#ans mine is more like aches

[cosmic-c-kiddo]

I've been sick lately and imagining House being my cg always makes me feel better (with tad anxiety that I no explain)

But yeah

Watching him around kids makes me giggle.

[dyrewrites]

Weald and Wen doesn't use those words, but the creatures in it say, "Goodlight" for both. Here's my favorite use of it, kinda long, because I have too much fun with the siblings.

--

The monster stood. “You are protected from my tongue, youngling,�� it ground, its words chasmal in their rage as it stomped toward her, “but if you interfere I will forget my vow to—”

There was a pop and a crash and all of the monster’s rage dropped with its broad shoulders and pointed chin.

“Needles off Parni or I’s chomp the rest a yous cracked face!” Mitra crackled.

Faerai grinned at the bright violet flash and flicker beside the monster, though coated in burnt black streaks she did not recognize. So small she burned, hardly as big as one of its eyes, yet the little light’s voice had stopped it as sudden as any wall.

“Sister,” The monster sang, turning to face Mitra with two spread arms and a voice like syrup, “Goodlight, goodlight, ever so delighted to see you whole!”

“Stuffs it,” She cracked, flicking a smile at Faerai before turning hot eyes on her brother, “Thems be me shines, ans yous promised!”

The monster’s two spread arms fell, “You bring a Nectar into my tower and scold me, me?” Flailing its other arms toward the shuffling Delgrij, it spat, “Do you not understand what he is, sister, what his very presence does to those with desires to tempt?”

“Mitra,” Faerai dared, having lost the silks she held…and the one who wore them, “Delgrij go up. Do we follow?”

Mitra flit to her and laid a warm, bright hand on her cheek, “Rolls after, little beastie, ups ans ups, higher thans doors out, ups to rooms with shiny blue lights. Whens peeks Fyrni things, digs down ans hide.”

With two hands firm on his hips and two more crossed over his chest, Parnamyr did not move. He did not speak. He watched and he seethed.

“Rolls fast!” Mitra creaked as the little beastie’s tail disappeared down the hall. Then she zipped back to her brother’s angry eyes, “Ans yous. We’s needs thems shines for saves Mar ans yous, yous—What’s is more shiny to yous; the Lady or yous sick, wriggly vine?”

“I—” He started to explain, to defend, but the scent of the Nectar yet called and he ached to touch, to taste, to devour. “Why should I care what becomes of Her or this wretched egg! We are nothing in the Lady’s eyes and all of Her feckless meat is nothing in mine.”

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[herhaunt-a]

#1

[thefoulbeast]

So I wrote a little thing for one of the horror prompts @tonguetiedraven made over October.

Been a while since I wrote anything ane, but I do so love writing about Lucifer's specific brand of existence. There is something so dark and poetic to it...

Prompt: "Agonal: Pertaining to the moment just before death."

Characters: Lucifer, Samael/Mephisto

Pairings: none

Words: 988

Notes: Discusses death, including potentially wiping out all life on earth. Some mild medical gore.

---

Lucifer lies still. There is not much left for him to do. The slightest movement pulls the skin from his flesh and his flesh from the bone. Each breath is a herculean task, air rattling wetly in his lungs.

The lights and sounds and sights of Assiah seem dim, with shadows clinging around the edges, ghosts of Gehenna pushing through the boundary where it grows weak.

It’s him, his true form rotting right through the veil that separates the realms. It was supposed to be better now, wasn’t it? All the advancements and discoveries they have made, the work with the elixirs and the clones and-

Shouldn’t he be better by now? Shouldn’t he be capable of walking about and keeping a meal down? Shouldn’t he at least be able to sit up in bed? Shouldn’t he be able to turn his head to the side and gaze out a window into an endless blue sky?

The blanket sticks to his stomach where an ulcer has formed overnight. Where lymph had seeped through and dried, it’s darkened and hardened. It will hurt when his nurse comes in to pull it off, and then more when she will dress the wound.

There is an impotent rage boiling over inside him. Something so volatile and fierce he cannot put it into words, not if they won’t carry the emotion in full force. No, his hatred is not something to be whispered in hoarse, weak bouts. It must be shouted; it must be screamed.

“Give in, brother,” Samael says. He’s leaning over the bed, his face just above Lucifer’s, eyes glinting green like arsenic and just as toxic. “Just let go. Our time comes for each of us, you cannot escape the limitations of the flesh. I see your anger and your pain. Let it go, return to Gehenna.”

‘You see nothing, Samael,’ he wants to hiss, sharp like daggers. But the most he can muster is a glare that shears the skin off. Samael’s grin flickers, but doesn’t disappear.

‘Die,’ Lucifer curses in his mind, ‘You die, and I’ll follow. You all die with me, and we go to Gehenna together. Cruel brothers and sisters of mine, to live on as I waste away. Die with me, so we can start again - equally.’

Neither of them are telepaths, and yet Samael knows. His expression turns pinched, uneasy, the shadows stretching longer under his lashes until his face no longer looks young and healthy, but rather like the bone-white of death, hollow eyes staring into an eternity the living cannot comprehend. “Please,” he whispers, tired and quiet, barely audible above the screaming of the machinery. “Please, go. Please let go. You cannot stay. It is only hurting you more. This body is done, it’s more dead than alive. Do not cling to it so.”

‘No. No. No.’ Lightning flashes in Lucifer’s eyes, ‘Only if you come with me. Only if you suffer just like me.’

Samael pretends he does not hear, that he does not understand the blazing hunger and desolation in his brother’s face. That is not a price he is willing to pay, not even with how much lies in the other arm of the scale.

The whole world evaporating in a nuclear fire. Melting faster than the mind can understand. Disappearing so completely it can only be poetic, not horrible.

‘It would not even hurt,’ Lucifer thinks, ‘It would be over so quick. No more world, no more self. Just the primordial nothingness from which we have come and whose arms we pass through each time we move between worlds.’

His heart burns and aches, hot enough to cook his body from the inside out. A blaze of glory seconds from happening. A cataclysm that at once destroys everything and the evidence that it ever existed.

‘It would be so peaceful,’ he pleads silently with Samael. ‘Let me, Let me. I’ll take you all with me. We can start over.’

Samael sighs, his gaze caught on something outside of Lucifer’s unfortunately small field of attention. “Lucifer,” he whispers, uncharacteristically tender, and it’s jarring enough to give him pause.

“Brother,” Samael says again, making eye-contact now. And in that moment, his eyes look more human than they ever have before. “I need more time.” And the irony of this request is lost on them both.

A hand, dry and warm but not rough, settles over Lucifer’s forehead. And it doesn’t hurt.

“I need more time, please,” Samael pleads, words small in his mouth and quieter than Lucifer’s rattling breaths. “Don’t. Please, don’t. I’ll – I’ll figure it out. Just wait a little longer.”

He’s heard these words so much over the years as he’s lied here. A promise that hangs plump and sweet just a little further off, always retreating as time marches forwards.

But he falls for it every time. Because curse Samael for being a lying demon, but the bargain is like a dream on the cusp of coming true.

The fire inside fizzles out, and the Geiger counter ceases its screech. A doctor standing further off sighs in full-hearted relief, the entire room seeming to pull in a breath as if after suffocating.

Samael’s smile is saccharine bordering on patronising as he caresses over Lucifer’s forehead another time, comforting in a way that’s completely different from the relief medication brings.

“Thank you,” he whispers and leans down to place a kiss on the skin where it cracks open to reveal the bone of the skull. “Thank you, brother.”

Perhaps Lucifer doesn’t know how to let go. Perhaps a stronger power than himself is the only thing that could peel him from this body and fling him back into Gehenna’s barren sands and screaming fires. But there are none stronger than he.

So he stays. Right by death’s door, hands decidedly not reaching out to turn the handle. Waiting for Samael’s promises to come true and give him relief; waiting for a new body and new life, far away from this hospital bed.

[lobourufu]

    There is a simple memory of mine where I am actually happy for once. A memory of dancing without a care, cotton candy, and face paint. Yes, it was a wonderful memory where we all felt love, ever so endlessly. A memory I envy all that have them or create them so often. That I would die for it. But, to say I would die for it, is not just a saying at all. In fact, I would even just love to freeze one second if I could live that moment forever.

   But, here I am, in a bitter reality that ever kills me, day by day, and dawn to night. However, I did hear an opportunity to live that moment, forever. It was only a second, but I lived it, FOREVER...

    one day, Before I fell asleep, I took my medicine like I always do, and covered myself, then I was off into dreamland. And again, my vision was that of a wonderful memory I so desperately wanted to always continue on. The memories of children's laughter, along with mine, mixing into what can only be described with one word alone. Joy, it was the only thing that was filling up the whole room. Nothing could have ruin this, should I say, 'perfect' moment. I didn't want to wake up, I didn't want this moment to end. But it is sad to say, that everything has to end, one way or another.

    What was that? A second? An offer? Who is it that is talking to me? I keep in my sleep, as usual to continue this wonderful time. But again, I heard that offer. Is this real? What kind of joke is this? I told myself if was only a prank someone was pulling on me. But then again, I thought to myself, I'm the only one with a conscience here. How can anyone do this to me in my own dream? But, it felt so real though. It was something that I wanted so badly, I didn't care what part of myself I had to sacrifice. Again, and again.

    And In my own bitterness and my loneliness, I have decided to accept the offer I have heard. The laughter next had grown, and without a second, and the snap of a thumb, time was gone. Everyone froze, the music played, the smiles of my family and stranger's were cemented on their faces of the ones in my dream. Laughter of those around me were still heard, and deep in my heart, I had smiled. There was no escaping now. This happiness was around me. I couldn't have enough of it, I didn't want enough of it. I wanted MORE...

    I asked if I can have it more, and more of this feeling. No matter the cost, I needed this feeling. All of those days kneeling from the reality around me, those weeks I've spent bashing my head from the ache's of words against me, and all those years of loneliness that have been haunting me. I needed this so much, I have been craving this feeling. Before I knew it, everyone around me has been reanimated into motion again, and I woke up.

The next day, I followed my routine. And after another day, full of work and stress, I have gone to my bed, awaiting again. It has been about a week, I must admit, of the dream that filled my heart with joy. So today, I decided to try something new. As I took my night drink, I shut my eyes, and my mind scrambles for thoughts. My dream has started again. I didn't stop as I usually did, that was getting a bit of an old time. So I waited until I took a seat, and the stage was lit. "Ladies and gentleman, thank you all for coming to the Grand Act of the Night!" the ring master would announce. The elephants circled, the dancers twisted and synced to one another.

"Don't do it..."

    Do what? I heard someone tell me in a hush voice. But without minding the act in front of me, the one who offered me that second, has again, whispered the offer that I can't ever say no to. And with the 'snap' of his thumb, time has stopped and the stage was set, no movement, just noises and voices, and no soul of a bitter day was seen or remembered. But then again, isn't this what I have always wanted?

    "Come one, come all... come one, come all... qome one - kome aLl... come one - come All... come ane come ALL..." That's how it all started. Like a broken record player, if anyone can ever remember that saying, was all that kept creeping into my ears. All I was able to do was watch. Watch as the elephants rubber-like skin get pealed off, revealing it's internal organs as it remained standing on it's original position. It's tusk that was full of strength and life has now grown rust with age coming through within one single second. The smile on the ring master has melted like the face of an elder that has lived a 'life' and each passing second of a second, the face reaches closer and closer to the suit of his. The hans are dried, revealing his bone textures as they are shown, due to his gloves that are falling apart.

    The audience lift their arms in unison, as their hands start to clap as the whole row of the audience let out a crowd of noises. Filling the tent of hands meeting to show their joy, but when I looked to my left, the flesh was melting from the bones. defecating meat fall as the red stained bones kept at the rhythm. This isn't right, this isn't what happened before! I looked at the stage again, and the elephants had their trunks sewed together as their rusted tusk gell from place. Eyes fell from one of the audience member, after the other. What was only reflected on the floor though, was the goo of red liquid that spilled from the elephants. But there was one different kind of member in the act, that was not meant to be there. Three came out dancing, then four more were seen coming out of the back. Faces were painted all white, with red lips that held smiles that will make even a child cry from viewing it, eyelids that were sharp in the corners of a variety of colors.

    Their long red shoes were blended with the red liquid that scattered beneath them. The suits they wore of the colors from a rainbow were stained with the eyes and tongues that was once belonged to the audience.What came down from the darkened ceiling was the ropes of from the act of the Tight Rope Walkers, attaching themselves on the marionette that came out of the gore from the elephants. The smiling face of the puppet shared the similar expression from those dancing on the ring with the Ring Master, splashing on the red liquid that covered the circus ground. I wanted to close my eyes, I wanted to wake up, I wanted to escape this hell that was once my escape of dread. But the claws of a metallic hand sprung up from below, and kept my eyes open to keep witness.Shadows lured upon my sight, as the dancing pierrots krept close to my face. "What fun-What fun- What fun_ What fun~What Fun-What fUn~WHAT FUN!" was what echoed through out the night.

And then my eyes widend as my heart pounded, after three minutes of sleeping at 2:57 AM...

I once had a dream of a memory I loved. After time passed, it changed get into a nightmare.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The Train PT 2 - NAKAHARA

| 2,740 words |

I wonder if he'll listen.

Maybe.

Or maybe I'll find him hung from the ceiling by an exorbitantly priced necktie.

Maybe . . .

Dazai always has a way of surprising me. He's stubborn and acts like a buffoon and knows exactly how to for a person's deepest insecurities with his insults, yet somehow, when we're in the training room doing two-on-ones (they always pair us together) he gets his act together and it's like something out of a dream. A violent bloody dream. 

Fighting with him by my side and just fighting him in general gets my blood pumping. Fighting him makes me feel alive.

I guess when I kicked the wall I accidentally knocked some mechanism because a mirror slid out from behind the wardrobe.

In it, I see myself still wearing the clothes he gave me.

The clothes.

I had so expected him to laugh at me, to tell me that I must be so useless at fighting because I'm a girl or to gloat that he finally figured out why I'm so short but instead, I got this and I have no idea what the hell to think about it. The insults will come later, surely. There's no way I'm getting off this easy. I'll try to enjoy the peace, for now, but it's creeping me out.

I try not to think about it, and when I get it out of my head, another less pleasant thought enters. My chest hurts. Binders are widely available because a lot of the girls in career districts don't want the hassle during training, but I've always been secretive about getting mine and I know I've had this one for too long. Still, I like wearing it more than not.

I take a deep breath as a test. It hurts. That should not be happening.

Reluctantly, I give in. Slowly as I can, I unbutton the shirt, staring at my stomach for a moment, then I close my eyes and carefully remove the restrictive garment. An inadvertent sigh of relief escapes me. I feel better than I have all morning, and I know it'll go away as soon as I open my eyes. So I don't, I fumble around for the first shirt I find, a tee shirt, by the feel of it, and throw it on.

When I know I won't have to look at myself, I open my eyes. Other than my chest, I look much the same as usual. It's comforting, but my chest still aches. A horrid thought hits me. There's no way I can wear that thing to the games. If they'd even let me. I think they would, but I can't exert myself in that. I barely manage in training.

"Crap."

I let myself fall back onto the soft bed. When I land I notice a green call button. There's a booklet beside it. The first pages are food and drinks, but the last page has a list of medications. Basic things for fevers, headaches, and congestion. I press the button.

"Um, excuse me. Could I get some pain reliever . . . for back pain, please?"

"Of course, Miss Nakahara. Is just water fine, or would you like something else?"

I unclench my jaw, "Water is fine, thank you."

"Alright. Coming right up. Feel better ma'am."

I wince. He's already hung up, and I know there's no point in yelling anyway. I slam my hand down on the nightstand anyway.

Not even a minute later there's a knock. A man in a white uniform holds a tray with a single pill and a glass of water. I'm not even sure if he's the same one from the phone, but I snatch the tray, spilling some water and slam the door. He catches it with his hand so it shuts silently before he goes. I feel myself grinding my teeth again.

Whatever. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. He's not trying to be rude, he's just never had two male tributes before. Legally, it isn't possible. Yet, here I am.

I swallow the pill dry.

It makes me a bit drowsy, but I fight it.

I would ask for some quality sketch paper (I bet they have it), but I don't feel like calling again, so I settle for defacing the books with sketches of Two with the single number two pencil that was on the desk. The grey quarries, the grey mines, the grey houses, the grey training room. All grey. Victor's village. Ane-san. Kyouka. 

By the time I finish, an announcement echoes through the train that it's lunchtime. I'm not sure how anyone could be hungry when we ate breakfast only two hours ago, but maybe it's in case someone abstained from breakfast. Or maybe it's just the excess I've always heard about being so common in the Capitol. Yeah, probably.

I don't want to leave my compartment. I don't want anyone to see me like this, but I might as well get used to it. The thought of my entire district, my friends, seeing me like this on national television makes me sick. I could ask Dazai for a jumper or something, but I'm not going to go and beg him for anything. I will not put myself at his or anyone else's feet. I'd like to put off his teasing for as long as possible. I'm a big boy. I can do it.

As it turns out, the dining car is almost empty, the only other person being our district escort. He munches on some type of sweet. I stare at him. He looks well-fed. He looks somewhat wealthy. He looks happy. He's a man who likes men and they let him be happy. He even has a boyfriend.

I used to think that maybe it would be okay. I used to think that maybe I could stay presenting as a female and find some nice guy, to marry, maybe even have children, but that was when being an adult seemed so far away, unreal. Before I turned 10, it became unbearable. I'd much rather be alone than suffocate myself in femininity. I tried. And I almost choked. I am never ever doing it again.

Jealousy burns within me. I can't hate him though, not for just existing. That would be like someone hating me just because I happen to like men but don't identify as a woman. I'm a big boy. I can be mature, even if it sends my blood boiling to do so. I can endure the pain. I've had worse. It's not his fault the districts are somewhat homophobic. It's not his fault we've been pushed so hard that homosexuality is forbidden in most districts and frowned upon in the ones where it is legal, just to keep the birth rates up. That blame can fall solely on Doestovsky's shoulders. God, I want to kill him!

Instead, I sit down, as far away from Edogawa as I can. He looks up, smiling. He has an eye smile. He's cute, and in shape despite the fact that whenever I see him he's eating sweets. I'm not sure how he does it. A medical procedure, maybe? His glossy messy black hair and male lolita outfit are charming. He's the kind of guy who's cute with the potential to be smoking hot. The cutesy aesthetic isn't my thing, but I can see the appeal.

The food looks so good that I can't resist, and I end up making a plate of roasted vegetables. Fresh in a way that nothing in Two is. The soil is rocky so it's hard to grow food and what we do grow always tastes dusty, like you're getting a bit of ground-up rock when you eat.

Nobody else comes for lunch.

I go back to my compartment and continue my minor vandalism.

I don't have much for dinner, but I force myself to eat something. No matter what kind of Arena they chuck us into, I'll have to work for food, so I may as well get what I can now. Thinking the same will be true for sleep, I change and go straight to bed after I'm done eating.

At 22:30, someone knocks on my door.

"Who is it?"

"Not Dazai," Edogawa says.

"Good. What's going on?"

"We get to the station in 30 minutes. There probably won't be too many cameras this late, but there's always some, so change if you want."

"Cool. . . . And, uh, where's Dazai."

"Sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah, it is very late, after all."

" . . . Yeah."

I didn't think the guy slept at all. Back home, no matter when I decided to put in extra training, either before dawn or after dusk, he was always there. Always. Always running through his already perfect sequences and butchering the targets beyond repair. Always leaving an almost beautiful sort of disaster in his wake.

Edogawa's footsteps retreat elsewhere, and I hear distant voices. I think he's waking Fukuzawa. I search for an outfit to wear that won't require my too-small binder. I find a tee shirt, one of the ones Dazai gave me. 

Why is it so long?

I'm sure it fits that damn beanpole just fine, but what the hell is this? Whatever.

Huffing and still mostly asleep, I sort through the trousers, they all feel too formal for late at night. All that's left is a pair of girls' short trousers. They're black, made of a thick, but light, fabric, and I won't have to wear a belt.

Slowly I put them on. They're a lot shorter than I thought they would be, coming only to my lower thighs, and the shirt doesn't help. Normally I'd never even think of wearing something like this, but it's not like they don't look good, so fuck it I guess.

Through my blinds, I see Fukuzawa knocking and go to open the door. He chuckles at my outfit. I'm still about half asleep so I don't react.

"Dazai is probably asleep, wait here, I'll go get him. We'll all get off together."

"Sure."

I watch as he swipes a key and unlocks Dazai's door. I can't help being curious because I know that the Dazai I see isn't the real one. It's one of the many personalities he's adopted over the years and that just makes me want to pry him open and see what's underneath.

I stand a little behind Fukuzawa. Dazai seems to wake up as soon as we enter despite neither of us making any noise. He looks me up and down, with a smirk that seems different from his usual arrogant smirk. I have no idea what's going on inside his head, but his gaze seems to linger on my legs. Probably deciding whether or not I'll kill him if he makes a joke. I'm still debating it myself.

After a second he gets up, leading the way down the corridor. He's still fully dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, black dress shoes, and that black trench coat he's always wearing. The coat swishes behind him like a cape. 

We step out into the clear night air only greeted by five reporters. The sight of them makes me seethe. The entire scene is too calm, too erie and it sets me on edge.

Control yourself dammit. You are fine. I clench my fist at my side and it brushes against something. Dazai's hand, which hangs loosely at his side. He gives a look only someone who's known him for at least seven years is a smile. To most, he'd look fully awake, but I can see the hazy softness around the corners of his eyes. He still looks flat though, alive but dead. He's walking unusually close to me. I shrug it off. I need to focus on hiding my defiance before it gets someone I care about hurt.

I smirk at the nearest report, a man whose age I can't tell. Capitol people are like that, weirdly ageless. Dazai follows me, giving a careful grin meant to look careless. He looks like a hungry leopard. So much so, that for a moment I'm worried he'll go full cannibal and eat the woman in the red night dress.

The sick part of me that's still deep in my nightmares says that might be kind of hot. (Not because it's Dazai, not at all. No way! I just mean the full-on feral desperate mania of seeing a person dig their teeth into another human's flesh.) But I can wait until the games for cannibalism.

-

District Two's floor reminds me of that cave inside the waterful from a few games ago. A high mountain with a waterfall going down one of its faces. Two of the tributes turned on each other under the water. They drew their weapons at the same time and down their bodies fell, down, down, down into the river. Not a peaceful death. Dazai hates pain. I wonder how he will end it. Pills? A stolen gun? Drowning?

Now that we're alone, he looks around, his eyes sharpening, no longer kind (they're never kind), but analysing, missing nothing. When he looks at me though, all I can see is a sad broken boy. I know I'd hate him for thinking of me like that. Does he care at all what I think? Do I care if he does? I'm way too tired for questions like these.

Desperate to change the mood, I imitate a bat, using a blanket. I swear I see him smile as Fukuzawa drags him off. It's always been easier for us, to use our bodies to communicate rather than talking. (I swear I've read somewhere about pictures being more valuable than words, or was that actions? I'm not sure, but either works.)

Now I'm alone with Edogawa again.

"Well, whaddya think?" he asks it, but I can tell that he doesn't truly expect an answer.

"It feels like the quarries back home."

He smiles, "Cool! Well, if you're all settled. I've got to go. Ed and I are having a midnight picnic tonight! It's something of a tradition we have before the games."

"That's . . . nice." I want to say so much more, something much crueller, but what would that accomplish. It feels wrong to make someone like him cry.

"I know, there's supposed to be a meteor shower on Tuesday, you and Osamu should keep an eye out."

"Yeah . . ." I trail off uncertainly, "Oh, where's my room."

"Just there." he points to a small corridor I'd have almost missed.

"Thank you."

"Yup! I'll see you first thing tomorrow, bright and early!" He's all smiles as he turns to go. He looks so happy, so fulfilled that I have to ask.

"Hey!"

"Yeah?"

" . . ."

"I haven't got all night. Hurry up."

"Yeah, sorry, it's just, never mind."

He softens, "I am your escort. It is my job to make your stay comfortable and tell you what you need to know. Feel free to ask . . . anything."

I swallow, taking a deep breath. Just get your shit together and say it already. "When did you first realise you liked guys?"

"Oh? Is that all? Silly, Nakahara-kun! The truth is I've never thought about romance at all, or I didn't until I met Edgar in my last year of high school six years ago. He's the first one I've felt this way about. So when I was 17."

"You're sure you're . . ." I hesitate on the word. It feels foreign in my mouth, forbidden. "homosexual?"

"No, but I've never loved anyone else. And I know I love Edgar, so I don't really care."

"How did you know? That you liked him, I mean."

"Oh, I don't know. I just felt that he was one of the few people, if not the only one, who could truly understand me and entertain me. I found myself craving his company and missing him terribly when we were apart. We found ourselves staying over at each other's houses more and more often. I'm not exactly sure when it became 'official' but we both had a mutual realisation, I think and it just happened."

"That's . . . beautiful."

Edogawa giggles, turning on his heel, "Thank you, see you bright and early for the parade tomorrow!"

As he walks away I wonder why I even asked. Of course, his love story was perfect . . . and has absolutely no relevance to mine, because I'll never have one. And that's fine.

-

My room is huge, empty, and the bed is too soft so it takes me an hour to get back to sleep. I try not to think about tomorrow. Is Osamu asleep already? Is he dreading it too, or will the teasing finally come?

I'm trying not to gag when I finally close my eyes.

The Hunger Games | soukoku |

Dazai and Chuuya are from District 2. Fukuzawa is their mentor who never talks about his games. Ranpo is their District Escort. Dostovesky is the President. Nikolai is a Telvision show host. All is great in Panem. Why do you ask?

(This fic includes Trans female to male Chuuya. If you don't like it, just don't read it.)

[huicitawrites]

Hi there! I saw that you had requests open so if it's possible, can you do #14, #17, #32 and #33 with Jotaro and neutral reader, please ? Like all in one ? It can be from part 4 or 3. I just feel like those numbers would be on brand for him and the last one you wrote for him was wonderfully written. You don't gotta do all numbers though if it's too much. I don't wanna stress you out. Thank you and by the way, you are an amazing writer !💓💓 ❤️❤️❤️

“Dulce Periculum”

Yandere! Jotaro Kujo x Reader

prompts: #14, #17, #31, #32

warning: possesive behaviour, toxic relationships, dark fluff.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was late -or very early-, about two o’clock in the morning and not a soul could be heard for all the neighbours had gone to sleep by now, even the lousy dog. In spite of such a favourable atmosphere, the dark haired man had yet to sleep.

In fact, he found himself quite awake- and fortunate as well.

So, goddamn fucking fortunate.

Before the broad man laid the shorter figure in snoring silence. Their face held no signs of stress or worry, just joyful slumber. Plump, tempting and inviting, lips were slightly parted . {H/c} hair sprawled over the feather-pillows in a hairy mess, however the Kujo found it to be part of their enchanting beauty.

Smooth, perfect [skin colour] skin-clad shoulders rose and fell at pair with their slow breathing. They were curled in a little ball, so tiny and fragile.

Practically defenseless.

It was his golden ticket and Jotaro did not think twice when he dived into the crook of their neck. With a deep whiff; he inhaled the sweet, familiar scent and sighed -his warm breath tickling a lil’ bit- as he too; relaxed into the comfort of the mattress and their cozy warmth.

“I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.” The confession sent shivers up the unconscious figure’s spine, as if their clueless body had some sort of instinct left to it. As if their erected hairs at their nape were aware of the glinting, ocean eyes staring down at them. Like their gut could read his desire of leaving purple-dark imprints on the skin of neck their and above the breast.

The intent, though, was more than mere sexual desire. It pierced through such shallow, simplistic yet primitive intentions.

It was possession at its finest.

He wanted to have them all to himself, to leave his marks, embrace them and hold them close , and keep them thereforever.

Jotaro Kujo craved a life with them, he felt safe in their arms.

He felt at bliss, far away from the wretched memories of Egypt and from the blazing ache of trauma. The dark haired man wished for a life in which he’d share it with them. In which he’d get to see all their smiles and hear all their laughs, where he’d get to kiss away their tears and console their fears. Where he’d be greeted by them -and maybe a little girl or little boy-, where they’d cuddle with him after a long day of work and where he’d get to bury himself in their arms all mornings and nights.

His usual harsh exterior now seemed to have never, ever existed. There was no trace of it as his lips caressed their collarbone. Ocean eyes flashed the most intimate desire, his aura remaining gentle yet passionate.

But Jotaro also feared.

Yes, the iron-armor clad Kujo trembled at the thought of them leaving.

Of walking away from his life as his friends had, of in the blink of an eye; turning around only to gaze them from far away. Their figure getting further away from his reaching hand, as it turns blurrier to the sight and the echo of their footsteps fades away.

His eyes snapped open and a muscled arm came snaked around their waist, pulling them closer in a tug; flush against his naked chest. With wide eyes, he observed their facial expression. Shut eyes twitching slightly, nose wrinkled a lil bit over and scrunched eyebrows.

Their sleeping body flipped to face the other side, and then proceeded to snuggle their back against their lover’s chest; seeking to be spooned. They hummed, unconsciously happy, and Jotaro huffed.

“Do you really think you can get away from me?,” he leaned over with his sharp jaw and placed his chin atop their head, “ after all… You know you’re mine, don’t you?”. Having said that, no; stated it, confirmed it. The Kujo closed his eyes and dozed off, content with them in his arms.

They remained in peaceful sleep, blissfully unaware and painfully naive.

~.~

You always woke up before your boyfriend. It was pleasant though, that way you could look at his relaxed face, which was a little unusual for he always held a frown over his face and tight shoulders. Thus you’d appreciate instances such as this.

Silently, you placed a chaste kiss on his forehead.

There was no answer, and you smiled lovingly knowing he was resting well.

Checking at the small clock on your bedside, you decided to leave the comfort of your sheets and head down for breakfast. Moreover, you could cook a sweet surprise for your boyfriend.

Using enough strength to lift up the heavy weight off your body - but not disrupting it-, you crawled out of bed as stealthy as possible. However, just before you took off the covering sheets, an arm - the one you had put lots off effoft to lift off- pulled you inside.

Now, you laid face to face once more with your cherished boyfriend.

“ ‘Morning Joot”, you greeted with a smile.

He kept on looking at you, perhaps for a couple of minutes before he leaned in to reclaim his early-morning kiss. Lips on lips, his tongue danced in your mouth, roaming the space he had , oh, so deliciously devoured time and time again. Already accustomed to the daily routine, you followed him along the kiss.

It was not rough, but passionate, slow and deep. Both of you slowed down until your laid still upon each other, and only then; the kiss was broken off.

“You’re mine, do you understand? You belong to me.” his gruff yet soft spoken whisper tickled your neck, erupting a few squeaky giggles from you. You smiled and laid a hand on his chest, right over his fast-pacing entranced heart. [E/c] hues locked with those deep, ocean eyes you cherished so much, and you smirked. The handsome dark haired teen returned the gesture, and then flipped you both to your surprise.

Your laughs merged into one, enjoying the lovely ans unique moment. Once you regained composure -if laying with your messy hair and wrinkled pijamas over your boyfriend could be considered so-, you lowered your head towards his forehead.

“I know,” your hand took hold of his hat at the bedside and you placed it atop your own head, earning a blushing JoJo, before planting a swift peck on his forehead - “all yours.”

You sealed your fate.

These were the moments you held dear, treasuring them in your memory and heart. Sunday mornings like these, cuddling after a good ol’ sleeping and being all cozy n’ warm together as the golden rays of sunrise bathed you both . It was simple, nothing more than playing with his short black locks and kissing each other’s sweet lips.

You wished it would always be simplistic as this, but his desire for you whole was far more complex and strong than your will.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Thank you anon, you’re amazing too! I hope you all like this one as well, it didn’t stress me out to write these prompts because I too thought it’s suit him well, so no worries :) .

Ps: the title translates to “Danger is sweet” from latin. Also, please reblog if you liked it🥰

[crackheadh0urr]

All Mine (Uma x FemOc!AK/Daughter of Ariel and Prince Navean)

(Ariel has a child from Tiana's man)

(Based on All Mine by Ralph Tresvant)

"𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦... 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦... 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦... 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯-" Arianna got cut off by her older sister walking in her dorm, "How's your song coming along, sis?" She asks. Arianna sighs softly, "My voice sounds amazing on the song, but I can't put emotion into it. I've never been in love or been possessive over anyone..." She says. Erica smirks, "How about Ursula's daughter?" She teases. Arianna rolls her eyes, "That's different. We're not together and she's just a petty crush..." She mumbles while looking down and messing with her curly afro.

Erica smiles, "Maybe more. I notice how she checks you out." She comments. Arianna snorts, "We're literally enemies. She hates my guts." She says. The lighter skin girl laughs, "You guys are literally the true definition of frienemies. Make it official. Sing your song to her." Erica suggests. Arianna plays with her fingers, "I-I mean. This takes a lot of planning, like I mean I have to a-ask her out and set up the date an-" Erica cut her little sister off, "I got it, sis. Just ask her out before someone else claims her." She says. Arianna nods excitedly and runs out of her room.

~~~~

Arianna approaches Uma and her crew, "Wassup, Sea Three?" She greets. Harry and Gil smirk eviliy, "Hey there, cutie." Harry greets with a smirk. Uma growls from beside me, "Back off, Harry." She says in a low voice. Harry raises his hands in defense, "So, what brings you here, peasant?" Uma jokes. Arianna rolls her eyes, "I need to speak to you... Alone." She says, her voice going softer at the end. Uma's face looses a little bit of tension. Arianna gently drags Uma away from her crew, "What's up?" She asks, obviously impatient and hungry, since it's lunch time, "Um... I was um wondering since we're like um friends and all that um..." Arianna stutters shyly. Uma smirks at this, but continues to listen to the older girl, "M-Maybe um. Do you wanna have an um... Picnic with me? At the Enchanted Lake?" She finishes. Uma bites her lip, "So, like a date?" She asks. Arianna freezes, "I-I mean yes, but no and um- wait i mean It's like a date and- wait no! It's-" Uma's laugh cuts the curly headed girl off, "Of course. I'd love to have a picnic with you." She replies making Arianna's face light up, "I-It's a date then..." She blurts. Uma kisses the corner of Arianna's mouth, "It's a date." She mumbles while walking away.

Arianna does a happy dance as Erica and their brother, Eric Jr., rounded the corner, "It's a date!" She exclaims throwing herself onto her siblings making them laugh, "That's good, sis!" Eric says jumping up and down with his sister with a huge smile present on his face. Erica smiles softly at the sight, "So, what's the plan?" She asks.

~~~~

It's 8:00p.m. and Arianna stood outside of Uma's dorm hesitating to knock. Arianna wore a button up shirt with a pair of baggy skinny jeans that showed her Calvin Kleins, an outfit that her brother picked out for her,

"𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘴𝘩. 𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶!" 𝘌𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘦.

Arianna let out a shaky sigh, "Now or never. Get your girl." She mumbles to herself. Mustering up what little courage she has, she knocks on her crush's door. She heard a faint "I'm coming" and a few seconds later, the door open slowly to reveal Uma in a light green dress that went up to her mid thigh, a pair of black high boots and her hair was up in a bun.

Arianna felt as if she couldn't breathe while looking at her frienemy, "You look so beautiful." She blurts out honestly. Uma looks down while rubbing her arm, "Thanks." She laughs softly, "You don't look bad yourself. Not. At. All..." Uma nearly moans out. Arianna turns red, "Thanks, bae." She says. Uma smirks, "So...? I'm your bae now?" She asks leaning closer to the taller girl. Arianna bites her lip, "If you wanna be?" She says with a dorky grin. The green haired girl was honestly surprised by Arianna's sudden burst of confidence. Uma wraps her arms around Arianna's neck, "We'll see after this date." She mumbles against Arianna's neck and walks off.

Arianna runs behind her and wraps her arms around Uma's waist as they walked. The shorter girl smiles softly and leans into Arianna's gentle touch, something she wasn't used to. Arianna stops them in front of a black motorcycle, "Wanna ride?" Arianna asks. Uma raises an eyebrow making the lighter girl gasp, "No no! Not like that!" She quickly shuts down with a bright blush. Uma laughs, "I know." She says as Arianna gets on her bike. Uma shyly gets behind Arianna on the bike. Arianna hands Uma a helmet, "Put it on." She says, her voice sounding a little more rougher than it was intended. Uma leans back a little with darkened eyes, "Damn daddy." She says making Arianna blush hard, "Hold on." Arianna warns making Uma wrap her arms around the other girl's waist. She gasps a little as she felt Arianna's abs through the shirt, 𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑛... Was the thought that ran through her head as her fingers trailed up and down Arianna's stomach. She felt the older girl tremble under her touch as the motorcycle took off.

Uma leans her head on Arianna's back as she felt the motorcycle speed up. After what seemed like a few minutes, the vehicle came to a stop. Uma took off her helmet and hands it to Arianna. The curly afro girl smiles as she sees Uma's face in awe. The Enchanted Lake setting was lit up with fireflies and the picnic was laid neatly on the ground right by the water and there were rose petals leading all the way to the picnic. Uma cups her hand over her mouth ans looks at Arianna who had a rose in her hand, "Ready for the best date ever?" She asks softly while looking into Uma's blue-ish, brownish eyes. The green haired girl tears up slightly, "Yea. I am..." Was her response after she got over her shock.

Uma kisses Arianna's cheek softly as she almost hesitantly took the rose from her. Arianna smiles widely, "Come on, 𝘣𝘢𝘦..." She jokes for the second time. This time though, Uma was considering becoming Arianna's.

After hours of talking and laughing and eating, Uma was slightly tired. She didn't want to admit it though. She loved the times where she and Arianna weren't at each other's throat and this made her feel special. Suddenly, Arianna pulled Uma close, "I like you. Like, a lot. Not just as a close friend. I want to be with you. I want you to myself. I want to hold you, tease you... I want to 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶... I want to love you, I want to MAKE love with you. Let me do that." She says honestly. Uma was speachless. She's never felt this way about someone before and it was driving her crazy. Not trust her words at all, she slides her hand under Arianna's shirt and leans in for a soft, passionate kiss. Arianna sighs softly into the kiss. Not fully aware of her actions, Arianna moves her hand to Uma's ass and squeezes it gently. That was enough to make Uma moan loudly in the kiss, "Ah... Ari- mmm." She mumbles in between kisses. Arianna craved Uma's body in the worst way possible. It made her body ache. At least she has Uma to herself.

[heir-of-the-founders]

I think part of the problem with me accepting that i have (so far, bc there may be an end, but probably not) chronic pain, is that i always saw people talking about how they were always in pain, and how things hirt constantly and, for me, my chronic pain, and what i associate in my head as pain, are two different things.

So, before, what i thought 'pain' was, was things like scratches and scrapes and bruises and broken bones.

The thing about chronic pain though (mine at least anyway), is that it doesnt really. It doesnt really feel other pain. Like, yea, flare ups, ans when you move wrong hurt, and feel like 'normal' pain (again, for my experience), but the constant dull ache starts to just. Not hurt? Like, theres a feeling there, but i dont actively associate it with pain unless i think about it, and even then its more of a... pressure? Theres not really a good word for it.

It just becomes this constant drone in the back of your mind.

Its a lot like a furnace, tbh. You get used to the noise and you dont really hear it until something changes or you start thinking about it. Its still there. Its still affecting the house. And you still feel the effects. But you cant actually tell that the furnace is running most of the time.

Idk. I think the furnace thing just came to me and works for me bc thats what my doctor used as a metaphor for my hashimotos (the house is the right temperature, but the furnace is working twice as hard to get it to that temperature. The furnace is my thyroid)

Obviously, this is just my experience, and yours doesnt have to match up with mine, i just know that i wish i had seen something like this years ago. I think it would have helped.

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 33

“Mmmm,” Ansgar’s moan echoed in the chamber of his throat, long and languid – a canticle of desire, of gratitude, of relief. He couldn’t help himself. He pushed off the car’s bonnet and whirled, grasping her head between his two large hands. He curled his fingers like claws into her hair, and he consumed her, lips and mind and body and soul, like the hell-beast he was.

Birdsong and wind made music in the air around him. The late afternoon sun waned off in the western distance, and the breeze carried the pastoral scents of fresh cut grass and linnea.

But Ansgar Martinsson knew none of it.

He knew nothing but the woman. Nothing but Joline. Nothing but the wet heat of her lips, the slide of her tongue, the rose perfumed scent-flavor of her, the delicious give and take and push and pull of her body against his, the way she bent like a reed in his arms, molding herself to him, the way her arms caged him, blocked out all sound from his ears, the way her fingers clutched like those of a drowning sailor’s in his hair.

The way she moaned when he touched her skin, the way she cried out and sang hymns of praise into his mouth when he worshipped her, when he gave her his offering, when he sang his own Laus et Jubilato to her.

And there, in all of creation, in the outdoors, in the seclusion of the deserted, heavy grove of summer trees, he made love to her.

He lifted her, tucking his arms beneath her back and her knees, and he carried her to her place, the spot she’d pointed out–  the shadowy glen between a massive oak and a thatch of reedy, white birch. The spot was clean, green and without stones or patches of dirt. Just a blanket of thick, manicured grass, and he laid her gently upon it.

He laid her upon it, and he gazed down at her, his eyes nearly in tears from the heat, from the pressure of desire within them. She returned his stare, her own eyes glossy and glassy and heady, her mouth slack and loose, her dark hair fanned out like a halo around her head.

His body lowered to hers, covered her, hid her from the eyes of Heaven and the rest of the world. He brushed his fingers with a delicate, reverent touch over her forehead, her closed eyelids, down her nose, over her lips, and he lingered there. Lingered at her lips, tracing the reddening, maddening line of them once, twice, three times before replacing his fingers with his mouth - open and hungry and needy.

Tongue and fingers explored her simultaneously, one from above, one from beneath, and Ansgar gasped in her mouth. Gasped with the surprise, with the knowledge, with the sensation of a significant lack of fabric beneath her skirt.

He gasped and she chuckled, smirking beneath his lips.

“You absolute fiend,” Ansgar growled, caressing his nose over her cheek. “You seductress. You’ve been without your knickers like this all day, haven’t you.”

“Look what you could have missed out on, big man,” she teased, wrapping her arms up and over his head. “Remember this for the next time.”

“Oh,” Ansgar huffed. “I will always remember this, believe me, darling. Always.”

And with that, he pushed her skirt up, up, up over her hips, exposing her manicured sex to him. “Christ, you’re wanton,” he whispered. “Look at you, lying there with your legs spread, your blouse askew, your hair a mess, on the grass.”

“On a hillside. In Uppsala,” she grinned. “What’s the difference?”

“Someone may see us,” Ansgar sang. “See you all… naked. Exposed… like you are.”

She ran fingers up her thigh, toying with the crest of hair at the apex between her legs. “You mean, someone may see me do this?” She plunged two fingers in between, curling them into her own sex. She let her head fall back, her eyes rolling up as she brought her wet fingertips out to swirl at the top of her desire.

Ansgar groaned as she pumped herself more and more. His eyes remained fixated upon her theft, her invasion of his territory, her self-stolen-ministrations. His jaw was slack and heavy, eyes narrowed and intent, breaths coming heavier… and heavier… and heavier. His cock twitched, pounding its heartbeat against his cotton shorts like a strait-jacketed madman in a padded cell.

Shorts which he, with quick yet fumbling fingers opened and shoved down his legs. With a possessive growl, he lurched forward, grabbing roughly at her sinful fingers. “No! That’s mine! You don’t touch that,” he gnarled. “Mine.”

She laughed. “Then come get it.”

He threw her hand to the side and with a swift arch of his body, he shoved his hips deep – and he entered her. “Aaaaah… fuuuuuuck.” He entered her and he reveled in the heat and the throbbing pressure and softness around his flesh. He let forth with a violent, eye-clenching, teeth-baring roar and held himself there, panting, his full length slid into her. He threw his head back, muscles arched like a strung bow. His arms were taut, straining, and locked, and his legs quivered beneath him.

“Mmmmmm….” she hummed, her hands snaking around to clutch at his bared bottom. “Yes. That’s… yes!”

“Ah, God! Joline!” he grit through clenched teeth. He hissed, and slowly pulled himself back, rolling his hips on a steamed breath like the piston of a steady engine, each long stroke accompanied by a feral moan.

“Ansgar,” she said breathily, crawling her hands up his body, pressing against his chest, covering his heart, willing it to beat its rhythms for her. “Ansgar, look at me. Please.”

And he did. He looked down, opened his eyes, and glared wide-eyed, fully intent upon her. “Joline. God help me, I –” he began, the ability to speak all but stolen from him. “I… I… am… I am… Oh, Christ!”

Joline. God help me but I am… falling in love with you.

Joline asked, implored, begged for him to look at her, and what she saw when he did, what she felt in his wide, nearly black and rounded eyes tore her apart. Ruined her. Destroyed her. The first time they were in bed together she’d asked for him to do just that, and he’d made good on it. She hadn’t meant for it in this way, nor had he intended in this way. But what she saw, what she felt, tender, affectionate, consideration and generously passionate intimacy… and hers!

Rosie had been wrong. It was personal, this attraction between Ansgar and Joline, but her affections for him had grown beyond tolerance, beyond that of a professional co-worker, beyond that of her shallow sexual attraction to him, beyond that of her appreciation of his willingness to help her in her time of need, beyond that of their sexual compatibility. She didn’t like him; that wasn’t strong enough. The emotion, the weakness, the phantom ache that kept creeping back wasn’t like. It was far deeper, something wholly personal and entirely hers.

In all her protestations and denials and barriers, she’d fallen for him. She’d fought but she’d lost long before their eyes locked as they made love in her favorite place, the plush carpet of green lawn beside a pond in Uppsala. She didn’t care if someone else saw them, her only concern was pleasing him, pleasuring him, loving him.

Joline would think about the consequences later, whether she was only a rebound, or a bit of fun while he healed, or a good lay for a few nights until he moved on.

Her hands curled under his arms and splayed over his shoulders, pressing him down into her. She needed him closer, more immediate, more intimate. He spread himself out over the top of her, her body sandwiched between his massive weight and the soil of their motherland. He cupped the sides of her head like a pillow. The only movement came from their hips, that primitive, carnal dance of lovers. She rocked her hips and tipped her sex to accept his languid strokes into her. His undulating center pressed into her core in time with his accelerating pulse.

“Ans…gar…I…I…” Her speech broken by the placement of his cock into her. Her brain simply couldn’t form the words she wanted to say, those words to express what she felt. Then being with him, in this way, wasn’t about her. Not only about her. “Yessss…yesss…ah…God…”

Rapture dug into her before Joline was prepared for it to come and claim her. Her body betrayed her and she surrendered to the pleasure she experienced with him. It was unlike anything she felt before, physically or emotionally. She cried out her ecstasy, her entire body seizing and releasing. Her arms and legs clenched around him as the source of her euphoric crisis and in her need to share it with him.

Ansgar saw the clench of her sex around him on her face before he felt it. Her beautiful face had gone slack and a veil of… of… something undefinable cleared from her eyes in that insanely gorgeous moment. He, like her, felt the betrayal in his body… the icy heat in his lower back, the maddening clutch in his balls, and the raging pressure in his cock to give Joline what she wanted. And give it, he did with a final grunt and violent press forward. He growled into the cushion of her breasts, mewling like the defeated lion cat he was. She purred possessively underneath him, stroking his spine, her claws withdrawn from the high.

“Minx,” he mumbled into the folds of her skin and the cotton material of her blouse that had stayed on in their need and urgency to be together. “Vixen.”

Airiy, she laughed, her body too sexed and mushed to commit to it. “How many more can you come up with?”

He paused, his mind wiped almost entirely clear of anything but the calm in his body, that syrupy numbing buzz. “Mine.”

Her fingers on his back moved into his hair and combed through his mussed up curls. “Entirely.” More than you’ll ever know, Ansgar Martinsson. More than you’ll ever know.

Gingerly he lifted his head to gaze down into her eyes. “You planned that, having your wicked way with me.”

“Hoped,” she corrected. “Hoped, and left ample opportunity. Who knew it would take you that long to touch me like that? You got close a number of times on the drive here.”

“I was distracted, by your bare legs, your mouth-watering cleavage, and your sucking me off in the carpark.”

One side of her mouth quirked up into a silly lopsided grin. “All foreplay, Casanova. All for you to get your fingers on me and notice that I’d gone without knickers - for you.”

“Temptress… Jezebel… my siren.” He uttered between fluttering kisses across her lips.

She giggled. “You’ve found your words again. I think that means that our journey to Uppsala was a successful one.”

Ansgar gently withdrew from her body and dropped upon the grass beside her, moving into a seated position. He offered a hand to help her sit up too. As he tucked himself back into his shorts and tugged his shirt back into place, he broached the subject, “Are you okay, Joline?”

She combed her fingers through her hair, straightening the strands, and pulling a piece of summer fluff from it. Ansgar too pulled a few blades of grass from her mane. “About this? What… fucking in the grass?” Her heart skipped a beat and shriveled for having said it. What they’d done had been so much more than that, but brave face. She assumed she’d passed the point of no return alone. She couldn’t impose on him; she offered her body, he couldn’t know that she’d given him more than that.

“I was referring to today, as a whole. Are you okay? Aside from our row, your brother and the unfortunate rumor mill, are you all right? You… your…“ he searched for the best description without hurting her. "You were distracted by… something…”

"You noticed that, did you?” She sighed as he helped her to her feet. She shimmied her skirt down to an acceptable level, and straightened her blouse, wondering if she had any grass stains on her back. “A brush with my sister-in-law is all. She can be… a bit much. She’s so dedicated to her family, and it works for her, and it’s great.“ She glanced off in the distance to a golfer lining up and wiggling to the eleventh hole. "She has trouble defining anyone else, any female who doesn’t devote herself to a husband and kids. I always feel like I’ve committed ultimate sin in divorcing. That was a right choice for me, but she can’t understand that.” Frustratingly, she shook her head. “I feel like a failure in her eyes for the choices I’ve made.”

[himluv]

Devotion

Oof. This is my last one. And, uh... it hurts. Solavellan for Dragon 4ge Day, for the prompt “Endings”.

I’m sorry...

TW: Major Character Death

Also: This is my interpretation/expectations for where we’re headed as a ship. I’m going down with this ship y’all, and where I’m going, there won’t be enough tissues in the world to dry my tears. Buckle up.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Why did his plans always veer so tragically far off course? He was meant to be the savior of Thedas, of Arlathan, of the People. He would right his wrongs and reset the course of history, restoring order and balance to a world impossibly off-kilter. He was meant to be the martyr, the sacrifice to atone for sins he had not foreseen.

But, yet again, his foresight proved faulty.

He knew the Inquisitor would find him. Knew there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing all she could to stop him. Despite it all, his proclamations, his obvious intent, his pleas that she leave him to his dark endeavors, she still believed she could win. She still believed she could convince him to abandon his purpose.

He just hadn’t realized the lengths to which she would go to save him. How could he? In all his years, the millennia spread out behind him was a tapestry of judgement, foolish pride, and betrayal. He could never have fathomed that someone could care for him with such depth, with a devotion so pure it proved reckless.

Fatal, even.

Her hand on his cheek pulled him from those thoughts. Her eyes, wide and wet with pain, anchored him in this terrible moment.

“Vhenan,” she said. The word struck him deep enough that he flinched. She rarely used the term, preferring to simply use his name. Now she said it with regret for all the times she didn’t. All the times she wouldn’t.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer against him as he rocked her. “What have I done?”

She shook her head, but it was a feeble gesture. She was losing strength quickly. “You don’t get credit for this one.” She smiled and it fractured into a wince. “You carry enough guilt without borrowing mine.”

“Riallan.” He stroked her hair, searching for words but all of them turned to ash in his mouth, weightless. Impotence, cloying and clinging, boiled up in him until his shock turned to anger. “That blow was meant for me.” He closed his eyes, unable to look into the vibrant green of hers any longer. “I could have withstood it.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it was far more likely that he would survive the attack than she would.

As ever, she saw through him. “Perhaps,” she said. Her voice grew frail, the words like glass on her lips. “But I could not withstand watching you die.” She shrugged and hissed with pain. Like it was so simple a thing, the decision to sacrifice herself in order to save him.

Around them, the Crossroads were a blur of chaos. The Agents of Fen’Harel fought against the remaining forces of the Inquisition, a stalling tactic on his part. A distraction on the part of the Inquisition. Busy the troops so that Riallan and her team could get close enough to stop him.

He supposed it had worked, though he hoped to every spirit in the Fade that this had not been her plan all along.

Throughout the Crossroads the Eluvians flared and roiled, the magic within them snapping and crackling, demanding release. He was so close. All he had to do was steal that gathered power, take it into himself and then step through the Veil and into the Fade. The Seal would be there, and behind it all the ‘Gods’ he’d locked away. The Eluvians’ power would eat him up, much like his mark had gnawed at the Inquisitor, but he would release it. Bring it all forth to bear on the Seal and release those Old Gods on the world. They would ravage and remake it, bloody and terrible and new.

The time had come. All his planning led to this moment. He simply had to go to the nearest Eluvian, put his hand to its glass, and absorb the magic. The fight was over. He had won. All he had to do was let go of his vhenan and finish what he had started.

Her hand was still on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone to wipe at his tears. With what little breath she had left, his vhenan sang to him, her voice hitched and shaking.

“Melava inan enansal, ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas.”

It was not the first time he’d heard her sing. She’d done it often in the early mornings, soft and sweet in their tent when she thought he still slept. But, he had never heard this song before.

“In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na.”

She might as well have written it for him alone. A fresh wave of grief rolled through him, washing away his anger and leaving him powerless. He could no sooner leave her now than he could have stopped Corypheus all those years ago.

“Tel’dan’latha, vhenan.” She brushed away his tears even as she shed her own. “Ame dirthem ane, var lath vir suledin.”

He nodded, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “And so it did.”

The blood blossomed crimson on the emerald fabric of her Keeper’s Robes, and though his strength had returned, it was spread too thin. He could not heal her with his power alone, not while the Eluvians seethed around them.

The Eluvians…

He blinked, surprised at his own sudden inspiration. He looked down at her, at the waxy pallid skin around her eyes, and the too red color of her lips. But, despite the feverish shine to her eyes, she still saw him. She hadn’t left him yet.

“You’re right, vhenan,” he said. The words poured from him, confessions he’d hidden from for too long. “I was wrong. Again. Still.” He shook his head. “I see that now.” He kissed her and he was surprised at the force with which she returned his affections. “I know what I have to do.”

“Solas?” Her eyes widened, panicked as he gently moved her off of his lap. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you. The only way I can.” He knelt over her and pressed a hand to her cheek. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. Never doubt that.”

She hissed in pain but nodded. “Ar lath ma, Solas. I never have.”

He smiled at that, and somewhere in the expression she saw his plan. By the time she called after him to stop, he had already strode away from her. He reached the Eluvian, tall and furious with glacial blue light boiling in the frame. All he had to do was put a single finger to it, and he would consume the magic that connected them.

It would be enough.

He pressed his palm to the pane and hundreds of magical mirrors fell silent simultaneously. The Eluvians glowed, but the roiling energy calmed once more. The sudden change brought the fighting to a halt as confused Inquisition Agents and his own forces turned to look at him. But he hardly noticed.

Solas’ entire awareness shrank to where his palm trembled on the Eluvian. He screamed, the sound shattering the unnatural calm, as impossible amounts of power flowed into him. It burned, like the fires of Elgar’nan himself, up his arm and into his chest, consuming and overwhelming his own well of magic. Then it froze, icy and sharp, at first blissfuly numb and then aching. Then lightning, crackling and shocking, explosive in his veins.

Every sort of magic the Evanuris had used, pooled together to forge the Eluvians in the early days of Arlathan roared through him, scorching and searing and sundering him from the inside out.

He expected it to fade once he’d absorbed it all. Instead the Eluvians just shut down, going dark and leaving the Crossroads lit by the pale, preternatural light of the Fade. The Eluvian he touched fell dormant and repulsed him with a shock so violent he was knocked to his knees.

Still no one moved.

He stood, blue smoke curling up from his skin as he turned to look at Riallan. She wasn’t moving, the stillness clenching at his heart. Was he too late?

His eyes glowed with power, the fury of the contained magical forces a hurricane within him. Every moment he held that power was agony, each step a unique misery, like a thousand giants were pulling him apart and crushing him at the same time.

But he took those faltering, torturous steps to fall on his knees beside her. Dimly he noticed she spoke to him, her lips barely moving, but he couldn’t hear her over the roar of energy that thrummed in his ears. He knew her well enough that he didn’t need to hear her words.

“It’s the only way, vhenan,” he said.

She winced away from him while around them soldiers and agents flinched and covered their ears. Even as the power ate away at him, he marveled at the fact his voice had rendered his foes useless, until her hand found his face. Her touch was a balm to the feverish heat of his skin, sweet relief that he leaned into.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. Her brow furrowed, her green eyes wide and frightened. Not for herself, but for him. Her adversary, Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. Solas.

Because in the end, that was who he was to her. In the end, it was her refusal to see him as anyone or anything else that saved Thedas.

He pressed his hands to her abdomen, ignoring the warm, sticky sensation of her robes. Though the magic clamored to be released, he only let a trickle pour through his fingers and into the Inquisitor’s failing body. He feared that too much at once would destroy her, just as surely as it was destroying him.

It was slow, excruciating work, holding the magic back and forcing it to do his will. The original plan had only called for him to gather the energy and then unleash it upon the Seal. This… this was harder.

He grit his teeth, fought to keep his hands steady, and still sweat beaded on his brow. But color returned to the Inquisitor’s cheeks and her breathing came easier beneath his palms. He watched as his vhenan revived at his efforts, and knew that the pain and struggle would be worth it. For once in his life, he’d managed to do something right.

He took a step back from her, putting distance between them, committing her shocked and relieved, face to his memories. Just in case he would still have them wherever his spirit would roam. It would be no small comfort to see her face, alive and proud and shining with love, for the rest of his eternity.

Then he released the remaining power of the Eluvians. First came the lightning, streaking through his blood and into the air, colliding back into mirrors across the Crossroads. Then the glacial cold, fogging his breath and threatening to bring him to his knees once more. Last came the fire, hot and burning like a sun behind his eyelids as the power soared back to its home. There was more screaming, his again, before he collapsed and the Crossroads burst into action.

“Solas!” Riallan’s arms caught him before he hit the hard ground. She sank down with him, her voice blessedly strong in his ears. Whole. Her hand on his face again, anchoring him as his focus dwindled. “Stay with me, vhenan,” she said. She cradled him, their roles suddenly reversed.

He smiled. “Say it again.” His voice was his own once more. The pain from a moment before was gone, and the nothingness that followed it was perfection. On some level he knew he should be concerned, but she was alive, holding him again, so he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Dorian! Help me!” She looked down at him, new tears filling her eyes. “Say what again? Vhenan?”

He nodded.

“I’ll never use your name again, if you’ll just stay with me, vhenan.”

He chuckled at that. He felt light, thin in her arms. There was no more guilt to weigh him down, and nothing hurt. For the first time since before he entered Uthenera Solas was at peace. It’d been so long he almost didn’t recognize the sensation.

Dorian appeared in his line of sight, the mage checking his vitals. He gave Riallan a confused look. “Nothing seems wrong.”

Because nothing was, Solas thought. He recalled her face at the moment she realized he’d healed her, brought her back from what should have been guaranteed death. That he chose her life over the rebirth of the world. How awed she’d looked. How pleased and scared and proud of him she’d been. When was the last time someone had been proud of him?

“Dirth ma, vhenan,” she said, calling him back to the present. “What’s happening?”

He had to think about it, which he noted should also be troubling. What was happening? Right, the Eluvians. “I used the gathered strength of the Evanuris to save you,” he said.

“The Eluvians?”

He nodded. “I was going to use it to release them and the Old Gods but,” he tried to adjust in her arms, but found he couldn’t move. That was concerning. He swallowed back the fear, for her sake. “You made me see.”

She glanced at Dorian, who shrugged. “See what, vhenan?”

“That, despite all my worst efforts, this world was better than anything I could have made.” He blinked, the numb nothingness turning to an uncomfortable chill. He was running out of time. “You cared more for this world than anyone in Arlathan ever did.” He swallowed at the emotion caught in his throat. “You cared more for me, as well.”

She bit back a sob. “But what’s happening to you?”

He cleared his throat, his voice going frail on his tongue. “The power is too much for any one being to contain. Even one such as me. There is a cost, one I am happy to pay.”

Her hand tightened around his, and he was glad he could still feel it. “The Eluvians took your power,” she said.

He smiled. “Clever, vhenan. Always so clever.”

“So, you’re mortal now?” Dorian asked.

Solas tried to shake his head, but couldn’t. “No,” he said. “It’s not like severing a connection to the Fade. My magic was sacrificed. Removed. Without it, my spirit cannot remain.”

His breath came shallow, his lungs failing as his body died around him. They were out of time.

“Vhenan,” he said. “Go to Skyhold. I sent,” he gasped, “a gift. Explains everything.” He gave her a shaky smile. “Just in case.”

She made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held him close. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she chanted, rocking him as he had rocked her only moments ago.

He looked up at her, unwilling and unable to look anywhere else. That her face would be the last thing he saw, he arms the last he felt, her voice and those words the last he ever heard soothed his soul.

The last thing Solas did was smile.

He did not die alone.

Elvhen Translations: Melava inan enansal  ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas in elgar sa vir mana in tu setheneran din emma na Time was once a blessing but long journeys are made longer when alone within. Take spirit from the long ago but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.  (From the Elvhen song “Suledin”) Tel’dan’latha, vhenan Do not grieve/weep, vhenan Ane dirthem ame, var lath vir suledin I told you, our love will endure/last/survive Ar lath ma I love you

Dirth ma Speak to/tell me (lit. Speak you)

[technohumanlation]

Whumptober Day 9

The ever so lovely @whumptober2019 made a list of prompts to complete every day for the whole month of October and I’m giving a shot at it this year! 

As always read what you can handle and do not read if you are squimish to any of the warnings.

Shackled

Characters: Reverse AU- Android Gavin (GV200 and GV400) Human Nines, and Human Connor

Warnings: Blood, swearing 

This one is a treat folks! The ever so lovely @deviantalicee lent me some of her creativity and is allowing me to take some themes from her heart wrenching, delicious fic “Bloodstains” over on Ao3. GV200 (especially) is her baby and not mine. If you haven't read her fic this is a big spoiler and may not make a lick of sense.  

“No. No way." Nines growled, standing up from his desk. "If you want your head on your shoulders, I would get that fucking thing out of my face.”

Connor's shoulders were tense as he watched his brother, and they fell in exasperation upon the threat.

Since GV, no his name was Gavin, his brother insisted upon it, had died the whole precinct had been walking on eggshells. Even the hardest of men could walk down the hall next to Nines and give him a wide berth. 

“Nines, please...we can’t be short an an-”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.” He hissed with a livid bite. “He will pull through.”

Connor closed his eyes, jaw setting firmly to reign in calm patience.

Nines’ fiery gaze went back to the damned clone of Gavin. GV400 was proudly displayed in his uniform jacket. It disgusted him. Made him sick. They could replace an android just like that. They had no idea what sort of soul Gavin held, what burdens, and...what hell he had to trek through.

This damn doppelganger looked nothing like his-like Gavin. He was too presentable. Clean shaved, hair slicked back neatly with gel. He even stood at attention as if he were a good little soldier like he once was.

His emerald eyes were dead.

Not even his tanned skin held a single flaw. No scars, no crows feet, no wrinkles. He knew his Gavin's face like the back of his own hand.

But, for the fuck of it all, Nines stepped forward. He raised his hand. And when Connor had hope, it all went down the drain.  

When the android reached his hand out, he grasped it like all hell and pulled the android close. "You stay the hell away from me. Got it?”

He shoved the GV400 away from him and glared at Connor. How could he betray him like this? How could Captain Fowler even approve of this?

“I’m going home.”

It was late anyhow. Connor was smart not to say another word or protest.

It was early morning, two to be exact, and sleep wasn't on his mind. Everything else but sleep was on his mind. The sin he had committed consumed him. Everyday and every moment of his mortal life.

He had fucked up in the past and carried those burdens. Time healed them but left behind scars. This time the wound wouldn’t and couldn’t possible heal.

A cigarette nor whiskey could numb his pain. But that was selfish, wasn't it? He didn't deserve to sit in self-pity nor mourn Gavin. He didn't deserve to heal or quell the ache in his chest.

Gavin...had to pull through.

Nines sat at the kitchen table, leaning forward to grip fistfuls of his hair. Space here was empty without Gavin. It was dark and quiet. His chest felt the same. It was heavy. It hurt.  

But nothing, god almighty, nothing would outweigh his fucking-

“You stupid fucking robot!”

No, he was the stupid one. And, yeah, so was Gavin. Why would he had ever taken the bullet that was meant for him. The image of his scared expression, his whimpers, his shaky words, and...and...

Blue.

Nines released a keened sound from deep within his throat, hands drawing downward to press the heels into his eyes.

“Do you want to die?!”

Why was he so harsh? So cruel to him in his last moments?

He wanted to cry. Let the water flow from the rusted faucet that had been neglected for so long. But something would always stop him. After all rust was so hard to fight against.

“Better blue blood spilled than red.”

Fuck him.

“Didn’t want to see you hurt.”

Fuck. Him.

Nines had looked up from his hands, finally, to see the bottle of liqueur empty. When had he...? Had he even...?

His world swayed as he stood up from the kitchen table and looked around his apartment. Shadows began to bleed through the windows and crawl across the walls.

“Gotta hold on...”

His own voice mocked him, his hands wanting to curl and hold onto the weight of something not quite there.

“Thank you, detective."

Nine's stomach lurched. He saw shapes against the shadows. Outlines. Flashing blue and red lights. He felt the cold, brisk air around them. He looked down. He was now on his knees.

There was someone else.

He felt something heavy in his lap. Nines startled upon the broken body in his arms. His heart raced as a shocked sound came from his lips. No...this wasn't real. Not again. Please.

“They're gonna fix you."

He murmured under his breath.

“They're gonna fix you."

Again.

“He's gone." Gavin's lips moved, but his eyes did not open.  

It sent pangs of ice down his spine. Fear gripped him as if there was a fist closed around his esophagus. The space around him shifted from concrete walls and ground. From sirens and police lights bled dark, empty and shadowless space.

“They're gonna fix you." He murmured under his breath against his will.

He blinked, and the body in his hands was now the pristine GV400. Frsh out of the box new.

Nines gasped though it was cut off when a red wire snapped out from the darkness behind. It dug into the skin of his wrist wrapping and wrapping until it made the skin white and then blue. It yanked his hand away, the GV400’s head dropping to the ground harshly.

The wire began to pulse. Darkness surrounded him before red cut through it highlighting his straining expression ans he fought against the wire.

“They're gonna fix you." His lips moved to the mantra when he did not command them to. Another red wire that came forth from the darkness. It wrapped around his other arm forcibly dropping the GV400’s body. It looked up at him, eyes dead and emotionless.

It was now his voice whispering into Nine’s ear. “They're gonna fix you."

“Your fault.” The GV400 murmured.

“No...no...” He knew it was his damned fault why did this...this thing mock him.

Red. Red.

Swirling blinking pulsing red.

More wires captured his limbs, pulling him back and back, away and away from the GV400.

He blinked, and it was Gavin again.

Another blink. It was GV400.

Blink. Blink. Blink. He didn’t know which android was worse. A cry of pain, anger, and sorrow ripped from his throat as he reached out.

“Why did you let me die?!” The voice quaked.

“No!”

“They're gonna fix-"

A red wire, thicker than the rest wrapped around his throat and squeezed.

They pulsed, on and off, slower and slower until they darkened and suddenly constricted, the bones of his body snapping.

Nines shot up ramrod straight in his chair with a choked gasp, his head spinning, and heart racing. He gripped his chest and a glass of spilled liqueur. He looked around.

The kitchen. Nines was in the kitchen. In his home. It was a dream.

A sudden jolt of hot caustic anger shot through him. He followed the impulse.

With a roar of anger, he hacked the glass at the nearby wall and watched with satisfaction as it exploded into glittering pieces.

Something fell from his eyes. They were wet and heavy, burning dried lips that were cracked. Nines brought a shaky hand to his face and pulled it back, looking at glistening fingers.

He crying in his sleep?

His breath had calmed to a quiet pant as his head continued to pound with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Outside it was sunny.

Another day of Gavin not being here.

But he held hope. Fuck did he hold onto the hope. Gavin would pull through.

[indomitablemegnolia]

Cold, empty, hollow feeling echoes along my nerves as I replay a memory over and over again.  I never had any idea, I always disdained the ingénues in romance tales, the ones that would run panting after some said hero, I never wanted to be one, yet here I am.  My mind conjures life, himself, his pitying face, and yes every time I thought of that creased brow and the laughing smile I wanted to hit it, words echoed, I wished I had just left it with the dead thudding “oh.” Yes, oh, as in my mind is screaming and all my lips can utter is oh, but never knowing exactly when to speak and when to keep my peace I smile, as they say, smile even if your soul and heart are being shredded after being ripped from your body clawed and spit on, split and slashed, yes, always smile, but that didn’t keep my lips closed.

“Oh, darling Life, of all the lies you ever told me, I love you was my favourite, was it ever true?” I surprised myself my voice was light with only a small tremor no catch or watery undertone.

His eyes remained smiling his pity losing its edge, “No”

“So, all of those promised moments, those oaths of fealty, the times you said… forever… they were what?”

“Well I have heard that sometimes forever is just a second.”

“Kiss me, please.” I had to know the truth, no matter how cold it was.

“Just one last time, then I will go.”

“You have to mean it, can you mean it?” I closed my eyes, knowing what he was going to say.

“I never have before.”

“I loved you.”  I whisper, I turn my back, "how stupid;" stopping him before his lips could touch mine; I walk away, I walked away from him before he would walk away from me.  The overlapping voices inside me making such a ruckus that I thought the entire world could hear it.  The Pleas, 'don’t leave me', 'not like this', 'I need you', 'I love you', 'I always will'; then they all quieted as 'Goodbye' ricocheted through me. I didn’t look back, not until I knew he had turned to leave, it was a mistake but I watched the last of his shoulders turn as he slowly faded. I felt living slowly ebb in my soul, it would only be a short while before my heart slowly stops beating; the bitch when it is life who leaves...

In this world of wit and worry in this universe.  In this one there are few things so beautiful they arch eons after ever being seen or felt…swimming in the ocean while it rains; reading alone in an empty library; a childs smile; the sea of stars that appear when you are miles away from neon lights of the city; the dull ache of a bar after two am with the flavour of bourbon on the tongue; lost in the wilderness on purpose or by accident; all phases of the moon; the things we do not know, nor ever will about the universe… and You… yes you Life, watching your face while you let all the pleasure flow through your body is a glorious sight. I know that you’re sometimes conscious of me observing you. It can made you hold back maybe a little, I try not to let that happen. It inhibits you from fully letting your mind follow your body, but when I was able, when all was want and desire and need to prolong the ecstasy washing over us, my god, you’re a sight like no other in this world. This one in the innumerable possible worlds, those other worlds in the other universes. Though as magnificent as I knew this world to be, I also knew there would be one world where we, almost, just ever so might have been lovers soulmates friends. In this one it simply just wasn’t meant to be, Life, himself just couldn’t come to love me.

I can’t have you, Life. You are not here, and will never visit again, this is something I know. I long for arms that aren’t there and never will be. It’s a bad habit I’m getting used to.

I kept walking mindless, finally stopping when I was in my room sorting through my closet.  Life, he finally told me, he never loved me, and this was goodbye.  I ran through my stages of grief, at the end coming to the conclusion, that unlike a usual break up, this one is a final resounding call.  Logically, what happens when Life, himself, says goodbye, time is really running out.  I pulled out the dress I never had the occasion to wear, black satin empire waist beaded and beautiful.  I slide it on, smoothing my hair and smearing on my best lipstick.

I deal in concrete vagaries, delicious ambiguity, my mind scattered to the four winds. I am not exactly sure why, but my thoughts and emotions were now haywire, bubbling up through the broken cracks in my soul, dampening my creativity, confusing my words and sending me on a spiral. I am collecting my thoughts, my mind and the fly away flurries of my soul to have peace for just this moment. I tamp it all deep down into my soul and keep it held tight, this new agitating pain. I know this is perhaps faulty thinking and temporary. Perhaps one day it won’t just be temporary, perhaps someday someone is going to hug me so tight all the broken pieces of my soul will fit back together. Damn you Life, why couldn’t you love me back.

Since I was young, I have always known this: Life damages us, every one and I’ve fallen in love with him. No one can escape that damage. But now, I am also learning this: I did by my actions amplify it. Perhaps it can be mended. My breath becoming short, my legs weak, I shivered; Oh, if only, I had the time.

As I walked on this beautiful night I looked at the sky and wondered how many people feel the way I do at this moment. The icy chill had left as well as that empty echo, I was not resigned but in an odd way… Content but not pleased; happy but in a distant nostalgia; blessed but also very cursed; found but so goddamned lost; I was alive but just barely breathing.

As I walked near a lacquered black door the tinkling of soul pulled at me. I walk into the sedate bar, soft tune playing from a grand piano from the corner, a man with a stingy brim and white suit jacket tippled his scotch while he played some sentimental piece. The smoky smell of centuries hanging on the aged wood and leather, the lighting low with a blue/aqua tinge to it.  Sliding onto the stool I realize that I am still smiling; Oh that programming was so ingrained.  I ran my hands over the warm mahogany of the bar, feeling centuries play under my fingers.  I breathed in the atmosphere deep.  If there were a heaven it might have one of these in it.

The bartender, in a white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a black velvet waist coat, his head shaved smooth, his skin held a healthy shine.  His eyes the colour of onyx shined with an air of grace, “What’ll it be?” his voice was like honey; thick, rich, deep, his words gathering s delicate click to the end.

I thought for a single beat, “Cocktail du aviation.”

“Its been an age since I have had a call for that one.”  I watched as he built the cocktail.  A chilled metal shaker filled with ice, two jiggers of gin frosty clear, a jigger of Maraschino liqueur a lightly pink colour, a dram of Lemon juice and two Jiggers of Crème de violette a vivid dark purple. He affixed the top and began to shake it to the staggering waltz of the music in the background.  While shaking it for the last two bars he pulled a chilled martini glass out, tossing three cherries with stems into the glass, uncapping the shaker he slowly poured the concoction into the glass that instantly frosts over, the dark purple turning a frosty delicious spring scented nirvana.  He floated three flowers on the top, setting a napkin in front of me placing the glass in the center, resting a longer stemmed bloom on the outer edge.

I lifted the glass, holding it under my nose, breathing in something beautiful and fresh.  “J’ai plus de souvenirs que si j’avais mille ans.” I took a drink of the memory soaked libation.  I rolled the flowers around my tongue, the flavour exploding in my mind, in my mouth, opening my eyes I lick my lips taking in the quizzical look, a laugh escapes me as I let memories creep into my mind, I translated, “I carry more memories, souvenirs,”

“Than I should after a thousand years lived…” his honeyed voice finished with me.  “I knew what it meant, just not why you would carry that much weight?”

I shrug, and take another drink, feeling alive even for a short moment; my heart thumps hard, slowing.  Now that Life, himself has left me flat it is just a game of waiting. 

Softly the piano started a soulful tinkling.  A low baritone began to sing, I felt my heart stop. “Birds flying high, you know how I feel," I took a last shuddering breath; "sun in the sky you know how I feel.” I rocked softly to the melody, taking a long drink, tipping my head back, revelling in the flavour.  Warmth came up behind me, soft breath caressing my ear. Sighing I lean back toward him. 

Oh, Terminus I loved sparring with him, but I also love when he was there to hold my wounded heart.  There was a time I counted him as my arch enemy; now I know he is my only meant to be, now as his warmth calmed that chill from my bones. I felt him sit on the stool next to me, I could smell the sweet bourbon on his breath and in his glass.  I open my eyes and look into his reflected in the beveled mirror.  His heavy lidded green eyes spoke of past and future and promises that from him that never rang empty. He smiled the most exquisite smile, delicious enticing, wrapped in a memory, veiled by reality and tinged by my dreams.

How does one explain an unknowable without sounding unsound? That euphonious nonsound, not an absence of noise but nothing audibly distinguishable. That click that is felt abd heard through the whole universe, that moment when our eyes met, like the switch of a train track, transporting both if us for one miraculous moment, to what might have been or is it what will be? Oh, but it was there.

His voice, lilting, plush, tempting tintinambulation; the result, sweet butterflies rioting through the veins; producing goose bumps, as if the sound has come from just behind the ear, as a warm breath caressing the neck. The exotic feeling of an audible dark chocolate thrills the body, every collected nerve inundated with sweet richness, trailed with a dark bite. In contrast all listening feel the dangerous, opulent, decadence, something almost endemically naughty about the tone that the depth of the words as lush as they felt, were belied with their defined ordinary nature, turning to a sweet erotic rapture

I wanted just to sit next to him and listen to everything he could possibly say about anything ever because there was something about him.  Oh, Terminus, there was always something about you, about the tilt of your head.  I luxuriated in the tone of his breath passing over his lush tongue. It was just the beautiful happening of existence that there he was. I  don’t even know what we talked about, I just listened to the sound of his voice and to his deep sweet laugh and the sound of him softly listening to me.

His beautifully calloused hand carefully caressed mine; his soft caressing whisper, "I remember how seeing the shape of your mouth that first time, I kept staring until my blood turned to rain. Some things take root in the brain and just don’t let go. Oh, Time passes, but she smiles and it may as well have just stopped. Come, closer now and listen my love, I warned you, Life only cares for beauty, and health and dancing and happiness.  You and I will always be.”

“How do you move on?“ I whispered surrounded in that moment by memory.

“You move on when your heart finally understands that there is no turning back.” he looked into my eyes and I finally saw that love I had always craved.  “Do you know the most beautiful part to loving a guarded girl? When she lets you in, it’s not because she needs you. She stopped needing people a long time ago. It’s because she wants you. And that - that is the purest love of all.”

The bartender appeared topping off our drinks. The cocktail was still gloriously frosty, and his bourbon smelled heavenly on his breath  “Anything else you’ll be needing Set?”

“Not at all Charon, I think we are about done here.”

I nodded, “of course, I… Set,” I looked at the beautiful bartender nodding,“Charon, you are beautiful, and mix a hell of a drink”

“Was a pleasure Miss, this was the sweetest tour I have taken. Its not often the boss comes on the trip.”

I laughed, “Now feel foolish calling you Terminus.”

“It fits, it is what I am, but it doesnt have to be a battle, a horror. .. Oh, you used to fight me, now look, you see... We were meant to be.” He took my hand pulling me from my perch on the stool. Handing me my lovely purple concoction. Wrapping his arm tightly around my shoulders, god, he was tall.

He walked comfortably to the door I entered through, but instead of the street...

@pedeka @keeper0fthestars @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose @littletesla

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Marred

Summary: Riley reflects on the dark happenings of the last New Year’s party, as storms ravage the palace.

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Mentions of murder and non-consensual sex. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1915

Notes: I do not know why I bother to make calls for action, as they are usually ignored, but here we go.

I had a rather... unpleasant experience this New Year’s night, and this is my way of dealing with it. Drop me a line if you want to talk about it, mine or your own.

Furthermore, this is dark. This is horribly dark. Read at your peril.

To mar [mahr]

Transitive Verb

Middle English merren, Old English merran; with Old Saxon merrian, Old High German merren, Old Norse merja, Gothic marzjan.

1.    to damage or spoil to a certain extent; render less perfect, attractive, useful, etc.; impair or spoil;

2.    to disfigure, deface, or scar.

It was late in the day, it was the New Years’ Eve. The night was chilly but it did not snow, in true Cordonian fashion. The celebration, as was tradition, was being held on the Beaumont Residence, and it was just rambunctious as expected.

Maxwell had brought moderately famous Pop singers from Greece and Kosovo to perform exclusively to the guests, and seemed to be running around, chasing the skirt of one of them, if not in his room with her.

Drake was lying, face down, in some couch around the house. He overindulged in alcohol and would not be a part of the countdown that year. Olivia and Hana were in the music room, playing the night away to their hearts’ content.

As for Liam, her husband, he was off with a few noblemen and selected guests, sharing cigars and brandy, discussing the Parliament’s agenda for the coming Spring.

It was rare for them to spend the New Year’s together, Riley conceded. Not only the events on the social season usually got in the way, and they would have January off, so the royals, especially the sovereign, usually dedicated the last days in December to making sure all was up and running while they rested secluded on a castle far away.

Having been systematically abandoned by her closest friends, Riley then spent the last moments before midnight, swaying around in the dance floor, holding a flute of house sparkling wine.

One could argue she had a little too much of it so far, but Bertrand was stingy as ever with invitations, and so it was unlikely anyone with ill intent to have made it inside the manor.

In her haze, she swung one side to the other, giggling as she twirled dizzily through the ample room.

With a lousy dance step, she tumbles with him.

The glass on the window was shaking with the heavy rain pouring from the milky black sky and wind hitting against it. The trees outside lost quite a few branches for the unforgivable weather that evening, and she feared electricity would be cut off that night.

She had a couple of candlesticks and some matches stored on her bedside table drawer, should she need some light in an emergency. She dreaded the use of them, as she was very afraid of damaging the finely engraved wooden surfaces of her bedroom furniture.

It was very late, but she did not seem to be able to sleep. Perhaps she would not rest, either way, due to her loneliness and the weather, after tonight, it would not surprise her if she were to acquire a distinct distaste for storms.

She tried to read, but the story, for once, could not hold on to her attention for very long, neither could television or music. Her mind was away and adrift, a single thought circled her head again and again.

It has been such for weeks, but tonight… Tonight, it was worse.

The nobleman helped Riley to steady herself, placing both of his hands underneath her upper arms, allowing her to lean into them, so she could stand up straight.

“Whoa, Your Majesty,” He says, an amused smirk on his face. “I cannot say I dislike the attention, but you could just come out and say it.”

The monarch-consort laughs the awkwardness off. “Oh, milord, you know how it is, two flutes of champagne and you forget yourself. Thank you, though, for your assistance.”

“It is my own pleasure, Your Majesty. A service to the sovereign is on public interest, after all.” He responded, shooting her an easy smile.

“I do not suppose they have in mind helping a poor woman who overindulged when they say such things.” The Queen tattled in amusement. “Tell me, milord, are you enjoying tonight’s celebrations?”

“I find them most agreeable, Your Majesty. The Beaumonts have a knack for entertaining.” The man responds, soft.

“That it is, milord.” She agrees. “I have always felt as if they were my own family, and, as such, as if their parties were my own parties. A little forward of me, I usually consider, as I lack that… green thumb, if you must, of theirs.”

He chuckles. “I recall quite a few soirées at the palace that were equally, if not more, enjoyable than tonight.”

“Be certain it was Maxwell the one you owe your praises. I hardly ever get involved with any of the planning.” She said, humorously. “I did not think I would find any noblemen around this time of evening, though. Tell me, milord, would you not prefer to be in audience with the King? My husband is hearing complaints in the parlour, and I daresay he is in a giving mood tonight.”

“I have most that I want.” It was his response. “And what I do not, I should find ways to acquire.”

“It seems conscientious of you, milord.” She conceded. “If I am to take the hordes one surely would find in the parlour right about now, I am to infer you are a minority amongst your peers.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but I do not suppose conscience has anything to do with it. I merely find more pleasure in the struggle.” He dismisses the compliment offhandedly.

“In America, we tend to celebrate those who achieve by their own merits, rather than by birth or favour, but I suppose you are entitled to your own assessment, unflattering as it is.” She points out.

“That I am, Your Majesty, that I am.” He smirks, haughtily.

As he finishes his statement, the clock strikes 11:59.

The guests still lingering around the dining room start cheering the countdown to the new year, while the nobleman leads the woman to a quieter corner of the room, at a mezzanine overlooking the ballroom.

As the seconds go by and they come closer to the new year, so the body of the nobleman close the distance between him and the monarch.

The hairs on the back of her head shiver in alarm, and her arm is covered in goose bumps. She tries to get away from him, but his hand holds her wrist firmly in place.

As the fireworks go out on the lawn, as the night-time sky is coloured with the overt glow, the nobleman tugs her arm and forces her to kiss him.

It was always eerie to her, the dissonance between the hustle-bustle of the palace during the day and the dead silence of the night.

Liam always found it relaxing, the poor man, so deeply traumatized from a tumultuous childhood, could not even nap if not in absolute quietness. Riley, however, used to a life in the metropolis, slept better when in hearing distance of the white noise of motors in a busy avenue.

Her husband more than once offered her the use of a white noise machine, and she has resisted. The King’s restful sleep was more important than the Queen’s, after all, and so their conjoined bedroom was to be tailored to his preferences to perfection.

After more than a few sleepless nights on her part, he brought the white noise machine once again, alongside a change in mattresses and cable television extensions for the room, but she once again refused. It was not going to lull her to any sleep, either way.

Tonight… tonight, the cause for her insomnia was very different and specific. Her shoulders were slumped and aching from the tension she was under, her ears rung painfully, her head was about to explode.

Her ears perk at the sound of heavy footsteps on the staircase near the bedroom, she takes it as a good sign. None of the servants would walk so noisily, not that any would be up at this time anyways.

Perhaps, when all it is said and done, she ought to get a decent night’s sleep.

When he was done with her, he adjusted his trousers, facing away from her and towards the ballroom beneath them. For a split second, his softening, slick member was for all to see, but no-one did.

Not a single person raised their sights towards the mezzanine that night.

“I believe that we are done here.” He turns back to her and raises her face to a small peck on her lips, one she had no strength to fight against.

“Why did you do it?” She asks, weakly.

He chuckles and faces the stairway down. “I thought I told you, I like the struggle to get what I want.”

“You know you won’t get away with that.” She threatened.

“I think I just did.” Without looking back, the blue-blood said, “Thanks for the evening, Your Majesty. It has been great.”

Liam sits down on an armchair opposite to his wife, taking off his shoes, stained in hues of brown and red.

“The maid will burn these in the morning.” The woman says, taking the pair away, to the side of the fireplace.

“Thank you.” He said, rather absent. A moment of silence follows, before he breaks with a, “I did it. I did it myself.”

“I thought you would.” Was the response. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” He countered, almost instantaneously. “I hated that man for what he did with you. I will never forgive him, and I will never think he did not deserve it.”

Riley hummed her understanding, and busied herself on preparing the bed for the night.

“Unless…” He says, slow and dour, profoundly dreading the scenario he built on his head. She stops what she was doing and looks deep into his eyes, as he starts again to speak, “Unless you see me differently for what I did.”

She sighed. “There is nothing anyone can do that will erase what happened. If you did it for me, then you wasted your efforts.”

“I understand.” It was his answer. He knew the truth, that he did it to appease his own anger and frustration, most of it towards himself, but he would have preferred to kid himself a little longer to the cold tell-off.

However, looking at her swelling stomach, he had to concede she was on a difficult position, to say the absolute least.

How could he phrase it not to feel an absolute understatement?

“I still love you, though. I will always love you. It’s just that…” She breathed out and nothing she planned to say made any sense, communicated any of the things she wanted to say.

I was worried about you. I am worried about you. I want to be free of it. I want you to be free of me.

“Let’s just sleep.” She said, instead. “It all should look better in the morning.”

They lay down in bed side by side, Liam making every effort not to touch his wife, as she finds it rather disturbing for the time being.

Riley could not help to let a few tears spill from her eyes, as it usually happens that time of night. She had acquired the rather nasty habit of crying herself to sleep. The morning would bring no good, as no other day since then has never did, nor ever will.

For, from now until forever, she was marred.

Taglist: @boneandfur; @cora-nova; @mfackenthal; @theroyalweisme; @zilch3