#a weaving friend | florence

[cherrygummybears]

hope compilation

sources:

in a big country - big country // various storms and saints - florence + the machine // things can only get better - howard jones // free - florence + the machine // youtube comment from breaking down by florence + the machine // youtube comment from shake it out by florence + the machine // stop crying your heart out - oasis // instagram comment + replies from reel by __we_love_you_ // youtube comment + replies from hunger by florence + the machine // you get what you give - new radicals // youtube comment + replies from dog days are over by florence + the machine // instagram comment + replies from reels by morecorecore (2x) // instagram comments from reels by morecorecore (3x) // light of love - florence + the machine // discord message written by @corrode-in-repose // discord message written by @blue-dreamers-eyes // discord messages written by me // Night Walk from East Boston, 1996 - Franz Wright // instagram reel by __we_love_you_

[13pointer]

the aggression of the prey animal.

Ann Carrington, Muntjac // Karen Solie. Cardio room, young women’s christian association // NBC Hannibal // Shomen Mukherjee and Michael R. Heithaus, Dangerous prey and daring predators: A review // NBC Hannibal // Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis // unknown // Florence + The Machine, i'm not calling you a liar // NBC Hannibal // Boyish, Japanese Breakfast // Emerald Fennell, Saltburn // Sue Zhao // Field & Stream, Man Rescues Big Mule Deer Buck Locked to the Antlers of a Dead 5X5 // Yves Olade, Bloodsport // Samuel John Carter, Legend of St. Hubert //

[band-geek-727-creates]

Cosmic Love - Florence and the Machine | Puella Magi Madoka Magica - Studio Shaft | To the Wife of a Sick Friend - Edna St. Vincent Millay

[shelfperson]

i don’t have the energy to make the web weave right now but i have been READING the ntn poem and i have been WATCHING iwtv and uhmmmm.

and louis as the good son, the breadwinner, the motherfather, the voice of flawed and broken comfort. him, stepping in to care for paul, for claudia, for daniel, but it never seems to be enough. he can never save them. never love them right. meaningless words, meaningless. the knife in the breastbone, the hand on the throat, the teeth in the neck.

and the sunlight is never hopeful for louis. there is never a morning to save him from the endless dark he’s living in. he loved his brother more than anything in the world and he died on his last sunrise. claudia was his light, his redemption, and the fire took her. and then he walked out into the sun.

and the cycle is endless…. how many families built from the flawed blueprint of the first? a wife in the mold of your mother. marius that begat aemand. magnus who begat leatat, lestat who begat louis, and on and on and on. florence louis paul grace. louis claudia lestat. louis armand daniel. the roles remixing each time, each time the children staring despondent at the dead face of the parent. that ghoulish empty apartment, an empty vessel eager to filled with its inhabitants’ confession. this interview as the culmination of the first confession, i am weak i want to die help me.

that morning sun over paul’s cracked skull at the birth of louis’ awakening, and louis on the bench waiting for the sun to bleach his bones and purify the putrid soul, and claudia taken by the gleaming noonday light. can you hear that? she’s calling me. and it is purifying. each time, human attachment eaten by the march of time, every sunrise and sunset. first a family and a job and human kind, in all it’s ugliness and joy. then a family. then and daughter and a lover. then, nothing. each time reborn, like a phoenix from ashes, with less and less. nothing but the recollection.

the interview as a suicide note. as the settling of affairs. as the will and testament. a testament to companionship, each and every companionship, each the mirror of the other. the last meeting between two dying old friends. the last love song between star crossed lovers. the last argument in a burnt out marriage. the last apology to a worn out daughter. the last i love you to a sick brother. the interview as the final night in the long dark night of louis de pointe du lac’s tortured soul.

the interview as another morning. another chapter. another try. trying to be good, to be honest, to be loving. hard love and soft love, trying to make it out holding onto something, the real something. the self, though shifting and broken. the self, alone but not lonely. the self, though reviled and worthy of death. i am weak. i wanna die. help me. louis couldn’t burn lestat. as long as you live i’ll never taste the fire. i lost time and then it was morning. i already know what my life will be like but i don’t want to rest. these words will lift you up and be your lifeline. funny thing is, when he said that to me he was already all burnt up.

anyway yeah i think my faggot vampire show and my dyke wizard book have a lot to talk about.

[neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies]

INTRO POST <3

Here's a long-overdue intro post.

NOTE - Do not dm me if we're not mutuals.

LINKS SIDE BLOGS: @i-think-im-breaking-down-again - more personal blog @cappuccino-circa-capillaries - mental health stuff /pos @a-bitch-can-write-poetry - poetry and web weaving reblogs, will post my original work if I ever get the courage @honestly-im-honest- silly stuff @edwinpayneshomosexualtendencies - dbda side blog

MEDIA: Pinterest Spotify Storygraph stats.fm

DA BASICS- ABOUT ME: Name - Lisa Avenir (you can call me Lise or Liz) Nationality - Indian Languages - English, Hindi, a1 French, aspiring German, a dialect of Hindi spoken in my home state which is completely incomprehensible to anyone who does not speak it to the point its an entirely new language (which it is but I'm not going to reveal it because I don't want my home state to be known) Age - minor Gender - Genderqueer Pronouns - they/them/she Sexuality - ace-spec lesbian Religion - Atheist DNI: Homophobic, Transphobic, sexist, racist, ableist, any kind of phobic in general No assholes allowed either I love receiving asks just no freaky stuff FACTS- 🪶Only Child who keeps losing friends 🪶I love any form of Noodles Soup 🪶I have a huge crush on Maya Hawke 🪶I love biology and anatomy 🪶I need psychological help /srs 🪶I cry a lot, it's an art 🪶I might have a migraine issue which might be getting better :D 🪶I have brown ass basic eyes 🪶Reading mythology is my bae 🪶My vocabulary might be good but I can't spell for shit. 🪶I love making little collages on PowerPoint 🪶I'm touch starved but touch aversed. Yes, we exist. 🪶I'm a nerd fighter 🪶I love dissecting song lyrics 🪶My aesthetic is dark academia, dark feminine(excluding the femcel bs), witchcore and sickly victorian child dying of the plague core 🪶I am a hyper-organized person who might have germophobia 🪶I'm pretty sure I have trichotillomania 🪶I have these sneeze attacks on a daily basis where I sneeze like 15 times over the course of 3 minutes

HOBBIES- 🪶Reading 🪶Writing poetry or songs 🪶Listening to Music 🪶Talking about stars 🪶The Universe 🪶Literature 🪶Science (fuck physics)

INTERESTS- MUSIC: I love listening to albums(like a LOT of them) 🪶Genre - Indie, Indie pop, Rock, Alt-Indie, Basic white girl pop, Pop-rock, Pop-punk, Folk, Old Bollywood, Male manipulator, Female Manipulator, Lesbian Manipulator, ghazal, anything that slaps 🪶Artists - Ricky Montgomery, Lana Del Rey, Chappel Roan, Flower Face, Taylor Swift, Hozier, Phoebe Bridgers, Girl in Red, Clario, Conan Gray, Hank Green, Hayley Williams, Joji, Indila, Sabrina Carpenter, Adele. Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar, Jagjit Singh, Muhammad Rafi, Asha Bhosle etc etc 🪶Bands - Wallows, Florence and the Machine, Sir Chloe, Hole, The Smiths, Paramore, Beach House, The Jayhawks, The Neighborhood, Fun Guns, Cage The Elephant, Arctic Monkeys, Chase Atlantic, Radiohead, My Chemical Romance, Hayley Kiyoko. 🪶Albums(favorites) - evermore and folklore by Taylor Swift, Montgomery Ricky by Ricky Montgomery, Depression Cherry by Beach House, Ceremonials and Lungs By Florence and The Machine, Superache by Conan Gray, Emails I can't send frwd: by Sabrina Carpenter, Hozier by Hozier, Riot! and Paramore by Paramore, AM by Arctic Monkeys, Party Flavors and I am the Dog by Sir Chloe, Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers, Rainy Day Music by The Jayhawks, Petals for Armour by Hayley Willams, The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappell Roan, Social Cues by Cage The Elephant, Live through this by Hole, Born to Die(The Paradise Edition) and Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey, Nothing Happens by Wallows, Baby Teeth and Fever Dreams and The Shark in your Water by Flower Face, Lilt by Hikes, Get up and Move by Fun Guns, The Black Parade by MCR. 🪶Artists that I lowkey neglect but should high-key eat - Nirvana, Tame Impala, Men we trust, Cavetown, Pink Floyd, blink-182, Green Day, boygenius, Mitski, The Smashing Pumpkins, Suki Waterhouse. BOOKS- 🪶Genre - Dark, War pieces, Dystopias, Young Adult, Depressing, Dark Academia, Classics, Psychological Thriller. 🪶Ride or Die- The Book Thief, The Perks Of Being a Wallflower, The Picture of Dorian Grey, MAUS, Paper Towns, Looking for Alaska, All the Bright Places, The Midnight Library, The Handmaid's Tale, The Diary of a Young Girl, The Boy In The Stripped Pajamas, Circe, Before the coffee gets cold, Sharp Objects, The Martian, The DaVinci Code, The Emperor of All Maladies, Turtles all the way down, And Then There Were None, The Catcher in The Rye, No Longer Human, Grandpa's Great Escape, Wild Bird, The Giver. 🪶Honorable Mentions from my TBR - A Little Life, Bunny, If We Were Villains, The Secret History, 1984, To Kill A Mockingbird, Six Of Crows, Lord of the Flies, Piranesi, Cleopatra and Frankenstein, Crime and Punishment, How it Feels to Float, Orbiting Jupiter, Normal People, Fahrenheit 451, The Myth of Sisyphus, Lessons in Chemistry, Slaughterhouse-five, Dark Matter. 🪶Poets - Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth. Sappho,

MOVIES- Dead Poets Society, Good Will Hunting, Lady Bird, Whiplash, Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse, Forrest Gump, Duck Duck Goose, Rapunzel SERIES- BBC Sherlock, Orange Is The New Black, Brooklyn99, Dead Boy Detectives, Heartstopper, Derry Girls, Modern Family, House md?

RANDOM IMAGES-

USERBOXES-

MOOTS APPRICIATION!!!! @lv3buzzz, @noctilucaa(my wife), @wilsons-three-legged-siamese, @yourfavvgal, @1mlostnow, @arrr-im-a-dead-poet, @perksofbeingpoet, @mighthavebeenmurder, @take-me-to-the-rooftop15, @poetsinnyc, @joonof1989, @deadcrowcalling, @pingunaa, @xxcherryberriezxx @burgundykicks (text me if you would like your name to be removed <3333 ) -🪶

[ricciardosheart]

A Night in Italy - Toto Wolff.

warning - fluff fluff nothing much, I don't think so, I mean it's a toto wolff fanfic

summary - just a beautiful exchange between a girl name hannah and Toto, how he becomes from a stranger to a familiar stranger, it beautiful

P.S - guys I want to make this a series, please let me know if I can make it better, not proofread

In the heart of Florence, where ancient wonders and modern delights coexisted harmoniously, two souls found themselves drawn together by fate. Toto, a charismatic and adventurous man with a deep passion for cars and motorsports, had always been fascinated by the bustling cafés of Italy. One summer evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets, he found himself wandering into a charming café.

As Toto entered the cozy establishment, he couldn't help but notice a captivating figure sitting alone at a corner table. Her name was Hannah, an accomplished orthopedic surgeon, her presence exuding intelligence and grace. She was engrossed in a book, seemingly unaware of the world around her.

Something inside Toto stirred as he watched her, and he knew he couldn't resist the urge to speak to her. With a deep breath, he approached her table, feeling both nervous and excited. "Excuse me," he said, his voice gentle yet filled with warmth, "I hope I'm not intruding, but I couldn't help but notice you from across the café. Would you mind if I join you for a moment?"

Hannah looked up, her eyes meeting Toto's with a hint of surprise. She hesitated for a brief moment, but the sincerity in his eyes made her feel strangely at ease. "Sure," she replied with a smile, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Toto took the seat gratefully, introducing himself to Hannah. The conversation between them flowed effortlessly, as if they were old friends catching up after a long time apart. They spoke about their shared passion for cars and motorsports, exchanging stories about their favorite racing events and drivers. Toto, with his vast knowledge of automotive engineering, fascinated Hannah, and she, in turn, captivated him with her dedication to her profession and her insights into the world of medicine.

As the evening progressed, the café slowly filled with the soft glow of sunset, bathing the surroundings in a warm, romantic light. Hannah checked the time on her watch, realizing that she had spent several hours talking to this friendly stranger named Toto. "I should be heading home," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "It's getting late, and I have an early start at the hospital tomorrow."

Toto understood the practicality of her decision, but he couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye just yet. "I completely understand, Hannah," he said softly, "but what if we continued this delightful evening with dinner? There's a wonderful trattoria nearby, and I promise it'll be worth your time."

Hannah was taken aback by the invitation. Normally, she would be cautious about such spontaneity, but something about Toto's presence made her want to step out of her comfort zone. "Alright," she agreed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "one more adventure for the night."

They made their way through the charming streets of Florence, the city's history and romance surrounding them as they walked side by side. The trattoria Toto had recommended was a quaint and intimate place, perfect for an unforgettable evening.

Over a delicious dinner, they continued their conversation, delving deeper into their lives, hopes, and dreams. As the night wore on, they laughed freely and shared stories that left them feeling like kindred spirits. Each moment spent together seemed to strengthen the connection between them, weaving an unbreakable bond that neither of them could fully comprehend.

Bottles of wine were brought to their table, and as the hours slipped away unnoticed, they lost track of time. The wine served as a catalyst for their candid conversations, allowing them to reveal their vulnerabilities and aspirations without hesitation.

Hannah couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of comfort in Toto's company. He was a stranger just hours ago, yet now, she felt as if she had known him for a lifetime. The walls she had built around her heart, hardened by the demands of her profession, began to crumble under the weight of this inexplicable connection.

As the clock approached 3 am, the realization that they had been lost in each other's presence all night hit them. Hannah's heart was filled with a mix of emotions she couldn't fully comprehend. She had fallen for this familiar stranger, and it scared and excited her in equal measure.

Toto, too, was smitten by Hannah's intellect, compassion, and adventurous spirit. The ease with which they connected and the way they understood each other felt like a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

With the night coming to a close, Toto walked Hannah back to her car, the silence between them filled with the unspoken emotions that lay heavy in the air. As they stood under the moonlight, a soft breeze carrying the scent of flowers, they found themselves embracing, their hearts racing in sync.

"Hannah," Toto began, his voice gentle and earnest, "from the moment I saw you at that café, I knew there was something extraordinary about you. I've never felt such an instant connection with anyone before. I know we just met, but I can't ignore what I feel."

Hannah looked into Toto's eyes, her heart fluttering as she realized she felt the same way. "Toto, this is all so unexpected, but I can't deny that there's something between us. I've never met someone who understands me so completely. It's like we've known each other for ages."

Toto smiled, his eyes shining with affection. "I don't want this night to be the end of our story, Hannah. Can I see you again?"

Hannah's heart swelled with happiness as she replied, "Yes, I'd like that very much. Let's exchange numbers and find a way to meet again."

And so, they exchanged contact information, each feeling a sense of excitement and hope for what the future held. As they parted ways that night, their hearts felt lighter, knowing that something magical had unfolded between them.

In the days that followed, Toto and Hannah continued their conversations, growing closer with each passing moment. They found themselves making time for each other despite their demanding schedules, eager to explore the depths of their connection.

They shared countless adventures in the picturesque streets of Italy, embarking on road trips to the countryside and wandering through historical landmarks hand in hand. The bond between them deepened, and their love blossomed amidst the timeless beauty of Italy.

As summer turned to autumn and autumn to winter, their love story thrived, with each season marking a new chapter in their lives. Hannah found herself opening up to love in ways she never thought possible, and Toto discovered a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

On a crisp winter's evening, Toto took Hannah to a secluded spot overlooking the city of Florence, where the lights twinkled like stars in the night sky. Under the shimmering moonlight, he got down on one knee, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Hannah," Toto said, his voice filled with emotion, "you've brought so much joy and meaning into my life. With you, I've found a love I never knew was possible. You've become the light of my world, and I can't imagine my life without you. Will you do me the great honor of being my partner in this beautiful journey called life?"

Tears glistened in Hannah's eyes as she looked into Toto's earnest gaze. Her heart felt full, and she knew that this love was unlike anything she had ever known. "Yes, Toto," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "I love you, and I would be honored to share my life with you."

Their love story continued to unfold, a tale of two hearts finding solace and joy in each other's love. Together, they faced life's challenges with unwavering support, cherishing every moment they spent in each other's arms.

In the heart of Italy, amidst the ancient wonders and the modern delights, Toto and Hannah had found a love that transcended time and place. Their love story became a testament to the magic of destiny and the power of connection, proving that sometimes, the most extraordinary love stories begin with a chance encounter in a café on a summer evening in Italy.

[cyn-write]

The Little Cecelia - Chapter 1: Friends

Summary - Every 100 years, the spirit of the Great Seven and their Rival return. Sometimes, they attempt to right the wrongs of the past, get revenge, or relive the same story, but it all is the same - only one spirit gets their Happily Ever After. Azul has always had a fascination with the human world, which only intensified once he met a human girl, Grace Trien. His desires to become a Great Mage of both Land and Sea and to explore the human world and all its wonders with the Tweels and Grace by his side, but Prince Rielle is willing to do what ever it takes to stop the little Cecelia from getting his Happy Ending.

Masterlist - Next

Pairing - Azul Ashengrotto x F!Oc (Grace Trein)

Tags/Warnings - Friends to Lovers; Bullying; Grace is Trein's Daughter; Angst -> Fluff; Self-Deperication

Notes - I have been working on this for a very long time, and I hope you enjoy it! Grace Trein is based off my Oc Grace Wilde so if you want to learn more about her click the link, but you can replace her name when reading if you want to read it as Yuu or another name. This is only the first chapter of 11, so if you enjoy this and want to be tagged or have questions, please let me know! This is also on Ao3 if you want to follow it over there. Comments, likes, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Without Further Ado: Once Upon a Time.....

Every Merchild was told from a young age how dangerous the humans were. Parents, Teachers, Elders all told tales of the vicious humans who slaughtered merfolk by the dozens and the clever traps they would use to ensnare merfolk for prizes. Landfolk were all described as hideous creatures fascinated with lifeless contraptions. They were monsters… or so the stories said.

Despite the fear, some dared to have a fascination with the beings above. Azul has always had a fascination with the landfolk and their contraptions but stayed away from the shore out of fear. But sometimes, greater forces led people to face their fears. Forces named Rielle.

Azul was minding his own business, studying a new trinket he found that morning while the twins were off hunting for lunch. It was a triangle with a rounded bottom and a cone on the top that made things look closer when peered though. It had an engraving on the side of an odd creature with four legs and fins sprouting from its back. As he looked through the cone at some fish, he failed to notice the Merprince and his gang readying their rocks.

“HEY OCTOTWERP! CATCH!” Called the red-haired prince as he signaled the attack. Azul jumped from his spot and felt the first of the rocks hit is tentacles. He accidentally inked as he swam away as fast as his tentacles could propel him. “GET HIM!”

On the princes’ orders, the merchild brigade chased him away from the reef and towards forbidden waters.

“JADE! FLOYD! HELP!!” He called out, but the eel twins were nowhere in sight. He looked for another way out, but he was surrounded. He passed the ship graveyard, the kept forest, the rock grove. He could feel his tentacles strain to keep up the pace and all three of his hearts beating at record speed, but the tyrannical prince would not give in until he saw Azul crying and crippled.

“Come on Azul think.” He grunted as he weaved through jagged rocks. Then he saw the sea floor start to incline and a dangerous idea came to mind. Rumor has it that there is a cave that use to be the home of a long-dead exiled Sea Witch and all rumors had a grain of truth. As the rocks got bigger, he saw the carcasses of sharks and whales and knew he was getting close.

“Rielle! He’s heading towards the shore!” He heard Rielle’s right-hand, a flounder named Florence call out.

“Then hurry up you guppy! Don’t let fatso escape!” Rielle called back; his voice was getting closer.

Azul scanned his surroundings and saw it, a small opening underneath a whale head. He darted for the bones and heard the bullies change direction after him. In a last stitch effort to lose his pursuers, he took a deep breath, concentrated, and squeezed himself into the hole. It was a tight fit, but he made it. As he shimmied through, some of his tentacles loosened rocks that blocked the entrance, stopping his pursuers and trapping him in the process. The hole grew larger, and he let himself stop and hide.

He hid in the larger hole and listened.

“Florence! Get out of the way! I’ll blast my way in!” Rielle called.

Just as Azul prepared to face his death, he heard the distinct voices of his saviors “In where, Princie~”

“TWEEELS!” Florence shrieked in fear.

“We playing a game here?” Jade asked.

“Oooo~ I wanna play!” Floyd retorted and all Azul could hear was chaos.

“Your highness, we need to leave! This place is way too close for comfort.” Another of the prince’s posse, Sebet if Azul was correct, said. “Besides, they’re doomed anyway, let’s leave them for the fishermen. We can play with Azul later. He has to come back sometime.”

“Fine.” Rielle sounded annoyed then decided to shout, “YA HEAR THAT AZUL! SHOW YOUR FAT FACE IN ATLANTICA AGAIN AND WE’LL GETCHA! INKING WILL BE THE LEAST OF YOUR PROBLEMS!”

“YA! WELL NEXT TIME WE SEE YUR FACE OUTTA ALENTICA WELL BE SNACKING ON PRINCIE!” Floyd called back.

Azul heard the group laugh as they swam away.

“Azul, are you in there?” Jade called.

“Yeah, I think I’m stuck…” Azul called back, choking on his words from crying.

“Hold on Zul! We’ll get ya outa there!” Floyd called, “I think there’s another entrance over there!”

“Azul, we’ll be right back!” Jade said before the two swam away.

Azul waited a few minutes before letting himself take a deep breath. A few tears escaped his eyes as he realized his doom. He was stuck in a cave. He couldn’t get out. The twins would get bored of helping him soon enough. And if he went back home, the prince and his school were waiting for him.

‘Would mom look for me?’ He thought as more tears streamed from his blue eyes, ‘She probably thinks I’m dead anyway…she’ll just try again with dad and forget I ever existed.’

His tentacles curled in on themselves as he cried. No wonder the other fry picked on him, he was just a crybaby, that’s all he’ll ever be.

Then one of his tentacles hit something… a vial. He looked up from his spot as his tentacle picked up the object. It was thin, made of glass with a cork keeping some green stuff in it. Then another hit a different object, a rounder, thicker glass container holding a powdery substance. Ever curious, Azul moved forward and saw more vials. Somewhat intact and held different substances while others were broken and had the contents spewed around them. The deeper he went; he saw more things covered in moss with age. Then he entered a larger opening, what must be the main room. In the center was a caldron overturned and around it was different objects.

‘The stories were true… this is the witch’s layer!’ Azul’s mood quickly turned from despair to joy. “I can’t believe it! I’m in The Sea Witch’s layer!”

For once he was thankful for his tentacles as he explored the cavern. He looked into different rooms and saw bedrooms, a kitchen, storerooms and the most wonderful library! In the library there where rows upon rows of spell books. He took some off and skimmed the contents. There where books for beauty potions, translations spells, identification incantations, and even transmutation! He was pulling different books then found a peculiar one titled “Cecelia: A History.” Out of curiosity he pulled it, and the shelf began to move.

A new, hidden tunnel appeared. It was dark and lead straight up, so being the curious creature he is, he went up. His amazement pushed his caution to the side as he began to think about what could be up there: magical artifacts, forbidden spell books, long dead secrets! But instead, it led to the surface. He saw the end of the water and paused. He had never broken to the surface before… but what could be up there? He was already here, might as well take a peek.

He took a deep breath and slowly lifted his head above the water. What he saw amazed him: another living space. It was almost exactly like the one below with a cauldron in the center and a smaller set of shelves behind it filled with things. To the side was a makeshift kitchen, a bedroom, and a sitting room with furniture made from the brown, rough material sunken ships were made of. After determining that the land was also deserted, he rose higher and got the courage to climb onto the land. His tentacles moved on the dry land pretty easily and adjusted to the sudden pressure quickly. After determining it was safe, he let his curiosity take over. He rushed over to the shelves and looked at the different books and objects. He picked them up and read the different titles, some were spell books, but others were books on human society. He made a mental note to read them later after he explored some more. Then he saw a necklace. A beautiful shell necklace that seemed to glow slightly. As his hand brushed the shell, then he heard a noise.

Crying, someone was crying. He darted back to the water out of fear and hid under the waves. ‘Someone’s here… I thought this place was aban- wait… that sounds like its coming from over there…’ He swam towards a second entrance to this place. It was vertical and there was a light coming from the other side. He went through the tunnel and saw the sand make a sharp incline up. ‘The Shore!’

The crying got louder and through the water he saw a small figure. ‘Leave! GO! This is Dangerous!’ part of him screamed in his brain, but the other part recognized that crying. It was a cry of loneliness. He clenched his fist and took another deep breath “Kept it.” He told himself then rose to peer out of the water. He peaked his eyes out of the water but that was all he needed to see the most beautiful being he has ever seen: A human girl.

She looked to be around his age, skin the color of white sand, golden hair like waves fell over her shoulders and hid her face. She had on a cloth thing in a pink color more vibrate than he had ever seen with a matching ribbon in her hair. He could see her legs, thin things that had the oddest fins attached to them with thinner tentacles on the end of them. Her legs were pulled into her chest with her arms keeping them close. He had been in that position many times before. Her sobs echoed in the cavern and made his heart hurt. Next to her was a brown basket made of the same particular material that the furniture was made of. Inside it were books and cloth wrapped objects.

He watched her for a moment and a part of him wanted to swim closer. Subconsciously, a single tentacle stretches close to the girl, and it wasn’t until he saw the black limb creeping up to her legs that he noticed. He wrenched the tentacle back and it caused a splash.

“Who’s there!” The girl looked up quicker than he could sink down. Their eyes locked in that moment, and he was stunned. Vibrant green orbs starred back at him. Filled a familiar sensation that he knew all too well: loneliness.

He has no clue how long they stayed like that. Staring at each other unsure what to do. She was the one to break the silence. “Woah… you’re a.. A mermaid!”

She moved closer and Azul sunk down into the depths, his rational brain telling him to flee.

“Wait! I-I won’t hurt you! Please don’t go!” He heard her call. He saw her legs running towards him in the water and he backed-up terrified. He was about to run, but what she said next would be the words that changed Azul’s life forever: “Please… I-I just want a friend…”

‘Run… Run…’ He thought, then his pesky hearts got in the way, ‘She’s just like me…I’m already dead anyway.’

He turned around and saw her lower half in the water. The fabric moving with the waves and pale legs firmly planted in the sand. He closed his eyes and slowly rose above the water. Her eyes shined and looked over him not in fear and disgust, but amazement and wonder.

“H-hi…” She said and smiled at him. She smiled at him. Then held out her hand, “I’m Grace…Grace Trein, what’s your name?”

She looked so soft and squishy. He reached out his hand tentatively, but his nerves got the best of him and backed away. She could see his hesitation and lifted both of her hands palms out, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise, see.” She wiggled her fingers and smiled. He was still nervous and didn’t move towards her but did speak up.

“a-azul” he said in a quiet voice.

“Azul? That’s a pretty name!” He could feel her eyes studying him and prepared himself for the hurtful comments on his weight. But she instead pointed to something in the water, “Is that a Sexton!”

He looked down and saw he still had the weird contraption that got him in this mess. He lifted it and repeated the name, “Sex-ton?”

“Yeah! Sailors use it to navigate!” She stepped closer and he moved back. She noticed this and stepped back as well, “May I see it?” She stretched her hand out palm up. He saw a silver bracelet on her arm that caught his eye. She saw this and took it off, “Wanna trade for a bit? I promise i’ll give it back!”

Curiosity won and two black tentacles moved towards her hand, and one held the sexton. He quickly took the silver bracelet and dropped the sexton into her hand before she could comment. He took the bracelet from his tentacle and examined the silver base and blue jewels embedded in it.

“Wow! You’re an Oct-mer!” She said, “That is so cool!”

He was not prepared for the comment and a blue blush crept onto his face. He was shocked to say the least, “Cecelia…”

“huh?” Grace tilted her head and repeated the word, “Cecelia… is that the proper name?”

Azul nodded and kept his head down. “Yeah…”

“Cecelia… That is really pretty, I like it!” Her face glowed as she spoke, all happy and joyful. It was completely different from the face she had when he arrived. She looked at the sexton and moved it around in her hands, then lifted it up and looked through it. The curiosity in her eyes made Azul want to ask her questions like ‘where is she from? Why was she in the cave? How did she find it? Why are you being nice to me? What do you want from me? Are you just being nice to my face or to lure me into a trap?’ but he kept his mouth shut and went back to examining the bracelet. It was very beautiful and simple in design, but even more interesting was the writing on the underside of the bracelet: Grace – Our precious pearl Love Mama and Papa. He ran his hand along the writing and felt the indents swirl with the letters.

Grace broke his concentration, “I was just reading about this!” He looked up and saw her walk to the shore with his trinket.

“h-hey! That’s m-mine!” He swam forward a bit as he feared she would run off with the sexton!

Grace quickly turned around and subdued his nerves “I won’t take it, I’m just grabbing my book!” She took out a green book from her basket and sat on the shore, “come here! I wanna show you something!”

“u-um…” Azul bit his lower lip before gathering his courage. This was going against every bone in his body, but he swam to the shore, “Ok.” The dry sand felt weird on his skin, but he made it over and peered at the book.

On the page was a four-legged creature with wings, the same creature that was on the sexton. “It’s called a Pegasus! They are magical creatures from when the great seven lived.” She said and tilted the book as if telling him to take it. He took it gingerly and felt his hand brush against hers as it transferred. His curiosity took over and he started to read the passage next to the picture. “According to the book, The Hero Hercules had a Pegasus who helped him on his adventures. I was reading about it for lessons today!” She was really close to him, and he could feel her clothes brush against his skin as she held up the Saxton. “Papa says that the Gods rearranged the stars so Hercules and his Pegasus’ could watch over humanity for the rest of time.”

“Stars?” Azul asked and turned his head to look at her, only then realizing that their heads were so close. Their noses almost touched, and she looked into his eyes directly.

“Yeah! The bright dots in the sky at night!” She says and points out to the opening of the cave, then her expression changed to one of confusion and realization, “You have never seen the stars. Have you?”

Azul shook his head and held his breath. ‘She is so close to me. Why is she so close to me. Whyisshesocloseto-’

GRRRRR.

Azul’s train of thought were interrupted by his stomach. His round belly grumbled so loudly that it echoed in the cave and Azul felt his heart sank. He froze in embarrassment. He was making progress with the girl and his stomach is going to ruin every-

“Are you hungry? I have sandwiches!” Grace turned to her basket and pulled out the cloth wrapped thing. She removed the cloth and handed him a dry sandwich. It looked like the sandwiches his mom sold at her restaurant, but instead of kelp it had a sponge, beige looking holding the contents together. He looked at her in surprise and pointed to himself.

“Y-you’re giving it to me?” He said surprised.

“Well yeah,” She took out half of the sandwich, “I have other snacks to if you don’t like sandwiches, Mrs. Hellen aways packs extra so I have chips, apples, juice, and some cookies!” She held out more food and he just looked at her in shock.

“You’re not going to make fun of me?” He asks quietly. This question made her smile fall and eyebrows knit together.

“Why would I do that?” She said, she shoulders slumped a bit and she looked down, “Being made fun of hurts more than being pushed downstairs, I don’t wanna do that to anyone.”

The glint came back. The watery gaze, strained voice, tense body, the pain… it is all too familiar to Azul. “People do that to you too?” Azul asked.

“Worse, brothers.” Grace said, “Anthony and Danny always make fun of me. They say I talk too much, or ask too many questions, or am too ugly to be a girl, or make fun of me for not having magic, or worse…” Tears started to form in her eyes. She hugged herself with the food still in her hand, “Ever since we moved here, its gotten worse. Mama and Papa use to step in and tell them to stop, but Mama isn’t here anymore, Papa is always working, and the servants don’t do anything… probably because they agree with them. Eli tries to step in, but he is too little to understand.” She then shakes her head and wipes her eyes away with her forearm, “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much, its not proper for a lady to talk so much-”

“Nonono! Me too!” Azul gestures to himself, “I mean- I like hearing you talk! People back home bullied me all the time! They say I talk to much a-and call me a nerd too! B-but they also call me fat and ugly, w-which is true for me but not in your case you're really pretty-but anyway! I get it! Bullies hurt…” Azul fidgeted his fingers and tentacles as he spoke and looked down at the ground, scared to look into her eyes.

There was a tense silence for a moment and Azul thought he blew it with his new potential friend, “…you think I’m pretty?” He looked up and her face was red, she was blushing so hard and looked at him in surprise.

“Y-yeah… you are…” He was really nervous as they were still close.

Grace loosened her grip on herself and the poor sandwiches and a small smile graced her lips, “Well… I think your pretty cute,” She looked up and him and their eyes met yet again. “And, I have never seen a mermaid in real life before, but after talking to you, I think Cecelia are cooler than regular mermaids.” She held out half of the sandwich and her smile changed from small to big in a genuine manner. And a weird thing happened, her smiling made Azul want to smile. The only people who have ever made Azul smile just by them smiling were the tweels. He feels a weird draw towards her, like a string pulling them together. It was a similar tug he felt with the tweels, but something about it was different.

Grace handed Azul half of the sandwich and he took it. But before taking a bite, she raised her half. “Friends?”

Azul felt his hearts beat faster. He was in shock; ‘Sh-she wants to be friends with m-me? Th-this never happens! I have a Friend! A new human friend! That means I have THREE friends!!’ “Friends!”

“Friends?” “FRIENDS!!” Two teal heads suddenly leaped out of the water.

In the shallows of the cave water were Jade and Floyd in matching sharp tooth grins.

Azul felt panic rise in his chest as the two swam closer and crawl onto the sand. Grace jumped with half a sandwich hanging out of her mouth. “moareyou?” She said with her mouth full.

Azul’s arms and tentacles were moving frantically, “nononono, please don’t freak out, they are my friends,” Grace took the sandwich out of her mouth and relaxed her shoulders a bit. “T-this is Jade and Floyd, they a-are my friends, and I guess your friends now too since you’re my friend, i-if that’s how this thing works right?” As he spoke his tentacles moved to exclaim his point.

Grace looked back and forth between Azul and the twin’s and her apprehension turned to a smile, “I-I have three friends, I HAVE THREE FRIENDS!” She was as excited as Floyd was. Her hair and bow bounced as she jumped. Her eyes sparkled and she tackled Azul in a hug. “THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! YOU’RE THE BEST!!!!”

Azul stood there stunned. Her arms around him and she was thanking him for friends. She moved on to hug the twins, but all Azul could think about was her arms around him and her eyes glowing in excitement.

“YAY!” Grace tackle-hugged Floyd and the two fell in the water. Jade chuckled at the sight and beached himself on the shore.

“Seems like you helped yourself Azul,” Jade commented and plucked some of the treats out of Grace’s basket, “You even found food.”

“Seems so,” Azul replied as Grace and Floyd got out of the water.

Grace squeezed the water out of her dress and hair, Azul couldn’t take his eyes off her and it made Jade’s smile grow sharp, “A human girl… interesting,” He hummed.

Azul turned to Jade and quirked his brow, “What do you mean by that?”

Jade shook his head as Grace came over to hug him, “Nothing, just interesting.”

Azul would not understand what Jade noted until years later. On that summer’s day, Azul’s life changed. He found an abandoned grotto he now called home, he started to seriously study magic alongside the tweels using the books and artifacts now at their disposal, and met Grace Trein, a girl who would help him conquer both land and sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @twistedcece @thisisafish123

Note: Please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more! If you are interested in seeing more characters in this scenario or these characters in different scenarios, please let me know! (Do not Steal)

[sophs-style]

The Valentino Spring/Summer 2024 fashion show as part of Paris Fashion Week on Sunday (1st October 2023), with ambassadors and friends of the house in attendance.

Florence Pugh, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Penn Badgley, Simone Ashley, Charles Melton, Samara Weaving, Sonam Kapoor, Maude Apatow, Madelaine Petsch, Paris Hilton and Nicky Hilton, Balqees Fathi, Lena Mahfouf, Yasmin Finney, Leonie Hanne, Lily Chee, Leslie Mann and Amelia Dimoldenberg (all wearing Valentino).

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 7: Accidents Will Happen

Withers stepped forward, assessing Florence. “The girl has been drained of blood, but her soul lingers just beyond death. The vampire has paid his dues. Stand aside.” With a grim expression, Gale released Florence’s body, returning it to the bedroll and sitting back on his heels helplessly, gaze fixed on her motionless form before he met Astarion's gaze, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. Withers, his ancient face betraying no emotion, uttered a few arcane words under his breath. A soft glow enveloped Florence’s body before she arched her back, her eyes snapping open as she gasped. Gale caught her as she pitched forward, hyperventilating. He held her trembling frame steady, one hand stroking the back of her hair, trying to comfort her as she leaned against his shoulder.  “It’s okay, you’re alright. Breathe, I’ve got you….” “Welcome back to the land of the living, darling.” Astarion purred as Withers exited the tent unceremoniously. Gale turned with slow precision as he narrowed his eyes as Florence pulled out of his arms, throwing her hands in the air. “You killed me?!”

Summary: Florence takes a brief trip to the Fugue Plane and Gale spirals about it. (Gale POV)

Pairing: Gale x Named Tav/OFC

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: blood, consensual blood drinking leading to non-consensual death, possessiveness/jealousy, hurt/comfort, mild sexuality (Gale fantasizes and gets an erection)

Read on AO3

Gale hesitated several steps away from Florence’s tent, brow furrowed as he scanned the ground beneath his feet, formulating his apology. He had practiced his words countless times, but the right ones still eluded him.

He regretted snapping at her. It was not unreasonable for her to question the legitimacy of his feelings, given the circumstances. And how could he expect her to return his affections? Surely this was all a reignited Academy crush, thrown into drastic circumstances. Anyone would get swept up in the briefest of touches, or a few exchanged glances across camp after a year of isolation. Gale could hardly fault her for being sensible, for guarding her heart against the unknown. Yet, despite her doubts, he couldn’t deny the hint of a spark of… something.

After all, they had history. Perhaps he’d come on too strong in his recent yearning, but it’s not as if these feelings weren’t there before - long before his romantic involvement with Mystra even.

Regardless of where they stood, Florence was his friend, and he owed her an apology. It was unbearable for him to leave things like this.

Summoning all his courage, Gale clenched and unclenched his fists, wriggling his fingers to clear the tension. As he drew closer, he strained his ears, catching the faint rustling of Florence’s bedroll, and the sound of Astarion whispering. He halted in mid-step, his heart sinking.

Was he too late? Were they together? He couldn’t decipher the words being exchanged, but the implication was enough to send a spasm of misery through his chest. His tattoo glowed in response and inhaled sharply to dismiss it.

He’d been so certain that she saw Astarion as nothing more than a vexing travel companion, forced upon her by circumstance. Doubt gnawed at his soul, and the memory of their connection, their shared moment with the Weave, suddenly felt like a distant dream. How could he, a wizard who had spent a year in isolation, as a failure , compete with the rakish charms of a magistrate, seemingly built for seduction? Just days ago, he and Florence were at each other’s throats and now…

He was paralyzed with embarrassment. So he had been making an ass of himself. What he’d thought was a budding romance was simply the product of his own deluded desires and lonely imagination. Feeling more foolish than ever, he backed away, his retreat marked by the soft crunch of fallen leaves underfoot. There was no point in apologizing now, not when he was in such a state…

Just as he turned his back, he heard Astarion swear. Gale whirled to find him emerging from Florence’s tent alone, glancing around. When he noticed Gale, his expression faltered.

“Ah. Hello.” His confident mask slipped back into place as he offered a brief wave. “Just had a chat with Florence. She’s resting now, no need to disturb her, I’m off for a brief perimeter check…“

Gale squinted as he listened to Astarion’s rambling. Something wasn’t adding up.

“What did you do, bore her to sleep?”

Astarion’s body language betrayed his discomfort, but he forced a smile.

“That’s more your style than mine, darling.” His pleasant tone only thinly veiled the insult.

Gale studied him. “Look, this doesn’t have to be awkward. I apologize if this is too forward... but I wanted to ask about you and Florence. I couldn’t help but notice that the two of you seem...close lately.”

“ Ha! ” Astarion let out a bark of laughter that almost made Gale flinch. “It’s far more tame than whatever you’re imagining, my dear.” He took several steps before abruptly turning around, his hand resting on his chin.

“You don’t happen to have, perhaps, a few gold coins to spare, do you?” Astarion asked, a calculating look in his eyes.

Gale arched an eyebrow, his arms crossing skeptically. Still, he reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a handful of coins.

“What use do you have for gold at this hour?” his suspicion grew as he handed them over.

Astarion snatched the coins, and they clinked together as he laid them flat in his palm, counting and added more from his own pockets.

“Just settling a debt with the old bag of bones,” he mumbled cryptically.

“Withers? He hardly seems the gambling type…”

Gale glanced from Astarion to Florence’s tent, then to the skeleton by the nearby lake. A sense of foreboding settled in his gut. Something was very, very wrong.

Ignoring Astarion’s sounds of protest, Gale shoved past him and into Florence’s tent, freezing immediately.

A flickering candle atop a stack of books cast a soft, eerie glow, illuminating her figure lying on the bedroll. Her eyes were closed, lips parted, and as his gaze fell to her neck, he glimpsed droplets of scarlet staining the collar of her shirt.

He crept closer and knelt down by her side. In the dim light, the typical warmth of her complexion had faded into a bone-shaded pallor. With a trembling hand, he reached forward and pressed two fingers to her neck, below a pair of fresh puncture wounds. Her skin felt lukewarm, lifeless…cold.

As his mind caught up to reality, a wave of grief and rage washed over him. Florence couldn’t be dead. It was impossible. And yet, there she was, void of the modest blush that typically painted her cheeks. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” He frantically searched for a pulse, his fingers leaving streaks of blood on her neck.

“How…what have you...” his voice cracked as he looked down at Florence’s body before meeting Astarion’s stare, gut twisting with anguish.

“We’re running out of time.” Astarion said and rushed outside before Gale had the chance to throttle him.

Kneeling on the ground, Gale remained there for what felt like an eternity, haunted by Florence’s corpse. There was no serenity in her features, but no fear, either. Was it confusion? Betrayal? What had transpired here? 

She was gone. Dead. Not from the tadpole in her skull or any foreseeable fate that could have befallen her outside the perimeters of this camp, but by Astarion’s hand. Had she sought comfort in him after their fight? Or had they been involved far longer than Gale had realized?

Unable to accept the reality, he pulled her into his lap, cradling her in his arms as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We’ll bring you back, hold on…”

Footsteps fell outside just before Astarion clambered in, stumbling onto the rug Florence had laid out over the dirt.

“There. You can fix her, right?” He asked over his shoulder as Withers strode inside with a maddening lack of urgency. Gale’s head snapped up, his desperate expression turning to fury. 

“Fix her? Fix her? She’s not a broken toy, she’s dead , Astarion! You killed her!” Only the weight of grief, and the lifeless body in his lap, held the wizard in place.

“I know I bloody killed her!” Astarion snarled. “It was an accident. Now, if you’d be so kind, pull yourself together and let the skeleton bring her back.”

“An accident?” Gale scoffed. “Snuffing out her life was a silly gaffe for you, was it?” 

Withers stepped forward, assessing Florence. “The girl has been drained of blood, but her soul lingers just beyond death. The vampire has paid his dues. Stand aside.”

With a grim expression, Gale released Florence’s body, returning it to the bedroll and sitting back on his heels helplessly, gaze fixed on her motionless form before he met Astarion's gaze, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes.

Withers, his ancient face betraying no emotion, uttered a few arcane words under his breath. A soft glow enveloped Florence’s body before she arched her back, her eyes snapping open as she gasped. Gale caught her as she pitched forward, hyperventilating. He held her trembling frame steady, one hand stroking the back of her hair, trying to comfort her as she leaned against his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, you’re alright. Breathe, I’ve got you….”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, darling.” Astarion purred as Withers exited the tent unceremoniously.

Gale turned with slow precision as he narrowed his eyes as Florence pulled out of his arms, throwing her hands in the air.

“You killed me?!” she shrieked at Astarion.

“Take it as a compliment. You were ever so delicious.” He examined his nails. “Besides, everything worked out.”

“The Hells it did! Do you know what the Fugue Plane is like?”

“Well, I’m a vampire, so-”

“Enough!” Gale stood and Florence and Astarion fell silent, taken aback by his unexpected rise in volume. He took a deep breath before continuing, his voice calm but maintaining an authoritative edge.

“Were you ever planning on informing camp that you’re a bloody vampire , Astarion? I have no quarrel with your nature. I’m sympathetic to it, even, but to drain someone of life without their consent-”

Florence lowered her gaze before interrupting him. “He had my consent, Gale.”

The wizard stared in disbelief before he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t…I don’t even know where to start with this. Explain it to me, from the beginning. Please.” He waved, closing his eyes. “Just…please.”

“I made a sacrifice for the better of the group. We need Astarion and we need him at full strength. Besides…he’s one of us,” Florence said begrudgingly, glancing in Astarion’s direction as she added, “I’m positive there won’t be a repeat occurrence.” 

Astarion drew a cross over his heart, a smirk playing on his lips. “Promise.”

“Perhaps you should keep your mouth shut, Astarion. For more reasons than one.” Gale snapped. He clenched his jaw, frustrated and helpless. As much as he loathed to admit it, Florence was right. But the thought - Astarion’s tongue and teeth against her skin, the unavoidable intimacy of being sustained by her blood, that she would care for him so much to put herself in harm’s way…

It made him sick.

“You allowed him to bite you?” he asked Florence, just above a whisper. “Do you honestly believe he would make the same sacrifice for you? Or for any of us?“

“I’m right here,” Astarion grumbled. “And technically, I’m a spawn.”

As Gale shot him a glare, he caught sight of the rest of the camp gathered outside, looking in on them with confused and concerned expressions.

“What’s it to you, Gale? I thought we weren’t speaking.” Florence asked bitterly. “Wouldn’t want you to get too riled up.”

He flinched. So consumed by her death, he’d forgotten about their recent argument. The words cut deep, and the audience wasn’t helping. Intuitively, Karlach cut in. 

“Hey fella, let’s go have a chat about keeping our fangs to ourselves.” She said to Astarion, breaking the silence and inclining her head towards the fire. The others echoed similar sentiments under their breath as they departed.

“Astarion.” Gale called out.

The vampire hesitated. “Mm?” 

“If you think I’m going to just let this go, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Astarion sneered, allowing the tent flap to close behind him. 

Alone, a moment of tense silence hung between Florence and Gale. She hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on her bedroll, appearing rather pale and haggard as she spoke, staring off into space.

“Is now a better time for you to talk?” her weariness drowned out the hostility in her voice. “Never mind whether it’s inconvenient for me, having just risen from the dead and all.”

Defeated, Gale crouched down in front of her, becoming equally fatigued.

“I was coming to apologize when I…discovered you, Florence.” His expression was soft, tortured. “I was hurt, earlier. I spoke without thinking…” 

“I did too.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re not the only one with regrets about the evening.”

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed at his face, stubble scratching against his palm. Delicately, he reached out and tilted her chin upward with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. Disheveled and wet with blood, her loose curls brushed against his wrist.

“Please don’t put yourself at risk like that ever again, Floss...” he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.

The recollection of their intimacy came flooding back, a bittersweet reminder of the previous night. Curiously, she blinked at him, unmoving, and as he realized what he had done—the familiar, tender gesture coming to him so intuitively—he quickly withdrew his hand. 

“I...ah…” he swallowed hard, and pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off. 

“You should rest. You must be exhausted after… everything. If you…” He stepped back, creating more distance between them. “...need anything…I’ll just send in Shadowheart to check on you…”

She nodded and then glanced away. For a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of something there—pain, longing, remorse.

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets, nodding. 

“Right. Well…goodnight, then,” he stammered as he backed out of the tent. “Sleep well, Florence.”

As he exited, he waved over Shadowheart and swiftly disappeared to his tent, evading his companion’s questions as he used a damp rag to scrub what remained of Florence's blood from his skin with a shudder. To think, if Astarion had simply disappeared from camp, leaving her to be discovered the next morning, when her soul might have ventured further into the afterlife. If it might have been too late by the time they found her…

Sleep eluded him, his thoughts incessantly returning to Florence. The way she looked in death. How her lifeless body felt in his hands.

To the vision she showed him in the Weave. Her tongue in his mouth, her hand on his…

Light flared from the tattoo on his collarbone as his arousal strained against the front of his trousers. Disgusted by his desires just hours after she’d died , he sought distraction by immersing himself in a tome by candlelight. He wouldn’t allow his imprudent fantasies to be the reason she died a second time.

At dawn, as the sun painted the inside of his tent a bright orange, he abandoned his futile pursuit of sleep and pushed the book aside, climbing out of bed and venturing to the campfire to start breakfast.

Last night was an obvious demonstration of the danger of keeping secrets from one another. Astarion’s vampirism may have proven fatal by accident, but Gale’s condition was far more volatile. Unpredictably so.

As his companions rose from their bedrolls and retreated from tents, stretching and yawning in the morning light, he steeled himself.

He had to tell them the truth before it was too late.

[masiepeters]

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆ about the blogger

hello ! i'm cate, i'm in my twenties, and i do a lot of sad girl blogging. i love my cats, writing (wattpad), coffee, and minding my own business. i'm bi. my pronouns are she/her

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the fandoms above, but also dc, marvel, video games, art, literature, and miscellaneous tv shows and movies. there's also aesthetic posting, cats, mythology, and everything you can imagine. i tag all my posts, too (audio // video // words // text // graphics // tumblr shenanigans // fandom shenanigans // merch shenanigans // world topics // writing // web weaving // resources)

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do not follow if you're a terf/homophobe/transphobe/racist/zionist/xenophobe/sexist. please don't follow if you're a minor or a potterhead. thanks

[eresia-catara]

wait so I'm new here...why exactly did Guido and Dante have a fight?

oh anon, why indeed?? why??

Seriously though, we don't know! We have some remaining poems that suggest an argument together with the political events of the 1290s, but the reason behind it is usually attributed to poetical, political or philosophical reasons. I will explain under the cut!

Simply put, the story goes this way: Guido was a knight, a nobleman, his family was one of the richest inside of Florence. Dante was eh...let's say burgeois? He wasn't filthy rich like Guido but he got by better than most, in fact Dante's father had been a moneylender and the family owned some lands which were managed by Francesco, Dante's brother; furthermore, Dante dedicated himself to poetry and philosophy meaning he was rich enough to not have to work. In the 1280s, thanks to a poem, he befriended Guido, who was also considered the best poet inside of Florence, which, as a consequence, introduced him into the circles of intellectuals and noblemen. Basically, Dante felt he was more noble than burgeois. These years were the period of harmony and happiness between the two and, presumably, between their poetical beliefs.

What happened in the 1290s though? Beatrice Portinari, Dante's muse, dies (if we want to believe she existed, as there are debates on this topic too). This causes a radical change in Dante's way of writing poetry. The proof of this is his libello, Vita Nova, in which he re-interprets some chosen poems of his into a mystical, catholic, new key. Paradoxically, it was dedicated to Guido, who was close to (if not fully) atheist, or at least he was surely not a regular catholic if we consider that a poet (forgive me but right now I cannot remember for the life of me the name) advised readers to do the sign of the cross before reading his poems. Now, now, you will say 'okay but where's the fight?' the fight is in Donna me prega and I' vegno il giorno a te infinite volte, by Guido, and in Dante approving of new political reforms that prohibited noblemen from participating in politics, becoming prior in june 1300 and exiling Guido thus bringing him to his death in august. It's a lot, but the key to it all is here.

Going in order, Donna me prega expresses the exact. opposite. beliefs. of Vita Nova. It's a long, intricate, extremely refined and complex philosophical poem that, if closely analyzed, will bring you to the conclusion that this man does not believe in the immortality of the soul, does not believe in God, does not believe love to be a positive force (and I would add the observation that, with a catholic view, God=Love). So, this is a first point of possible attrition, but one could say 'maybe they had different views but were still friends'. True. However, let us go further.

I' vegno il giorno a te infinite volte. This poem is addressed directly to Dante, as suggests the rhyme scheme of ABBA ABBA CDE EDC which he always used when writing to him. This poem has been interpreted in many different ways, but one thing is sure, the composition is reprimanding Dante of some kind of vileness. THIS. IS. IT. what is he talking about? What did Dante do? What did he not do, maybe? Is it vileness due to unacceptable beliefs? Unacceptable political decisions? Unacceptable behaviour Something completely different of which we have no record whatsoever? Something completely personal?

This brings us to a final observation regarding Dante's life after Guido, which seems to at least confirm that there was something unresolved between the two at the time of Guido's death. Dante's works become haunted by Guido's presence, whether it be through a direct quotation, a subtle wink to the reader, or worse and more importantly, through the desperate attempt to not have him weaved inside the fabric of his works. I am not trying to psychoanalyse a man who died 703 years ago, but really if a thought keeps occuring in your mind, it is a sign that it needs to be listened, and Dante spent the rest of his life avoiding that. I have said this before, somewhere, but I'll say it again: no one reaches the age of 56 and is still this troubled by a friend (ex-friend?) who died 21 years ago.

I will leave to you, anon, the duty to decide for yourself what the answer to all of this is. I hope it was clear enough! At any rate, it's always a pleasure to ramble on about these two :') (also my followers by now know everything about them so it's refreshing to have a new victi- ahem, a new audience :))

[vecnuthy]

whatcha readin?

Tagged by @judasofsuburbia This is suchhh a cool idea! This list doesn't even scratch the surface, but basically all of these JUST updated, so I'm in Kermit on a typewriter mode. They're all smutty with I think one exception, so. That's your warning. And they're all Steddie. Mind the tags as always!

Money, Power, Glory by @strangerthings1975 just wrapped and I'm an emotional WRECK because this story is fucking insanely good. Mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, communication is king, sooo much fluff even with the heavy themes. The summary from ao3: Steve starts paying Eddie for sex once he discovers that Eddie doesn't just deal drugs and perform at the Hideout. Strap tf in, heed the tags, bask in its magnificence. This fic is always on my mind, no exaggeration.

is your light on? by @toburnup I love how Vio weaves nuance and simplicity and still manages to have it all land like a ton of bricks. The slowest of burns, have aloe on hand!! Happy ending is guaranteed too thank god because I want to shake the shit out of these two sometimes. This story steamrolls my soul and lives rent free in my brain, and I'm so excited to read the chapter that just posted. I'm screaming!!

Tell Me "Don't" So I Can Crawl Back In They are disasters! They are everything! Steve ditches the old friends and decides to get friendly with Eddie. Steve surprises tf out of Eddie (and me) in this one, and it's a lottt of fun to read.

I can't tune you out by @hairstevington famous musicians Steddie, fake dating/enemies to lovers, slow burn, and Buckingham? Absolutely. Read it.

Tentative by @eddywoww Sapphic Steddie with Stevie in a ln all-girls pop group with Eddie as their assistant. Y'aaallll. Shenanigans. Delicious, thirsty shenanigans. I'm literally signed up for anything that Lee does. I Made Loving You a Bloodsport, Uneducated Guesses, everythinggggg.

Blood and Water by @aidaronan sapphic witches Steddie that has me so hyped to see what all is going to happen. I live for the vibes/aesthetic, and it's already so dark and juicy!

as good a place to fall as any by @rewritingicarus photographer Eddie and amateur model Steve. Oh. My god. I fucking love this story. It's so steamy, and come ON. The title coming from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + the Machine? I jumped on it as soon as I saw the title and I haven't looked back since. I crave the updates!

What about you? No pressure, of course! @steddiealltheway @flowercrowngods @grimmfitzz @henderdads @hairmetal666 @stevebabey @emryses @wormdebut @asbealthgn @steves-strapcollection @onirislanding and anybody else who'd like to participate ✨️

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 3

Chapter 3: The Undone and The Divine

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Criminal Activities, Mobsters/Mafia, Character Death, Slowish Burn, Disassociation, 

Word Count: 11.9k

A/N: This was lowkey tough to write with all the technicalities but I managed to push through it lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Song: Only If For A Night by Florence + The Machine

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

A FEW DAYS LATER…

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT – MORNING

As you blink, fragments of your past weave their way into your consciousness, like threads of a tapestry unraveling in your mind. Memories unfold, revealing moments of rigorous training, ethereal wisdom, and a mentor whose guidance shaped you into the person you are today.

You remember living in a tranquil sanctuary, surrounded by ancient texts and mystical artifacts. The air hums with energy as you practice intricate movements, honing your skills under the watchful eye of a wise and enigmatic figure. The connection between you is unspoken yet profound, a bond forged through years of shared knowledge and profound teachings.

Visions of battles fought against formidable adversaries dance before your eyes. You wielded powers beyond comprehension, manipulating the very fabric of reality with finesse and precision. In those moments, you were a guardian of balance, a protector of realms unseen.

But the flashbacks recede, vanishing like whispers in the wind. You find yourself in the bustling corridors of the New York City Police Department, surrounded by the everyday realities of life. The voice of Brett Mahoney pulls you back to the present, concern etched on his face. "You good? You seem kinda out of it."

You look up from the paperwork you were filing for a domestic violence case and force a small smile. "Mhm, just a little tired," you respond, trying to shake off the remnants of the past and the previous nights of helping Matt from the sidelines. Mahoney takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, "You know, my mom has been askin’ for you. You aren't giving her cigarettes with those cookies too, are you?"

You snort, the corners of your lips curling with amusement. "Nah, I actually have a secret life as a drug dealer and deliver her cookies laced with crack," you quip, easing the tension in the room. Brett chuckles at your joke as you put down the pen and hand the file to another officer. "Why, what's up?" you ask, genuinely interested. Brett sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "Could you maybe visit her? I've been pulling a lot of shifts lately, and dealing with reports of some masked vigilante beating up a bunch of criminals has taken up a lot of my time."

You sigh, feigning concern at the news. "New York is something else," you remark. Brett hums in agreement, understanding the chaos of the city all too well. "So, could you do it? Drop by and give her more of those cocaine cookies?" he asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You nod, with your expression sincere. "Sure, I'll stop by in a bit," you promise, knowing that a visit to Brett's mother would bring a sense of joy and connection amidst the chaos of your secret battles.

MAHONEY RESIDENCE – DAY

You give a gentle knock on the door of the Mahoney residence, and a warm smile spreads across your face as it swings open to reveal Bess Mahoney, an elderly woman with a kind expression. "Hi, dear. Come inside," she welcomes you, gesturing for you to enter. Expressing your gratitude, you respond, "Thank you, Bess. I brought some of those cookies you like! Sister Maggie and Sister Catherine helped me bake them."

As you step into the cozy living room, the aroma of freshly baked cookies fills the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity. Bess's eyes light up with delight, and she takes your hand in hers. "You're such a sweetheart, always thinking of me," she says, her voice tinged with genuine affection. "Those nuns at the church have been a blessing to this neighborhood."

You nod, a sense of warmth and purpose swelling within you. "They truly are," you reply, feeling grateful for the support and guidance the sisters have provided throughout your journey. "They've taught me so much about compassion and making a difference in people's lives."

As you sit at the kitchen table, the taste of the homemade cookies still lingering on your tongue, a sense of calm settles over you. The weight of the world and the secret battles you face momentarily fade away in the presence of Bess's warm company.

Just as you begin to bask in the comfort of the moment, Bess's voice breaks the tranquility. "I need a favor from you, honey," she says, her tone carrying a hint of concern. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lean in, attentively asking, "Is something wrong?"

Bess waves her hand dismissively. “Not with me, but with a dear friend of mine, Elena Cardenas. She's a lovely woman, and she's facing trouble. You see, she owns a rent-controlled apartment in Hell's Kitchen, but her landlord suddenly wants to evict her.”

Your frown deepens, empathizing with the injustice of the situation. Nodding in understanding, you urge Bess to continue. She smiles and explains, “I suggested she reach out to the new firm in the city, Nelson and Murdock. They have a reputation for being very good at what they do.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and realization. "Oh, yes. I've heard of them. They’re very good.” The memory of your encounter with Matt Murdock resurfaces, the card tucked safely in your pocket. It seems fate has intertwined your paths once again.

Bess's smile grows wider, her eyes gleaming with hope. "Perfect. Honey, I need you to go with Elena Cardenas to their office. She's as old as me, and it would grant me peace of mind knowing she arrives there safely."

You look into Bess's eyes, seeing the genuine concern and trust she places in you. There is no denying the importance of this favor, and deep down, you know you can't refuse. With a resolute expression, you reply, "Of course, Bess. What's her address and phone number? I'll make sure Elena gets to Nelson and Murdock's office."

A forced smile graces your lips, masking any hesitation or trepidation. At this moment, you understand that there is no avoiding this task. It is a chance to help someone in need, to make a difference in their life, and honor the trust Bess has placed in you.

As Bess shares the necessary details, you commit them to memory, knowing that this journey will bring its challenges and revelations. You rise from the table, ready to fulfill your role as a guardian in the shadows, guided by the light of friendship and the pursuit of justice.

With a final nod of assurance to Bess, you bid her farewell, leaving her with the comforting knowledge that Elena Cardenas will be well taken care of. As you step out into the bustling streets of Hell's Kitchen, you carry within you the determination to stand for those who need it most.

NELSON AND MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW – DAY

You guide Mrs. Cardenas to the address scribbled on the card provided by Matt. As you approach the designated location, a paper sign catches your attention, proudly displaying the name "Nelson and Murdock Attorney's at Law." It's the place you were directed to, and you offer Mrs. Cardenas a comforting smile before proceeding.

You raise your hand and knock on the door, with it slightly open and already spotting the people inside. “Hi, uhm, I’m looking for Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock.”

As Mrs. Cardenas follows you inside, you can't help but feel a sense of reassurance, knowing that you've brought her to a place where she will be heard and supported. With Karen's presence and the promise of Nelson and Murdock's assistance, you are hopeful that justice will prevail and that Mrs. Cardenas will find the resolution she deserves.

Matt breathes a sigh of relief as he hears you, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're okay," he states, his worry evident in his tone. You raise an eyebrow in response, a hint of curiosity lacing your words. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Though your response isn't a complete answer, it holds a semblance of truth. Deep down, you understand that recovery takes time, and your body bears the evidence of the journey you've been through. Matt's heightened senses allow him to perceive the subtle clues that reveal your ongoing healing process. The scent of cortisol and antiseptic lingers in the air around you, a testament to the challenges you've faced and the resilience you've shown.

You glance at the man standing beside Matt, presuming him to be his friend and partner, Foggy. He scrutinizes both of you with a curious expression and poses the question, "You two know each other?" Your mind races to come up with a plausible explanation, and you quickly respond, "We go to the same church."

Foggy's gaze shifts between you and Matt, seemingly skeptical of your answer. He turns to Matt, seeking confirmation. Matt simply nods, but it's evident that Foggy isn't fully convinced. He remarks with a hint of sarcasm, "So, is that what they call it now?"

A blush creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed by the implication. Before Matt can intervene, you shake your head, determined to clarify the situation. "No, seriously. I'm also Catholic, and I work at the church. I’m also a social worker at Metro-General."

You hope that this additional information will dispel any misconceptions and assure Foggy of your genuine connection to the church. He needs to understand that your involvement extends beyond deception.

Foggy raises his eyebrows, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "That sounds like a lot of work," he remarks, acknowledging the dedication required for your role. You smile, "Yeah, it can be challenging, but I’ll manage."

Matt, however, senses the underlying tension and the half-truth in your response. His heightened senses enable him to pick up on the subtleties of your emotions. You clear your throat, aware that the truth cannot be concealed from him indefinitely.

"Anyways," you continue, shifting the focus of the conversation, "you said I could come here and ask for your legal services. This is Elena Cardenas." With a nod, you introduce Elena, hoping that the urgency of her situation will capture their attention.

Foggy and Matt guide both of you to their small conference room, offering seats to discuss the pressing matter at hand. As you take your place at the table, the heaviness of the situation settles upon you. You await their guidance and expertise, knowing that their legal services might be the key to helping Mrs. Cardenas in her time of need.

"Bess Mahoney? Brett's mom?" Foggy seeks clarification as you mention Bess referring Elena to them. Elena nods in confirmation. "Sí, she referred me. Dice que le da puros."

Karen, the woman you were introduced to earlier, chuckles. "Something about cigars?" Foggy looks at Karen with surprise. "You know Spanish?" Karen shakes her head. "Oh, just what I remember from high school."

Matt, his expression serious, turns his attention to Mrs. Cardenas. "Mrs. Cardenas, please tell us what happened." Mrs. Cardenas struggles to translate her Spanish into English, doing her best to convey the details. "Mi casa es rent-control. But the landlord, Señor Tully..."

"Armand Tully? Sleaze bag who owns buildings all over town," Foggy interjects, recognizing the name. Mrs. Cardenas nods. "Sí, y Señor Tully..." She switches back to speaking in Spanish, and Karen takes it upon herself to translate. "He wants to convert the apartments into condominiums. And he wants the residents to leave." Mrs. Cardenas continues, "Men came weeks ago. They claimed they were workers. And they destroyed the apartments with a… I don't know that last word.”

"Sledgehammer," Matt utters simultaneously, his voice aligning with your own words. The synchronized response captures the attention of everyone in the room, their focus shifting toward the shared statement. "College," Foggy adds, clarifying the source of his knowledge. As he tilts his head in curiosity, his unsteady gaze falls upon you, silently inquiring about your proficiency in Spanish. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips nervously before you respond, "Um, I learned it when I was young. Sometime around middle school."

"You ever have a client that wants to chat in Punjabi, I'm your man," Foggy says cheerfully, injecting a light-hearted comment into the conversation. You smile in response, appreciating his sense of humor. Karen, on the other hand, looks between you and Matt, slightly uncertain.

"Um... Do you want to do this?" she asks, seeking confirmation from Matt. His voice carries a flirtatious tone as he replies, "No, no. I like listening to your voice." Karen blushes in response, clearly affected by Matt's smooth and charming personality. Foggy sighs, “Go on, Mrs. Cardenas.” And your attention shifts between the three of them.

The world you once cherished loses its luster, fading into a somber tableau. Each breath becomes a shallow rhythm, failing to ground you in the swirling tempest of emotions. Jealousy, heavy as a stone, settles in the pit of your stomach, reminding you of desires that can never be fulfilled.

Hurt and longing intertwine, composing a poignant symphony within your chest. The truth resonates deep within your being: Matt will never be yours. It's a bitter pill to swallow, a gold rush of emotions crashing against the shores of the unrequited.

Yet, during this storm, you find solace in acknowledging your feelings. Envy and sadness are natural companions when faced with the undeniable connection between Matt and Karen, including the nights before with him and Claire. It serves as a stark reminder that your feelings can be elusive, slipping through your grasp like grains of sand.

You've always held a profound love for this world, cherishing its every detail. But now, it feels as though everything is slipping away, slipping beyond your grasp. The sun rises dutifully, even when unasked, illuminating the beauty around you. Most days, you wouldn't think twice about the things that go right in your life.

As the weight of your emotions threatens to consume you, Matt's heightened senses pick up on the shifting energy in the room. He turns his head towards you, his moving gaze piercing through the haze of your disquiet.

"Hey," he calls your name softly, his voice laced with concern, “Are you okay? You went sort of quiet…” Startled, you hastily put on a fake smile, hoping to mask the tumultuous thoughts and feelings that swirl within you. It's a delicate dance, maintaining the facade while grappling with the ache in your heart.

You meet his eyes behind his glasses, your eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability before you quickly avert your gaze. Deep down, you know he senses something is amiss, but you can't bear to burden him with your inner turmoil. So, you play the part, presenting a semblance of composure despite the storm raging within.

With a subtle nod, you signal your understanding, silently acknowledging his attention and care. It's a fleeting moment, fleeting like the delicate petals of a wilting flower, but you carry on, concealing the depths of your emotions behind a practiced smile, “Mhm. I’m fine, just remembered something, my apologies.”

As Mrs. Cardenas continues to voice her concerns in Spanish, detailing the dire conditions in her building, and the absence of necessities like working sinks and pipes, a sense of despair fills the air. Her words echo with the weight of helplessness, as she recounts the failed attempts to seek assistance.

Karen steps in, fluently translating Mrs. Cardenas' words, revealing the futility of their interactions with the police. "The police couldn't help, they don’t know what to do." Karen conveys, her voice carrying the frustration and disappointment that hangs in the room. Mrs. Cardenas's voice rises with passion as she shares the police's response, emphasizing their inability to address the situation.

Matt's shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh of frustration, his expression mirroring the collective disappointment in the room. It's a shared recognition of the limitations faced by those in need, the overwhelming bureaucracy that leaves them stranded without a lifeline.

Foggy looks at one of the documents, “This says Tully offered them 10,000 to give up their rent control and vacate the premises. Maybe we can pressure him into giving a better payout.” Karen stands up and reaches for a tissue box behind the two of you and then places it on the table before sitting back down.

Mrs. Cardenas shakes her head, “No, Señor Foggy. We do no want money. We want to stay in our homes.” A glimmer of determination flickers on Matt's face, a silent promise to do what he can to rectify the injustice. Though the challenges ahead may be daunting, he refuses to let the circumstances crush their hope. With unwavering resolve, he leans forward, ready to confront the city's indifference. He begins to converse with Mrs. Cardenas in Spanish, telling her that Foggy will speak to Tully’s lawyer.

As Mrs. Cardenas expresses her gratitude with a heartfelt "Oh, gracias Senor Murdock! Muchas gracias," Matt responds with a simple "Bueno." He stands up, his hands on his hips, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. You rise from your seat alongside Mrs. Cardenas, ready to escort her out.

With the meeting finished, you follow Karen out of the conference room, expressing your gratitude for her assistance and the accommodating nature of their firm. Stepping out onto the city's bustling streets, you bid farewell to Mrs. Cardenas, reminding her to remain cautious on her way home. Your paths diverge, each heading in separate directions, carrying the weight of the day's challenges and hope for a better future.

Lost in your thoughts, you find yourself standing outside the steps of Foggy and Matt's office building, retrieving your phone from your pocket to check your next task. Suddenly, a small object collides with the heel of your shoe, drawing your attention. Matt's voice breaks the silence, apologizing for the accidental encounter.

"Oh, Matt! I'm sorry," you respond, a hint of surprise in your wide eyes. Swiftly, you step aside, allowing him to pass without any further obstruction. The brief interaction lingers in the air, a fleeting moment of shared acknowledgment before resuming your respective paths in the bustling cityscape.

However, Matt's question catches you off guard. "You're still here?" he asks, his curiosity evident. You pause for a moment, considering his words before replying, "Uh, yeah. I'm on my way to the precinct to update Officer Mahoney."

A warm smile spreads across Matt's face as he suggests, "We can go together if you want. I'm heading there as well to look for any complaints against Tully." You blink in surprise at his offer, caught off guard by his genuine willingness to accompany you. Unsure of how to respond, you stumble over your words, "Uh, well..."

Before you can come up with an excuse, Matt's grin widens, sensing your momentary hesitation. "Mind if I hold on to your arm as we walk there?" he asks, his voice filled with a playful charm. Your brain momentarily halts, caught off guard by his request, but you manage to nod and squeak out, "Mhm. Yeah, Sure."

His touch is gentle yet firm as he takes hold of your arm, leading the way through the bustling streets of New York City. Despite knowing that he doesn't need guidance, you play along, maintaining the facade of ignorance about his vigilante activities. Matt's heightened senses remain ever vigilant, attuned to your every heartbeat, breath, and blink. He focuses on your scent and the subtle notes of your perfume, a reminder of the close proximity and unspoken connection between the two of you.

You make a conscious effort to steady your heartbeat, reminding yourself that this is merely a shared journey to fulfill your respective roles. There is no need to stress or overanalyze the situation. However, when Matt squeezes your arm to gain your attention, you are brought back to the present moment.

"Why did you want to become a social worker?" Matt's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "I... um... I wanted to help people who have experienced a difficult time. I wanted to offer them a fresh start, free from judgment," you answer honestly, feeling a sense of purpose and compassion in your words.

Matt nods, seemingly appreciating the raw truth in your response. The two of you continue walking side by side, the rhythm of your steps creating a gentle harmony as you navigate the busy streets. “Why did you want to become a lawyer?” You asked as you looked up at him.

Matt's lips curve into a thoughtful smile as he considers your question. His voice carries a hint of nostalgia as he begins to share his motivations. "I wanted to become a lawyer because I believed in the power of justice. I wanted to be someone who could make a difference, who could fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves."

His words resonate with a sense of purpose and determination. As you listen, you can't help but admire his unwavering commitment to upholding the ideals of justice. The bustling city fades into the background, and for a moment, it feels as if it's just the two of you, united by a shared desire to make the world a better place.

As the conversation unfolds, you find yourself becoming more immersed in Matt's story, drawn to the passion and sincerity in his words. Together, you continue your journey, the streets of New York serving as the backdrop to your aspirations and the beginning of a deeper connection.

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT – NOON

Mahoney eyes you both curiously before making an assumption, "Oh, are you two a..." You interrupt quickly, your cheeks flushing, "No, no! We're just colleagues. I came back to pick up the signed forms, and I need to return them to the DV shelter."

Matt offers a comforting smile while you fumble with your words. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze before letting you pass by Mahoney to the police desks where the forms are kept. As you hurriedly scan the documents, you steal a glance over your shoulder and notice Matt taking a seat on one of the nearby benches. 

The officer informs you that it will take a few minutes to process the forms, advising you to have a seat. Nervously, you settle next to Matt on the bench, stealing a quick glance at him. He appears slightly preoccupied, his head slightly tilted as if he's listening intently for something.

Suddenly, Matt gasps and springs up, freezing in place. The deafening sound of a gunshot echoes through the vicinity, causing you to startle. Chaos ensues as police officers react swiftly, their voices blending with the commotion. 

"We've got shots fired!" one of the officers announces, sending a shiver down your spine. An unsettling feeling washes over you, confirming your suspicions that something is seriously amiss.

Matt's heightened senses hones in on the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat. He detects the unmistakable scent and taste of your surging cortisol, the stress hormone permeating the air. The subtle perspiration on your palms and the quiver in your breath are all indicators of your escalating anxiety.

He turns to your slightly shaking figure, recognizing the paralyzing effect the situation has had on you. Time seems to have come to a standstill for everyone else, but you remain trapped in your frozen moment. Matt approaches you with gentle steps, his voice a soothing whisper as he calls your name, attempting to coax you out of your daze. "Hey... Hey... I'm right here. You're with me."

Amidst the chaos around you, Matt extends his hand towards you, a lifeline of reassurance and support. Without hesitation, you feel his firm grip enveloping your trembling fingers, grounding you in the turmoil. The world may still be a blur, but his touch serves as a beacon of stability, guiding you through uncertainty.

Gradually, a sense of self returns to you, and you become aware of Matt's steady presence beside you. You realize that he had taken the lead, guiding you away from the chaotic scene and into a serene alleyway where the noise of the outside world fades into the background. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you gather the courage to speak.

"I... I'm sorry," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of apology and confusion. "I should be used to this by now. I don't know why I reacted the way I did. I'm sorry."

Matt's expression softens, his gaze filled with empathy as he reaches out a hand to gently touch your arm. "There's no need to apologize," he reassures you, his voice gentle yet resolute. "It’s okay. I got you. You’re safe with me, always.”

You take a moment to collect yourself, appreciating his understanding. The weight of the moment begins to lift as you find solace in his presence. Together, you stand in the quiet alleyway, finding comfort in the shared understanding between two individuals whose lives are entwined in the extraordinary.

SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK CITY,

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SHELTER – EVENING

As you leave the vicinity of the DV shelter, your mind is filled with a mix of emotions and thoughts. You reach into your pocket and retrieve your cell phone, switching it on to reconnect with the outside world. The city streets, typically bustling with activity, now exude an unusual stillness. It's as if something has shifted, causing a palpable sense of imbalance to permeate the air.

The once-familiar sounds of honking cars and bustling footsteps are replaced by an eerie silence, amplifying the weight of the moment. Your gaze scans the surroundings, searching for any signs or clues as to what may have caused this unsettling change. Is it merely a figment of your imagination, or is there a tangible disturbance in the equilibrium of the city?

Questions swirl in your mind as you continue walking, your steps measured and alert. The cool air brushes against your skin, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and apprehension. Whatever has transpired, you can't shake the feeling that it holds significance, that it's a precursor to events yet to unfold.

Your eyes are drawn to the distance, and a chill runs down your spine as you spot a column of smoke rising ominously into the air. Before you can fully process what's happening, chaos erupts near you. A nearby building explodes with a deafening blast, shattering windows and sending debris flying in all directions.

The ground shakes beneath your feet as the force of the explosion reverberates through the surrounding area. You hear the muffled panic ensuing as people scramble for safety, their cries of fear and confusion blending with the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Time seems to slow down as you take in the destruction and the plumes of smoke billowing into the sky.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your determination to navigate the chaos and find a way to help those in need. With a deep breath, you steel yourself and take the first steps towards assisting in any way you can, your heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty and the urgent need to restore order during this unforeseen catastrophe.

As the smoke fills the air and sirens continue to blare, you swiftly make your way toward the DV shelter. Your heart pounds in your chest as you fear for the safety of those inside. Relief washes over you as you find everyone relatively unharmed, with only minor injuries and scratches.

With a quick assessment of the situation, you determine that the immediate needs at the shelter are being taken care of. Your attention now shifts to the nearby buildings that were directly impacted by the blast. Determination fuels your every step as you rush toward the affected area, ready to lend a helping hand.

Arriving at the scene, you're met with the devastating aftermath of the explosion. The damaged buildings stand as a somber testament to the chaos that unfolded. As you survey the area, your eyes widen in recognition—this was one of the Russian hideouts, a grim reminder of the criminal underbelly lurking in the city.

The sight of lifeless bodies and charred weapons strewn across the ground sends a chill down your spine. The realization hits you hard, deepening the gravity of the situation. This was no ordinary incident; it was part of a larger web of criminal activity.

Choosing to distance yourself from the rubble, you follow the blazing lights of police cars that race past you. Instinctively, you move toward the source of the commotion, seeking answers and hoping to find a way to help.

Amid the chaos, you come upon a scene that stops you in your tracks. Matt, fully dressed in his black attire, stands a few feet away, his fist raised as he prepares to strike down Ranskahov, seeking revenge for the harm inflicted upon you and Claire. Your heart races as you watch from behind Corbin and the police officers, realizing the complexities of the situation.

They raise their guns, pointing them at the Masked Man. The officers close in, their intentions unclear. You remain hidden, your powers shimmering as you turn yourself invisible, ready to assist Matt in his fight against these corrupt cops who are undoubtedly on Fisk's payroll.

Amidst the tension and uncertainty, you hope that Matt hasn't picked up on your presence just yet. You prepare yourself to join the fray, your determination burning strong. One of the cops yells, “Don’t you move! Don’t you freakin’ move! Interlock your fingers behind your head and get on your knees. On your knees! Do it! Do it now!”

You approach Matt with a purposeful stride, your hand lightly grazing his shoulder to signal your presence. His whispered question hangs in the air, but instead of offering a direct response, you tap into your abilities. With a melodic distortion, your voice takes on an otherworldly quality as you reply, "Someone who wants to help you."

Positioning yourself in front of the officers, you unleash your powers, manipulating their perceptions and distorting their vision. Ranskahov is shot during the scuffle, but in a dazzling display, your form glimmers and shimmers, weaving a tapestry of illusion and enchantment. The officers, caught off guard by the sudden alteration of reality, find themselves disoriented and bewildered.

The fight unfolds with a fluidity and grace that seems almost supernatural. You seamlessly blend your powers and a touch of magic to incapacitate a majority of the officers. Your movements are precise, calculated, and mesmerizing to behold.

As the chaos subsides and the last of the officers are neutralized, you stand amidst the aftermath, your power still crackling in the air. Your eyes meet Matt's figure, standing and heaving, there's a flicker of recognition mixed with intrigue. The truth of your abilities and your intentions remains shrouded, but in this pivotal moment, a connection forms between you and the masked vigilante.

As Matt's plea reaches your ears, “Stay with me.” A surge of emotions courses through you, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed facade you wear. You turn away, your heart aching with unspoken words, and feel the tremor in your voice as you distort it, a painful reflection of your inner turmoil. "I wish I could," you confess, your voice quivering with regret and longing.

You quickly come to a realization, understanding that the situation calls for a strategic approach. While your instincts urge you to stay by Matt's side and offer your support, you also recognize the importance of ensuring the safety of others in the vicinity. The weight of responsibility settles upon your shoulders as you grasp the need to cover more ground.

With a determined resolve, you decide to extend your reach beyond Matt's immediate presence. You understand that there are civilians at risk, their lives hanging in the balance amidst the chaos. You know that by safeguarding the innocent and aiding those in distress, you are contributing to the overall mission of protecting the city.

Though your heart may ache at the thought of being separated from Matt, you understand the necessity of this approach. The strength of your bond and shared purpose will endure, even if you are physically apart. And as you cover ground, ensuring the safety of others, you hold onto the hope that Matt will do the same, fighting against the forces of darkness to bring justice and protect the vulnerable.

Matt's expression was filled with a mix of hope and desperation. His voice, barely above a whisper, carries a weight of vulnerability. "Will I see you again?" he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.

A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you meet his distant gaze through the mask, wanting to offer reassurance amidst the uncertainty. "I’ll find you," you promise, determination shining in your eyes.

At that moment, you fade away, slipping from his grasp like a whisper lost in the wind. You become a ghost, a phantom presence lingering in the recesses of his mind. Like the ephemeral glimmer of a comet in the night sky, you leave a lasting impression, a celestial spectacle he cannot forget.

Lost in the depths of his thoughts, Matt ponders your enigmatic presence. He remains uncertain of your identity, your purpose, and the boundaries that separate you. Yet, he can't help but believe that you are his miracle, a guardian angel sent to watch over him, even if he feels unworthy of such grace.

As you continue on your path, the echoes of his whispered plea and your promise linger in your heart. The connection forged in that fleeting encounter leaves an indelible mark on your soul. And though the journey ahead may be arduous and fraught with challenges, the hope of crossing paths with him again becomes a beacon that guides you through the darkness.

METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL - EVENING

Sometimes, the city feels distant, like a place lost in time, where the radio stations play unfamiliar tunes and discuss a God who prefers modesty. In those moments, you find yourself caught between where you've been and the vast unknown that lies ahead.

As you rush through the doors of Metro-General, the Emergency Department buzzes with activity. The blaring sound of a television grabs your attention, broadcasting the breaking news of the devastating explosions that rocked Hell's Kitchen. 

As you swiftly navigate through the chaos and devastation surrounding the hospital, your keen senses alert you to the cries of injured civilians in desperate need of help. Your heart swells with empathy as you rush to their aid, displaying both strength and compassion.

With steady hands and a reassuring voice, you guide a couple of injured civilians toward safety, providing them solace amidst the chaos. Despite the urgency of the situation, you take the time to offer comforting words and gentle reassurance, ensuring they know they are not alone in this turmoil.

Their pain becomes your own, and your determination to protect and heal emanates from your every action. With unwavering resolve, you navigate the labyrinthine hallways, instinctively seeking out the areas where medical assistance is most needed. As you tend to the injured, your presence alone provides a sense of calm and reassurance. You tirelessly work to stabilize their conditions, offering a compassionate touch and a comforting word in the face of unimaginable pain. Your selflessness is evident in every action, as you prioritize the well-being of others above all else.

In the chaos, you spot Foggy and Karen, their faces filled with worry, bringing in an injured Mrs. Cardenas. Your eyes meet Claire's from down the hall, and you hasten your steps to join their group, ready to lend a helping hand.

"Are you guys okay?" you inquire, concern evident in your voice. Foggy, Karen, and Claire exchange worried glances, their eyes lingering on the bruises and scratches that mar your skin.

"What happened to you? You're covered in bruises," Karen observes, her voice filled with genuine concern. Quick on your feet, you conjure a plausible lie, hoping to shield them from the truth.

"Oh, I was near one of the explosions, but I managed to escape unscathed," you assure them, your voice resolute, despite the smudged dirt on your skin and the disarray of your appearance. Claire's perceptive gaze meets yours, silently acknowledging that there's more to the story. Though unspoken, her understanding serves as a comforting reassurance that your secret is safe for now. 

After swiftly delegating Mrs. Cardenas and attending to Foggy's wound, you are pulled aside by Claire and guided into a nearby stairwell. Concern fills your voice as you whisper, "Are we supposed to be in here?" She places a finger to her lips, urging you to keep quiet, and shows you her phone, indicating that Matt is calling. Your eyes widen in apprehension as you look up at Claire, waiting for her to answer the call. She puts it on low volume speaker, ensuring your involvement.

"I need your help. I've found someone who has crucial information about what I've been investigating, but he's been shot," Matt's gravelly voice resonates through the speaker. Claire rolls her eyes in exasperation and suggests, "Why don't you call 911?"

"I can't. The police are the ones who shot him. They'd probably like a chance to finish the job," Matt explains, prompting Claire to seek your confirmation. You nod silently, conveying your agreement. Claire sighs in resignation and questions, "You want me to come to you... in the middle of all this?"

"No, I want you to walk me through stabilizing him," Matt replies. Claire rolls her eyes once again, and you stifle a laugh at their familiar banter. Claire responds over the phone, "It's not as easy as it looks in the movies, you know?" Matt retorts playfully, "I don't really go to the movies. I like records, though.”

You can't help but roll your eyes this time, thinking to yourself how much of a flirt Matt can be. Claire sighs and relents, “All right.” Matt then continues, “There's something else you need to know. The man I'm trying to save… it's Vladimir.”

Matt continues, "There's something else you need to know. The man I'm trying to save... it's Vladimir."

Frustration washes over you, and you briefly close your eyes, looking away from the phone. Claire's voice echoes with anger, "The jerk who had me beaten up? That's who you want me to help?"

Matt sighs, pleading, “Look, you have every right to tell me to go to hell, but he's important, Claire. What he knows could bring Fisk down and save more people like you from getting hurt.”

A heavy silence hangs over the line as you stand next to Claire, offering her a sympathetic gaze. You mouth the word "please" while Matt calls out for Claire once again.

Claire's voice crackles through the phone with a sense of urgency, "Is there an exit wound?" Matt's response is barely audible, his voice filled with gratitude, "Thank you." He pauses momentarily, his throat clearing before he continues, “Uh, no. The bullet's still inside him. It's still half a degree hotter than the surrounding tissue.”

Claire then asks, “Is there any kind of first aid kit?” To which Matt replies, “I'm in a warehouse. Abandoned.” Claire looks at you and then raises her eyebrows, “Tell me what's there, anything you can use.”

"Alright, hang on," Matt's voice crackles through the phone, filled with determination. You exchange a glance with Claire, your expression a mix of concern and anxiety. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air as you prepare to guide Matt through a risky procedure.

Matt's voice comes through, listing the items he has at his disposal. “Uh, half a box of nails... broken glass... wood, duct tape, old roadside emergency kit, a lot of plastic sheeting…” Each item carries its potential, a makeshift arsenal in their desperate circumstances.

Claire's voice cuts through the tension, her focus sharp. “The kit, are there any flares in it?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise as Matt confirms, “Yeah, two.”

Claire hums, her mind working out a plan. “Alright... you're gonna cauterize the wound.” The gravity of her words sinks in, knowing the pain and risk involved.

Matt's voice carries a hint of uncertainty, "Shouldn't I dig the bullet out first?" Claire shrugs, her voice steady and experienced. You squint up at her, silently taking in her expertise. "Remember what I said about this not being a movie? You cut him open and start digging around, you'll kill him. This way, at least he has a chance of not bleeding out before you get what you need out of him... and... it'll hurt like a son of a bitch, so bonus."

A brief pause follows as Matt absorbs Claire's instructions. His determination shines through as he asks, "Alright, how do I do this?" Claire sighs, her voice soothing yet firm, "Just light the flare, hold it close to his skin until the entry wound seals." The simplicity of her instructions masks the high stakes and the immense trust placed in Matt's hands.

Silence hangs in the air, the weight of the moment palpable. You remain on the line, a silent presence of support, as Matt prepares to undertake this risky procedure that could save a life or plunge them further into peril, “Okay, I'm gonna put you on speaker.”

With a sense of urgency, you snatch the phone from Claire's hand, pressing the mute button swiftly. Concern etches across your face as you realize the importance of determining the precise location where Matt finds himself. You need to be prepared for any potential obstacles or dangers that lie ahead.

Claire's expression betrays her worry as she shakes her head, hesitant to let you venture into the unknown. She understands the risks involved and fears for your safety. But your determination shines through as you meet her gaze, emphasizing the significance of your collective mission.

You lock eyes with Claire, conveying the gravity of the situation. You know that time is of the essence, and every decision carries weight. Countless lives hang in the balance, and you can't stand idly by. Your voice carries conviction as you implore Claire to make the crucial inquiry.

"I need to know where he is, Claire," you insist, your tone filled with urgency. "We can't leave anything to chance. Lives are at stake."

Claire hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting between you and the phone. She understands the weight of your words and the responsibility that comes with them. Finally, she nods and takes back the phone, once again connecting with Matt. His voice reverberates through the line, calling out for Claire. She responds her tone steady yet laced with concern.

"Yeah... still here," Claire answers, her voice filled with determination. "But before you start, can you let me know which area you're in? Just in case."

The line falls silent for a brief moment, tension filling the air. Then, Matt's voice breaks through, his words carrying a hint of relief. "Northwest corner of 47th and 12th," he reveals, giving you a lifeline in this race against time.

You meet Claire's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes. It's a silent acknowledgment of her pivotal role in acquiring this crucial information. With a nod, you quickly formulate your next course of action, knowing that there is no time to waste.

Without further delay, you take a deep breath and quietly exit the stairwell, ready to face the challenges ahead and join Matt in his fight.

ABANDONED BUILDING, NORTHWEST CORNER OF 47TH AND 12TH – EVENING

You try your best to stay out of sight and hide between the shadows of the alleyways. There are sirens wailing and police radio chattering, multiple officers, and their K9s. Ben Urich is also discussing with the two detectives when you arrive and you have a concerned look on your face as you feel your powers pulse and vibrate as you will them to life, rendering the illusion of invisibility as you walked past the officers and climbed up a fire escape to get to where Matt is.

By the time you reached the second floor, you spot Vladimir, his bloodied and wounded form sprawled on the ground, a testament to the brutality of the situation. As you take in the scene, your eyes scan the surroundings, checking the perimeter for any signs of danger. Matt, focused and composed, is busy securing a police officer to a rusty metal pole, ensuring he remains restrained.

Vladimir's voice strained and sputtering with blood, reaches your ears. "You've been busy," he manages to say, his words laced with both exhaustion and curiosity. You position yourself near the window panes, keeping watch as Matt diligently proceeds to silence the officer with a layer of duct tape across his mouth.

Vladimir's head tilts at an odd angle as he groggily asks, "How do you know this?" You turn to witness Matt's nonchalant shrug, his response filled with an air of mystery. "Lucky guess," he casually remarks, his instincts proving sharp even in the direst of situations.

Suddenly, the sound of helicopter blades reverberates through the building, confirming the accuracy of Matt's prediction. Matt bends down to pick up a discarded pistol, skillfully unloading and disassembling it without hesitation. Vladimir's eyes widen at the sight, his voice dripping with frustration. "We could have used that."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Matt's lips as he retrieves a sturdy metal cylinder pipe instead. "I'm not big on guns," he states with conviction, his actions speaking volumes about his principles.

In an instant, Matt is standing next to you by the window, attuned to the world outside. Together, you listen to the symphony of heartbeats, barks, and radio chatter, a cacophony of chaos that defines the battlefield surrounding the building. As Vladimir groans in pain, the effects of the cauterization evident, he musters the strength to voice his discontent. "You... burned me?" he coughs out, his disbelief palpable.

Matt's response is both matter-of-fact and compassionate. "Yeah, I had to stop the bleeding," he states, his determination to save lives shining through. Vladimir's anguished cry fills the air, a testament to the excruciating pain he is enduring as Matt drags him against a wooden crate for him to lean on.

 Matt's voice remains steady, his resolve unyielding. "Bullet's still inside you. Wouldn't move around, if I were you." In the midst of their tense exchange, Vladimir musters the strength to voice his defiance. "You expect me to say thank you?" he sputters out, his words laced with a mix of bitterness and defiance.

Matt’s voice grows deeper, “If I didn't need you alive, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” Vladimir chuckles weakly and coughs, “So you just stand there and let me die, huh? But you couldn't kill me yourself. Is that where you draw the line?”

Matt kneels down, his determination etched on his face as he growls, "Tell me what I want to know about Fisk." Vladimir, blood dripping from his mouth, musters a defiant response, "You think you're different... from me? From him? But you'll get there. Sooner or later... we all do, men like us."

Moved by the intensity of the moment, you stand beside Matt, offering your support. Your hand gently rests on his shoulder, providing a silent reassurance. As your touch connects with him, you feel his body freeze, his muscles tensing. Matt cranes his neck to the side, his heightened senses acknowledging your presence. His voice, barely audible, carries a mix of surprise and relief as he whispers, "You were looking for me."

Your hand instinctively moves down to his arm, offering a comforting squeeze. You lean closer to his ear, your words a soft murmur, "I'm always looking for you."

Matt turns his head slightly, his attention briefly shifting to your presence, but he doesn't linger on it. Instead, he focuses on Vladimir, the urgency of the situation pulling him back into the moment. "A man like Fisk just took out your entire operation," Matt asserts, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "And he may not own all the cops, but he owns enough that you won't make it into a prison cell. Right now, I'm your only shot at getting out of this building alive."

Vladimir, his breathing heavy, musters the strength to share crucial information. "His lapdog came to us first. He told us his employer had taken note. He complimented... us on our business. Invited us to be part of something bigger... to expand... if we entered into an agreement."

Matt's gravelly voice cuts through the tension, his question demanding answers. "What did Fisk offer?" he asks, his focus unwavering.

Vladimir shrugs, a grimace forming on his blood-stained face. "Police looking other way... aid from politicians... and access to Chinese and their heroin."

Surprised by the revelation, Matt presses further, "He's working with the Chinese?" Vladimir's mocking tone sends a wave of frustration through Matt. "You really don't know anything, do you? Just snapping at scraps falling from the table."

Frustrated but undeterred, Matt licks his lips, determined to gather more information. "I want names. Everything you know about them and how they connect to Fisk."

Vladimir's energy wanes, his voice growing weaker. "There's only one name that matters. The man that can tie it all together." Matt's urgency rises as he implores, "Who?"

With a distant gaze, Vladimir reminisces, his voice trailing off, "We were going to rule this city... my brother and I."

Matt, sensing the opportunity slipping away, growls urgently, "Vladimir, the name!"

Struggling to form the words, Vladimir's voice fades before he utters something in Russian. Suddenly, he catches Matt off guard, headbutting him and launching a swift attack with a wooden plank. Matt groans, winded and disoriented, trying to regain his footing amidst the chaos.

Defiantly, Vladimir cries out, "This is not how I die. This is not how it happens." Matt, refusing to yield, pushes himself up from the floor, his resolve unyielding. The room becomes a blur of grunts, punches, and strikes as the two adversaries engage in a fierce battle. In a stunning turn of events, Matt gains the upper hand, bringing Vladimir down to the ground, causing the old wooden floors to splinter beneath their weight. The deafening sound of planks clattering and the heavy thump of their bodies hitting the floor below reverberate through the room, causing you to flinch.

Your heart races with panic as you witness the aftermath of the intense confrontation. Matt lies motionless, his body splayed across the fractured floor. Fear and concern grip you, overpowering any rational thought. Without hesitation, you tap into your unique abilities.

Drawing upon the illusory energy within you, you summon your powers. An ethereal shimmer envelops your form, rendering you visible once again. With a focused determination, you concentrate your energy, allowing it to manifest beneath your feet.

Gradually, you lift off the ground, defying gravity as you hover above the wreckage. Your descent through the gaping hole in the floor is guided by a combination of instinct and concern. Matt's stillness propels you forward, an invisible force compelling you to reach him.

As you gently lower yourself to the lower level, your touch meets the battered body of the man you have the urge to care for. Tenderly, you cradle his head in your hands, checking for signs of life. Matt stirs, his breath shallow but present, and relief washes over you.

With a mixture of relief and worry etched on your face, you whisper softly, "Come on, stay with me." Your voice carries a blend of encouragement and concern, urging him to regain his strength.  The sounds of the dog barking and distant sirens serving as a constant reminder of the perilous situation. Time is of the essence, and you know that you must act swiftly to ensure Matt's safety and the success of their mission.

As Matt groans in pain, you lend him your support, his weight partially resting against you. He grimaces and spits out a mouthful of blood, the metallic taste lingering in the air. Your heart aches at the sight, fueling your determination to help him through this ordeal.

While maintaining your grip on Matt, he turns his head towards the motionless Vladimir, his gaze filled with a mix of pain and defiance. His voice carries a hint of a growl as he addresses his defeated adversary, "That wasn't very smart."

Vladimir's body remains still, but his eyes continue to glare at Matt with a piercing intensity. With a mocking sneer, he taunts, "But it was fun, wasn't it? Watching you bleed. And finally seeing what your little guardian angel looks like."

You swallow nervously, the weight of the situation pressing upon you. Matt's response is laced with contempt, his voice dripping with defiance and a touch of blood, "You think this is a game?"

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Vladimir's mouth as he retorts, "If it was a game, you'd be losing."

Meanwhile, you shift your focus to tending to Matt's injuries as best you can amidst the chaos. Your hands brush away the dirt and debris, offering a semblance of comfort in the midst of their harsh surroundings. Drawing upon the energy of your glamour, you channel it to alleviate some of the soreness and minor wounds, providing a small measure of relief.

As Vladimir's eyes flutter closed, Matt freezes for a moment before mustering his strength and pushing himself up. He hurriedly moves to Vladimir's side and begins performing chest compressions, his voice filled with desperation, "No... No... Come on. I'm not done with you yet. You hear me? I'm not done with you yet."

Sensing the urgency of the situation, you quickly join Matt, gently taking hold of his arms and urging him to step aside. Reluctantly, he complies and shifts his focus to your actions. You concentrate on the rhythm of your compressions, your hands applying measured pressure to Vladimir's chest.

The room is charged with tension as you continue the life-saving procedure. The sound of your hands connecting with Vladimir's chest echoes through the air. However, just as you feel a flicker of doubt, your powers surge to life, channeling a surge of magic into his body. The shock jolts Vladimir's heart, coaxing it back into a normal rhythm.

Coughing and gasping for air, Vladimir's eyes widen in confusion. He struggles to comprehend what just occurred. Unamused, you respond with a hint of annoyance in your tone, "You died. I brought you back. You're welcome."

Vladimir gazes up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and disdain. With a hint of mockery, he taunts, "You can't even stand there and let me die, even after I almost killed the one you're so eager to protect. Does he even know your name?"

Gritting your teeth, you feel Matt's presence beside you. Shaking your head, you reply, "It doesn't matter. Give us the information we need about Fisk."

However, the sudden sounds from outside the building catch your attention, causing both you and Matt to tense up. Your eyes meet his, silently communicating the urgency of the situation. Matt swiftly positions himself atop a wooden table, his palms pressed against its surface to sense the vibrations of the concrete. He cranes his neck, absorbing every piece of information from the surroundings. The rumbling of the nearby train tracks triggers an idea in his mind.

Curious, Vladimir asks, "What are you doing?" Matt responds with determination in his voice, "Finding us a way out."

Moving swiftly, Matt strides over to a corner of the room, and you follow his lead. He squats down, removing the wooden planks and debris that obstruct the way. Your eyes catch sight of a metal grate, likely leading to the sewer. Matt starts pulling at the bars, and you join him, lending your strength to the task at hand. However, just as you begin, the crackling of a radio fills the room, and a voice at the other end speaks up, "I'd like to speak to the man in the mask, please."

Your eyes shoot up to Matt, a mix of anxiety and anticipation evident in your expression, as the voice on the radio continues to speak. "Hello. Are you there? Can you hear me?" Matt's attention is drawn to the radio lying on the floor. He quickly reaches for a piece of wood, using his gloved hand to turn it over, and then picks up the device. "Who is this?" he inquires, his voice laced with caution.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you realize the significance of this moment. "I think you know," you respond, your voice tinged with apprehension. "You've been asking about me. I thought it was time we spoke." While keeping your hands on the metal grate beneath you, you strain to listen to the conversation unfolding between Matt and the man on the other end of the line, whom you assume to be Fisk.

"Say your name," Matt demands, his tone firm and unwavering. Fisk counters, "You first." There's a brief pause before Fisk continues, "That's what I thought. You and I have a lot in common."

Matt whispers deeply, his voice filled with conviction, "We're nothing alike."

Fisk disagrees, his voice dripping with smugness, "That's what you'll tell yourself."

"You're feeding off this city... like a cancer," Matt states matter-of-factly, his words cutting through the tension.

"I want to save this city, like you... only on a scale that matters," Fisk retorts, his tone implying a twisted sense of righteousness.

"Now tell that to the people you've hurt," Matt challenges, his voice holding a blend of anger and determination.

"Young man... life is not a fairy tale. Not everyone deserves... a happy ending," Fisk responds nonchalantly, his words leaving a bitter taste in the air.

You gather the remaining strength within you, attempting to summon your powers once more, but they flicker out, leaving you frustrated and on the verge of tears.

"I'm gonna find you... and I'm gonna make you pay for what you've done," Matt threatens, his voice seething with righteous fury. Fisk doesn't miss a beat, his tone unwavering, "No, you are not. Not that I don't admire what you're trying to do... to change the world... with nothing but desire and your own two hands... secure in the knowledge that you're doing the right thing, the only thing. That's something that I do understand. But we both can't have what we want. So... your part... in this drama, by necessity, comes to an end."

"It's gonna take a lot more than a voice on a radio to stop me," Matt declares defiantly, kneeling on the floor. He can sense your fatigue and nausea, and his concern for you simmers beneath his anger.

"It's not me you need to worry about. It's the city you just blew the hell out of," Fisk says, revealing his true intentions. As you lift your head, you lock eyes with Matt, realizing that Fisk has played his cards perfectly, orchestrating the situation in his favor.

Matt stands up and moves closer to you, a knowing smirk on his face. He chuckles over the radio, "You... You think anyone's gonna believe that?"

"You're running around in a mask, holing up with a known felon in the wake of a series of bombings. There's that police officer you're holding hostage, so... yes. Actually, I do. But it doesn't have to be this way. The Russian... is he alive?" Fisk inquires. Matt turns the radio toward Vladimir, who spits back, "I'm still here, you fat shit!"

Matt's smirk widens as he presses the radio button, triumphantly saying, "Does that answer your question?"

"It's a one-time offer. You kill the Russian, and we'll call the night a push. You know what he's done... to women... to children..." Fisk presents his proposition, his voice dripping with malice. Matt's boot lands on Vladimir's hand, preventing him from grabbing a sharp piece of wood, eliciting a pained groan. Matt effortlessly grabs the wooden piece and hurls it across the room.

"To the people of this city that you claim to care about," Fisk adds, his words fueling Matt's anger.

"You just confirmed how important he is. That must worry you, what he might tell me," Matt asserts, exposing Fisk's fear. Fisk retorts, "Which means he hasn't told you anything yet."

You sense Matt's anger boiling beneath the surface as he kicks some rubble aside in frustration, causing you to flinch. Matt turns his body towards you, and you direct your attention back to the metal grate. You shake your head, attempting to muster the last ounce of energy within you, determined to replenish your magic before Fisk's men close in on all of you.

"You're a child playing at being a hero," Fisk taunts, his words intended to provoke. Matt licks his lower lip in frustration before responding, "No, no, I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm just a guy that got fed up with men like you and I decided to do something about it."

"That's what makes you dangerous. It's not the mask. It's not the skills. It's your ideology. The lone man... who thinks he can make a difference," Fisk states grimly. Disagreement knits your eyebrows together, but you can see the way Matt's lips curl downwards, haunted by a memory that quietly slips under the door of his mind. It rewinds the tapes, presenting evidence that what Fisk is saying holds a grain of truth. In that moment, your heart aches at the thought of Matt believing it.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself you've won. It'll make what I'm gonna do to you so much more satisfying," Matt says, his voice filled with determination. Fisk replies coldly, "Your part ends tonight."

"And if that's true, others will take my place. They'll see what I was trying to do, and they'll make sure..." Matt's sentence is cut short by Fisk's interruption, "No, they won't. The city will burn you in effigy. Your name, your very existence... will be met with abhorrence and disgust."

The sudden clamoring and screams from outside weigh heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Matt's voice, filled with pain, resonates, "What did you do?"

"What you forced me to do. Goodbye. I'm afraid we won't speak again," Fisk declares, severing the connection. Matt pushes himself off the wall, his frustration and anger erupting in a furious yell before he hurls the radio, shattering it against the wall with a display of his strength.

Realizing that you need a few minutes to recover before attempting to tackle the stubborn metal grate once again, you find a spot on the ground to sit down. Leaning your back against the wall, you catch your breath, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face with tired fingers.

Matt, ever determined, moves towards the metal grate, ready to give it another try. However, just as he starts to exert his strength, the shrill ring of his phone interrupts his efforts. He pauses, panting, and answers with a weary tone, "It's really not a good time."

You pay little attention to who might be on the other end of the line, but you can hear fragments of Claire's voice filtering through the speaker. A brief moment passes before Matt pants out a response, "No. It was Fisk. It's all Fisk."

Feeling a mixture of exhaustion and curiosity, you observe Matt as he moves to the other side of the room, engaging in the phone conversation. His head tilts to the side, his expression grave, as he listens intently. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, his usually confident voice falters, "Claire. Um... What you said, before I left... I was..."

His words trail off, and you can sense the weight of his emotions. "No, don't be," he continues, his voice filled with sincerity. "It turns out you were... You were right... about me. I just don't want you getting caught up if it goes that way. If we don't get a chance to talk again... you take care of yourself."

It becomes apparent to you how easily Matt pushes away those he cares about, as if his hands act as barriers, closing off access to his own heart. The anger, fear, and sadness that he keeps hidden beneath the surface remain locked away in a secluded room within him. Pushing yourself up from the wall, you ignore the pain in your hands from previous attempts to claw at the grate. Squatting down, you grip the metal tightly, determination etched on your face.

Both Matt and Vladimir move to assist you, but your voice, filtered with resolve, reverberates through the room, "Stop." Their movements freeze, and you feel the surge of power within you growing. The energy manipulates the metal grate, causing it to shift and tremble under your command. A sharp cry of pain escapes your lips, and with great effort, you finally give in, collapsing to the side.

Matt acts swiftly, catching your limp figure in his arms, providing support as you struggle to catch your breath. You watch as the shimmering magic that surrounded the grate fades away, but to your surprise, the grate itself is completely gone. Your eyes widen in astonishment at the display of your newfound abilities. A snort escapes you, mingling with the pain and exhaustion, "You were right. This isn't how we die."

With Matt's help, you manage to make your way down the ladder, gripping a flashlight tightly in your hand. The stench of sewage only adds to the disorientation, but you push through, determined to keep moving forward. Matt takes on the responsibility of supporting your weight, doing his best to assist you. He guides Vladimir to a wall on the side, allowing him a moment to catch his breath.

Vladimir's voice cuts through the air, filled with confusion, "Where are we?"

"Access tunnels," Matt responds, his voice containing a hint of knowledge. "The city was built on a network of these, most of them sealed up years ago." His head tilts as he hones in on the approaching sounds of police officers, hot on your trail.

"Alright, we have to keep moving, find a way to the street," Matt declares, his determination resurfacing. With one side supporting Vladimir and the other struggling to support you, you all continue on, navigating the maze-like tunnels in search of an escape route to the surface.

As you turn your attention to the locked door, your mind races with ideas on how to open it. However, before you can offer your assistance, Matt's swift reflexes come into play. He swiftly throws Vladimir aside, propelling him away from the immediate danger. The sound of a commanding voice fills the air, yelling, "Freeze!"

Reacting on instinct, you instinctively duck, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire that erupts in the tunnel. Matt's finely honed senses and skills kick into high gear as he gracefully evades the bullets, his movements fluid and precise. Your powers surge within you, and you harness their energy to create ethereal spheres of shimmering illusions. With a focused intention, you launch the illusions at one of the officers, causing him to become disoriented and rendering him unconscious.

Seizing the opportunity, you spot Matt's discarded metal pipe on the ground and swiftly grab it. With a surge of energy, you infuse the pipe with power, transforming it into a formidable weapon. Expertly aiming, you hurl the energized pipe at the second officer, striking him square in the head. At the same time, you unleash a beam of projection, creating mirages and shimmers that disorient the remaining officer.

Matt's skills are unmatched as he swiftly disarms the final officer, his movements seamless and calculated. With the immediate threat neutralized, he stands by your side, both of you breathing heavily from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You lean against the wall, wincing at the sharp pain in your side, and take a moment to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Vladimir has managed to secure one of the rifles and points it toward the two of you.

"We need to go. There are five more coming. They're working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We don't have time for this," Matt pants out urgently, his voice laced with concern. You frown, realizing the severity of the situation, but before you can react, Vladimir interrupts with a pained voice, "I think... maybe I stay."

Matt tries to reason with him, his voice tinged with desperation, "We can still make it out of here. You can turn evidence on Fisk, we can expose him..."

Vladimir shakes his head, his voice resolute, "He controls... all police... judges. There's only one way to stop him, you know this."

Matt firmly denies, "No. I'm not a killer."

"The moment you put on the mask... you got into a cage with animals. Animals don't stop fighting. Not until one of them is dead," Vladimir states, his words carrying the weight of bitter experience. He groans as he pushes himself up from the floor, his determination unwavering. His gaze shifts between you and Matt, and then settles on you. "And he will do it... to everyone you care about. Will you feel the same way then? Or will you be a man... and do what you know you must do?"

Vladimir's words hang heavy in the air, their impact sinking in. You close your eyes for a moment, contemplating the choices before you. The distant sound of chatter and approaching footsteps snaps your attention back to the present. Vladimir's gaze shifts between all of you, his voice filled with urgency, "Go."

Summoning the last reserves of your energy, you focus your powers once more. With a burst of golden energy, you direct a powerful surge towards the locked door. The door buckles under the force, hinges groaning and splintering, until finally, it bursts open, revealing an escape route from the turmoil, bloodshed, and the weighty decisions that lingered in the air.

Together, you and Matt rush through the newly opened passage, leaving behind the dissonance and unfortunate resolve of Vladimir.

End Notes:

Yes yes, I KNOW. Does Matt know? It’s you?? We’ll find out in the next chapter. Hehehe. Yay for the black suit :> I was supposed to split this into two parts but ehhh I couldn’t help myself.

Lowkey blacked out while writing this chonky chapter so uhhh if there are any mistakes... my bad! 😣

Okay time for the next episode! See ya 👋

TAGLIST:

@scoliobean

[mavrisfanfics]

[Request] - Ezio x F!ChildhoodFriend!Reader - Waiting

Request: 

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Pairing: Ezio Auditore x F!ChildhoodFriend!Reader

Words:1246

Warnings: None, I think

Notes: I wrote this super quick because I didn’t have much time, I don’t even remember what I was trying to do here, it’s been months since I wrote and I only edit it now because I forgot to do so until now. Past few months have been draining, sorry!

She shuddered in the cold breeze. The wind whispered in the dark, coaching her to retreat back into the palace for the night, but she stood her ground.

Waiting.

The wind would, sometimes, carry to her the sound of clinking armor, and occasionally she'd see the glint of said armor peeking through the foliage of the garden, reflecting the torches the guards carried in their rounds.

She dreamt of running, of stealthily weaving through the guards in the gardens bellow and disappear into the night, forever. But she knew she couldn't do it alone.

She had to wait.

Her shoulders sagged. She clicked her nails against the balcony's rail. She sighed.

She waited.

She was running out of time. Her wedding was tomorrow. To Cesare Borgia, of all people. 

If she were anyone else, she'd be happy with this arrangement. Cesare was powerful, and so far the interactions between them had been nice. It was one of the best marriages her family could have arranged. 

But she knew about the rumors. Worst yet, she knew they were true. She knew getting into the Borgia family would be a death sentence. But she couldn't just leave on her own. 

So she waited. 

The very soft and light clink of armor right behind her pulled her from her thoughts.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, bella" Ezio's voice cut through the silence. She turned to him. He stuck to the shadows, making sure the light that bled through the window didn't give him away. She couldn't see many of his features, but she knew he was as handsome as usual. She smiled. 

"Took you long enough! I almost thought you wouldn't come." She whispered.

"You know I'd never leave you to rot here." Usually his voice carried a light, teasing, tone that put her at ease, even in the most dire of situations, but not this time. 

It brought her terrible memories of that day in Florence. It was the first time she'd hear him use that tone, when he's told her of his family's execution, that he was running away, and that he promised he'd come back for her someday. 

It was terrifying seeing him leave like that, distressed, and knowing there was nothing she could do to help her friend, lest she put her own family in danger. 

So she waited. 

And when he finally returned, he told her everything, like he always did. But unlike all those times as children, where Ezio would sneak her out of her house and out into the city to cause trouble, she couldn't join him in his mission that time. 

So, she waited some more. She waited for a more appropriate time to tell him her feelings. She waited for a time where she could have Ezio back in her life safely. 

And then she got offered to the Borgia. Because her family didn't have enough power, apparently. 

She thought nothing of it. She knew she couldn't stay single forever and it was only a matter of time until her family sent her off to marry in an arrangement that would benefit them. Sure, she heard the rumors, but she thought they were just that, rumors. 

It wasn't until Ezio found out that she realized how bad it was. The way he almost flew into a fit of rage when she nonchalantly told him who she was going to marry was terrifying, but nowhere close to the way she felt when she realized just who she was about to marry. 

Her interactions with Ceasare had been pleasant, but once she knew what hid behind the mask she couldn't help but notice the little tells in his behavior. It was hard to keep her composure, but she could smile, nod and pray. Ezio promised he'd take her far away from that madness, but they had to wait for the right time. 

So she waited. 

And now, just before her wedding day, here he was. 

As promised. "Let's get out of here, then!" She said with a smile. Ezio, however, signaled her to stop. 

"Not yet, I have a plan, but we'll need to wait for tomorrow." She glared at him, mouth wide open. "Don't worry, bella, it's a solid plan, you just need to wait a few-" 

"No!" Ezio jumped at her tone. She noticed his reaction and realized how loud she'd just been. After checking to see that no one had heard her, she continued with a lower volume, but voice just as sharp. "Ezio, I am done with waiting! I've waited for years! I waited for my best friend to return to me for years after you ran from Florence, I waited years for you to solve your stuff so I could have you back in my life again. I've waited months for you to take me out of this God forsaken marriage and away for these lunatics, and now you tell me I need to wait even more!? No! Take me out of here right now! I'm tired of waiting to be with you, damn it!" 

"... For a moment I thought that was a confession, bella." Ezio chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. She wasn’t having any of it. 

"...It was." 

Silence hung around them. Nature itself held its breath, waiting. 

"I've waited so long to tell you how much I love you, Ezio." She knew it was risky to confess like this. If he didn't feel the same, he could leave her there to rot. 

But she didn't care anymore. She didn't want to wait any longer for someone else to save her.  She'd leave on her own if she had to.  

Ezio reached out to her. He grabbed her wrist delicately, as if she was made of glass, and slowly pulled her into the shadows, into his arms. 

"Bella, you have no idea how long I waited to hear that." 

With his warmth around her, she finally relaxed, as if the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders. She reached for him, held his face in her hands. She drowned in his eyes. Even in the dark of the night, his eyes shone like gems. 

"Take me out of here, then. Right now. I don't care if it's dangerous, if I'm leaving everything behind. I only need you, Ezio. I'll follow you to end of the world just… take me out of here." 

Ezio had no words to reply. He nodded, before leaning in and capturing her lips in the softest, yet most desperate kiss any of them ever had. 

Nature finally released its breath, content with the outcome. The cold wind shook her hair and sent a shiver down her spine, as if urging the two to get moving, to get someplace warm and, most of all, safe. 

"Let's go then, bella." 

As they ran away from the Borgia estate, she couldn't help but look back. She questioned if she should have stayed in her bedroom, in her comfortable life, one most people would kill for. But despite how warm the light looked, still bleeding into the empty balcony, it didn't feel as warm as Ezio's hand, guiding her through the darkness, towards her freedom.  

It sure didn't beat the smiles on their faces. Warm, loving, honest. Smiles she never would have seen or had, if she decided to stay. 

She held no regrets as she ran through the dark night, guided by pure happiness, one she'd waited for so long to have. 

[quillaffinity]

Feral Feeling and Free, Dear Antigone - Power Web Weave (CSM Spoilers)

---

i never thought - i’d have anyone 

i’d do anything for. how terrible, how wonderful - how could you?

---

Chainsaw Man is written and drawn by Fujimoto Tatsuki  

florence and the machine, “cassandra” /  euripides (trans. oliver taplin), “medea” / csm /  gorillaz (ft. mavis staples & pusha t), "let me out" / csm /  björk and brodsky quartet, “bachelorette” / phoebe bridgers, “bite the hand” /  rebecca harkins-cross, “embrace your monstrous flesh: on women’s bodies in horror” / csm / katee roberts, “ the dragon’s bride” /  franz wright, “heaven” / laura jane grace, “old friend (stay alive)” / csm / csm / kodaline, “brother” / csm / csm /  langston hughes / glennon doyle melton, “love warrior” / csm / csm / audrey niffenegger, “the time traveler's wife” / csm /  jean anouilh’s “antigone” (trans. lewis galantière) - insp. by sophocles’s “antigone” / csm /  jean anouilh’s “antigone” (trans. lewis galantière) - insp. by sophocles’s “antigone”

[thelampandshield]

Brushstrokes and Blades: The Defiant Legacy of Judith, Abra, and Artemisia Gentileschi

The Book of Judith is one of the most captivating narratives in biblical tradition, weaving together themes of faith, courage, and resistance against oppression. While its canonical status varies across Jewish and Christian traditions, Judith’s tale has inspired art, literature, and theological reflection for centuries. Few interpretations, however, capture the intensity of her story like Artemisia Gentileschi’s Judith Beheading Holofernes, which stands as a powerful declaration of female agency and resilience, deeply influenced by the artist’s personal trauma.

This post delves into the interconnected enduring legacy of Judith: the empowering artistry of Artemisia Gentileschi, the gripping story of the Book of Judith, and the varied ways this text is regarded in Jewish and Christian traditions.

The Story of Judith

The Book of Judith tells the riveting story of a widow who saves her people from annihilation by taking extraordinary risks and placing unwavering faith in God.

The Siege of Bethulia

The narrative begins with the Assyrian general Holofernes laying siege to Bethulia, a small city in Israel critical to his campaign of conquest. With their water supply cut off, the people of Bethulia are on the brink of surrender. Judith, a wealthy and devout widow known for her beauty, piety, and courage, rails against the surrender, urging the leaders to trust in God’s power to deliver them

Judith’s Bold Plan

Dressing in fine garments and jewelry, Judith presents herself as a defector to the Assyrian camp. Accompanied by her loyal maidservant Abra, she gains Holofernes’s trust by claiming divine insight into Israel’s fate. Over the next few days, Judith observes the Assyrian camp, biding her time. One night, Holofernes invites her to a banquet in his tent, hoping to seduce her. As he falls into a drunken sleep, Judith seizes her chance. With Abra’s help, she beheads Holofernes using his own sword, wraps his head in a cloth, and returns to Bethulia under cover of darkness.

Victory and Legacy

“The Lord has struck him down by the hand of a woman!” Judith’s daring act inspires the Israelites to attack the Assyrian camp. Disoriented and leaderless, the Assyrians retreat, and Bethulia is saved. Judith declines offers of wealth and marriage, returning to her life of prayer and fasting. Her story becomes a symbol of faith-driven courage, resistance to tyranny, and divine justice.

Artemisia Gentileschi: Judith Beheading Holofernes

Artemisia Gentileschi’s Judith Beheading Holofernes (1612-1613) is a visceral and uncompromising depiction of Judith and her maidservant Abra executing their plan to save Israel by assassinating the Assyrian general Holofernes. Judith, a widow from the besieged city of Bethulia, infiltrates the enemy camp and kills Holofernes in his sleep. Gentileschi’s painting captures the dramatic climax of this act with unflinching emotional power, which provoked such strong reactions, the painting was initially prohibited for exhibition in Florence; Gentileschi had to appeal for her friend Galileo Galilei to help nudge the Grand Duke Cosimo II de’ Medici to remit the agreed upon payment. 

Gentileschi vs. Caravaggio

Gentileschi’s interpretation of Judith is strikingly different from that of her predecessor, Caravaggio (below). While both paintings depict the same moment, their visions of Judith and Abra couldn’t be more distinct:

Judith and Abra in Action In Gentileschi’s painting, Judith and Abra are united in their mission. Judith wields Holofernes’s sword with both hands, with muscular arms and determined attention to the beheading, while Abra holds a thrashing Holofernes down. In contrast, Caravaggio’s Judith appears dainty and hesitant, her delicate arms and composed face ill-suited to the brutal task at hand and Abra stands passively by.

Empowerment and Realism Gentileschi’s women are grounded, realistic, and empowered, reflecting the gravity of their mission. Caravaggio’s figures, while masterfully painted, appear idealized and disconnected from the narrative’s urgency, reflecting the cultural values of dainty femininity over the raw emotion of “unladylike” action. Caravaggio also depicts a much younger woman than the story implies, with decidedly Eurocentric features.

The Drama of Gentileschi’s Life

Gentileschi’s portrayal of Judith is often viewed through the lens of her own trauma. At just 18 years old, Artemisia endured a public trial to accuse Agostino Tassi, a fellow artist, of rape. As women had no standing in court, the case had to be brought by her father as an insulting matter of “property damage.” During the trial, Artemisia faced humiliation and physical torture, her fingers crushed in sibille to test the truth of her testimony. Despite the ordeal, she persisted, and Tassi was found guilty, though his punishment was lenient.  

This experience deeply informed Gentileschi’s art, particularly her reclamation of agency through the portrayal of strong, empowered women like Judith. In her Judith Beheading Holofernes, we see a triumph of determination, sisterhood solidarity, and resilience—an enduring symbol of resistance against injustice.

The Book of Judith in Jewish and Christian Traditions

The Book of Judith holds different places of significance across Jewish and Christian traditions:

Jewish Tradition While not included in the Hebrew Bible, Judith’s story is celebrated in Jewish lore as a tale of resistance and divine deliverance. It is sometimes linked to Hanukkah, symbolizing Jewish resilience against oppression.

Catholic and Orthodox Churches: The Book of Judith is considered part of the Deuterocanonical books, recognized as scripture. Judith is venerated as a model of faith and courage, her story often cited in liturgical contexts.  Protestant Tradition: Protestants classify the Book of Judith as apocryphal, valuing it as a literary and moral work but not as canonical scripture.

Final Thoughts

The stories of Artemisia Gentileschi and Judith, with her loyal ally Abra, are united by their defiance of gender norms of their time, overcoming overwhelming odds, and female agency. These women, in life and in art, remind us that true bravery often comes from those society underestimates, and their resilience transformed their circumstances into lasting symbols of resistance.

In a world where women continue to fight for their voices and autonomy, these stories resonate deeply. They call us to act boldly, support one another, and confront oppression with unwavering determination. Whether wielding a sword or a paintbrush, Judith, Abra, and Gentileschi teach us that empowerment comes not from waiting for permission but from choosing to act together for what is just and right. Their legacies inspire us to believe in the transformative power of resilience and solidarity to create a more equitable world.