause the video you're watching on your phone and sit up to greet him, "bin? welcome home." his heavy footsteps stop where his figure finally comes into your view.

wonbin looks wiped out, no doubt, eyes shadowed by his somnolent lashes. he stares at you for a moment before humming, the sound halfway between a thank god you're here and i could die right now. he peels his layers off with speed, black leather jacket hung up on the tree-shaped rack near your closet and his other outerwear finding its place on the small cabinet next to it.

you watch fondly as even in his fatigue, he patiently makes sure no outside clothes pollute the bed. as soon as he's in nothing but his white tee and boxers though, he jumps onto you, deflating the air out of you like a body pillow.

"hello," he mumbles, face disappearing into your chest where he snuggles closer.

"hi, love," you welcome him warmly, fingers carding through his hair as a force of habit. you breathe against his limp body, letting him unwind on top of you as he often does. it's a silent activity, a night routine of sorts for wonbin on his longest days. he'd trudge home and settle close to you, wordlessly like a cat looking for soothing.

sometimes, you talked to him about your day and he'd hum along, eyes on yours telling all you needed to hear. other times, you would go back to doing whatever you were doing – watching a show, playing a game, or talking to a friend – while he recharged. he even insisted it worked best when you were just doing your own thing.

today, you do neither. setting your phone aside, you occupy yourself with wonbin himself, first meandering through his charcoal hair and then trailing down to his neck, tracing hearts and stars into his skin. you can feel him relaxing under your touch, his face finally coming back into your vision.

"tired," wonbin says, voice coarser than ever. "need to sleep."

"i know, baby," you croon, "wanna wash up first?"

he shakes his head adamantly, "no. sleepy."

you laugh softly, "angel, i'm sure you are but you can't sleep with your makeup on, can you?"

"had a few drinks with taro hyung," he murmurs as if that explains his behavior.

"really? you had time after practice?"

"he snuck it into practice. beer after all that sweating was nice."

"wow, look at you," you muse, hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "you sound like an old man."

"i am," wonbin pouts, "let the old man go to sleep."

"sorry, love, i can't do that," you say.

"rude."

"say what you will," you sit up fully, pulling your sluggish boyfriend with you. ignoring his groans, you kiss his nose, "wash up, okay? can't have my rockstar breaking out because he was too lazy to wash his face before bed."

he groans again but this time it's an endearment, his kiss on your cheek disguising his smile. "but i can't move, y/n. please."

"i'll help you," you snake out of the sheets, squatting as you heave wonbin out as well. he stands up unwillingly, head wilting like a sad flower. you laugh, pulling him toward the washroom, "will you listen if i do all the work?"

that gets the job done alright because two minutes later, wonbin's settled against the sink with you between his legs. you crane around his tall limbs to reach for his products, having memorized his night skincare by now.

cleansing balm in hand, you carefully cover every inch of his face, the makeup turning into oil gradually. "okay, babe, now rinse your face for me."

"you said you'd do all the work!" he complains without missing a beat.

you glare at him, "i can't possibly wash your face without making a mess of both of us."

"sounds like an excuse to me."

sulking, he turns around, washing the balm off. next, you go in with his foam cleanser, gently circling his cheeks and forehead. despite all his earlier declarations, he watches you attentively, his hand loosely clasped around your waist to keep you in place. you have to scold him midway at one point when he gets cheeky and sneaks a hand down your pyjamas, feeling the hem of your panties.

eventually, you dry his face off with a hand towel. "there," you peck his cheek, "all clean."

when he doesn't let go of your waist, you raise a brow at him. "you only love me when i'm clean," he scowls, "don't you?"

you narrow your eyes at his tantrum, "i think you're forgetting how i'm sacrificing my screen time before bed to clean you up right now."

he looks unconvinced as he tails you out of the bathroom. he's about to throw himself back onto the bed when you stop him by his hand. "change first," you explain, pulling out fresh pyjamas and throwing them at him.

wonbin stands idly and it's only when he starts raising his arms up that you realize he wants you to do it. you sigh, "bin, you're such a baby today." but you smile as you pull his shirt off, disregarding the way he instantly flexes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. slipping his pyjamas on, a piece at a time, you clap when he's done.

"i would make a great mother," you pat yourself on the back.

"you can adopt me if you want," he shrugs and you snicker, "i don't think i need to."

"you want anything to eat before you sleep?" you ask as if you hadn't quite literally brushed his teeth. "chocolate," he says without any conviction and you roll your eyes at him, watching as he launches himself at the bed.

"quick, come here," wonbin whines. you pad over to your side of the bed and join him, giggling when his body curls around you instantly. his nose finds its indent against your neck this time, cold and fresh.

for a minute, you think that's all you'll hear out of your boyfriend for the night. but it's just as you're about to reach for your phone when he speaks up again, "sorry if i'm boring."

you're not sure if your ears hear right, "what?"

but his voice is solemn, "...i'm probably kinda boring lately. so i'm sorry."

you turn on your side to face him completely, hand coming to rest against his cheek. "bin, you idiot. you coming home is the best part of my day."

"really? even though i'm too dead to do anything?" he perks up but his eyes gloomy, "we don't even fuck anymore. or go to the movies. or go out at all."

you laugh, "you're making us sound like an old couple on the verge of divorce, baby. you're just busier because of your comeback! i'm so excited and you should be, too."

"i am. but i don't want bore you."

"you don't, though. i'm lucky enough i get to see you at night and take care of you when i can. plus, it's not like you won't have more time after your promotions, right? we can do everything you want then."

wonbin blinks at you, his cool hand finally coming to meet yours where it was still caressing his cheek. he kisses your palm, "thank you. i'm glad."

"of course, love. now, go to sleep or you'll regret it tomorrow," you chirp, rolling over and shutting the lights off quickly.

"...you really would be a great mom," wonbin laughs at your behavior.

"good night, wonbin."

"good night, mom."

you hit his arm at his brazenness but when he just laughs again, the sound is too sweet for you to even pretend to be mad. so instead, you hug him closer, hand on his bicep and his legs tangled with yours.

–

bin: I AM FREE AT LAST

bin: FROM THE SHACKLES OF IT

you: …

you: how would ur fans react if i leaked our texts

you: so much for being mysterious

you: "shackles of it" boy have you ever touched a book

bin: okay so you're rude today

bin: i miss y/n mom version

you: ew?? if u have a kink i dont think this is gonna work

bin: because…?

you: is sungchan still single

bin: i was kidding! haha!

you: ok.

bin: seriously tho let's do smth fun 2nite

you: i get off work late today :(

bin: whatttt you have a life outside of me :0

you: do you WANT me to break up with you???

bin: what i meant was i will be there to pick you up <3

you: wtv man idgaf anymore

bin: noooo

bin: i'll do anything you want don't be mad

you: anything?

bin: well other than leaking our texts ofc

you: i want to live together

bin: ???

bin: we alr do

you: wonbin

you: baby

you: you just always come over to my place

bin: i sleep there it's my home wdym

you: and you still pay the bills for your place?

bin: i don't make that bag for nothing

you: ok so what if we lived together instead

bin: but i really like your place!!

you: i do too

you: let's make it our place

bin: shit

bin: i just actually blushed irl

you: :)

you: is that a yes

bin: i want to marry you

you: okay well let's calm down

bin: did u just reject me

you: i'm telling u that you're gonna regret proposing through text

bin: i love u and i want u to be my wife

bin: omg i just shed a tear at the thought of calling u that

bin: wife…. im changing ur contact name

bin: or should i change it to fiancée? since we havent yet tied the knot

you: park wonbin

you: we are 20 years old

bin: untrue

bin: im 22

you: i am not marrying you right now

bin: … is there someone else

you: i'm not marrying anyone right now

bin: ok so i'm not husband material

you: you are

bin: i'm not father material? you: no comment

you: but we aren't ready babe

you: let's take it slow k?

you: just move in first

you: we have so many memories to make

bin: you're such a flirt

you: ??? u just asked me to marry you but sure

bin: i'll be moved in by the time you come back home

you: i thought you were picking me up

bin: that was before u asked me to move in

bin: now i have to bring all my stuff over

bin: which side of your closet can i use? bin: also thoughts on letting me keep my rock collection next to your figurines?

you: right side and no

bin: wow u didnt even think about it

you: imagine we get into a fight

bin: i refuse to

you: i'm just saying i would be tempted to throw them rocks at u

bin: you would do that????

you: depending on what u do

bin: why are you expecting me to do anything at all????

you: …experience

bin: wow

you: to be loved is to be known

bin: you can't flatter me now

you: i love you

bin: …

bin: i love you too

424 notes · View notes

kykyonthemoon · 4 months ago

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Till The Break Of Dawn

That girl was Death, and she came to see me on my twenty-seventh birthday.

── .✦ Zayne (Dawnbreaker) x MC (Female Reader)

── .✦ Tags: oneshot, angst, open ending, multiverse, AU, loops, MC is referred to as "Dawn" in this fic, first pov (Zayne's), side characters: Jas, Astra.

── .✦ Word count: ~3k

── .✦ Ky Ky's note: This fic is for my friend Le Juan, and all the Zayne's girlies out there. Happy Moonlit Orchid Day (or Qixi)! <3

It's also my very first time writing for Dawnbreaker.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

when death

takes my hand

i will hold you with the other

and promise to find you

in every lifetime

— commitment (Rupi Kaur)

Rain. Tiny translucent and frigid particles plummeted into this dark world. The rain fell from the opulent downtown area to the deteriorating, abandoned structures. Under the torrent of water, be it human or monster, it was all the same.

Slow, worn-out steps came to a halt in front of a building that had long since fallen asleep in nature's embrace. Blood trickled over the ground and spread a poisonous tint in the water, yet it had no stain on the pristine white jasmine blossoms flourishing in that desolate place.

Jasmine bid me farewell in my last moments. Perhaps this life was not that dreadful to me after all.

My body crumbled. The rain welcomed me. Cold. The sweet scent of jasmine soared throughout the wind. With my final breath, I extended my hand forward. The hand was smeared with so much blood, from both human and Wanderers, and I knew I was not deserving of it. But I had just the desire to touch it once. My pure jasmine petals.

I had simply sought for one favor; let me dwell in those tranquil dreams with the girl I had always revered.

It appeared as if I heard her voice in the breeze; such melodies to my ears, lulling me into somnolence. I was determined to find her this time, forever.

“Zayne?… Zayne?…”

Someone ran to me from the other side, behind the jasmine bush. She was waiting for me. Just a little more…

“Zayne!”

Her warm fingers connected with mine. I awoke at that very time. Was she calling me, or someone who looked identically to me in the dream?

I opened my eyes and saw her there. She donned a dark robe that swept above the street. She sat down beside me and turned my cold body over. That was her. It was truly her.

Each drop of rain landed on her hair, which had barely emerged from the hood of her cloak, wiping the blood stains from my face. My lips moved silently. I ached to tell her how long I had been waiting for this moment. I had always waited for her. And my wish came true.

That girl was akin to my dream. Her eyes fixed on mine, revealing a mix of astonishment and sadness. But her expression was cold. Where was the brilliant smile that brought luminescence into my otherwise miserable life? I desired it.

Trembling. My fingers moved towards her lips. I begged for her mercy and to grant me this one wish. Yet she spoke before I could touch her:

"Zayne." Yes, it was my name. But I knew she was calling me, not the Zayne she had loved in her dream. "Dawnbreaker."

This was the real me, in this world.

"I came here to take you away." Her voice was quite sorrowful. Had I disregarded her with my unkempt appearance and stained hands? This was not the meeting I had hoped for, but I was delighted to have found her. Or it was she who found me.

Winds. The bell chimed midnight. The cold seeped into my thick layers of clothing. The girl's scarlet lips parted again as she drew closer and murmured:

"Take my hand."

She seized mine. There was something in her eyes. Death. Then I suddenly realized something.

That girl was Death, and she came to see me on my twenty-seventh birthday.

It is said that when a person dies, their entire life flashes before their eyes. For me, there was more than just one.

Countless sights that resembled fractured, patched recollections flashed before my eyes. They were my life, yet not really. I knew them well yet felt as if we were complete strangers. I was once a foreseer on the icy throne, I was once a god hidden in the deep mountains, I was once a doctor in the modern day,... Among countless variables, there was only one thing that remained constant: her.

In each piece of memory, I always found her, my girl. It was always her dying heart, and I was fighting against fate to save her. The instant my life ended, our jasmine flower withered. Then everything went back to where it started.

As midnight was also the time when a new day began.

At first, I could not comprehend what was happening. Everything happened in the same order: I met her, loved her, she was going to die, and I sacrificed my life for her. Our identities might differ, and our decisions might not be precisely the same, yet the ending never changed. I began to vaguely feel that a certain hand had intervened in the flow of our life, driving her and me to follow such a predetermined path.

And suddenly I was Dawnbreaker. In this life, I failed to find her. I had always assumed she just existed in my fantasies. It was not until my death that I discovered she had been seeking for me all along.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the midst of a thriving jasmine garden. A person's fuzzy shadow appeared ahead of me. At first, I believed it was her, yet as I drew closer, I noticed it was a boy who seemed quite familiar.

"Georgie?"

No, that was not Georgie. The boy with that name had abruptly vanished before my eyes. The individual standing here was someone else who resembled Georgie.

"Hello, Zayne." The small child spoke. I had no idea who he was. However, I got the feeling that we had known each other for a long time, since innumerable lifetimes ago.

"I'm not Georgie." The boy added. "I only took the shape of someone you used to know so that I could communicate to you without causing any disturbance in this reality. If you don't like it, I can turn into a snowflake, a cat or something else.”

“You are?”

"Jas." He responded. "I am Jas. Perhaps you forgot about me. But I remember you, and her."

The name rang like a bell, reawakening something that had been asleep inside me. I asked:

“She… And you. Have we known each other before?”

Jas grinned mysteriously. “Shouldn't all the answers be right in front of you at this point?”

“Who are you exactly?”

The child went around the garden like a butterfly. A moment later, he replied:

“I am nobody. I am merely an illusion created by her and you a long, long time ago.”

“So… this garden is also an illusion?”

“It's all an illusion.” Jas replied. “This garden and all the flowers here are.”

I looked around. Each blooming jasmine brought back memories of a lifetime spent with her. I found myself ready to ask Jas a few questions about the flowers, but as if reading my thoughts, he immediately replied:

"That's right. Every jasmine here represents a life you once shared with her.”

I cast a gaze across the seemingly endless garden. There was no evidence of the girl anywhere. I wanted to find her, to call her name. Yet, I had no comprehension of what she was dubbed in this life.

"She is Death. In this realm, she has no name." Jas said as if he could read the thoughts written on my face. "But you may call her anything you want. She permits you to."

Hence, from that moment on, I decided that she would be my Dawn.

Dawn represented Death in this world. Her duty was to send the deceased to their proper resting place. She had seen me in the abandoned street, where I drained a soul out of torment before they were hauled into eternal darkness, and their body became a monster. She was always watching me, yet I could only see her when life left me. Dawn, like me, had spent her countless existences in this garden.

Jas spoke again, directing my attention back to him:

“Stop looking. She's not here. But before you go mad and run to find her, listen to the remainder of the story first. Shall we?”

I had no alternative since Jas began shortly before I could say anything. Following along the boy's footsteps, I felt as if I were lost in another garden similar to this one, but in a distant timeline.

In the past, this jasmine garden was once the residence of a goddess. Although she was merely a minor deity, her fate was tied to the survival of that world. That divine being was Dawn.

She was born from the purest energies of heaven and earth. That was why, with each cycle, she would have to sacrifice her life, offering her flesh and blood to continue nourishing that world. Then she would be reincarnated in her former body, forgetting all about her previous life. Just as the end of day gives way to darkness, and the breaking of dawn marks the start of a new day.

Things were always going to be like this, then one day, she fell in love.

The person she loved was chosen by Astra - the god of creation - to inherit his power and pass on his will to humanity. She was originally sent by Astra to assist him in training, but in the end, she proved to be his greatest challenge.

"Zayne…" She cried out his name, the person who had always been at her side. They traveled the world together, battled side by side, and defended each other. In the end, they arrived at Mt. Eternal, which marked the boundary between the human and divine realms. Overcoming many obstacles, they learned the mystery that Astra had kept concealed for so long.

Astra, the deity that Dawn considered her father, turned out to want nothing more than to take away the power of heaven and earth that she possessed. Every time she died, he became stronger by taking her energies. Every time she reincarnated, he would bring her back and care for her as if she were his daughter, earning her trust until she ultimately sacrificed herself for a false greater cause. But in this existence, she met Zayne.

"If divine power can't protect those important to me, then I shall need nothing from it."

Zayne had made a decision. Dawn went with him to search for Astra, pretending that he would personally sacrifice her as a present to him while they plotted for the murder of the god. However, they were unaware that they were sliding into Astra's predetermined trap.

How did both of his instruments slip out of his grasp so easily? Astra separated the two, robbed their memories and encased those in jasmine. The new Zayne and Dawn began a new life, unaware of each other and with no memory of their preceding love.

But they still found each other. The thread of fate had long ago bound both of them. Dawn, like in her previous life, must die in accordance with Astra's wishes. And Zayne was always trying to save her. The moment he surrendered his life for hers, the flow of time halted. The entire world came to an abrupt end, then it started all over again.

Astra experimented thousands and thousands of times. The jasmine garden housed every existence of the star-crossed lovers, trapping them eternally in the cycle of love and death. They appeared to have discovered this secret after their first few lifetimes. Every time the flow of time was reestablished, their memories were erased. However, simply encountering each other again caused them to fall in love anew; and whether Zayne remembered or forgot, he would always give his life to the one he loved.

"Don't cry…" Zayne was lying in her arms. He was standing before her. He was leaning onto her shoulder... Their circumstances would alter, but there was always that final moment when she wept and grasped his hand.

They had just recently retrieved some recollections of their past lives before being forced to part ways again.

"Don't cry…" This time, Zayne had her in his arms. His back was against the debris of the collapsed research room. The blanket of snow sprayed over, bringing chilling temperatures. They were on Mt. Eternal in another timeline. Yet even this time, Zayne gave up his life to save Dawn.

She shook her head, tears flowing. They were so close to discovering the truth they had been seeking for so long. They had almost broken this curse of eternal reincarnation. Yet in the end, Astra was one step ahead.

"Hold my hand…" Zayne clasped hers. Death reached his remaining arm and froze it. "As long as you hold my hand like this… I will be able to find you… in the next life…"

"Do you promise?"

"Yes…"

Zayne had not once broken his vow to her. However, if she did not truly die, Astra could not obtain the power he sought. The jasmine garden grew wider with each new life and reboot. He must put an end to this.

As a result, he designed a life in which she became Death, and Zayne could only find her at his very last breath.

"Astra believes that if you die before meeting her, you won't be able to die for her anymore."

Jas' voice sounded out. We returned to the Jasmine Garden. Although the location was the same, this was not Astra's first garden. Dawn and I had poured our powers into this garden. Many eons ago, we had uncovered Astra's secret and secretly created this place as a safe haven away from the wicked deity. Jas was the spirit that guarded the garden and guided Dawn and me back here anytime we recalled something critical. Dawn discovered Jas before I did.

"There were two mistakes Astra made." He said. "First, he tried to control and take her power, unaware that each time she was reborn, the energy source within her grew stronger as well. Second, he was naive to believe he could separate the two of you. Even if you can't see her, the bond between you two still exists in a different way.”

At that point, I instantly realized something. "Our dreams?"

"That's right." Jas confirmed. "Even if the person you dreamed about was an alternate version of her, it seemed like all the versions in all of your lives knew each other in one way or another. She, as Death, has always dreamed of you and sought you out."

I halted to reflect on what I had just discovered, or recalled.

"Zayne, listen... Astra made another great mistake. That is giving her the status of Death. It implies she now has your life in her hands.

"Does that mean this time, she saved me?"

Jas' nod reaffirmed my doubts, my fears. "You should have died and Astra could have her again... However, she utilized the power of Death to stop your time. Zayne, you are still alive."

I already knew that. The truth was, my life only begun when she arrived.

"I have to find Dawn."

"Wait." Jas spoke up. Almost immediately, vines from the garden seized my limbs. "You cannot go yet."

"Why?"

"She used all of her current power to prevent you from dying. If Astra finds you, she will no longer be able to defend you. She brought you here to keep you safe, Zayne."

Dawn wanted to confront Astra alone. I expected this when old memories resurfaced. I told Jas:

“Then it’s another reason to find her. I cannot bear to lose her again.”

I strained with the vines that were becoming increasingly tight around me, even using Evol to break free of them.

At that point, the garden started to tremble severely. The pure blue sky above broke into fragments and decreased. The jasmine petals detached from the stems, drifted in the air and eventually vanished.

"Jas?"

“I have… completed my mission…” His voice seemed to resonate from far away. His entire body perished before my eyes. “I exist… so that one day… you and she can… find what you've lost… Now… you both have made your own decisions… So I will… disappear… and return… the source of power that you both… gave me before… But remember… If you and she fail in… this timeline… there will be no more Jas, no more… jasmine garden…”

Jas in front of me appeared as surreal as a mist. I knew I had to find Dawn before Astra made a move on her. This was the last chance we had.

“Go, Zayne… I can only… help you get to… her…”

In the middle of the garden, an archway made of plants and jasmine opened. I hurled myself through it, not forgetting to gaze back at the smiling boy Jas, whose body transformed into thousands of jasmine petals before vanishing.

I heard Dawn whisper to me at that moment of life and death:

“This time, I will protect you…”

My hand reached out to where she was waiting. My chest ached as I screamed with everything I had:

“Dawn, take my hand!”

And I awoke. Rain splashed over my face. Cold. I was lying on the roadside next to a jasmine with each flower falling and gently dissolving in the water.

I lifted myself up. In the black of night, I went after her traces. I knew she was so close to me. I knew she was calling my name. And the world would awaken at dawn, once again.

I will find you, in every lifetime.

118 notes · View notes

kittttycakes · 3 months ago

Note

I'll take Dreamling with #8 in secrecy because i'm curious of where that could go 👀

Please enjoy this vaguely heist-y AU!

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Hob said with a smile, aiming for charming and casual and only succeeding on one count. He leaned against the bar next to Dream, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, if only for something to do with his hands. Something about the other man made him nervous, threw his decades of professional experience out the nearest window so that it lay, writhing, on the sidewalk, far from him.

Dream, as stunning as ever in a sleek black-on-black suit, took a drink of his wine before setting the near full glass down. He thought he saw the hint of a smile, hiding at the edges of his lips. “Have we met before?” he asked instead, that all too familiar, somnolent voice too close to Hob’s ear to be strictly polite.

If that was the game he wanted to play, Hob could go along with him. “Only in my dreams,” he replied with a wink. That earned him something that might have been a laugh, if Dream had let it develop. As it was, Hob recognized an amused huff of air when he heard one, especially when it came from Dream.

He startled slightly when Dream took his elbow, steering him away from the open bar and back towards the floor of the exhibit hall. It had taken more than a few strings pulled for Hob’s name to be added to the guest list; the museum had increased security since the last time he had set foot in it, and it had taken rather more of Johanna’s skills than it had before, but she had pulled it off: Hob’s name appeared on the guest list as one of the highest tier donors of the year. It was only natural that he should be invited. In three hours, all records of his chosen pseudonym for the evening would disappear. He would never have existed. For the moment, however—

Dream was pulling him through the hall, walking at a pace that would not arouse any kind of suspicion: two men, having a friendly walk through the exhibit, the light refracting through an inconceivable amount of gemstones and gold, platinum, and silver. He took a sharp turn, taking Hob with him, disappearing behind a column and then down a corridor that Hob had mentally designated as a possible exit route if his first four choices failed.

It was only when they were out of earshot of anyone else, and decidedly out of range of any cameras, firmly hidden in a dead spot that Johanna had specifically noted for him, that Dream spoke to him again.

“I’m afraid you and I are after the same target,” he said in that same steady, even tone. “I would advise you to pick a new one.”

Hob nearly laughed. As if it were that simple. He had a buyer lined up for specific pieces, which Dream undoubtedly knew. He was in the same position, although Hob could never be sure of just how much their particular circumstances overlapped.

“And what target would that be?” he asked lightly, watching Dream’s face in the dim light of the service hallway.

“I do not care what else you spirit away, but that ruby is mine.”

He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious, and he nearly said as much before thinking better of it.

“Ask me for anything else and it’s yours, love, but that’s the one thing I cannot do,” Hob replied, not without genuine regret. His job was regrettably lonely, his only real point of contact Johanna, and whoever pulled her strings was a complete mystery to him. Being a contract for hire specialist had its advantages and disadvantages, and the solitary nature of the work was both at once. It was a miracle that he had ever even met Dream, let alone run into him on more than one occasion. It should not have happened at all, and yet they kept colliding, showing up where the other least expected it. He didn’t even know if Dream was, like himself, working for someone else, or if this was all for his own gain. He could picture him, surrounded by beautiful things like a dragon in its hoard.

When Dream did not respond, Hob continued, recklessly, “This is it for me. I’m out of the game after this, getting too old for it. Can’t botch the last run, can I?”

“You’re retiring?” Dream asked, amusement coloring his voice.

“Something like that. Need to lay low for awhile, might go on holiday. I’d invite you to join me, but—”

“Men like you do not simply give up, Hob Gadling,” Dream said, and Hob froze. He had never, not once, told the other man his actual name, not even during the very memorable weekend they had spent in a penthouse suite in Paris after having independently taken more than €1 million worth of art from a well established and taste making gallery. A relatively low take for both of them, but it had been rather fun. Johanna didn’t even know his name, and certainly not his nickname.

“Seems a little unfair that you have my name and I don’t have yours.” He had little doubt that Dream was an alias, and had never minded that he didn’t know what he might be called otherwise, until that very moment.

Dream smiled slightly. “Perhaps I might give it to you in exchange for your assurance that you will not attempt to take what is mine.”

“It isn’t quite yours yet, though, is it? Really, Dream, I would love to, but the buyer that’s lined up for it is rather keen on it and nothing else, if you take my meaning.”

“I am afraid your buyer must prepare to be disappointed.”

“We’ll see,” Hob said lightly, smoothing one hand down the front of Dream’s lapel. “Lovely seeing you again. I’m sure we’ll do this again soon?”

“Sooner than you might imagine.” As quickly as he had led Hob away, Dream disappeared, slipping further down the hall into the less lit shadows. He thought briefly of going after him before dismissing it; he had his own concerns, and the clock was starting very soon.

Hob did not see Dream when he stepped quietly out into the now empty exhibit hall. He had a finite window in which the entire camera system would be run on a loop: Johanna had promised him three minutes, and he was confident he could manage it in two and a half. She had assured him that the alarm system would be temporarily disabled during this window, but Hob never took such things for granted. He had mapped out no less than seven potential exit routes, should he be interrupted, and had timed each to ensure he knew which would be fastest.

His secondary targets could wait. Best to start with the biggest and work his way down. The ruby sat in its own case, nestled in a bed of black velvet. It was uncut, the dull color of dried blood, and as large as his fist. When he carefully picked it up, it flashed with a hidden fire: it could be stunning, in the hands of the right jeweler, crafted to exquisite perfection. Hob dropped it in one of many silk lined pockets, and moved on.

He had added two paired sapphires and a pigeon egg sized opal to his take when he saw the first hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. Hob turned, alert, only to see Dream, still dressed in his suit from the gala, leaning against the empty display case and watching him intently.

His voice echoed in the empty hall. “You’re certain I cannot convince you to part with that ruby?”

Hob had one minute and forty-five seconds left. “I’m sure you’re very convincing, love. But I’m afraid not.”

“A pity,” Dream said, standing up. “I would very much have liked to try. And I don’t imagine I’ll see you again?”

One minute and thirty-two seconds. Hob smiled, a little sadly. He would have rather liked to see him again. “I don’t imagine you will.”

“In that case,” Dream began, crossing the little space between them with a speed and grace that Hob should have expected, but somehow never did.

One minute and twenty-seven seconds. This was somehow both the most exposed and the most private place that they had ever kissed. Hob could mentally catalogue them all: pressed against the wall on a darkened side street in Madrid, laying back against the ridiculous sheets of the king size bed in the Paris penthouse, in the back room of a club in Monte Carlo—this was different. It felt different; it felt like the most important thing in the world, a moment just for the two of them, in secret, in the middle of the museum floor.

Hob had lost count of the time by the time Dream’s mouth left his. For a moment, that had been all that mattered. He would be sad to see him go.

Abruptly, three very important things happened in quick succession: there was a faint shuffling, the sound of feet in non-slip shoes walking down a tiled hallway and the distant thud of a door swinging closed on its own; Dream nearly disappeared, passing through the room like a shadow in a direction that Hob had never considered and idly wondered how exactly he planned to leave by it; and a soft red light began flashing in the case nearest to him as the system armed itself once again. It was past time to go.

Hob was, he could admit, very, very good at his job. He exited the museum entirely without incident, making it back to the flat he was currently using as his home base without being seen or followed. After ensuring that the rooms were still secure, he at last allowed himself to relax, only slightly. He sat at the table, and began to empty his pockets. The opal had survived in perfect condition; he had been concerned that it could be damaged, as relatively soft as it was, but it caught the low light of the flat in its smooth surface, perfectly whole. The sapphires, unsurprisingly, were also intact; he knew he would see them dangling from the earlobes of some minor princess or billionaire’s wife within a month, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

He had deliberately left the ruby for last; everything else, even missing the yellow diamond he was meant to have taken, was infinitesimally small compared to it. He withdrew it, and nearly laughed.

In his palm sat a paperweight of the approximate size and shape of the ruby, along with a small, folded piece of paper. He hadn’t even noticed Dream’s hand move, hadn’t felt a thing as he had, clearly, made the exchange. He set the paperweight down, and unfolded the note.

Hob had not been expecting an apology. What he received was a command: Burn after reading. What followed, in sharp, spidery handwriting, was an address in, of all places, Wales. The note was signed with a capital M. It wasn’t quite a name, but it would do.

He stood, leaving the gemstones on the table. He had so much to do: a bag to pack, travel plans to make, a note to burn. Hob had wanted to go on holiday. He was certain Wales would be lovely.

Send me a kiss prompt!

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #heist AU #word crimes #me: I will write this in 500 words #also me: 1.9k fighting the plot off with everything I have

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 1 month ago

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Supercorptober: Dress

From my Wed By Candlelight AU:

Slender fingers smooth over her arm, and Kara has to suppress a shiver. “I told you this dress would bring out the blue in your eyes.”

Kara finds her mouth too dry to speak. The dress is still warm from Lena’s skin, and it makes her pulse pound knowing that the same heavy fabric had lain on her lady’s body and touched it intimately in a way Kara never could.

The laces are snug but comfortable on her back, secured with the same knot Kara uses to tie Lena’s own corset laces. Kara can feel her fingers at the small of her back, Lena’s touch light, almost nervous, if the minute trembling at their tips is anything to go by.

If only Lena knew how many times Kara’s own fingers had hesitated before, lingering at Lena’s corset laces every time she dressed her lady.

Her fear freezes her hand every night, keeping her from reaching further than what she is allowed — Lena is the scion of an old family, a lady destined for an advantageous marriage to a man who can offer her security and stability. What can Kara give her? She is a maid, with no money or prospects. The only thing she can offer her lady is her loyalty and her love, hidden though it may be.

And yet her yearning keeps her hand frozen as well, the secret hope that she may one day be allowed to touch. It doesn’t allow her to pull away.

For one second — one breathtaking, tantalizing second — Lena’s hand presses closer, braver than Kara has ever been. She can feel Lena’s feather-light touch trail ever so softly from the small of her back to her waist.

It’s such a small thing, yet this is the most intimate that Kara has ever been touched.

She’s had the privilege and secret pleasure of undressing her lady every night, but the line between them prevents Lena from touching Kara in the same way. Kara doesn’t even know if Lena would want to.

Yet with Kara wearing her dress, it’s as if they have momentarily switched roles. Now Lena is the one touching her, and she is bolder than Kara ever could be. Her hand settles over Kara’s waist, fingers spreading with impunity as if she is trying to grasp as much of Kara as she can before they must return to their roles.

Lena presses closer behind her, and Kara can’t help herself. Her lips part on a shaky exhale of Lena’s name.

Even she is surprised by the hunger in her voice. In the mirror, their eyes meet.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Lena’s eyes, made glassy by candlelight, are half-lidded and somnolent, as if she’s in trance. She is the most tempting sight Kara has ever seen in her life.

But… she can’t.

Kara sees the moment Lena realizes her decision. Clarity returns to her gaze, but her eyes dim, making Kara want to take her choice back almost immediately. She never wants to be the reason why those eyes lose their light.

Lena moves away, but Kara catches her wrist in time. She rubs at the strong and steady pulse beneath her thumb until Lena relaxes, a fond smile returning to her face and eyes.

And Kara hopes that Lena understands. There is nothing that she wants more than Lena.

But not tonight. Not like this.

One day, she will prove herself worthy of her lady. One day, she will take Lena far from this place and love her the way she is meant to be loved.

Later, she will lead her lady to bed and retire to her own — alone and full of longing and regret — but for now, Kara gazes at Lena’s smile and makes the promise into her steady pulse.

One day.

#supercorp #katie mcgrath #lena luthor #kara danvers #melissa benoist #supergirl #me trying to art #me trying to write #this is a very late prompt response lol

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currentlyreadingawesomefanfics · 8 months ago

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Cobalt!

#my art #fnaf au #rawr :3 #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #fanfic #fnaf fanfic #fnaf daycare attendant #eclipse #His personality is based off of #sams bloodmoon #just without the extra stabby stabby #Cobalt is the best!#ao3 writer #my writing #Somnolent AU #cobalt madness

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year ago

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Hello, Mr. Monster (Six. Somnolence)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist

Chapter warnings: trauma, A/N: This is literally half of what I planned on for this chapter. Soooo. Yeah. One of the teasers for this chapter applies to chapter seven, lol. But the wait will be worth it! Thank all of you who've stuck around. <3 You are all dears and deserve big cups of tea and cuddles. Dream’s creations brought him stories.

6: Somnolence

They groveled before his throne by the dozen, sharing tales of the child Aisling – in need, protected by his arcana as she moved through the mortal plane, jetsam in the wake of a better life she should’ve lived. Hundreds more, many of them nightmares, told epics of the woman Aisling – tearing their anchors from the dreams of innocent mortals, protecting the most fragile dreams from harsh reality in quiet corners of the world where fantasy still thrived.

His creations brought these stories to trade for forgiveness the subject of their tales had already secured. Only a few shared their memories because they cared for her. They wanted their lord to see her as they’d found her, and how could the Prince of Stories not love a timely hero in a grand tale?

Some told him what they thought he needed to know. Facts about the mortal with his name and power etched in her soul.

He had his own story, one of a cage and a strange woman with true sight and curious magic. A woman who looked too hard at all the wrong things and freed him without promise or threat.

When he first saw her from his prison, when his restraints shattered and he could see properly for the first time in over a century, hope and loss nearly consumed him. He’d been aware of the place in his essence where a mark might grow before Earth gathered into a planet. Every time he fell in love, he waited for the name to appear. Trapped in his glass prison, cut off from anything that made him more than a fragile facsimile of a human shape, he hadn’t felt anything fill the empty space. He lacked the awareness.

How had he imagined meeting a soulmate? Not like that. Not as that – a nameless monster in a cage. She fled the moment she found him, and he imagined he could see Nada’s footprints in the sand as his true soulmate’s steps echoed over stone.

Perhaps it was for the best. The quaint hell of Burgess’s basement was no place for introductions, and he brought all his bereaved fury to bear in his escape. Even as he found his freedom, he found yet another treasure the magus and his son had stolen from him.

She had been hurt. Badly. And he had not been there. If Alexander Burgess hadn’t already earned his punishment, seeing the crude letters cut into Aisling Hunt’s heart over her own mark clinched his doom.

When she finally slept, he showed himself as everything he was not upon their first meeting. Her clever eyes, blinded by fear and expectation, did not see him. Did not know him.

Though he ached to be with her since the moment he truly saw her, though he yearned to repay her for ending his captivity, a hundred years of helplessness festered like a dark canker in the depths of his passion.

When she did not recognize him in that first dream, he did not rush to correct her ignorance. He welcomed it, and with her oblivious naivety, he took control. In the second dream, it was even intentional. So long as she did not know him, he was… safe. So was she. Or he liked to believe so. Safe from fear and confusion at the clear weft of their wyrds knotting them together through actions she believed entirely her own.

But now she knew him.

She’d seen his face, and the budding trust he’d savored as she came apart under his hands and tongue shattered like the finest glass. He imagined it like shards coursing through her blood. He’d seen as much in her eyes as she looked up from the hand of her captors, brought in silken chains to her monster, the entity she’d readily freed from Fawney Rig. Her growing faith, possibly even affection, cut her from the inside out, glittering in her eyes as she fought against the pain his face brought her.

Once again, he was shown to her as a monster, as a frightful king who might accept such a gift from the unseelie court. His lip curled at the thought.

He could not bear it. Though the two parts of him stood at war – the lover and the wounded king – neither exalted in her fear. Deep within, the mark cut him, too. Soothing her pain when she fell into his hands in their first dream together was far from selfless.

He wanted to chart her, like a star-filled sky, or an endless ocean reflecting those stars. He could sense the elements in her, the base reality of every living thing bound up in her tattered mortality. Wildfires and oceans. Sweeping winds and green fields.

And beyond that? She’d done more with the powers the fae cursed her with than he would’ve thought to ask. A touch of eternity beyond anything human tangled so deep in her soul he could never take it back, not without killing her.

He wanted to do terrible things. To pluck out her heart and wear it in a locket, sundering her from the waking world forever. To wrap her up in splendid charms and spells to make her forget anything she might miss outside the bounds of the Dreaming. To pull her deeper and deeper into himself until they were truly one, until she became a part of every aspect, even if it would destroy her. His desire ached to maul her in some way, to sate his hunger and leave a mark even mortal eyes could see.

At the same time, he’d gladly hand his nightmares the broken remains of any other – mortal, god, or angel – who threatened so much as the ease of her smile.

He yearned for her entirely, and he was not all light.

She felt so right in his grasp when he caught her up in the throne room. safe at last in the circle of his arms. But he was not free to hold her. He required her permission, her clear consent, a reciprocal yearning in word and deed, and until he had that, he must prove himself. He could not fail her again.

And so Lord Morpheus, dread King of Nightmares and ruler of the Dreaming slouched low in his seat, watching Aisling Hunt breathe, at rest in the perfect silence of oblivion as he waited at her side.

He hadn’t brought her to the rooms he began crafting as he rebuilt his kingdom from ruins. The bed was no less grand, the space fit for a goddess, but it was a thoughtless grandeur. Perhaps it was selfish, but he did not want her fear to spoil the joy he’d hoped she’d find… in her home. He did not want her first memories there to echo with terror and doubt.

“My lord?”

Lucienne hesitated in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back and brow furrowed with care. Though he wanted to close the doors and keep these quiet moments entirely for his own, his librarian had been the one to remind him of his soulmate’s fragility, and although she often provided insights he did not like, they were all the more invaluable for his distaste.

“I do not know what to do.” He looked from his love to his librarian, nearly as lost as he’d been when he first returned from his imprisonment, sitting below a throne governing nothing but broken glass and crumbled stone. Then he’d had a course to follow, a realm to repair, even if he hadn’t known where to begin. “There is no quest to fulfill. No correction to make. She is not even mine to repair, even where I am at fault.”

His former raven watched, shifting in place, but never taking her eyes from her master and the mortal he would love.

“Perhaps…” She paused, and Morpheus looked to her searchingly, grasping for hope in the wake of this latest failure. Taking it permission, she continued delicately, handling her ruler like the delicate pages of the library’s oldest tomes. “Perhaps a king is not what she needs at this time.”

He already knew that, but he could not accept it.

“Is my name not carved on her heart?”

“Morpheus, my lord.” Lucienne offered the correction like a balm to a blistered wound. “Not Dream of the Endless. You assume you know what her reaction will be when she wakes, but how can you predict someone you barely know? She knows even less of you, and I’m sure she has plenty of assumptions.”

He bristled. He already knew her, as he knew all dreamers. The facts of her life flowed through the Dreaming, but he only understood them as a mortal would know printed words on a page. They’d shared precious little time. Three dreams.

Would she ever trust him like that again, or had he lost her entirely in his carelessness?

He didn’t wish to agree with his librarian’s suggestion, but he had no ideas of his own, and he would not fail his little hero once again. Could not.

“What do you suggest, then?”

Drawing herself up, Lucienne unclasped her hands and folded them anew in the front, clearly itching for a book or ledger to occupy herself. “I don’t know her any better than you do, sire, but there are some who do. Why not… invite them to share their insights?”

Morpheus closed his eyes, calling to mind the many subjects who flocked to offer pieces of Aisling’s story. Most clasped nothing but small gems, scattered fragments of a grander jewel. But the ones she called friend, that walked the Waking world beside her…

He opened his eyes and looked through the Dreaming, reaching to the shores of Nightmare, where a beast with pretty manners turned at his call.

“Fine Gentleman. I summon you. Come to me.”

The nightmare followed his order, appearing in the room at the foot of Aisling’s bed as the shape of the realm bent to accommodate Dream’s will. Despite his decades in the Waking world, the nightmare had taken up his old duties admirably, and Dream expected Fin, as so many called him, would return the loyalty Aisling had shown him. She risked her freedom to safeguard the nightmare’s path home, after all.

Fin knelt, bowing to his king, but his eyes flicked to the bed, and Dream dismissed his respects. “Rise. You have leave to speak. There are answers I would have of you.”

The nightmare didn’t need to be told twice. Back on his feet, he gingerly touched the edge of the blue coverlet, and asked, “It’s true? The unseelie, they – Is she alright?”

“In body, yes.” Lucienne approached the far side of the bed, closing a semicircle around the sleeping mortal who’d caused so much concern. “But she had an attack of some kind, and none of us are sure what to expect when she wakes. Perhaps you have some experience with similar episodes?”

“I do.” The nightmare kept his attention on Lucienne and his hand a few inches from Aisling’s feet. History and affection bound them closer than oaths and debts. Rot green ghosted through Dream’s thoughts, and he wrestled the specter away as the nightmare explained. “She hasn’t had one in a long time, but she used to have panic attacks when she was younger. Bad ones.”

“And how did she treat them?” Morpheus demanded his creation’s attention. It would do the nightmare well to remember whose soulmate he’d been called to aid. It would do him well to remember his king.

Nothing of the beast faced the King of Dreams, only the gentleman, and though he kept his head down, his gaze fixed on Morpheus with iron determination.

“My lord, I have a suggestion you won’t like.”

There was much in the past hours Morpheus had not liked. He’d cut his throat to ease her thirst if need be or burn every star in the Dreaming’s sky to keep her warm. Sitting up in his chair, he prepared himself to bleed.

“What is it? What does she need of me?”

The nightmare didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.

“Your distance, sire.”

Morpheus recalled the scene in the great hall. His destined soulmate. Alone, collapsing on his throne room floor, shaking and afraid. He wouldn’t have it.

“I will not leave her. She will not be alone.”

Her friend, the nightmare, shook his head. “She wouldn’t be alone. Any of us she knows could stay and mind her, but…”

Ah. Morpheus sat back in his seat, expression cooling as he realized they had only just reached the part of the suggestion he would not like.

“Speak.”

The nightmare took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and forged ahead like a soldier facing down a dragon.

“She was never afraid of you because you were powerful. She lived in fear that you’d take her choice.”

He gave his king a moment to consider the revelation, though even in his brief acquaintance, Morpheus had learned that much. But it was only a reminder, and he spooled out deeper knowledge like a bandage he could pull his friend together with.

“When she wakes up,” he said, “she’ll need to feel in control. Even in the Waking she took space for herself – to find the truth, redraw the borders around what she’d chosen and what she’d been told to choose. The greatest gifts you can give her are time and space.”

Drawing his hand back, letting his fingers drag over the covers, the nightmare bowed. Morpheus read more than respect in his creation’s bent spine. This was the obeisance of a supplicant, one begging for grace rather than offering fealty.

“She’s resilient, but give her a chance to find her feet before you ask her to be brave again.”

Dream of the Endless did not smile down on his creation. The nightmare had been right. He did not like this plan at all, but he had asked, and the nightmare spoke truly. As a true friend.

Loathe as he was to banish himself, he would abide by the counsel of one who knew his soulmate well in the hope that he, too, may someday be allowed to know her.

“Very well.” He rose, and the chair crumbled to sand. “You and those of your choosing will serve as companions, guides, aides. The One Beneath will guard her.”

The nightmare took his orders and departed to gather his fellows. Lucienne waited for her lord, offering him silent company and support as he pulled himself from his little hero’s side.

He craved her faith. Her willing trust and all that would follow. It seemed, however, that he must first give her his own.

“When she is ready, she will come to me.”

.O.O.O.

She roused from the dreamless ocean to meet a crush of memories.

The fae delivered her. Morpheus took her. And now she woke in a bed she didn’t recognize.

He’d watched as the fae threatened to strip her of her own mind. And he’d – he’d always been –

She ripped the sheets back and fought her way off the plush mattress. Not awake enough to land on her feet, she fell to all fours, and the impact jarred her knees, sparked little agonies up her wrists. She dropped flat, belly-down beside the impossibly soft sheets and a blanket that looked like rolling waves caught the threads. She looked at the wonderous bedding with dull eyes. Then closed them, so she wouldn’t have to.

Everything here was his. Even… even she was. Now. Maybe.

She hated every beautiful thing in the room, but she hated herself more.

It was her fault. She let herself believe she was safe, and she paid in flesh and scars.

How many years of her life would she voluntarily trade to the fae to erase the past… however long they kept her, from the moment she passed through the mirror til now? And how long was that? Did she sleep for a few hours? Days? Had the Waking world seen a hundred years as her monster bundled her up in his castle?

Her breath caught like a sleeve on a doorknob, sudden and jarring.

It hadn’t really happened.

It had.

He’d promised her he wouldn’t steal her away or exploit what she offered. He helped with her pain and brought her pleasure, and she’d ��

A cold hand with scabby skin and broken nails wrapped around her fingers.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to recognize Jeff.

She rubbed her thumb along an exposed tendon to assure him she was alive, and he squeezed back to prove he was listening, that he had her, that he would stay. That everything was alright and nothing truly terrible had happened as she slept.

That all was still as she remembered.

Despite what she’d seen.

Maybe it meant something that her monster let her oldest friend comfort her instead of demanding the burden of care himself.

But if the first promises had been lies, and his excuses for the mask must’ve been, then she couldn’t trust any peace offerings, either.

The nightmare held her hand, but he couldn’t ground her. She refused to settle in her skin. She knew what would happen when she did. Whole people wore skin – filled with pain, and regret, and longing. Nothing hurt more than that.

She’d been here before. Not on this floor, in this plane, within her monster’s domain. But a floor, and in the end, polished marble or scratchy, threadbare carpet, it didn’t matter once she landed. A floor was a floor. She became hollow enough to forget she was alive, bleeding from a war no one else could see or save her from.

She had to get up. Had to move. Had to save herself. No one else could, not even Jeff, or Fin, or Gault, or

– Morpheus.

The floor had warmed under her cheek, proof of a beating heart she didn’t want to feel, and she turned to press the other side of her face to a new, cooler patch of marble. Maybe the stone floor could leach enough heat to freeze her mind. Numb it. So she could forget.

Forget his face. His expression when she broke the seal in the basement of Fawney Rig and the way he looked down from his throne as the pansy swung above her eyes.

Forget his careful, beautiful hands, and how it felt to dissolve with him between the stars.

Forget the smell of earth. The feel of claws. Of spider silk… The dress. She was still wearing the damn dress.

Inspiration couldn’t lift her from the floor, but fear and disgust launched her upright as she sank her fingernails into the delicate lace and pulled.

The left sleeve tore from her shoulder like tissue paper. Just as it was meant to. A pretty thing for her soulmate to rip off her body. Titillating scraps of fabric that wouldn’t impede a lover. That offered even less protection than she’d thought.

She froze again. Her breath caught on a lump in her throat as visions of another destiny crept like a snake through her thoughts. One where the graceful fingers she was coming to adore destroyed the dress. Where she’d lost herself entirely. Where her monster became everything she feared.

She blinked furiously. Her wet eyelashes stuck together. The air in her lungs turned thick with agony she wouldn’t voice, and the elegant room turned to a blur as she crashed to her knees, clutching her arms close to keep from shaking apart. To protect herself. To hide the body the fae tortured into gleaming perfection for a monster’s pleasure.

She wanted the dress off.

She couldn’t stomach the thought of baring any more skin.

She couldn’t think beyond the tearing pain in her chest.

This is what came of leaving the floor and becoming a person again.

Hands cut through the fog, urgently curling around her shoulders. She jerked back, shouting wordless protest, and a voice reached out to find her where the hands could not reach.

“Aisling, you’re safe. We’re here. Can you hear me?” The voice plucked on memories. Dust and sunshine and green stains on her skin from cheap jewelry stewing in sweat.

“Gwen?” She only realized she’d asked when she heard her own voice. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.

“Yes.” A smile behind hands offered in support, palms up, begging to be accepted. “It’s just me and Jeff. Can I – Are you…” The dream looked her like she was holding a knife to her lover’s throat. “Can you tell me what you need?”

No. She really couldn’t. It wasn’t safe, and she didn’t know.

But the fucking dress…

She pulled at the fabric. Carefully. Trying to express herself as words failed to coalesce.

“I want it off. I feel…”

She felt like she needed to scrape her skin off all over again, but even in her confusion, she knew Gwen wouldn’t help that far.

But Gwen knew her, and Gwen knew how to listen, even when dreamers struggled to speak. “I’ll draw a bath and find you something to wear.”

Aisling knelt where she’d landed and swallowed down rising bile. Even she forgot, on her better days, how physically painful fear could be. Jeff took her ankle, so she knew she wasn’t alone as Gwen swept out of sight to do as she’d promised. Her most loyal nightmare.

She didn’t mean to scare him.

Her chest ached with an old burn, and she knew she couldn’t turn to the same cure that soothed it last time.

Gwen returned swiftly, before Aisling even had time to miss her, offering her soft hands again for her friend to accept.

She still couldn’t stand the idea. Jeff was different. Jeff needed the comfort as much as she did, and there was no mistaking his hand for anyone else’s.

She found her feet on her own, still hugging herself, eyes on the floor. Her stomach ached. Her skin crawled under the sticky lace. As she followed Gwen into a side chamber, she couldn’t help noticing the view outside the great, arched windows. A whole world stretched beyond the glass – worlds upon worlds, even.

Her ordeal wasn’t over.

She couldn’t just jump in her van and leave the Dreaming. Boundless as the fears and fantasies of every living thing, aware of her presence as its monarch, it would hold her until he gave her permission to leave. As she walked through her – ostensibly – private rooms, she might as well be sitting in her monster’s palm again.

Gwen showed her to a sunken tub behind a screen, an indoor pond that scented the air with clouds of lavender. An indistinct set of clothes sat on a low table beside a stack of towels, and a small collection of soaps and bottles stood within reach of the water.

Gwen wrung her hands, fighting to smile. “Would you like help? I can wait outside if you prefer.”

“I’ll be fine on my own. Thanks.” Getting the dress off would end in a fit. Big, ugly tears and hacking sobs. She just knew it. She couldn’t stomach someone sitting beside her, trying to comfort her as she came to terms with everything the fae had done.

She had to wash this new skin alone. She needed to mourn. She needed to figure out which way to swim before she drowned in aimless grief, and worrying what she looked like or how she made a loved one feel would only pull her deeper. Fortunately, Gwen understood.

Her friend left. She stood alone in the opulent ensuite, pulling apart what was meant to be her dreaded wedding gown, trembling as she tried shielding herself from eyes that simply weren’t there.

She took her bleeding heart into the bath, and the warm water tried to swallow her pain. Washing and scrubbing until she couldn’t feel the faeries’ touch under her raw flesh brought a little relief, but missed her scars. The little marks on her fingers from careless accidents in the kitchen, places she cut for spell work, and a hundred incidental bumps and nicks. It looked alien now. Too smooth. Perfect in a way even a birth-bruised baby’s wasn’t. Her true sight detected residual magic that wouldn’t fade in her lifetime from the unicorn’s horn. It made her beautiful. The kind of beauty she could use as a weapon if she wanted. If she was dealing with a lesser creature than an Endless.

When her cuticles bled, she gave up trying to erase the potion’s effects.

And she cried.

She cried so much she was surprised the water level didn’t rise. The bath stayed hot and fresh as she tried flaying herself, and she wondered if had some secret healing power. Hardly shocking, all things considered, but she wished it was plain water she could turn pink with her human blood.

She stayed too long, cleaning her hair, her face, the spaces between her toes. Her intention worked the scrubbing into a ritual. Not all the magic would leave, but she banished the traces of her captors’ essence. She peeled away their staring eyes and casual violence.

She was her own self, and she would make it so.

At last, cleansed in body if not in mind, she climbed out and began the process of becoming a whole person again, with feelings and all. Feelings, and legs, and wet hair.

The towels were so soft she nearly cried again, but she felt ridiculous enough to sniffle down her hysterics and start getting dressed. Gwen had brought something like elegant loungewear. Better than any sweatpants or old t-shirt, they draped around her without clinging or threatening to fall off. Comfortable. Woven from some fabric she’d never touched before but maybe dreamed of, like the plush toy she slept with as a child and the silky ripple of a stream over her fingers. A shawl waited at the bottom of the stack, and she pulled the extra shield around her shoulders like armor. Everything fit. Nothing pinched, or chafed. It couldn’t be the most attractive ensemble, but it felt like a promise. Reassurance stitched into the loose fit that covered her so well.

It wasn’t for display. She wasn’t for display. It was consideration. Patience. A tender embrace offered from a safe distance.

And she was beginning to doubt Gwen had chosen these clothes at all.

She shivered, pulling the shawl tight across her chest, and returned to the bedroom. Gwen rose, uncertain but ready for anything. Aisling waved her down.

“I still… I’m going on a walk.” The world beyond the windows was all Dream’s, but she needed an open sky and a breeze on her face. The screaming child in the back of her head wailed the polished marble felt like raw slate and the close air smelled like soil and mildew. It didn’t, but she wanted to break the association before it took root.

Twisting her hands again, Gwen nodded, and Aisling didn’t wait for someone to tell her she wasn’t allowed, or that she really needed to stop and put on shoes, or that she should act like a delicate lady and keep to the garden. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So many of her friends told her stories about the Dreaming. She wanted to love it.

She would outrun her fear, literally if she had to.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x oc #morpheus x original character #sandman x reader #sandman x oc #dream of the endless x oc #dream of the endless x original character #dream of the endless x reader #fic: hello mr. monster #soulmate!au

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it-happened-one-fic · 11 days ago

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Hours in the Moonlight: Somnolent Gloaming - 1. Dead Memories and the Undead

Summary: You’d only just started getting used to the slight sleepiness that filled your evenings as you waited for Crowley’s next orders when they finally came. But the time has come for you to meet the oldest clan in this district as well as the multitude of vampires it houses.

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ series/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 2371

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

I didn’t even really know how much time had passed since Vargas had told me he would see if he could get Crowley to send me to the Diasomnia clan next. But it had been enough time that I was starting to get rather bored and had even pulled out one of my old books that I had read countless times in the past.

At first, it had been nice not having to go to a clan and evaluate potentially aggressive vampires. I had plenty of money to last me with the funds Crowley sent as payment for my job as his Hunter. But soon things had become dull, and I’d started visiting my friends.

I’d told both Vil and Leona about my hopes for evaluating the Diasomnia clan next and the reasoning behind it, but neither had seemed terribly happy. In fact, Leona seemed downright annoyed by the very name of the clan, while Vil had cautioned me to be extra careful if I did get to go there.

Kalim, for his part, had suggested I bring a gift when I got to go.

And in all honesty, we all knew that rather than a question of ‘if’ it really was a matter of ‘when.’

Crowley had made it pretty clear that I was going to be evaluating all of the clans. The only one that might not be on that list would be the Pomefiore clan since they’d only just been formed.

For better or worse, I was going to end up at the Diasomnia clan at some point. Whatever that might entail.

I looked up from my book at the quiet sound of knocking on my window, wondering which one of the guys it was. Perhaps Vil?

I sat the book down and walked over, unhurriedly to the window, and pulled back the curtains only to find bright pink eyes staring back at me.

Sam’s face split into a grin as my own eyes widened and I hurriedly opened the window, “Sam?!”

I couldn’t even keep my surprise at seeing him out of my voice, but he merely held up a hand, waving at me with a wide grin, “Long time no see, Little Imp. We had to decide if you were ready to evaluate the Diasomnia Clan, so sorry for the wait.”

His eyes were alight with amusement, but I found myself faltering as his words fully registered.

They’d had to decide if I was ready for the Diasomnia Clan?

It brought to mind Vil’s warnings and had me frowning as I stepped back, giving Sam ample room if he decided he wanted to come in, even though I pretty well knew he was just going to lounge in my window like he usually did.

“And? What was decided?” I eyed him closely, and Sam chuckled slightly at my wary words.

“Well, you’re in luck, Little Imp. In light of what a good job you’ve been doing and your reasons for suggesting it, Crowley’s decided to grant your request. They’re already expecting you at the clan, so when can you be ready to go?” My eyes widened slightly at his words before I gestured to my bag that stayed packed with my various tools.

“Just give me a sec, I’ll be right down,” Sam nodded, an amicable bobbing of his head before he disappeared from my window.

I glanced down at the street in time to see him land lightly on his feet and begin strolling along as if nothing were amiss. I shook my head slightly, wondering if I would ever get used to that before I darted over to my nightstand.

My hands quickly found my cross necklace, and I clasped it around my neck. Letting it fall as if by habit under my shirt to rest comfortably against my collarbone.

Thoughts were already beginning to roll around in my head as I trotted out the door, down the stairs, and to the bottom floor.

And my concerns only increased as Sam smiled at me, turned on his heel, and started to lead the way down the street in a perfectly cryptic fashion.

I knew that the Diasomnia clan had some ancient members from what Vil and Rook had told. And similarly, Jamil had implied that the clan was also quite old since their records apparently dated back quite a ways. Perhaps that was why Vil had told me to be careful and Crowley had been deciding if I were ready? All Leona had said about them was something about some lizard whom he seemed to particularly dislike. And while I didn’t really know if were-creatures could be reptilian, that was my best guess at this point.

I felt myself frowning more as I silently walked with Sam, wondering when we would reach the Diasomnia clan headquarters. We were steadily heading closer and closer to the outskirts of the historic side of town.

In the distance, I could see an old building rising over the other houses and trees that now crowded it. Hiding it from the view of the street and giving it an especially ominous appearance that somehow seemed to call out to anyone who gazed at it for too long.

The perfect Hollywood fit for a creepy old house hiding something that probably shouldn’t be messed with.

In fact, it was a little too perfect.

I leaned forward, my eyes staying on the building as I spoke softly, “Um… Would that happen to be the Diasomnia Clan right there?”

Sam chuckled but nodded, barely glancing my way as he answered, “That obvious, huh?” He shook his head slightly before continuing, an amused smile still on his face, “Yeah, that’s it. The only reason they stay hidden is because it’s difficult to actually get into the building because the gate is so overgrown and off the main road, so most people don’t even bother trying. And even if they do, this clan is good at running people off.”

So saying he turned off the sidewalk, lifting one leg to step over a small bush and crunch down onto a veritable pile of limbs, sticks, and who knew what else.

He held out his hand to me, politely helping me over the bush before he turned and headed off down what looked about like an old goat path into the underbrush that concealed the ancient building.

I glanced around, frowning as I spotted the overgrown metal gates that gave way to a fence that seemed to surround the area. As if operated by a motion sensor, the gates opened as soon as we approached, and I felt my eyebrows raise as we passed through them.

“What was this place originally?” It felt like my head was on swivel as I continued to glance around at what had probably once been a glorious entrance to the mansion grounds themselves. Now it was mostly overgrown, with roses and vines climbing up the fencing in their futile efforts to reach any sunlight that might shine down between the trees’ now bare limbs.

Sam glanced my way, watching as I looked around the two of us and the notably daunting environment we now stood in.

But unlike the other clans, this place actually had the feeling of the setting place of a vampire story. Campy or otherwise.

“I heard that the head of clan’s second bought the place, and then, after the clan moved in, let the place get run down like this so no one would come here and bother them,” I nodded idly at Sam’s words. Silently wondering how much money it would take to buy a place like this that had so obviously been magnificent many years ago.

But now… Now it was more like a haunted mansion where only dead memories resided. Or rather, dead memories and the undead themselves, in this case.

I couldn’t deny that the building was beautiful, though. An architecture of stone and metalwork that stood tall and proud despite its age. Almost like it was daring us to approach it.

And it was true that while I’d been nervous when first visiting the other clan’s headquarters, this building on its own was almost more daunting than any of the past experiences had been.

This one actually looked like it might hold something that wasn’t meant to be seen by the normal person. Instead, the only ones who would go near it would be the hapless protagonists of a horror movie.

Or someone like me. A person who had business with the creatures that would reside in such a building. Once grand and filled with character, but now haunted looking in the way it loomed over us.

Sam knocked on the door calmly, looking around at the shadowed porch with vague interest until the thick wooden door creaked open, drawing both of our attention.

A short man looked between the two of us, his bright red eyes blinking at us. And despite the fact the building matched the entire vampire aesthetic perfectly, this man did not, what with bright pink streaks in his short, otherwise black hair.

If anything, he looked more like a young teenager who was still experimenting with his look and most definitely wasn’t what I’d expected.

But, when he spoke with a smile crossing his face that didn’t even try to hide his fangs, his voice was far lower than what I’d been prepared for too, “Ah, you must be the head-vampire’s new Hunter. We’ve been expecting you.”

I faltered when he addressed me rather than Sam before nodding hurriedly, “Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He let out a light giggle before stepping aside and gesturing into the building, “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine, child. But come in, both of you. Malleus will be wanting to see you after all.”

Me and Sam followed the little man in silence. As per usual, Sam was relaxed. His eyes stayed forward and on the path while I, on the other hand, was glancing around at the aged interior of the building.

It was dark in here, something that surprised me since the other clan’s headquarters had been better lit. But somehow it fit the building’s overall character, and, as I looked around, each room seemed to be very well decorated.

This clan also seemed to be rather large. Vampires filled the building and glanced at us as we went by.

Their eyes lingered on me, but no one approached or even leaned out of a room to continue to gaze after us. Curiosity and arrogance tinged with hunger filled their stares, though.

Sam glanced over at me, letting himself drift closer as he began to talk in a low voice, letting some space spread between us and our guide, “The Diasomnia clan is an old one, with a variety of characters as its members. Both Malleus, the clan’s head, and Lilia, the clan’s second, are ancient, though. They’ll probably have the records you want, assuming they exist. But remember that you’re also here to evaluate the clan.”

I nodded silently, my eyes staying on Sam as the man continued with the slightest of smiles on his face. And at this point, I was honestly beginning to wonder if anything could phase him at all.

“We aren’t very suspicious of this clan simply due to its age, but we’ll be checking up on you fairly regularly just like usual. And you may want to brace yourself,” I frowned at Sam’s words, but the young man’s grin only spread as he bobbed his head to a door we now approached, “He’s going to look a bit different than what you might expect.”

I turned, noting the door we were coming up on and how our pace was slowing. And, confirming my suspicions, our guide turned to look at the two of us with a little smile, his voice taking on a slightly lilt, “Here we are.”

With only those words, he turned. Grasping both of the curved door handles and pulling them open as if they were weightless despite how obviously thick they were.

I inhaled, half expecting fog to come pouring out of the doors like it did in some b-rated horror movies, but it didn’t. Instead, as we entered the large room, the first thing I saw was a young man sitting on a dark-colored chair.

On either side of him stood two other men. One, whose hair was a shock of pale green, stood tall. Almost like he was at attention as he looked our way with a slight frown. The other young man was, conversely, more relaxed as he glanced towards me with almost tired eyes.

My own eyes widened slightly as I recognized him. But then he was quite distinctive, with such pale hair and fascinating eyes.

This was the man who was a human in a clan of vampires and the man I’d bumped into on Halloween. Silver, Vil had called him.

I swallowed slightly before forcing my gaze back to the young man in the chair. He must be Malleus, leader of this clan.

It wasn’t hard to guess what Sam meant about him looking a little different than I might expect. After all, the dark, slightly curled horns protruding from his head and delicately pointed ears certainly weren’t something that any other vampire I’d ever seen had.

He tilted his head, glowing lime green eyes focusing on me and I felt myself go still.

Somehow, this man practically oozed power. Perhaps it was the way he held himself with a confidence that was on par with Leona and Vil’s despite also being different.

A smile curved slowly across his face, and I swallowed.

I was getting used to every vampire I met being absurdly attractive, but somehow it always felt incredibly unfair. Though it might have been the focused way this man was looking at me that made it quite so bad this time.

“So we finally meet.” His voice rolled out into the room, almost like it was trying to cover the entire space, and I felt myself straighten slightly. Bracing myself even as he continued with an almost amused smile, “What do you need, little Hunter?”

If you would like to read more:

Previous: Hours in the Moonlight: Guileful Nightfall

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ladamedusoif · 1 year ago

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Visiting - Chapter Four: Save Me

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's the morning after the night before, as the guests at Evan's Halloween party try to process his (alarmingly strong) cocktails - and Lydia tries to understand what her brain and body are trying to tell her about her feelings towards Ben.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: Explicit (18+) - from the start.

Content (chapter specific): SMUT (oral sex, f receiving; fingering); Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41, about to turn 42, and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; reference to relationship breakdown.

A/N: This chapter is shorter than usual - originally chapters 3 and 4 were going to be a single chapter but it makes more sense to separate them. Further A/Ns at the end, to avoid spoilers.

I'm not kidding when I say this is straight into smut.

The title of the chapter is inspired by Aimee Mann's song Save Me, which I've thought of as a very Lydia-coded song for a while:

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for being so supportive and screaming along about these Beloved Dorky Idiots.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra

“I know you have another one in you, baby. For me?”

You don’t know how many times you’ve come. All you know is the wet heat pooling between your legs, the throbbing of your clit, and the tongue licking lightly at your soaking folds.

In the distance, there’s a furious sound, repeated over and over.

“I can’t…”

He slips a long, thick finger into you, then another, sending your hips thrusting from the bed. “It’s okay, baby, come on now.”

His voice is so reassuring and calm, as if he wasn’t completely taking you apart for the umpteenth time.

The noise continues, becoming rhythmic and more irritated. Even with this frustrating soundtrack, you can feel yourself becoming more and more aroused.

“That’s it. That’s it, Lyddie.”

At the sound of the nickname you steal a glance downwards. His dark eyes twinkle as he winks at you, and you let out a gasping cry as your body jerks upright and your eyes snap wide open.

Daylight.

Your head is pounding and the sunlight hurts your eyes as you turn, squinting, to look at the time on your sunrise alarm clock.

There’s a needy ache between your legs. You peek down the bed, part of you half-expecting to see him there. It had all been so fucking vivid, so real. You gently put your hand between your legs, immediately feeling a soaking wetness.

As your brain starts to wake up properly, you pause and fall back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell was going on in your unconscious mind.

The noise that had provided the rhythmic soundtrack to your somnolent sexual scenario has resumed. You realise with a jolt that it’s the buzzer from your intercom, and leap out of bed.

Ani’s scowling face peers at you through the camera. Their grey morning suit has been replaced by a pair of gym leggings and their enormous tie-dye hoodie, and they’re holding two huge paper bags from McDonald’s.

They’re still wearing the tiny Dracula tinted spectacles.

“I’m so sorry! I’m letting you in now, door’s open!”

You’ve hauled on a pair of lounge pants and a soft, ancient sweatshirt by the time Ani has made their way up the stairs and into your apartment. Your rumination over the meaning of your dream would have to wait, and you push the impossibly strong visual image of those brown eyes looking up at you from between your thighs out of your mind.

“Where the fuck were you? I thought something had happened to you. You weren’t picking up your phone, you weren’t answering the door, and I’m fucking so hungover oh my god.”

“I was asleep. You want some coffee or something? What’s in the bags?”

Ani nods towards your tiny kitchen, and you lead the way. “I don’t normally do this, Lyd, but when I feel this bad the only solution is to eat too much McDonald’s breakfast and then regret it.” They plop the two big bags of food onto your counter. “I couldn’t remember if you were a veggie or not so I ordered two of every McMuffin variation.”

You hug them gratefully. “You’re a star, Ani. My body is screaming for this.”

That’s not the only thing your body was screaming for this morning.

No. Nope. Push it away.

You put on a pot of coffee (there are two coffees with the breakfast order, but you suspect you’ll need much more) and grab some plates and paper towels. Ani unpacks the food, plucking a hash brown out of the bag and eating it as they do so.

“How did you get this, by the way? Surely you aren’t in a fit state to drive?”

Ani shakes their head and swallows a bite of fried potato. “McDelivery. Walked over, ordered it on the way, got it for here. Come on, girl, I need to sit on your sofa and let the carbs heal me.”

You carry the food the short distance to the living area and settle in, handing Ani a spare blanket as you wrap your crocheted granny throw around you. Then you remember last night.

“Where’s Cass?!”

Ani licks a glob of tomato ketchup from their finger. “Had to head back early to the city. We got to hold each other’s hair while throwing up this morning though, it was pretty special.”

You glance down at the egg and cheese McMuffin you’ve unwrapped, deciding to pause before they resume their story.

“She’s really sweet, though. And funny. And so, so fucking hot. That mouth! Jesus Christ. Sorry if that was TMI.”

You shift slightly, feeling yourself heating up, and smile over at your friend. “So you’ll see each other again?”

Ani shrugs, looking a little awkward. “Yeah, I mean…it’s a distance. But - yeah. I’d like to.” They nod to themselves. “Even if it’s just a hooking up thing. For now. We’ll see.”

For a moment you consider telling Ani about your dream. You decide to wait.

They sip from their paper cup of coffee. “You hear anything from Ben?”

Your voice is a little too high, too casual, but in their hungover state Ani doesn’t seem to notice.

“No, don’t think so? Should I have done?”

Ani reaches for another hash brown. “Nah, that’s not what I mean, it’s just cos he’s probably feeling it too this morning, and you were together pretty much all night and all… so I thought maybe he’d messaged you to check in.”

“I haven’t actually looked at my phone yet.” You get off the couch and go to retrieve it from your room.

“No shit, Sherlock. Ignore the ten missed calls from me.”

“Hey, Lydia?”

Ben stands by the back door of Evan’s car, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted as he looks at you. The streetlight above is reflected in his glasses.

“Yes, Detective?”

He smiles and walks up to you. “Let me walk you to the door of the building, okay?” You start walking in step.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s right there.”

“Yeah, I know, but…what if the Zodiac’s around?” He raises his eyebrows over the frame of his glasses and you giggle quietly, still feeling the effects of the Spooky Margs somewhat as you reach the front door of the apartment block and key in your code.

He waits until you’re safely inside and about to close the door.

“Thanks for making sure I got home safe, Detective. Message me to say you got home, okay? And thank you for saving me earlier.”

“Saving you?”

“From the fall? You got me just in time.” He casts his eyes to the ground for a moment before looking up and smiling.

“Any time. Say the word, and I’ve got you. G’night, Lyddie.”

BEN: sdlkhgiudflahlw!jkdh (1.30am)

BEN: what (1.50am)

BEN: so zzzzzzzzz right now sdfdkg 😴 (2.00am)

BEN: I’m so sorry, Lydia! Was trying to message you to say I got in okay and I was so tired and sleepy*. I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing. *tired and drunk on Spooky Margs (8:45am)

BEN: Hope you aren’t feeling too bad this morning (8:55am)

BEN: Me right now (9:00am)

He’s sent you a gif of Cameron Frye in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, tucked up in bed and saying “I’m dying”.

You giggle as you walk back into the living room, holding your phone. It’s a relief that you are able to communicate as normal with the real man, as opposed to whatever fictional avatar your sleeping brain cooked up.

LYDIA: I’m on my way over to borrow your dad’s fancy car!! (I’m not. I’m in no fit state. May never process those Spooky Margs. Welp.)

LYDIA: Dracula just showed up and I don’t know how they haven’t crumbled to dust in direct sunlight.

BEN: *consults Bram Stoker* No, he’s got nothing on that scenario.

LYDIA: They’ve come equipped with McMuffins. Stoker didn’t count on that. Anyway, drink all the water! Have some coffee! But mostly water. 😊

“He’s alive, I’m guessing.” Ani has put back on the tiny dark glasses and is curled up in a corner of the couch.

You hold out your phone with the gif. “Sent me this at 9am. Poor Ben.”

Ani rolls their eyes. “Poor Ben?? He’s not the only one.” They reach for their coffee. “Though I think he must have crossed the line from ‘merry and tired’ into ‘praying for the sweet release of death’ after we dropped you off last night. He was fine when you were there and then he was all quiet and leaning against the window and shit. I think Evan was afraid he was gonna hurl in the back seat of his car.”

“I know you have another one in you, baby. For me?”

The heat surges in you, hangover or no hangover. You push the memory of your dream away again. You’re no Freudian, but you read enough “what does my dream mean” magazine articles as a teenager to know that dreams are often symbolic, not literal.

A sex dream does not mean you want to have sex with someone, for example.

You rationalise it quickly in your brain. It's been a while since you've had the kind of comfortable, safe physical closeness you had with Ben last night. He was obviously on your mind. Makes sense that he might turn up in a random situation in your unconscious.

And it wasn't like you hadn't had the odd, harmless, platonic crush on friends in the past. Right? All good.

Ani looks at their phone and looks over at you. “Evan says hi. Wants to know if you’re okay. Said you were chatting shit about moustaches or something to Poor Hungover Benjamin last night.” They cackle to themselves.

“The fuck? I don’t remember doing that. What does he mean?”

Ani looks up and proceeds to deftly tap out a reply to Evan. The response is immediate. “I have no idea what he’s on about.”

You glare, head thumping. “Just fucking tell me.”

“He says: ‘Just tell her In The Cut, the female gaze, moustaches.’” “What?” And the memories start to clear through the haze. “That’s not…oh FUCK.”

After the lipsync, Ani and Cass had disappeared. You had gratefully moved from the arm of the couch to stretch out at one end. Ben had turned his body to face you from the other end, resting his legs on the sofa.

“Holy shit, are those Halloween socks?”

Having discarded his black lace-ups, the full extent of the pattern became clear: little white ghosts dotted across a black background, interspersed with grinning pumpkins and skeletons.

Ben blushed a little, but wriggled his toes contentedly. “They’re thematic! I like it. I like a good thematic sock.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back into the sofa, still buzzed from the cocktails. “I am pretty sure those aren’t canonical for the costume, cute and all as they are.”

He pulled an “I am so affronted” face, feigning total indignation. “You don’t know. Maybe you just haven’t watched Zodiac closely enough, Lyddie.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “Well, I’ll just have to watch it again, won’t I? ‘M gonna check the director’s cut and everything.”

He couldn’t sustain the playacting and chuckled, deep and warm. “Should actually watch that movie again. ‘S so fucking good.”

You nodded along, eyes closed and humming in agreement. “Mmmhmm. Though, let’s be real,” you said, shifting yourself forward slightly, “the best cop Ruffalo? In The Cut.” You sat back against the sofa again. “So, so hot.”

Ben exhaled in agreement. “So hot. Whew.”

It was at this point that, in hindsight, your mouth was in gear before your brain was properly engaged.

“‘S like, perfect example of the erotic female gaze, right? But also about the vulnerability of the women?”

You always did struggle to stop talking when you were off on one about cinema. Or books. Or art. Or specific episodes of 30 Rock. Or anything you were passionate about.

Throw in a couple of Spooky Margs, and your mouth was going to run and run.

You raised an eyebrow and looked dreamily into the middle distance.

“And then there’s the ’tache.” You sighed. “Swear to god, that movie gave me a ‘dodgy cop with moustache’ thing. Whewww, he could get it. So hot. And kind of a form of feminist praxis.”

“Hot praxis,” Ben echoed.

Other than that, his only response was to distractedly start running a finger over the hair on his upper lip, a pensive look on his face, as if he was pondering a very deep question.

You hadn’t realised Evan and David were watching and listening attentively from an armchair, a couple of feet away.

You sit with your head in your hands as Ani pats you on the back with one hand, another McMuffin in their other.

“I honestly don’t know why you’re so stressed about this. It’s not like you said ‘y’know what Benjamin, I love your moustache and you could get it’. You were specifically referring to a movie and an actor. You weren’t even saying ‘I like all fictional moustachioed cops.’”

You moan into your hand as the cringe and hungover paranoia threaten to break you.

“It’s just so mortifying. First I nearly fall on the goddamn floor, then I start talking shit at him about cops with moustaches and hot feminist praxis and - why am I fucking like this?”

Ani chews thoughtfully. “Why are any of us like this?” They sip their (second) cup of coffee. “He’s not wrong, though, it would be hot praxis.”

It would probably feel less embarrassing if you hadn’t woken up thinking about…that. The sensation. The feeling of his (imaginary) mouth on you. The look in his (imaginary) eyes. The smile.

You pick up your phone and grimace. “Should I message him and explain?”

Ani looks horrified. “And explain what, exactly? I’m sorry I told you I thought Mark Ruffalo was hot with a moustache in In The Cut, and I’m worried you think I’m weird because you also have a moustache and I wasn’t being weird? Jesus, Lyd, be real.” They pause, and ask quietly: “You weren’t, like, actually trying to…suggest…?”

Their meaning hits you and your jaw drops. “No, I obviously wasn’t suggesting anything!”

‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’, pipes up your inner Queen Gertrude.

Ani helps you clean up and then heads back home for a long bath. Cass has been sending them messages all morning, and Ani’s little smile each time they get one makes you very happy indeed.

Not too far from your place, Evan and David are doing a final tidy up while their last few guests get ready to go for brunch.

“Is it wrong that I feel smug about not being hungover?” Evan asks, putting away the bottles of tequila and crème de menthe.

David chuckles, stacking plates in the dishwasher. “I hope the others aren’t too sick, though.” He closes the door of the appliance and sets the cycle going. “I meant to say, I didn’t know Barrow was so strict about discretion and staff relationships.”

Evan turns to look at him, expression confused, running a hand through his bright blue locks. “Discretion? Are you talking about us, or…?”

“No, I mean - I only realised after the fact that they didn’t go home together, and I wondered if that was some weird rule.” He closes his eyes and tries to recall names. “The scientist and the detective… Lydia and Ben?”

Evan pauses and then doubles over, laughing. “Oh, babe, no. They’re not together.” He continues wiping down the countertop. “They’re just close, he was the first person she met here, they’re total nerds together, they can get the nerding out without disrupting the rest of us, it’s just a whole vibe.” He motions with his hand, as if brushing the notion away.

David continues to look at him, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe. I guess everyone’s got friendships like that, huh. It was just…” He inhales. “There was just something. But then maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Evan nods, patting David’s arm. “I think you might be. Just because we're coupled up doesn’t mean everyone else is - or wants to be.”

David smiles and reaches for Evan’s hand, twining their fingers together. “Oh, so it’s ‘coupled up now’? Not just a ‘thing’?”

Evan plants a soft kiss on David’s mouth, and grins, before returning to the clean-up operation. David looks pensive.

“I don’t want to be crude about your colleagues, but - are you absolutely sure they aren’t even fucking?”

“Ex-cuse me?” Evan wheels around, horrified. “Yes, I am sure. Babe, if that was happening I would fucking know.”

Your Sunday plans primarily involve putting on some laundry, and then napping in front of a comfort movie, accompanied by a huge bottle of water and strong, hot, sweet tea served in your biggest mug. And some cookies, of course.

“I’m allowed, I’m hungover,” you say out loud, to no one in particular.

By late afternoon, the laundry is done and haphazardly folded - anything neater was too taxing for your hungover brain to process. Wrapped up in your crochet blanket, you are starting to doze off in front of The Muppets when you notice your phone light up.

BEN: Was ‘Hurdy-Gurdy Man’ always this sinister or is it just because of this movie?

He’s included a photograph of what you presume is his TV, and you recognise one of the early scenes in Zodiac.

LYDIA: I’m gonna go with both? But I definitely didn’t associate it with serial killing before the film. Thanks Fincher!

Later, another picture: this time, Mark Ruffalo as Dave Tosche, complete with shoulder holsters.

BEN: Who the hell is this guy??

LYDIA: A really bad impersonator.

BEN: His hair is a lot better than mine though.

You pause as you consider your reply.

LYDIA: Hmmm

BEN: Hmmm?

LYDIA: It’s…of its time. A little heavy for my liking. Don’t sell yourself short.

BEN:

LYDIA: Whoa. Uncanny.

The little dots indicating that Ben is composing a message flash intermittently. Eventually, you think he’s decided not to reply, and snuggle back into your blanket.

The screen lights again.

BEN: Maybe you're right about not selling myself too short.

BEN: I mean, he doesn’t even have a moustache. 😉

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: I don't think there's a need for as many explanations or annotations on this chapter, but for reasons, I should probably provide some evidence of what Lydia's thinking of when she refers to the morally-dodgy, moustachioed cop (Det. Giovanni Malloy) played by Mark Ruffalo in Jane Campion's In The Cut (2003).

(What do you mean, I think you have a type?)

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfic #professor!ben #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #Spotify

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ivo-oz · 9 months ago

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🩸🩸🩸

ℌ𝖊𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖘 : 𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖊

〖chapitre 3 〗

Attention, ce texte sera peut-être modifié à l'avenir afin de le perfectionner

Dans un sursaut, mes yeux s'ouvrent dans une salle sombre au mur de pierre. Toujours à genoux, je constate que ma situation n'a nullement changé. Les mains clouées à la froideur de la pierre, le sang s'échappant lentement des plaies béantes, peignant ainsi la pierre en rouge.

C'est drôle, il m'a fallu deux jours pour ne plus y penser.

Les premiers jours se sont remplis de cris et de pleur.

Ridicule !

La futilité de cette douleur me rend tellement honteuse.

Je ne penserai pas que l'humilier devant les représentants du royaume le pousserait à me souhaiter autant de mal. J'aurais préféré garder la mobilité de mes mains. Mais bon, si c'est le prix à payer.

Les blessures que je porte en moi sont plus grandes que ses clous.

Il est vrai que c'est la première fois que je suis confronté à de tels châtiments physiques, mais j'aurais dû me réjouir.

Non, ne crie pas, ce n'est pas de la douleur.

Quelle image de moi j'aurais si je me réabandonne à cette facilité ? J'ai subi plus grave, plus longtemps.

Ce ne sont que des plaies, elles s'effaceront.

Mes vraies blessures, elles n'ont pas cicatrisé et pourtant, je les supporte. Succomber à de telles frivolités serait juste dévalorisant.

La vraie douleur n'aurait plus de sens.

Vous êtes en retard. J'en pouvais plus de lutter contre le sommeil pour m'éviter de m'ouvrir la peau davantage.

Un grincement métallique interrompit ma somnolence.

La porte est ouverte.

J'ai beau être dos à elle, je peux quand même sentir le son des talons frapper la pierre dans ma direction.

Un son grave, puis aigu, grave et encore aigu.

Une paire de bottes désassorties.

Ho, c'est Fides qui a été chargé de me libérer.

Tout en entrant dans mon champ de vision, Fides arrache les clous qui bloquaient mes mains.

J'ai . . .

Je n'ai pas crié,

j'ai pu me contenir haha,

mon sourire partit immédiatement quand je découvris les énormes trous béants que contenaient mes mains dorénavant.

On peut y voir à travers.

C'est répugnant mon dieu.

Mes mains

qu'es que . . . comment . . .

mon dieu.

—Mes excuses, Père Inhonoris a tardé à me donner les clés.

— Vous pouvez me soigner ?

— Je n'ai pas ces compétences, un médecin vous sera assigné dans deux jours.

— Vous vous moquez de moi, mes plaies vont rester ouvertes pendant cinq jours en tout. Je ne pourrai plus jamais écrire.

Un ange passe.

— Vous m'envoyez navrer, mademoiselle.

— Navrée ‽ Vraiment ‽ Ôte-moi ce mot de ta bouche quand tu me parles ! Mais quel genre de soutien hypocrite, tu penses me faire avaler ! Ça ne sert à rien de me mentir si mon état ne t'inspire que de l'indifférence !

Le souvenir de mes mains perforées aurait presque pu être oublié si mon sang ne s'était pas mis à accélérer dans mes veines.

Mon cœur hurle dans ma tête, m'obligeant à me taire.

— Pardonnez-moi Je m'exécute.

—Avez-vous du temps à m'accorder ?

J'aurais besoin de coudre mes plaies.

Bien sûr, je ne voudrais pas abuser de votre gentillesse.

Vous pouvez déléguer le travail à un de vos collègues si c'est trop demandé. J'espère que je n'ai pas manqué de politesse, vous savez, trois jours sans pouvoir pleinement dormir me font perdre pas mal de notions.

Comme la clémence par exemple.

Je sens l'air frais de la pièce effleurer les cavités de mes mains. Le sang a arrêté de couler et fait maintenant place au vertige et à la fatigue.

Toute pressée, elle s'engouffre dans l'ouverture de la porte.

Elle ne m'aide même pas à monter...

Haha, elle doit avoir peur de demander . . .

Haaaa, j'en avais besoin tout de même.

3 minutes plus tard, Fides accourut pour m'éviter un malaise sur les marches et se mit à m'aider à atteindre ma chambre.

Ho, le temps, et puis qu'est-ce que c'est au final ?

Que le soleil finisse couché une fois la fin des escaliers atteint. Alors ainsi soit-il

— N'ayez crainte, nous serons bientôt à vos appartements.

Hum

Mes yeux balaient le sol et les murs comme un pendule oscillant entre le conscient et l'inconscient. Un pendule se stoppant net lorsqu'une certaine odeur lui parvient.

Odeur de café . . . de miel.

Cela me sortit de mon vertige.

11h

— Que faites-vous ? Votre chambre se situe dans le couloir gauche.

Il est 11 heures, grand-père doit être dans son bureau.

— Ne me crois pas si bête. Je vais simplement dire bonjour à Papi.

— Vous entendez vous, c'est lui qui vous a châtié. Ne l'humiliez pas davantage, il risquerait de vous bannir.

— Tu n'es pas convaincante, cesse de mentir, bon sang.

Boitant en direction de la porte, je finis ma route en m'affalant sur la poignée de la porte.

Haha, tant pis pour la surprise.

L'iris de ses yeux dilaté, la rigidité qu'adopte son corps. Toute cette attention pour moi. Il s'efforce d'être calme et ça m'est tellement jouissif.

Je pousse la porte en m'aidant difficilement de mon épaule, mes mains étant inutilisables.

Grand-père est juste derrière.

L'encadré de la porte dévoile progressivement son visage et les émotions qui le parcourent quand il découvre le mien.

Finalement, je ne sais que dire, mon esprit m'échappe, des idées, des bribes me viennent, mais les paroles demeurent insaisissables.

Pourquoi est-il aussi surpris ? Pensait-il me soumettre ?

Tu ne me connais pas assez.

Que pense-t-il de moi ? Que penserait Inhonoris Cornecuus ?

Toute sa vie et son existence ont servi à bâtir cet empire, à se hisser au rang de roi. Être à son niveau est la seule motivation qui me pousse à me faire violence dans mes études.

Enfin, avec les blessures, ça va être plus compliqué.

En marchant ou plutôt vacillant vers lui, le sang pulsant dans mes mains m'empêche de continuer.

Aucun de mes muscles actifs ne m'épargne de douleur.

Je lève faiblement ma main et avec un grand sourire, le plus beau que je puisse faire, je le salue avant qu'un voile noir ne mette fin à mon geste.

SUITE (un jour . . . ) PRECEDENT

#hèebes #licorne #unicorn #my ocs #my storys #ℌ𝖊𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖘 : 𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖊 #Hèebes : Genése #Heebes : Genese

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valerielemercier · 7 months ago

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Près d’un arbre sur un banc Un vieillard somnole Il repense à sa vie, à l’enfant qu’il était Au bonheur de grandir, à l’odeur de craie Oh, gémit-il, pourquoi ai-je vieilli Pourquoi mes jambes lasses ont cessé de courir Pourquoi les hommes enfin finissent par mourir Tout à coup il s’éveille, il s’éveille dans le vent Il vient de recevoir sur ses genoux pliés La funeste dépouille d’un oisillon mort-né Saisi par le spectacle du sinistre embryon Gisant, sans vie, gluant, dessus son pantalon Il rend grâce au seigneur de cet enseignement Que me plaignais-je ingrat de n’avoir plus vingt ans J’ai pu à loisir pendant de longues années Voir poindre le jour, les blés, et puis l’hiver, l’été Tandis que cet oison, tout innocence et tout espoir Est mort soudain sans voir Ni même le jour ni même le soir André-Guy Nartout

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firebirdxvi · 10 months ago

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Fils du Feu 10 ~ Flamme vacillante

La psalmodie emplissait la pièce obscure d'une paix absolue. Joshua sentit la somnolence le gagner, assis comme il l'était au milieu des Immortels en prière. La bure d'adepte qu'il portait lui permettait de se fondre parfaitement dans l'assemblée et tous ceux qui l'entouraient, assis sur des bancs, semblaient avoir oublié sa présence.

Il était pourtant l'objet de cette cérémonie. Ayant toujours refusé de présider la prière quotidienne, les Immortels s'étaient résignés à ne plus le lui demander. Mais il aimait y assister en tant que spectateur. Les paroles des mélopées rituelles lui étaient toujours aussi hermétiques, mais leur rythme l'apaisait. Elles parlaient de feu sacré, purificateur, du Fondateur qui était descendu du ciel avec le pouvoir d'illuminer les ténèbres, de ses descendants, les Emissaires de Phénix qui l'avaient précédé, lui, Joshua Rosfield...

Ses mots résonnaient toujours au plus profond de son coeur et même s'il n'approuvait pas la totale dévotion que les adeptes lui vouaient, il ne pouvait se résoudre à la repousser. Elle était née d'une sincère foi que le feu du Phénix était celui qui avait sauvé l'humanité du froid et de l'obscurité et avait mené la nation de Rosalia à devenir la première civilisation valisthéenne digne de ce nom. Ils espéraient que tout ceci renaîtrait et que leur Emissaire reprendrait sa place dans ce monde et ressusciterait leur pays de ses cendres.

Quand il avait contemplé l'aqueduc laissé à l'abandon, il avait ressenti cet espoir lui aussi. Mais c'était davantage son désir de revenir aux jours heureux de son enfance qui l'avait guidé. Sa famille lui manquait tellement... Les Immortels restaient des étrangers pour lui, et plus que tout, la présence et l'amour de quelqu'un de son sang, avec qui il aurait pu grandir, lui auraient été nécessaires...

Il ouvrit les yeux et scruta l'estrade où officiait celui qui avait été désigné pour la journée ; un Immortel d'un certain âge à la voix douce qui connaissait parfaitement les psalmodies. Ordinairement, Maître Cyril s'en chargeait toujours, mais il était en ce moment même - Joshua le savait - "en expédition" dans les entrailles du refuge afin de découvrir si l'on pouvait risquer d'aménager de nouveaux lieux de vie dans les couloirs découverts. Les salles des archives commençaient à s'encombrer, et il ne serait pas un luxe d'en trouver d'autres. Permettre également aux adeptes de partager des quartiers plus spacieux rendrait le quotidien plus facile pour eux.

La cérémonie était terminée et chacun se réveillait de sa transe hypnotique. Joshua se leva à son tour, un peu endormi mais détendu, et constata que quelques Immortels, encore prostrés, les mains jointes, s'attardaient dans la chapelle. Il ne fallait pas les déranger... Il sortit à pas discrets.

Il se mit à marcher dans le couloir, les pans de sa robe de bure voletant autour de lui, en route vers ses propres appartements, dorénavant parfaitement aménagés. Sur sa route, la petite silhouette de Jote courut dans sa direction et il s'arrêta pour l'attendre. Elle stoppa devant lui, un peu essoufflée. Joshua était toujours heureux de la voir.

- "Pourquoi courez-vous ?" demanda-t-il, encore sous l'effet lénifiant du rituel.

- "Je viens de la part de Maître Cyril. Il réclame votre présence dans le corridor nord- ouest."

Joshua avait déjà parfaitement intégré la nouvelle géographie adoptée par les Immortels pour se repérer dans le dédale du refuge et il voyait donc assez bien où cela se trouvait.

- "Pour quelle raison ?"

- "Nous avons découvert un nouveau passage mais une porte nous bloque l'entrée. Nous avons besoin de vos... pouvoirs d'Emissaire."

Le jeune garçon sourit largement. Voilà qui lui plaisait. Après cette évasion agréable dans ses pensées rêveuses, un peu d'action lui conviendrait très bien. Il se mit à marcher d'un pas rapide le long du couloir, Jote sur ses talons.

- "Allons-y maintenant. J'ai hâte de voir ce qu'il y a derrière cette porte !"

Sans prendre le temps de se changer, il enfila le dernier corridor avant de s'enfoncer dans le labyrinthe à peine exploré qu'il avait ouvert quelques jours plus tôt en compagnie d'Adalia. Ayant en quelque sorte "éveillé" les lieux lors de leur incursion improvisée, la plupart des portes ne réclamaient plus son pouvoir pour être franchies, car les Immortels disposaient des connaissances requises pour les garder ouvertes à leur convenance. Il n'était pas retourné dans cette zone depuis un moment et fut surpris de constater la présence de plusieurs adeptes sur sa route. Occupés à retranscrire des gravures ou à noter les différences de niveau du sol des couloirs, ils s'inclinèrent pourtant tous à son passage et certains lui emboîtèrent même le pas. Ce fut avec une véritable escorte que Joshua atteignit l'endroit où se tenait Cyril, debout devant un portail clos, se caressant le menton.

Quand Joshua arriva près de lui, il porta la main à sa poitrine pour le saluer.

- "Pardonnez mon impudence, Votre Grâce, je ne suis pas digne de vous convoquer...", commença le Maître.

- "N'ayez crainte, la prière était terminée. Quel est votre problème ?" Il leva les yeux sur le portail sculpté. "Vous voulez passer ce seuil, je suppose. Vous avez une raison particulière de vous y intéresser ?"

- "Comme vous le savez, nous avons déjà arpenté et étudié plusieurs ruines célestes par le passé, et si nous nous référons aux structures que nous connaissons, la position de cette pièce semble prometteuse. Elle doit recéler des secrets d'un haut intérêt archéologique..."

- "C'est fascinant !"

- "Les Célestes sont fascinants, oui, et en savoir toujours plus sur eux ne sera jamais un mal. Connaître le passé ne peut qu'enrichir l'avenir. Aussi, si Votre Magnificence pouvait...", termina Cyril en s'inclinant.

- "Pas besoin de me le demander deux fois ! Je vais ouvrir cette pièce et l'explorer avec vous ! Laissez-moi passer."

Les Immortels s'écartèrent, et, sans effort, la main de Joshua actionna le dispositif d'ouverture. Une poussière très ancienne vola autour d'eux et leurs yeux durent percer une obscurité plus épaisse. L'énergie ne semblait pas aussi dense dans ces lieux et Joshua généra de nouveau une sphère de feu flottante afin de les éclairer. Il prit la tête de la petite troupe et tous s'avancèrent avec circonspection dans la pièce. Jote s'accrochait avec appréhension à la robe de Joshua.

La première chose qu'ils virent furent les alcôves dans lesquels reposaient les mêmes étranges formes minérales vaguement animales, pour l'heure au repos, alignées contre les murs de la salle. Tournant sur lui-même, Joshua envoya la sphère raser la surface de roc aux alentours pour en jauger la superficie. La sphère ne découvrit aucun plafond - les murs montaient à une hauteur indéterminée - et s'avéra bien plus vaste que la plupart des autres pièces. De forme sphérique, les sculptures qui la paraient semblaient bien plus complexes et travaillées.

Joshua et les Immortels avancèrent encore de quelques pas lorsque la sphère elle-même se mit à "monter" des marches. Les escaliers n'étaient pas la structure la plus commune dans les bâtiments célestes, aussi les explorateurs redoublèrent-ils de prudence. Les degrés n'étaient cependant pas très nombreux et la lueur des flammes se mit alors à danser autour de ce qui ressemblait bien à un autel surélevé. Mais le plus étonnant était ce qui reposait à son sommet.

Une sculpture tout à fait inconnue pour Joshua trônait au fond de l'étrange chapelle en sommeil et rien de ce qu'elle représentait ne pouvait se comparer à l'art valisthéen, même le plus exotique. Une forme vaguement humaine se découpait dans l'ombre, mais sa principale particularité - ses quatre bras déployés - la rendait un peu effrayante. Pire que tout, le visage ne comportait aucun trait, comme si les adorateurs de cette divinité s'étaient évertués à ne surtout pas représenter une quelconque expression faciale, peut-être par superstition ou peur religieuse.

Joshua ouvrit grand les yeux face à cette entité venue manifestement d'un autre âge, et se sentit observé jusqu'à la moelle des os par un regard froid et calculateur... Il frissonna sans savoir pourquoi et voulut au plus vite briser ce sort paralysant :

- "Trouvons un moyen d'éveiller cet endroit... Cette obscurité me pèse..."

Il se détourna de la statue et se mit à examiner les lieux afin de trouver peut-être un autre pupitre tel que celui qu'il avait déjà manipulé. Il ne fut pas long. Un Immortel l'appela dans un coin de la salle et lui désigna en effet un dispositif similaire. Cette pièce paraissait isolé du reste du bâtiment et disposait de sa propre source d'énergie... Joshua pianota un peu au hasard, comme la première fois, et la table de pierre s'illumina au bout de deux minutes. Des rais bleutés divergèrent dans toutes les directions, donnant à la pièce un aspect plus accueillant avec son éclairage.

Tous pouvaient distinguer l'étrange sculpture de façon plus claire et Cyril s'approcha alors de Joshua pour lui faire son rapport :

- "Cette figure ne nous est pas inconnue..."

- "Vous l'avez déjà vue ?"

- "Des rapports d'exploration qui nous sont parvenus décrivent dans le détail cette statue ; les quatre bras sont un élément crucial pour la reconnaître. Elle ne ressemble à aucune divinité valisthéenne commune, mais on en a trouvées plusieurs dans les bâtiments célestes..."

- "Vous croyez qu'il s'agirait de... leur dieu mystérieux ?"

- "Celui qui les a punis pour leur hubris ?" souffla Cyril. "Peut-être..."

Les deux hommes s'approchèrent de la figure de pierre. Encore une fois, son absence de traits faciaux terrifia Joshua. Soudain, une voix gutturale sembla résonner dans son crâne et il tomba à genoux... La langue qu'il entendait lui était inconnue et pourtant, il comprenait ce qu'elle lui disait...

N'INTERFERE PAS, PHENIX. TON TEMPS VIENDRA. QUAND MYTHOS SERA PRÊT.

Il toussa douloureusement, les larmes aux yeux, et quand il les rouvrit, il se trouvait dans un large cercle de feu, sur un sol pavé, sous le ciel étoilé. Tout autour de lui, il percevait vaguement des tours crénelées, et des sons de lames s'entrechoquant. La cendre qui tournoyait dans les airs lui piquait les yeux et il porta les mains devant son visage pour s'en protéger. Mais à travers ses doigts, Joshua distingua ce qui ressemblait à une silhouette sombre qui l'observait sans bouger... Elle lui disait des choses... qu'il ne comprit pas du tout cette fois... ou craignait de comprendre...

Le garçon gémit de douleur et Jote se porta aussitôt à son secours. Cyril arborait une expression inquiète, mais n'osait pas toucher Joshua. La petite fille essaya de le relever.

- "Vous allez bien, Votre Grâce ?", s'inquiéta le Maître.

- "Non !...", souffla le garçon avec difficulté. Il ne semblait pas avoir bougé de l'endroit où il se trouvait, malgré sa certitude absolue de s'être retrouvé à Fort Phénix pendant un instant. "Vous n'avez pas entendu ? Cette... chose m'a parlé !"

- "Je n'ai rien entendu, Votre Grâce...", répondit Jote en posant la main sur le front de Joshua.

Le garçon ressentait une peur telle qu'il n'en avait plus connue depuis la Nuit des Flammes. Il se sentait mis à nu devant une volonté bien supérieure qui entendait lui dicter sa conduite. Une froide malveillance, une hostilité implacable émanaient de la statue dressée devant lui, ses quatre bras ressemblant à des pièges prêts à se refermer sur lui...

- "J'ai peur, Clive..." Comme toujours, il considérait son frère comme sa première protection face à ce qui l'effrayait. Mais Clive n'était plus là. Il devait se défendre seul. Il prononça alors un seul mot, qui résumait toute la perplexité que lui avait infligé ce qui avait bien été une attaque mentale.

- "Mythos ?", murmura Joshua en parvenant à se relever.

- "Qu'avez-vous dit, Votre Grâce ?" demanda Cyril.

- "C'est le mot que... il a prononcé... Qu'est-ce qu'il veut dire ?"

- "C'est la première fois que je l'entends..."

- "Je n'oublierai pas... ce nom."

- "Nous ferons des recherches à ce sujet dès que possible", conclut le Maître.

Joshua voulut s'éloigner au plus vite de cet endroit. Ses propres appartements étaient plutôt éloignés de cette chapelle maléfique mais la savoir plus proche qu'il n'aurait voulu ne le rassurait pas. Cependant, un adepte vint vers eux pour leur rapporter une trouvaille.

- "Maître, Votre Grâce, nous avons découvert des coffres derrière l'autel. Ils doivent contenir des artefacts si nos prévisions sont justes."

- "Bien, nous allons les emporter. Sa Grâce ne tient pas à demeurer plus longtemps dans les parages alors ne nous attardons pas."

- "Puis-je... refermer la porte derrière nous ?" hasarda Joshua.

- "Hmm... Nous emmènerons tout ce qui est digne d'intérêt. Vous pourrez la verrouiller de nouveau si cela vous tranquillise..."

- "Je vais aussi... la rendre au sommeil. C'est plus sûr..."

Son coeur battait encore très fort dans sa poitrine. Il ne voulait pas que cette pièce reste en activité...

- "Comme vous le souhaitez."

Le garçon se dirigea en chancelant vers le pupitre lumineux et effectua certaines manipulations. La chapelle gronda puis les rais bleutés s'éteignirent un à un. Il se sentit un petit peu mieux et cessa de trembler.

Tous s'apprêtèrent à revenir en arrière, les bras chargés de coffrets verrouillés, quand un adepte se mit à hurler :

- "Aaaaarrghh !"

L'homme se traînait par terre, tentant de rejoindre le portail de la chapelle, se remit péniblement sur ses pieds et rejoignit ses acolytes.

- "Une de ses diaboliques créatures ! Elle s'est réveillée !"

Il pointait du doigt une des alcôves abritant ce que les Immortels appelaient communément les Sentinelles. Une lueur blanche émanait de celle-ci et une créature insolite sauta hors du renfoncement pour s'immobiliser à quelques mètres d'eux.

Elle mesurait environ soixante centimètres de haut et possédait une silhouette franchement arachnoïde ; sa tête sphérique tournait sur elle-même avec énergie et presque de la curiosité. Elle semblait surprise de s'être éveillée et encore plus de la présence des Immortels. Un rayon bleu sortant de sa "tête" balaya l'espace devant elle, et vint effleurer les corps des explorateurs. Cyril se plaça devant Joshua.

- "Reculez, Votre Grâce. Nous connaissons ces créatures, elles gardent les ruines célestes des intrus ! Elles peuvent se montrer dangereuses..."

Il dégaina une épée qu'il portait au côté et la brandit avec adresse face à la Sentinelle isolée qui ne paraissait pas décidée à attaquer. Jote se cacha derrière Joshua, les mains crispées sur sa robe. Elle pouvait utiliser sa magie en cas d'urgence pour repousser l'ennemi loin de l'Emissaire mais elle espérait ne pas y être confrontée...

L'arachnide avança de quelques pas et émit quelques cliquètements sonores. Elle sembla examiner chacun des explorateurs qui reculaient lentement vers la porte. Croyant qu'elle les laisserait tranquilles s'ils vidaient rapidement les lieux, Cyril indiqua la sortie. Mais la créature les suivit pas à pas, avec circonspection, n'exprimant toujours aucune marque d'agressivité. Elle se mit à sautiller sur ses pattes comme un enfant joyeux et des sons enjoués accompagnaient chacun de ses mouvements.

Joshua la trouva amusante. Il ne sentait aucune hostilité émaner de la Sentinelle, et il décela aussi - ce qui paraissait encore plus étrange - un semblant de vie sous cette carapace minérale. Aussi voulut-il s'en approcher, car cette forme de vie tout à fait inédite l'attirait fortement. Il tendit la main en faisant quelques pas en avant et Cyril s'alarma :

- Pas d'imprudence !"

- "Elle ne nous fera pas de mal. Elle est restée longtemps endormie et elle ne doit plus se souvenir de sa mission", décida Joshua. "Regardez, elle a l'air heureuse se pouvoir bouger de nouveau !"

- "Heureuse ?" demande Jote, pleine de doute.

Le garçon combla les quelques mètres qui le séparait de la Sentinelle et celle-ci tourna sa tête vers lui. Un nouveau rayon de lumière sembla l'examiner et, l'opération achevée, l'arachnide le laissa approcha sa main. Ses doigts caressèrent la surface de pierre blanche, qui devait avoir été lisse à une certaine époque mais qui comportait dorénavant quelques ébréchures.

Joshua ne parvenait pas à comprendre exactement à quoi il avait affaire. Cette créature était vivante à sa manière mais elle était de toute évidence manufacturée. Fonctionnait-elle grâce à la magie ? Etait-ce cette magie qu'il confondait avec l'énergie vitale propre à tous les êtres vivants ? Il refusait de penser qu'elle n'était pas vivante, le pouvoir du Phénix lui donnait la capacité de déceler la vie partout où elle se trouvait, et il ne pouvait se tromper. Il dut conclure qu'il faisait face à une forme de vie enfermée dans un réceptacle inanimé.

L'arachnide le laissa lui gratter l'arrière de la tête et Joshua constata qu'elle était capable de sensations. C'était proprement stupéfiant ! Elle produisait des petits cliquetis de contentement que le garçon parvenait très bien à comprendre.

- "Tu es plutôt amical, dis donc ! Pourquoi es-tu le seul à t'être réveillé ?"

- "Si je puis me permettre, Votre Grâce", intervint Cyril qui s'était approché à son tour, la lame toujours au clair, "c'est peut-être le résultat d'un dysfonctionnement, cela ne présage rien de bon..."

- "S'il n'est plus capable de nous détecter comme des ennemis, je ne pense pas qu'il soit dangereux."

- "Nous devrions partir maintenant, en espérant qu'il restera là où il est..."

Joshua se détourna à contre-coeur, peu enjoué à l'idée de laisser la Sentinelle seule dans le noir. Il éprouvait une compassion inédite. Résigné, il rejoignit les Immortels dans le but de sceller définitivement le portail, mais l'arachnide se mit à gesticuler en le suivant de toute la vitesse de ses pattes. Elle émettait des hululements paniqués et se jeta presque dans ses jambes, ce qui fit tomber Jote à la renverse.

- "Hé là, mon petit ami, doucement !" s'exclama Joshua en s'agenouillant devant la Sentinelle. "Je crois qu'il n'a pas envie de rester ici. Et si... on l'emmenait ? On pourrait en tirer des informations intéressantes !"

Joshua commença à s'éloigner à grands pas, à reculons, et la créature le suivit d'une démarche sautillante, presque espiègle. Le garçon sourit avec bonheur et se prit même à lui lancer des appels de langue comme il l'avait fait jadis avec... un certain animal qu'il avait beaucoup aimé et qui était lui aussi sorti de sa vie avec brutalité...

Les larmes menacèrent de couler et il les ravala avec difficulté. L'arachnide sembla comprendre sa tristesse et se posta devant lui en levant ses pattes en l'air. Sa tête "se pencha" de côté et il émit une série de bips interrogateurs. Tout ceci se passa devant la troupe d'Immortels, médusés par le spectacle.

- "Merci, ça va... j'avais juste un souvenir lointain... Je peux t'appeler... Torgal ?"

Le dôme roula sur lui-même avec joie et ce fut entendu.

- "Bon, je vais l'emmener avec moi. Je le garderai dans ma chambre comme ça il n'ennuiera pas les adeptes", décida Joshua.

- "Dans... votre chambre ?" répéta Cyril, qui pensait avoir mal comprit.

- "Oui. Il n'y a aucun danger, je vous assure. Nous sommes déjà de bons amis. ll doit comprendre que c'est moi qui l'ai réveillé et il est reconnaissant."

- "Ces créatures ne sont sûrement pas capables de..."

- "Le Phénix me dit que si. Vous n'allez tout de même pas discuter ses intuitions ?"

Joshua n'usait jamais de son autorité d'Emissaire en temps normal, mais cela lui sembla nécessaire à cet instant.

- "Bien sûr que non, Sérénissime...", s'excusa le Maître avec humilité.

- "C'est entendu alors ! Torgal va vivre avec moi ! Il deviendra une bonne compagnie lorsque Jote se sera habituée à lui."

- "Euh, je vais essayer...", promit la petite fille.

Toute la petite troupe remonta les couloirs vers les lieux de vie des Immortels, Torgal trottant à leurs côtés. Beaucoup parmi les adeptes n'avaient aucune confiance en lui mais les ordres de l'Emissaire passaient avant tout. Il ne leur en donnait quasiment jamais alors ils désiraient pour cette fois faire bonne impression.

Une fois sortis du dédale, les explorateurs chargés de butin rejoignirent les différentes salles d'examen des artefacts ; Joshua quant à lui, se dirigea vers sa chambre, épuisé après ses pérégrinations. Il avait envie d'un bon bain et peut-être ferait-il aussi une sieste. Jote partit immédiatement chercher les cristaux nécessaires et le garçon ouvrit la porte de ses appartements. Talgor se glissa dans l'ouverture après lui, semblant tout à fait comprendre qu'il était le bienvenu.

La Sentinelle se mit à fureter un peu partout, touchant de ses pattes curieuses les meubles et les objets à sa portée. Joshua découvrit alors qu'il pouvait se hausser "sur la pointe des pieds" et grandir de presque trente centimètres supplémentaires. Il avait hâte d'examiner de plus près les diverses capacités de son nouveau compagnon, mais la perspective du bain prima sur toute autre chose.

Quand Jote revint, elle évita avec difficulté Torgal qui avait la fâcheuse manie de se faufiler entre les jambes des gens, ce qui fit rire Joshua. Il ne pouvait s'empêcher de penser que cette araignée artificielle animée par la magie ressemblait fortement à un chiot joueur.

Le garçon fit couler et chauffer l'eau de son bain et se glissa avec délice dans le liquide infusé d'huiles essentielles qu'Adalia qui prescrivait. Il frotta ses bras et ses jambes et repensa brièvement à sa confrontation mentale avec le dieu des Célestes - ou quoi que cela soit d'autre. Il se rendit compte alors qu'il n'en savait pas grand chose et envisagea de faire de prochaines recherches à ce sujet. La voix menaçante qui l'avait interpellé mentalement lui fit de nouveau froid dans le dos... La porte avait été bien refermée et Joshua espéra ne plus jamais y avoir affaire.

Il voyait le rayon de détection de Torgal parcourir la pièce, s'arrêter sur chaque objet insolite, comme s'il en prenait note. L'arachnide semblait infatigable mais elle allait bien devoir se calmer un peu ; car maintenant qu'il était propre, Joshua aspirait à dormir.

Une fois sa chemise de nuit passée, il s'étira longuement en bâillant, s'assit sur son lit et regarda Torgal avec fermeté. Il leva un doigt comme pour le gronder gentiment.

- "Je comprends que tu sois enthousiaste, mais je voudrais dormir. Je n'y arriverais pas si tu fais du raffut !"

Torgal sembla comprendre et bipa trois fois. Puis il se dirigea vers un coin de la pièce, et Joshua, médusé, le vit replier ses longues pattes sous sa tête et elles disparurent complètement. La Sentinelle ressemblait maintenant à une sphère parfaite, prenant moitié moins de place qu'à l'état de veille. Les lumières sur son dôme disparurent et elle ne fit plus aucun bruit.

Le jeune garçon soupira, s'allongea et se couvrit de ses draps. Il était si harassé qu'il s'endormirait sans doute très vite.

- "Bonne nuit, Torgal."

Un unique bip se fit entendre en réponse et les rais de lumière qui éclairaient la pièce s'éteignirent à leur tour.

#fils du feu #fdf10 #fanfiction #joshua rosfield #FFXVI #final fantay xvi #fallenRaziel

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