#desperately want the veil but alas no existing ones

[yippeedragons]

been really in the mood for beachy/tropical themed or watery dragons, so heres a few from my saved scries that i think fit that bill :3

full color/gene combo list in order under the cut!

male veilspun, banana/robin/sanddollar with sphinx/hawkmoth/mop. bright lightning eyes

male fae, teal/teal/cyan with poison/foam/keel. pastel lightning eyes

male obelisk, sky/sapphire/white with cherub/blaze/points. uncommon water eyes

male gaoler, lapis/lapis/yellow with cinder/blaze/pinions. uncommon water eyes

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 10 - Waterloo Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 9 Summary: A spontaneous decision on your side takes you both out of London for the weekend. The proximity and a different setting forces you to address some reckless choices and face the tension. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language and, as always, a tiny dose of angst and confusion on both sides. Author's Notes: Publishing a chapter every 2-3 months is cool, right? 🙈 As always, I blame work and my brain for that. These two make life difficult on the daily basis. But, alas, it's here for all five of you to enjoy 🎉 This is the first of my 'Skegness chapters', which a nickname I gave to the weird concoction of ideas that required my setting to change for a moment. Said weird ideas included an ice bar, stargazing and swing dancing... Yeah, I know. I think there will be one more chapter finishing this part of the story, because as you can see, these two are only getting messier. Don't we just love that?? Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added).

You could not exactly say if anything changed after that Saturday morning when Neil lifted the metaphorical veil of secrecy, but you knew that some things were different. Like how you perceived the world - at odd times aware that, for some people, movement was not always a forward motion. Some bullets could fly up instead of falling. During those days when Neil texted you to say he was away and would not be able to meet, he was most likely not sitting behind a desk, going through paperwork. Or listening to people confess their sins in a darkened confessional.

No, it was quite possible he could be dodging those inverted bullets and trying not to be injured. Or worse. Admittedly, you tried your hardest not to think about that whenever Neil was away. You filled your time with lessons and rehearsals, fully immersing yourself within the four realms of The Nutcracker. Which, if you dared say so, was going well. Suspiciously so.

But if there was one thing that changed on the sunny Saturday, it was the fact that you took one significant step back. At some point that day, faced with the reality of Neil’s occupation and the things he had to deal with, your brain decided to take one step back, withdrawing from any forms of intimacy that breached the carefully crafted line. The line was drawn in the sand, daily rearranged to fit the narratives you had tried to believe. That was how close friends behaved. There was nothing wrong with the desperate desire to talk to him whenever you spent as much as four hours apart. Lies like that.

But you no longer kissed him. Never let yourself get lost in the passion so easily ignited between you through something as innocuous as a touch of a hand. If Neil noticed your feeble attempts at stripping away the benefits part of your friendship, he did not show it.

If he ever asked, you were not sure you could explain it. Except that a naïve part of your brain wanted to believe that if something terrible happened to him, it would be easier to move on. To forget without the burden of memories filled with kisses and touches no one else could ever replicate.

In a way, it was a blessing that Neil was never the one to initiate a kiss or something more between you without a clear green light from your side. Yet, still, you did not consider it a blessing. More so a convenience that eased the burden of guilt. Slightly.

Still, your weekly standing dates on Wednesdays and other random outings continued, setting a routine you could not begrudge. It was easy (too easy) and pleasant (too pleasant) to have someone to talk to and share every little thing that came to your head, the good and the bad. And if, in exchange, you got to know Neil even better, confirming your assumptions that he was possibly the smartest and most wonderful human being to exist – then that was more than alright.

It was only at the end of October when that steady routine and daily schedule, without an ounce of variety, except for maybe a different idiotic song stuck in your head, started getting boring. Tiring with repetitiveness. It was that sort of excuse you repeated in your head as you typed into the search bar performances of travelling ballet troupes doing The Nutcracker and consequently chose a destination. There was never such a thing as too much inspiration. Surely. And a weekend away from the beloved yet chaotic London Town did not sound bad either. Certainly.

All was well until the subsequent Wednesday morning when you stared at the fluorescents on your descent to the platform, your eyes burning from a deficit of sleep and an early hour. Mornings like this meant trouble. They sounded like spontaneous decisions and recklessly made plans.

But as always, sense was hard to come by when faced with those beautiful eyes and a smile almost too good to be true. A takeaway coffee cup in his hand, placed under your nose as soon as you sat, was a key factor, too.

The gleam in his eyes zeroed in on you as you stifled another yawn and picked up the coffee with a grateful smile. The verbal response had to come after that first sip.

“You look like you need this” the affection in Neil’s voice was, as always, a dangerous, heady thing.

More so when you were sleep deprived and quite likely to say fuck it to things that you should not say fuck it to. You took the second sip of coffee before even trying to respond.

“Desperately” on their own accord, your eyes wandered over his face, cataloguing every tiny detail you could see from such proximity. The stray eyelash on his cheek caught your attention, so you reached out, brushing it away with a feather-light touch. Only Neil’s startled look told you he had noticed, “Thank you, sweetheart” before you could chicken out, you breached the minuscule gap and kissed his cheek. The victory in hearing his shallow gasp was fleeting, yet still very much there, “Waking up when it’s still dark is utter shite, innit?” frowning at the plastic lid, you sighed heavily.

It was even more damning to think about the return home that afternoon, also cloaked with twilight and the streetlights coming on, one by one, as you cowered from the wind and the drizzle. But that should wait. Without letting the sombre mood deepen, you moved closer to Neil, letting his warmth seep into your cold body and frozen heart.

Fuck knows if that was even an accurate metaphor. Or if it was something you wished to be true.

“Add jetlag to that and… yeah” unaware of your teeny crisis, Neil raised his arm to place it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The nonchalance of the gesture, seemingly a natural habit by now, did not escape you “But I’ve only got the briefing to tick off today, and then I’m free for a week” the slight brag in his tone made you frown with feigned jealousy.

Or not so feigned.

It was good to have him back after two weeks of nothing but texting and occasional phone calls, cumbered by the frustrating invention called ‘time zones’. What did not need to be mentioned were the hours you spent worrying whether the next text would ever arrive. If he would call again. Every prolonged silence felt like a trigger, baiting the anxiety to come out of its hiding place and torment you. There was nothing you could do but harden the convictions you had tried to set for yourself.

Neil was just a friend. Definitely just a friend.

Well, it was good to have your friend back.

“Lucky you�� ignoring the strange aftertaste that sentence left on your tongue, you snuggled against his side and asked “How did Canada go? Many inverted bullets?” sometimes, it still stung just how little you understood what his work entailed.

Sure, Neil has offered impromptu physics lessons and slightly extended explanations. And sometimes, you took him up on it, taking inexplicable amounts of pleasure from watching him gesticulate and light up when trying to make you understand how the laws of physics could be inverted. That gleam in his eyes whenever Neil had a chance to talk about something he was passionate about made it impossible to look away from him, drawing you in like a magnet. But maybe that was just Neil’s magic in general.

“Yes, but it was relatively calm. Just a stake out, really” sighing, Neil somehow pulled you even closer and rested his cheek against the top of your head, stoking the flame in your soul “I managed to fulfil the goal, so at least they won’t fire me” the chuckle rumbled through his chest, highlighting the insecurities dormant underneath.

Now and then, you could see them clearly like this. And each time, they made you frown. It made zero sense for someone so incredible to doubt himself. With a personal vow to never stay silent on the topic, you raised your head with a rebuttal prepared:

“Please. As if John would ever do that,” measuring Neil with a look that dared him to protest while also showing that you were not taking it seriously, you placed a comforting hand on his knee and squeezed.

You had abandoned the pretence that you could withdraw from intimate gestures of that kind a long time ago. The resistance was futile.

“You’ve met him once, Cupid” Neil’s wry smile broke through the attempt at seriousness, failing to convince you that he believed a word he was saying.

Because, yes, you might have met the boss once. But it was clear their bond was deeper than that. There was something profound in the affection they held for each other and in the faultless way they could communicate without ever saying a word. You wanted to understand it better but were still at a loss of how to ask. You worried that the simple: Neil, is John in love with you? -  would not quite catch it. Even though you were 90% sure it was true.

“Which doesn’t mean I haven’t seen him look at you with literal heart eyes” shrugging, you pointed out the bullshit in that flawed evasion and used your free hand to tip his head, so Neil had no choice but to meet your gaze. This type of sentiment necessitated eye contact, “And I get it. I do” it was easy to drop the mask and just let him see.

See how much you cared. See how important he was, nearly faultless in your eyes. A precarious position to be in, but no less coveted. Because your admiration was a rare thing, and Neil knew that as his eyes widened, instantly showing hints of vulnerability and uncertainty. They always made him look younger, less hardened by life’s experiences, and more like the self-proclaimed romantic Neil was.

“Truly?” the quiet eagerness in the single-worded question made you grin.

It was adorable that he still needed to ask.

“Madly and deeply, too” cracking a smile as Neil caught up with your joke, you leaned back on his shoulder and rested your head on his neck.

You already knew that a mistake was about to be made. You could feel the question settling on your tongue, impossible to swallow or ignore. You wanted to ask him.

And so, you did.

“I have a strange question…” admittedly, the preamble could have been more thought through.

Less menacing, perhaps. You could see Neil’s frown appear from the vantage point of your head, lying on his shoulder. He glanced down at you, clearly trying to foresee what you were going to say before he drew blank and replied:

“That’s the best starter. Shoot,” his hand covered yours, still resting on his knee as Neil tipped the coffee cup, downing the remains.

Right. You closed your eyes for a split second and took a deep breath, hoping against hope that it would do something to calm your racing heart. (It didn’t). As much as the idea was perhaps the worst one you had ever had (maybe except for sleeping with Neil that first night), it was something you wanted. And you were unable to deny yourself anything. Which more than once proved to be an issue.

“So, you’ve said you have the week off now… And I’ve booked a weekend trip to Skegness to see a different production of The Nutcracker for research” the words left your mouth in a rush, all melting into one another, barely intelligible and followed with a question as soon as you took another greedy inhale “Would you perhaps want to come with?” once it was done, you hid your face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling the collar of his leather jacket.

His scent permeated the material, calming you down a little bit. You chose not to examine that fact too closely. Or at all. But before you could successfully hide from him, Neil shifted so that he could gently raise your head from his shoulder and asked:

“Skegness? That sounds like a rash, dumb idea” his gaze calmly searched your face for something while a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

It was not like you did not know the idea was ridiculous. Resisting the urge to swat him, you rolled your eyes and shrugged. That was still better than an outright rejection. Despite the judgement and ridicule.

“It might be,” forcing yourself to maintain eye contact, you chose to add a vulnerable note to an invite that otherwise could have seemed thoughtless. It was as if you were asking for the sake of it, when instead you asked because you desperately wanted him to join “I just need to go somewhere” anywhere, in fact.

Anywhere but here. Because suddenly London felt too much like home. Too comfortable and familiar. But none of that needed to be said. Not yet, perhaps.

With Neil still refusing to drop your gaze, you fought the urge to turn your head away from him and allowed yourself to stare back. To be seen. After what felt like hours, he shot you a quick smile and took your hand to tangle your fingers in reassurance. It always worked.

“Well, as it happens, I love reckless ideas and bad choices” Neil’s grin widened as you sighed with pretend exasperation and glanced at the Jubilee map above his head to ensure you had not somehow missed your stop.

Fortunately (or not), you still had roughly two minutes to commit a dozen of fuck ups. More or less.

“Do you?” always devoted to the cause, you leaned in closer, stopping just a breath away from his face and slowly dropped your gaze to his lips.

By now, it was a reflex. Something you could barely control and never had to force. Only now, with your resolve to take a step back, very much crumbling but still there, it was much more destructive. An instinct, going against everything you tried to believe. Against logic. It took you another second to catch yourself and raise your head again, barely stifling a quiet gasp when you found Neil transfixed, too. The boundless depths of his blue eyes almost begged you to stop trying to fight the inevitable. Again. But you could not.

You should not.

“Quite,” the word left his lips in a whisper as you lurched back and stood up quicker than he could process the movement.

You closed your eyes against the uncertainty in his eyes and raised your hand in a silent wave as the carriage doors opened at Southwark. It was rude. It should not be done to Neil, of all people.

But it was the only thing that made sense at that moment. Or so you tried to tell yourself.

***

When Cupid randomly suggested a trip to Skegness over the weekend, Neil, for his part, did not even try to pretend he did not want to come along. It was a fact that later filled him with shame, proving that he could not separate himself from her to the point where he stopped trying. He did not need to ask himself whether his answer would have been different if she proposed Slough or Aldershot as a destination. He knew that it would not change a thing.

Although, perhaps, it should’ve.

But, if Neil was certain of one thing, it was that he was a masochist. Through and through. Because what could go wrong over a weekend trip with a woman he was absolutely not in love with? Nothing, surely.

An hour and a half into the drive up from London that he had heroically volunteered for, Neil had yet to question the decision. Swiftly changing the lanes on M11 to ensure they did not accidentally end up in Cambridge, Neil glanced at the passenger seat only to find her still deeply in slumber. The nap, excused by a confession that the past few weeks of intense rehearsals had been tough on her, happened after they had left Barking, and the traffic eased. Neil could not possibly find it in himself to begrudge her. Even though he had been left alone with nothing but her ridiculous playlist, filled with Euro hits and his thoughts. Both of which were not the best company a man could ask for.

Admittedly, the past few weeks, Neil was eager for anything that would distract him from the narrative his brain was desperate to thread. He could tell that Cupid was distancing herself, suddenly shying away from leisurely touches and moves that could lead further than an affectionate kiss on the cheek. And, despite countless attempts at ignoring this evident development, Neil could not seem to do just that. Instead, it was a thought that attacked at least convenient moments, sowing doubts upon doubts in his mind. If he were braver, he would have asked. But there was no bravery among the confusing thoughts and feelings, rendering him helpless in the uncertainty.

In those difficult moments, Neil could sometimes face the fact that he was 90% sure he understood what made her withdraw like that. He had seen it before, usually in the faces of fellow Tenet agents after a difficult mission or a close call. That hard but seemingly sensible decision not to pursue anything with someone with a lowered life expectancy. It was safer that way. A careful move to ensure one’s heart would not be broken because of the worst happening. A step back.

It was something Neil expected to happen just as much as he feared. Because there was nothing left to do but let her steer their relationship in the way she saw fit. Embarrassingly enough, he was just happy to be her friend.

In the traditional, non-fucked up way, that did not entail sex, that is.

Unfortunately.

And if that was part of why he jumped on the weekend trip without sparing a thought to the contrary, then it was no one’s business but his. There.

“Whereabouts are we?” the innocent question coming from the passenger side made Neil startle, instantly dropping the lid on the intrusive thoughts.

Stealing a glance at Cupid, Neil noted her mussed hair and bleary eyes as she blinked repeatedly, looking out the window. There was a certain degree of cosiness in seeing her like this - sleepy-eyed and comfortably existing in his space. Despite the uncertainty in his veins, Neil had to admit it proved that her trust in him was unwavering. The idea offered a sliver of comfort as he focused his gaze back on the road, answering her question:

“We’ve just passed Cambridge” her stifled yawn made him grin as Neil passed a slower car and changed lanes to avoid yet another slip road towards whatever the fuck Swavesey was, “You can go back to sleep. I can follow the nav,” another glance at the screen told him they were yet to get lost, which was a plus. Yet, still, it was better to manage expectations, “More or less,” a smirk made its home on his face as Neil stole another glance at Cupid, immediately noting her answering smile.

She looked almost radiant in the rare autumn sun as she stretched her limbs like a cat and twisted her body to face him more comfortably. Suddenly, Neil was very grateful for having a task that required his full attention. Anything was better than staring at her and losing his mind more with every passing minute.

“That’s encouraging” the sarcastic tone seeped through her voice as she settled in the seat and replied, “I might bother you for a bit now” Neil knew she meant it to be a threat.

Except that it was anything but. It was a promise of a distraction and a way to know her even better. Something he could not deny himself if he tried.

“Splendid idea” there was no point in hiding the affection in his voice. Even less so as he risked a relatively safe opener, betraying his sole motive behind the conversation, “How are you?”

It was one thing that none of the non-stop text exchanges ever covered. Sure, he would ask, but she would rarely answer. After some time, Neil concluded that Cupid was not keen on sharing her burdens. At least, not the ones that counted. The only times he succeeded were the face-to-face conversation when she seemed eager enough to open up. He could only hope this was one of those moments.

“Honestly?” thankfully taking his silence as an agreement, Cupid sighed before she let the words out, “I think I’m fine, but also that fear of self-sabotage is very much there, so…” she paused as if collecting thoughts to share. Neil patiently waited for her to continue. It was already promising, fulfilling the untold wishes he had for this conversation, “And sometimes I feel like my problems are so damn insignificant, it’s ridiculous” scoffing with frustration, she briefly turned towards the car window as if needing to forget about his presence for a moment to say what she wanted “But then I doubt you can relate” he frowned upon hearing the indirect jab. It was not vicious or spoken with malintent, but it felt wrong to consider himself somehow above her based only on his professional occupation. But before Neil could open his mouth to protest, she asked, “How does it feel to be saving the world?” the wistfulness in her voice matched the faraway look in her eyes.

But even that distant gaze was focused on him, ensuring that she wanted to hear an answer. It was enough encouragement to get him to share something honest. But not without righting a wrong assumption first.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But I know what you mean” carefully adjusting the speed to fit the limits of the motorway extending before them, Neil gathered the remaining bravery to share the thoughts no one else would be willing to hear, “Sometimes the shit I worry about seems so fucking stupid when I go to work and sit through hours of meetings discussing what could happen if we mess up” never quite able to stop feeling things long enough to speak words that were not impassioned, Neil swallowed past the sudden spike of anxiety at the thought and chanced a glance at Cupid.

She was always the perfect distraction. So utterly unwilling to pretend just for the sake of it. So true to herself that Neil frequently found himself consumed by jealousy at her bravery. Even though he knew she would disagree with his judgement.

“Which is?” now, she levelled him with a sober stare as the question brought him back to the present.

Neil did not need to doubt whether she wanted an honest answer. That much was written on her face and the sudden tightness of her features, bereft of humour. He must have done a good enough job introducing Tenet to her if she already understood the stakes with minimal information. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“Nuclear catastrophe. And that’s the best scenario” he could not help the weight of the words as they settled in the space between them, harshly contrasted by the Eurovision hits coming from the speakers.

If the topic were any lighter, Neil knows he would have laughed. But there was no space for laughter when faced with Cupid’s silence and the knowledge that he was the cause. If not for him, she would have been peacefully unaware of the dangers that could happen to their world if things ever went wrong. He was yet to determine whether it was a good thing that she now knew. If the moral weight added to his tally had been worth it.

“Damn…” Cupid closed her eyes as she let out a deep sigh and rested her head against the headrest, staring at the road ahead for a beat. The next time she spoke, humour had crept back into her voice. Neil knew it was mostly for his sake, “So, you better not fuck it up then, sunshine” she reached past the gear stick to squeeze his thigh and just as quickly dove into the tote resting by her legs, clearly in search of something. None of that whiplash could have prepared him for her next question, “Do you fancy crisps?” raising the crinkling packet from the bag, she offered him a bright grin.

Only the mischievous spark in her eyes told Neil she knew what she was doing. And that she knew she was successful in what she had envisioned. As always.

“Cupid-” a groan of frustration cut through a plea that was best left unsaid anyway.

Mostly because Neil worried if he did begin to express even an ounce of the things she made him feel, he would not be able to stop. He did not want to think about what would happen between them then.

Yet, still, he should have known Cupid would be relentless.

“What?” faux innocence permeated the question as she noisily opened the crisps and popped one into her mouth.

Neil was helpless against the wave of affection that spread through his chest.

“Nothing” shaking his head, he took a cautious glance at the nav before choosing how to answer the question. He knew there was no way in hell Cupid would accept anything less but half an honest reply. That much he could give her easily, “Sometimes I think you’re the penance gods sent me for being a menace to society,” fondness filled his tone as he chanced another look at her, immediately noticing her widening grin.

He had hit the jackpot. That was the type of compliment Cupid would consider the highest praise. Not peans towards her beauty nor poems about her grace. Those were never needed. It was another thing he liked about her.

Too much, probably.

“Is that a compliment?” as expected, she latched onto the praise with the hunger of a wolf, all sharp teeth and unbridled joy.

She seemed almost aglow with it. The warmth kept spreading through his chest like a firework. Neil was beginning to worry he would soon catch fire.

“Of the highest degree” a nod was the best he could offer as he shot her a quick smile, hoping Cupid understood he meant every word of that unconventional adoration.

Somehow, he knew that she did. She always seemed to know what he meant.

“Well, then you better repent” with her blinding grin turned towards him, she picked up the abandoned packet of crisps and extended it towards him.

Neil knew two things: 1) he had to take a crisp, or she would not give him peace, and 2) an undefined sense of balance had settled on his shoulders when they finished the peculiar conversation. Both realisations had led him to believe that, perhaps, this weekend would not be as much of a disaster as he worried.

***

It took you less than half an hour to complete a loop of the Skegness city centre. If it even was worth that label. It took another half hour of wandering around the pleasure beach, with its screaming children and blaring music, for you to develop a minor yet persistent headache. If you were to point fingers, you would blame the sudden, yet not unexpected, ‘Baby Shark’ appearance as you strolled past a nautically themed rollercoaster. An abomination, in fact.

Yet still, you were the only one to blame for this, having urged Neil to visit the town not even an hour after you had made it to the accommodation. The quaint, little holiday park was 10 minutes away from Skegness and seemed like a comfortable place for two nights. (Thank fuck for two bedrooms – was a thought you had but did not dare say out loud). But even the picturesqueness of the spot could not eradicate the tension building underneath your skin. That panic simmering beneath the surface, urging you to move, do something, anything at all, but stay in a tiny holiday house with Neil. Alone. Vulnerable to questions you could not afford to answer. At least not yet.

So, with no weapons at your disposal, you bated your eyelashes and offered a sweet smile, effortlessly convincing Neil to visit the town a day early. A choice you had now began to despise.

Supposedly, that had been your penance for being a coward.

Now, sat in the warm pub booth, waiting for Neil to pay the bill after your dinner, something he had insisted upon despite your protests, you were beginning to understand the depths of that punishment.

There was only one thing you could think of that would help. As soon as Neil returned to the table, the bill paid and a triumphant smile on his face, you extended the proposal:

“I saw an ice bar close just round the corner… Fancy a drink?” standing up from the booth, you wiggled your eyebrows and offered the most enticing smile you could muster.

Not that it was such a big deal. But ending this relatively taxing day with a drink sounded as close to perfection as one could get after everything that happened. You also hoped it would perhaps give you that necessary bout of bravery should Neil finally start asking the questions you expected.

Like why you haven’t kissed him for weeks.

You suppressed a wince at the thought before Neil could notice as his gaze settled on you with a slight surprise. After all, the plan had been to get food and an Uber back to the accommodation. And yet, here you were, changing your mind again. Except that Neil did not seem annoyed as he regarded you closely for a beat before asking:

“With like the ice sculptures and shit?” without waiting for an answer, he took your hand in his and tugged you towards the exit.

Grinning wide, you allowed him to lead you down the street as you tightened the hold over his hand and nodded.

“Mhmm” catching his side glance, you shrugged, throwing a random confession into the mix, “I’ve always wanted to visit one,” just so your sudden request did not seem so illogical.

Looking up to check the surroundings, you located the street where you spotted the sign and tugged on Neil’s hand to direct him towards it. Somehow, you knew he would not be putting up a fight about any of this.

“In that case… how could I refuse?” the humour in his voice widened your grin, and you forced yourself not to look at him until you were standing by the bar, vulnerable to any distractions.

As soon as your eyes landed on his beautiful face, you knew it had been the right call. With the sun long set and the clock tower nearby lit with a multitude of colourful lightbulbs, his golden hair had caught fire. As always, it was in complete disarray, half falling into his striking blue eyes, all so perfectly Neil that the affection in your chest could barely be contained. For a split second, not for the first time, you had considered breaking the rules you had set and surging forward into the kiss that seemed to be waiting just around the corner. But you couldn’t.

Instead, you took a tiny step back and shot him a smirk, falling back on what had never failed you before:

“I dunno… you could always tell me to fuck myself” even the joke felt somehow unsteady, tainted with the slightest catch in your voice.

It almost felt like an act of desperation.

But then, again, you supposed it was one.

“You overestimate my strength, Cupid” when you returned Neil’s stare, you found him smiling at you fondly, clearly not bothered by the sudden change of plans.

Before you could lose all sense of logic, you offered Neil a grateful smile and started towards the bar entrance.

Without any expectations, except for the need for an alcoholic drink and a curious place that would captivate your unbalanced sanity for a short while, you were sure this would be the perfect choice. As soon as you made it inside, paid the fee (this time, you did not let Neil get away with it), and donned the provided heavy coats and gloves, your assumptions had been confirmed.

The small room, guarded by a heavy door keeping the freezing temperatures intact inside, was lit with blue, purple and pink hues, all reflecting off the ice sculptures and the bar itself. As the cold hit your face and Neil closed the door behind you, you pulled up the hood and took in the surroundings, pleasantly surprised to have only one other party as a company. It was better that way. Easier to breathe and take time in soaking up the peculiar setting you had found yourself encased within. Your gaze flitted over the sculptures, noting their detailed artistry, and then towards the block of ice used as a bar, tended by two servers in their thermal attires. Without letting yourself think too hard about the instinct, you reached for Neil’s hand and led him towards the bartender, drink tokens at a ready. Reminded of one of the very first times you had met Neil outside of your Wednesday shared commute, you turned towards him with the drink menu in hand and offered a smirk:

“Will you do the honours?” seeing his hesitance, you took a step closer and leaned in, ensuring the rest of your intended tease would not be overheard by anyone else, “I remember you mentioned something about special talents… and I don’t mean the stuff you’ve done to me on your knees” delivering the punch with a teasing edge in your voice, you glanced at Neil just in time to see him burst out in laughter.

The complimenting blush tinted his cheeks as Neil hung his head for a beat, seemingly to compose himself, and then met your stare with a signature smirk.

“With such an invite, how could I not?” extending his hand for the menu with a flourish, Neil sent you a wink before he focused on the selection.

His furrowed brows drew you in as you leaned against the bar and let your eyes trace his features with concerning affection and detail. The blush on his cheeks has been overtaken by the flush caused by the cold, reaching as far back as the tips of his ears and nose. His blonde hair, backlit by the myriad of colours, made you itch to reach out and rake your fingers through the silky strands. Tightening the fist in your pocket, you blinked against the ridiculous thoughts and forced yourself to look away in search of any empty booth. At least you could be somewhat useful.

Wordlessly, you touched Neil’s shoulder to motion at the booth in a corner and started in that direction. Settling onto the bench (also made from ice, covered with a sheepskin), you let out an involuntary sigh. Considering the current situation was entirely your own doing, you did not feel like you had a right to complain. So, you didn’t.

Except in the quiet of your head, where no one else could hear or judge. Right now, as you watched Neil place an order at the bar, undoubtedly chatting up the bartender, there was only one complaint to be raised. A singular issue – you did not know how you were supposed to stay true to the limits you had set for yourself over this weekend. With his constant presence, it was getting increasingly tricky, and in those rare moments alone, you wondered how many more close encounters it would take until you snap. Until you say fuck it and cross the line once more.

The increasingly dire thoughts were interrupted by Neil’s approach, his smug smile telling you all you needed to know about the success of the endeavour:

“What did you get for me?” you watched with increasing curiosity as Neil set the glass (made from ice, naturally) in front of you and sat opposite you.

The light blue drink, decorated with a slice of pineapple and decorative snowflakes, had captured your attention without a fault. Before Neil could reply, you picked up the glass carefully and scrutinized it.

“Try it, and you shall see” the playful glimmer in his gaze drew out your uncertain smile as you raised the glass to your lips and took a sip, “So?” Neil leaned forward, seemingly anticipating your verdict so passionately that he did not even care for his drink, waiting to be tasted.

Admittedly, he had every right to be smug about it. The fruitiness of what you now recognized as Curacao blue liqueur mixed with coconut and rum filled your taste buds as you took another sip just after the first one. Whatever it was that Neil chose – it was perfect. You could tell he was able to read as much from your face as his grin widened. There was no point in holding back the praise, no matter how much you dreaded his ego inflating.

“Damn, you’re good at this” shooting him an impressed smile, you set down the glass and propped your chin on your hand, asking a question that had been long in the making, “How do you do it?”

You watched as Neil took a sip from his drink – some unidentifiable orange and red concoction – and raised his gaze to meet yours with a surprise in his eyes. Your question was not as apparent as you would have thought. A rogue thought appeared on the horizon, suggesting that perhaps you were the first to have ever asked him about it. You did not know why, but the idea made your chest tighten with pain.

To wash down the strange sensation, you took yet another sip of the drink and allowed the alcohol burn to do its thing.

“I suppose you can call it intuition. It comes in handy in intelligence taskforces, and if there are additional perks… Well, I don’t mind having an ace up my sleeve when it comes to wooing the ladies and gentlemen” closing the brief explanation with a telling half-smile, Neil seemed to drown his unwelcome thoughts in a drink as he avoided your eyes.

Only there was nothing in what he said that could have warranted your negative opinion. Nothing outside the realm of things you already knew or suspected. Nothing but facts that only made your affection for Neil grow. Ignoring the uncertainty, you stilted his fidgeting fingers with the weight of your palm as you decided to fall back on a trusted way that would get rid of the awkward pauses:

“So, is that your go-to seduction technique?” punctuating the question with a hand squeeze, you waited for Neil to raise his head before you shot him a smirk.

An open invitation to indulge in the conversation only the two of you could have. To stop overthinking confessions that changed absolutely nothing. You knew Neil understood the message when he returned the squeeze and met your gaze with his intense stare.

“One of them, yes” without backing away from the small-scale staring contest you had just entered, he flipped your joined hands over the table so that your hand was palm-up, covered with his.

You were definitely not against that development. Although, perhaps, you should have been.

“What are the others?” because a foresight was something you never quite grasped, you arched an eyebrow in what you knew Neil would read as a challenge.

Another permission to keep going. To repeat the patterns that had never failed you before. To allow the magnetism to do its job. Like you always knew it would.

“You know them all, Cupid” shrugging lightly with the answer, Neil glanced down at your joined hands, and you could tell that was the turning point. An idea had taken root in his mind, and all you could do was wait as he took off one glove with an almost perfectly smooth move. Your mouth parted in anticipation as Neil covered your hand again and slipped his fingers underneath the glove over your wrist. His fingers lightly stroked your skin over the pulse point as he looked up again, undoubtedly finding you entranced, “I’ve thoroughly seduced you,” the corner of his mouth quirked in the signature smirk.

He looked incredibly self-pleased. So much so that you briefly considered punching that smug look off his face. But then he would have ceased tracing circles on your skin, and it was not something you were willing to part with. Not yet.

So, you looked back at his outrageously beautiful face and said the only thing that made sense in the moment. A repartee handcrafted for the occasion.

“You’ve also thoroughly fucked me” dropping the tone a notch not to scandalize too many of the unfortunate fellow bar clients, you leaned forward so that your knee could bump into his underneath the table.

The sudden shock of warmth elicited by the simple contact was worth all the secondhand thoughts you evaded as Neil continued his meticulous caress and offered you a satisfied smile.

“Which I don’t regret, my dear” the endearment was highlighted with a tap of his finger against your pulse point.

You could tell he felt the thundering heartbeat underneath your skin. But the pause, strengthened by a meaningful look between you, kicked you into a mild panic. All because this was precisely what you were supposed to avoid. A line you were not supposed to cross ever again seemed to have almost vanished.

How had you managed to fuck up your resolutions so quickly and so spectacularly was beyond your comprehension. You stifled a wince as you retracted your hand from Neil’s tempting hold and picked up the glass with a half-smile ready:

“Cheers to that” without waiting for Neil to catch up, you downed the drink and relished in the burn it had left behind.

The pleasant buzz of the alcohol in your veins would hopefully be enough. At least enough to ignore Neil’s worried look as he finished his drink and wordlessly stood up to get the next round. You did not need to ask him for a repeat of the previous choice. He already knew.

You marinated in the realization until he returned to the table, sliding you the glass almost with resignation. As though Neil was upset that you had cut short the previous conversation. It was concerning that he had even noticed it happening.

Before you could find another topic to fill in the sudden silence, Neil asked the question that seemed safest, all things considered:

“Why Skegness?” an undertone of curiosity returned to his face as Neil leaned forward, seemingly eager to understand.

To know every single one of your thoughts, no matter how ridiculous. Or inexplicable. Admittedly, the whiplash of the two conversations, back-to-back, had you reeling as you took a deep breath and attempted to untangle the complex web of your mind to offer him something substantial:

“I think I just needed an escape, and this was the first thing that came up” shrugging lightly, you closed your eyes for a beat, gathering the courage to add more depth to the confession. With anyone else, you would not have felt the need to share, but for whatever reason, Neil escaped any bounds you had set up for every other relationship. You did not particularly enjoy dwelling on that fact for too long, “I know it doesn’t make sense, but sometimes I like to believe that if I leave London for a bit, maybe when I come back, the fears won’t be there anymore” with each word, you could feel the conviction waning, replaced by the crippling fear that Neil would find you ludicrous, not worth his time “Maybe in my absence, they too will disappear, and I’ll be able to start anew. Without burden,” there was something in his gaze as he held yours, not willing to let go even for a second, that made you continue, delivering the final notes of the confession with a resigned sigh “But then I know I carry them with me no matter where I go, so… It’s stupid” unable to withstand the weight of his gaze any longer, you looked down and picked up the glass to take a hearty swig.

The drink still tasted just as good as that first sip. But it barely eradicated the lingering shame, thriving in the silence. Sharing those most sincere and private thoughts was always complicated. Something you avoided unless you had no other choice. But for some unknown and terrifying reason, it was different with Neil. All he had to do was ask, and off you were, running your mouth like an idiot, spilling embarrassing confessions as though he needed to hear them.

And yet, somehow, Neil was undeterred. As though he wanted to know.

“It’s everything but stupid” as if able to hear your internal spiral, Neil bumped his knee into yours underneath the table to draw back your attention. Once you had begrudgingly complied, looking up at him with a pained expression, he continued, “A change of scenery, no matter how questionable or brief, can do wonders” despite yourself, you cracked a smile at the implied shade towards the lovely town you had found yourselves in. Neil’s resulting grin was a good enough reason to do so, “But the same goes for talking things over so… I’m here for you if you need me,” punctuating the sentiment with an affectionate smile, Neil met your gaze and once again extended his hand towards you, laying it palm-up on the table.

It was a clear message. One that you were free to ignore if you so choose. The trouble was that whether Neil knew it or not, there was no reality where you could deny him. Not now. Not with the alcohol buzzing in your veins and the recent memory of his touch on your skin. Now, you had no choice.

So, willfully ignorant of the blush on your cheeks, you met him halfway and allowed your fingers to rest in a loose tangle. There was no need to think about what the reply should be.

“Thank you,” offering a bashful smile, you took a deeper breath before allowing yourself to confess what he had not yet heard and what needed to be said, “You genuinely might be my best friend,” lacking the bravery to meet his gaze, you felt Neil’s fingers squeeze yours, forcing you to keep going “Which might be surprising considering how short we know each other, but… it just makes sense” as soon as the words were out of your mouth, you knew they were right. It made sense. Perhaps too much sense, at times. Like now, when you finally looked up to find Neil staring back at you with a curious look in his eyes. Unable to decipher it and not lose your mind in the process, you weakly gestured with your unoccupied hand at the space between you, strengthening the point “This makes sense,”

You did not want to think what would have happened if Neil had denied your bold statement right there and then. The following rejection would kill you long before shame or bad decisions ever could. Even if he would not mean it like that. That was the trouble with sharing confessions and the sincerest feelings – you never knew what you would get in return.

But before you could spiral further, feeling the familiar pull of anxiety make its way through your system, Neil squeezed your hand once more and replied:

“Yes, it does” the three words were filled with enough fondness and conviction to cut your ruinous ruminations short in a flash.

And, if just a moment later, they were replaced with another set of anxious thoughts, reminding you of lines you could not cross and inconvenient feelings that should never be present, then it was your business only. You buried them under pleasant discussions that filled the next fifteen minutes it took you both to finish the drinks and decide it was high time you left the bar. After all, catching a cold was not on the itinerary.

By the time you got up from the seat, it almost seemed like the tides of the conversations had turned for good. You had moved on past the worrying silences and tension between you, bursting with possibilities and disasters in the making.

Except that it was only an illusion.

Because as soon as you were both standing, Neil stilted. His gaze clouded once more with something you could not decipher, except that it was not something you had seen before. He searched your face for a beat, seemingly frozen in a decision you were not partial to. You got as far as opening your mouth to ask what was going on before Neil’s eyes focused, and he muttered the simplest of phrases:

“Fuck it,” he swore as he closed the gap between you and cupped your cheek to pull you in for a kiss.

As his mouth crashed against yours, all you could think was how much you had missed it. His taste filled your senses as you rose on your tiptoes to get even closer, throwing back the hood of your coat with the sudden movement. That first contact broke the walls you had tried to instil, and there was no holding back now as you moved your lips against his in a familiar dance. Neil’s hesitancy soon gave way to firmness as he confidently prodded with his tongue, urging your mouth to open and let him delve in. There was nothing you could do but comply with the unspoken request.

As soon as his tongue brushed against yours, you let out a quiet whimper, the sound lost between you, but you knew Neil heard it. He pulled you imperceptibly closer with his arm around your waist and groaned as though unable to hold back. It did not matter that you were in public. That you were making a scene. That the kiss should not have happened.

Still, after another beat spent blissfully kissing, the reality caught up, making you part with a sigh. Despite knowing better, you leaned back in to kiss him briefly, sealing the deal and resting your forehead against his. Just for a moment. Until you were brave enough to open your eyes and find Neil looking back at you like he always did. But where you knew he could see how shaken you were by the development, Neil appeared in control. Almost blissed out by what has happened. The sight gave you the necessary courage as you grasped his hand in yours and squeezed it, hoping to convey a simple message: I’m sorry.

It had to be enough for now. You swallowed past the anxiety and shot him a smile, hoping the daze would keep him from seeing the confusion in your eyes. Keep him from understanding how much you did not know what to do. How to act with the lines long crossed and no regret to be found in the depths of your heart.

***

Neil closed the sliding doors of the holiday house quietly and stepped off the wooden terrace to feel the soft grass underneath the soles of his shoes. This late, close to midnight, the holiday park was quiet, the silence only sometimes interrupted by a burst of louder laughter or a dog barking. He unfolded the blanket gathered from the pull-out sofa (and his designated bed) and placed it on the patch of grass. With a quiet grunt, he sat on the fleece cover and tipped his head up to look at the night sky. With his gaze slowly adjusting to the darkness, Neil could already tell the view was much better than he could ever find in London. Here, at least five miles from Skegness, it was possible to make out some constellations. Sure, it was still far from ideal, but it was something.

A good enough distraction from the fact that approximately four metres away, Cupid was showering and getting ready for bed in the bedroom. Briefly, she battled him on that, eager to claim the sofa as hers and offer him the bed instead. But Neil could not possibly accept that. The stubborn gentleman gene in his DNA, the same one that always insisted the lady must get off at least once before he would be able to come, was quite adamant on that front. So, without allowing room for discussion, he gently pushed her towards the bedroom doorway and ordered her to bed. She did not argue.

She did, however, insinuate that Neil could join her. For a moment, that is. Just long enough to ensure the aforementioned mutual orgasm and a brief respite from the tension. But, despite how enticing all of that sounded, he declined, somehow knowing that the kiss had not solved anything. It did not change her mind. It certainly did not suddenly untangle the complex knot between them. Sex would only make that worse. And while Neil was brave enough to take the first step, he knew this would have to come from her. Only from her. As an action instead of empty words. An active choice. Only that could break the impasse.

Well, either that or her outright rejection, sealing the deal on ‘just friends’ bullshit Cupid seemed set on. But, after tonight and the kiss she certainly did not reject, Neil did not quite believe that other option was still on the table. Sue him.

Sighing against the inconvenient recollections of how she whimpered when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, Neil reclined on the blanket and focused on the skies. It tended to do the trick, calming his mind on stressful missions and whenever life got too hard. There was something almost therapeutic about looking up at the stars and distant planets and being reminded of the insignificance of everything else. Of the vastness of the universe and how moments like this did not matter in the grand scheme of things. None of the heartaches and regrets held any importance. Not really.

Now, feeling the heavy weight of the day settle upon his shoulders, Neil stared at the inky skies as his eyes easily located the familiar clusters. The faithful Polaris was there, guiding him every step of the way. While it sometimes felt silly to admit whenever he was in the southern hemisphere, and Polaris was nowhere to be found, Neil felt untethered. As if something was missing and could not be replaced until he returned home. Other times, he was keen to admit that feeling was also something akin to insanity.

Sending an affectionate smile at both bears gracing the sky, Neil settled his gaze towards the west, locating his favourite neighbour within the solar system – Saturn. It shone brighter than any star, even this close to the Moon and dimmed by its light. It was close to the edge of darkness, likely to disappear within the half hour. But Neil knew that while the planet was still present, keeping him company, he would stay there. Thinking, resting, and letting the cold seep into his bones to remind him he was still alive.

Only like this, he could hope to process the evening and not make a mistake. Like knocking on the bedroom door and asking her to take pity on him. He knew she would. She would forget her inhibitions and do whatever he needed. But then, once the passion had burnt out and it was time to sleep on the sofa, Neil knew the regret would set and settle. No, that would not do at all. He had to be patient and let her realise this was meant to be. Just like she said – it makes sense. They make sense.

And not in the overly romantic version of the notion. That was not needed. He didn’t need that. He just needed her. As a friend, as someone he could be himself with. Someone who accepted him and sometimes even needed him. Even if only for a night.

Yes, that would be enough. It would be.

So, without letting himself get too ahead, Neil stayed on the blanket until Saturn disappeared from the horizon and the dew nipped at his clothes. Silently, he crept back inside the house and closed the terrace door, mindful of every move. From inside the bedroom, he could hear her quiet snores. The sound made him smile, swallowing the dangerous affection way down where it would not be found (until tomorrow) and turning off the lights he did not need.

This was enough.

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Letter to my.. - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter has been dead for 4 decades.

Inspired by "Letter to my mother" by Georges Simenon.

Tuesday, 12th of November 2024

Dear Henry,

There have been forty-four years since your death, or rather since the day you were proclaimed dead by the doctors at the mere age of twenty and one, and perhaps, it’s only now that I’m beginning to understand you.

Back then, in what I would like to believe was the defining apogee of our lives, we had been lost in a childish rivalry. Stolen toys, mine or yours? Hide and I’ll seek you until night falls; Hop, hop on the chalk-coloured squares, did you ever feel I’m there? Ineludible questions. A petulant game designed to assert superiority. It is comical that to this day, I’m unable to let go of the self-consuming primal need that demands to rise over you, and somehow by disregarding the rules of the Underworld, attempt again to show you that I am singularis sublimis. This spreads and stirs me like I have not been awakened since I last felt your presence. If I’m being completely honest with you, Henry, I’m not sure I can let go.  Alas, my limits are to be transcended in order to achieve my goal. I have theorised and concluded that if I truly wish to understand you I need to forget my ego and allow you to listen to my raw, unfiltered thoughts so that in return I can hear yours whispered to me by Hermes of Cyllene and his golden wings. There will be no more dancing around (forgive me if I occasionally slip), and instead of speaking to you in graciously veiled words, I shall surrender myself to you for the first time. 

Dear Henry, the truth is that you’ve always somehow eluded me. I hope I did too. Of the two of us, I’ve known, for as long as Zeus has reigned, you rank above me. However, I’m not sure if I’m underestimating myself or lifting you on a pedestal, all because of how much my mind perfected you. To understand you, I first must deal with my own selective imagination. I know you weren’t olympian-born. You were more than just the dehumanized idea I have left of you. I remember your quirks, your slight, transitive tics, your stiff way of existing. You had your flaws, as I had mine. My facade lasted longer than I have ever expected in your scrutinizing gaze. Come to think of it, I don’t know if you knew me. Did you see me in the other sense of the word? Did you know the true (rather emotive) self that I desperately tried to conceal? If you did, you never showed it.

You tolerated me, and since we lived under the same roof, shared a sheet and a window, I dare say you approved of me. I lived with you, but you were still a stranger when you left me.

I hope you know, I was with you during the period in which you were half alive, on the narrow hospital bed, after you had put two bullets in your head. I watched you, sedated, my own abdomen bandaged and pulsing. Somehow you had managed to live for more than twelve hours after the gun’s giggle, which made me believe you didn’t want to die. The feat amazed the doctors. Such grave wounds, they said, would have killed most people instantly. I hoped you might survive, that it was all part of your great plan. So I waited and waited, but you never did wake up from your dreamless sleep.

You died of course, but I suppose you could not have done much else. I was there when you flatlined. The beep penetrated me and I did nothing but stare at your eyes, which were then closed once and forever, never for them to pour over ancient texts, roses in full bloom and I (and never for me to get lost in their icy blue again). Maybe I should have cried for you Henry, but it seemed to me that my life ended with yours, and perhaps, that is why I was and still am not able to recreate a living being’s emotion. 

And I didn’t want to let go without coming to know you and understand you. But was it my choice? Would I have been able to defy fate and beg Hades to cast you out of his halls with only the aid of my pathetic sobs?

I wonder if you’d approve of the man I’ve become. I’m sixty-five, a classics professor. I’m unmarried, but I do have a cat, a Maine Coon to be specific (unnamed so I call it using the well-known “pspsps.”) I teach a small group of students, and I’ve come to know them well. They are never very interesting to me because I know exactly what they are going to do. Nevertheless, a student touches a professor with their mere existence. Most of the things I do are to guide them, to shape them, to give them a reason to thank me. It’s inevitable for their names or faces to not imprint in my mind and for their entire being to follow. Teaching has become my anchor and I can’t help but wonder what would you have transformed into. A writer, a professor just like me, a translator? If you were to be alive, would you be unemployed depending only on the immense amount of money you would have owned? Would you have been a father, a grandfather? Would we have been living together? What would we have been? Would you have grown to show me your true self? Would I have understood you?

Dear Henry, when it is my turn to join you in Hades’ realm, please, do me one last favour and reveal yourself to me, and so, put me out of my misery.

With kind regards,

Your friend

[madametrashbin]

A Lovely Day

A gift for @nicebonescomrade because why not. 

I did mention to le comrade of bones on main weeks(?) ago that I was making another Disney Princess AU (credit to @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry for this AU by the way), which is this but also wanted to try out Scaramouche so...  *awkwardly finger guns* I made this... fic. I’msorrythiswasn’tfullyplannedoutandnotevensureifitfitsbutIwantedtotrysomethingnewtoday/tonight.

I also apologize for not posting for weeks because good god why did I sign myself up to do world building using characters that will never be mentioned ever again? But alas, I must march on with the Cosmos series and crawl my way forward. 

Uhh... yeah, enjoy this while I die over Veil of Starlight.  AndmanyapologiesforthisbeingshorterthanmyusualworksbecauseIdunnohowtowriteScaraandI’minterribleneedforsomecomfortandcravingforhugsrightnow-

It is quiet, but perfect day outside.

A day like every other, with the singing birds and pleasant atmosphere... occasional visits from the animals, the Abyss Order and monsters alike.

None means any harm, of course. Why would they, when their lovely Creator is with them and gracing their lives with their smile?

Ah, there was also that puppet made by that one God, but that detail is insignificant... he’s not like his maker in the slightest, and was certainly different from the rest with how much their Creator adored him.

He was the only one who did not harm them after all, so it is only fair that they leave him be unlike the rest of the world who dared to do so in their blind beliefs and self-imposed justified truths.

It is a peaceful day outside, and the Garden that houses their beloved Creator will always remain that way... contrary to the world outside where civilizations beg and cry out for mercy from the very God they thought to wrong.

No sinner is allowed in the Garden, and only those loved by their Creator are allowed to stay.

The world outside is harsh, Teyvat had condemned them all with eternal suffering for their transgressions.

Scaramouche has witnessed the world’s act of retribution from his place in the Garden, watching the sinner try to beg and plea for their Creator’s mercy. He finds it hilarious that they’re trying to desperately appease you now, despite the fact not once did they ever hear your pleas.

He heard you though.

He heard your pleas, and had been the only one who had done so.

Because of that, he had earned his place by your side forever, and was most fortunate to be taken in as the one you love and adore the most out of all the other fools who call themselves your “acolytes”.

He only laughs every time he sees one of them try to get near in their weakened state, only to be sent away by the likes of the creatures who thrive as your protectors... the same one who stayed by your side before he came.

“Kuni...”

Your voice is quiet, yet so loud in his ears that it has his entire existence shaking in both awe and love for you. It is heavily laced with sleep as you had been napping beside him earlier before he went to check the state of the world outside.

Now you’re partially awake, and with the call of his name that not many were graced to know, he immediately knelt by your side with a delicate touch to your outstretched hands.

“Yes, my dear?”

If anyone who knew him had seen him speak with such a soft and fond voice, they would have thought they were hallucinating... but none of those worthless fools are here, and he has you all to himself.

(Of course, there is also Teyvat but he doesn’t bother with that subject all that much since he still cannot fathom the thought of being “rivals” with an entire planet.)

“Cuddle.”

You only said to him, and he willingly complies because who was he to deny something that he desired all the same?

So he laid himself upon the soft ground, letting you move on top of him where your head rests upon his chest... your arms holding each other close and legs lazily tangled together.

Today is a nice day outside, like every other day he spent in the Garden.

A lovely day... perfect for another nap in his opinion as the gentlest breeze brushes over your forms and wished you both a wonderful nap under the warm sunlight.

[takemetohogwartsss]

<p>Wrote this a long time ago and forgot about it. To be honest, I cannot recognize my own writing. I guess that is what change does to you. Even your past selves become foggy. </p><p> 

I loved a boy. Loved him like no other. I would have given anything to see his face the first thing in the morning and the last at night. I had no idea why I loved him so.  But I did.  It was unbearable. Like my chest was about to explode from all the emotions that rose from within me, right from the bottom pits of my stomach, and it was too weak, to contain them all. Like how one may have difficulty pointing to one reason for their existence, I can not specify what it was about him that had such a profound effect on me. I gave up searching after a while – I did not need a reason. </p><p>And while I realised that my eyes’ greatest purpose were to hold only him, his eyes were for another. I was looking at him and he was looking at her. The mere sight of him made me smile like an idiot. So, I waited. Then, we drifted.  What are the chances that two leaves from the same tree swept away into the great big world will find themselves in the same place again? I would reckon, very little.  Like leaves from the same tree dislodged into the winds, even though we had previously shared many circumstances, we ended up nowhere near each other. I knew the chances were low anyway. At least the logical part of my brain did. I’m not so sure the rest of me ever came to terms with the fact that we were not meant to be. I know that because to this day, every thought of him when pushed to the fore front of my mind for absolutely no damn reason managed to still make my heart beat so fast. Its rapid rhythmic thumping made me afraid it would fight its way out of my ribs wanting to be unleashed and dropped at his feet just to show him how hard it was beating - for him, because of him. </p><p>When that happens, I close my eyes and imagine him standing in front of me. Imagine that his eyes finally found me. Imagine that foolish smile of his. Imagine that his fingers were gracing my cheeks, falling to intertwine with mine, and weirdly, that calmed my wretched heart. It was like tricking my heart into believing it got what it had so long desired. But my brain could not be so easily deceived. It knew that if these imaginative events were to unfold in real life, I would melt into him like snow that was desperately waiting for the warmth of the sun, even though it will lose itself completely. And before it could mock me further for being so weak, I had to distract myself. I succeeded almost always but the thoughts of him manage to creep back through the cracks in the veils of distraction. They hid in the nooks and crannies of my mind, waiting for the next opportune moment to attack.</p><p>The hardest part of this was knowing that he could go through the same thing. He could love a girl that made him feel weak, that made his heart plummet into overdrive, the thoughts of whom hid carelessly in his mind, the one who will sit behind him clinging onto him as he rides, for whom he would have gladly been the snow for. He could yearn for her embrace as I did for his. I will be happy for him. I have wanted to grab him and hold him so tightly so that his pain would diffuse into my body. I would have willingly suffered for both of us. Alas, we were like parallel lines, going down the same road but never meant to cross paths. How do I get myself off this road? </p><p>Nevertheless, life stops for no one. New friends were made, obstacles were crossed, ambitions were achieved. Having loved him once did not stop the rest of my life from moving forward. He became a part of my past with tiny fragments left behind but I can, at the very least, garner the courage to say this. One day, thinking of him will not make my legs feel like jelly. One day, maybe I will find someone who smiles like a fool for me. If I could love a boy, who could not afford to give me a place in his heart, this much; imagine how much I can love someone who will. If that happens. 

>

[blarfkey]

Fic Recs -- Dragon Age

Alright boys and girls and nonbinary loves, strap in because in honor of Fanfic Appreciation Day, I decided to rec two FUCKING AMAZING DRAGON AGE FICS by an extremely talented author who needs more love.

First of all, these two fics are VARRICMANCE because Varric is a perfect speciman of a man and the fact that he’s unconformable has been among one of Bioware’s worst crimes and this woman gets it! Her Varric POV is PERFECTION. I have legitimately never seen a better written Varric.  He is kind and courageous and flirty and  flawed and vulnerable and deeply afraid of all this Weird Shit but he still puts on his big boy panties and does his best to love and help the people around him.

Second of all, her Maria Cadash is a fantastic, well-rounded, hardcore fucking bad-ass. We all know there are OC’s that are fun wish fulfillment and there are OC’s that feel like a real, living breathing person and Maria Cadash is the second and her chemistry with Varric is electric and authentic and set on the SLOWEST BURN IMAGINABLE. You all thought Dear Fen’harel had a slow burn? It’s a fucking air fryer to her crockpot, baby.

So now that I have your attention, lets get to the fics, shall we?

Both fics are WIP but she updates much MUCH more regularly than I do, so you will never have to have my typical 2-4 month wait for DF chapters. Like, you might have wait three weeks, if that. Most of the time, even sooner.

1. Girl With the Arrow Tattoo – A reimagining of Inquisition EXCEPT it’s a Modern AU. Over 260K so far with 48 chapters currently.

 Amazing perfect sexy Varric? Check

 A modern world that blends sci-fi with magic in unbelievably cool ways such as . . .

       Alternate foci for magic – Hawke uses a fucking Zippo lighter, tell me that’s not the most accurate thing you’ve ever heard of

           Magic phones that appear back into your pocket if you walk away!?

           Magic is just having atoms that vibrate on the same frequency as the Veil?!

           Twitter and the internet existing with shit like the destruction of Kirkwall?! People videoing the Kirkwall clusterfuck like we did with the riots?!

 AI BIANCA who’s always talking in Varric’s ear like a gd hacker?!

 HAWKE’S DOG IS A SPIRIT FAMILIAR?!

Not only is Varric well written and amazing, but so is the other cast! Solas refuses to get a phone or have anything to do with technology like the boomer he is (love him). Cole in a giant beanie hat, Cassandra a fucking badass with guns, Josephine killing it in pencil skirts and sensible heels. Everyone’s Inquisition personality is seamlessly transposed into the modern age and I love it. I’m still reading on it, so God only knows what more amazing surprises await me.

2. Depths of Desire – Crack fic AU that was Taken Seriously, we all know how much we love those. Just getting started with 5 chapters, but they are AMAZING CHAPTERS.

-- PIRATE AU! VARRIC IS A FUCKING PIRATE. THE KIRKWALL GANG IS HIS CREW! FLEMYTH IS A SEA WITCH. ITS GOT THAT SWEET SWEET POTC VIBES.

 -- Also . . .SELKIE AU! Maria is a selkie who is forced to obey the skeevy pirate with her pelt ala Ella Enchanted. And then Varric boards and fucks up the ship and she is taken with him along with HER AMAZING BFF DORIAN.

-- Seriously, her relationship with Dorian is wonderful and perfect and heart wrenching and I love it.

 -- Varric thinks the idea of using her is horrific and yet has no choice. Cue lots of angst of him trying to make her happy and give her as much freedom as he can, wanting desperately for her to join them of her own free will and knowing that he is going to have to use her magical abilities regardless and HATING HIMSELF FOR IT. THE DRAMA. THE ANGST. I LOVE.

 -- Also the Kirkwall gang is very well represented and written. It made me fall in love with Anders all over again. One thing she is very good at is the Hawke/Varric BROTP.

 -- Due for an update soon! GWAT is kind of a giant of a fic so far, so if you want to start on something early without a lot to catch up on, this is for you.

Sorry not Sorry for so much all caps, but these fics are so well written and imaginative and they need more love. Please check it out! Just one chapter! Her chapters are much more manageable than mine, haha. @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold -- love you!

[kissthegogo-goat-witch]

Misery of the Vampire: Chapter one.

I want to try something and post the first chapter of a novel I wrote up. Its the auto biography and journey of a vampire through out the ages.

 breech The years pass by like grains of sand in an hourglass. Agonizingly slow with each passing day, a far cry from how a writer would describe my people. It would be a dream, a wish fulfillment for it to go swiftly by and bring us closer to death who awaits us with its welcoming, open arms. I have seen how the mortals often described us and the life we live. There is no glamour, no beauty, nor charm.

 An only pure tragedy with so many flaws to our being. There is nothing beautiful about falling from God's grace. I am both ashamed and outraged about how the modern world perceives vampires such as myself, spreading lies and turning humans gullible as they fall into a trap. I have taken it upon myself to inform future generations of the unspoken and forgotten world of the true night creatures. Let my story be a warning to those who are lusting for a life in which would soon make them seek death itself. 

My rebirth took place within the country of Italy, during the time in which many had fallen victim to the Black Death. Or what we know now as the bubonic plague. I myself was a coward, fearful of dying a horrific death such as my beloved wife and daughter. I know now that I should have gone with them. But alas I was no more but a fool. A young man who was but a boy inside. 

My desire to live have outweighed what I know now would have been right. To bury me along with my small family. But how is an ungrateful fool such as myself supposed to know that while barely above the cusp of manhood? This was when I met my sire, a tall and elegant older gentleman who had the darkest hair and fairest skin of Verona. He was unaffected by the plague, having others believe that he was in God's favor. Including myself.

I sought him out so I could have a chance to avoid the Lord's wrath, even if I was a peasant at the time. I can still remember it as it was a muggy summer night. The stench of death rose from the bodies piled in the streets.  Amidst the foulness he stood, arms wrapped around a young man. His back was facing me while I watched him a feast. Back then I did not know what he was doing, but as a human, I had been drawn to such chaos. Well, I myself would not call the death of a mortal chaos but primal instinct told me otherwise. That is when I have uncovered the ghastly truth of how he survived the disease which struck and killed hundreds, if not thousands. 

He realized I was watching him when his head jerked up, blood seeping into a crimson pool beneath them both. 

That gorgeous, which beguiled any woman who gazed upon it, turned ghastly. In its place was a pair of wicked eyes made worse by the fangs of a putrid yellow, jagged like the shiv of a crazed convict. Blood was smeared across his lips, chin, and cheeks. and I soon realized I was staring at the face of a corpse. I did what any man would and ran, though knowing that he would pursue me, and I hid in an alley that stank of urine and worse. Covered by pitch black darkness like my own funeral veil, I thought foolishly that he could not see me.  now I know that my kind can pierce through the blackest of darkness with their keen sight. Despite this, he did not pursue, and for the time being I knew not why. 

When I returned home that night I simply went to sleep, thinking that this was all a nightmare and that I would wake up to the usual bellows calling for corpses. This is how we capture you, we simply come when least expected. There is no invitation, that myth about vampires is foolish. We do not give warning, we are cheaters to when it comes to getting what we want.

 You can ask any vampire, even some of the purest of blood and they will say the same thing such as I, a dirty blood states as mere fact. When I awoke, my whole body was burning from the inside out. I was plastered in a sordid sweat that soaked my sheets, while my veins threatened to burst through my skin likes plants bereft of light... ironic as that now seems. That, however, was not the worst of it- for when I rinsed my face with water, I noticed two obscene marks on the side of my neck. They were fresh and like forbearers of my fate, also weaped.  As you most likely know, If you are not careful, a bite mark can become infected. For me, they began to swell to a size like that of spring tomatoes; red, ripe and raw- leaving two horrid scars that shall remain upon me forever, the physical manifestation of a memory desired forgotten. 

  For days I have suffered to where it felt like I was the victim of the plague. My skin was pale while the appearance of my body was grotesque, black liquids were seeping out of everywhere as the stench was horrid. I dared not to venture outside in this condition, nor I couldn't for I was bedridden. Sooner or later, somebody would find my corpse. 

The last final phase of turning is the hunger. Do you know how it feels when you are starved? Multiply that by one thousand, add the heat of a fever, and every single muscle in your body tearing itself apart. Now I still had my morals, but my dignity was nonexistent. Desperation caused me to slip out in the night, unseen with only corpses as witnesses.

 They were my first victims. I still remember the putrid taste and how easily their flesh torn. They were rotten of course. The cysts upon their bodies bursting with the faintest of touch. Those disease-ridden corpses would be the source of drink in which kept me alive. I endured days of agony, due to myself being repulsed by consuming the blood of the already dead. But when it became too much I had no choice. It was either to feast on corpses during my weakened state or else, children. 

I am no monster, I can tell you that now. My own decisions are based upon my morals, for I still have kept my humanity. Most vampires chose to leave it behind due to the traumas their new life can lead. During the phase before my sire, I was a ghoul. No one in the city had caught on to what was happening to the bodies.

 But my sire had, for he watched as I suffered. There was no intervention as I struggled to manage my very existence. It was a test to decide whether I would survive or not and if I was worthy of his own teachings. To this day I do not know why I was chosen, for my sire was a madman. After the course weeks, he finally deemed me worthy enough to claim.

 It was another typical night, the moon was high on her perch while shining down, illuminating the streets below. I stepped out of my home while wrapped in a tattered cloak. Hiding in the shadows, I used them to my advantage not to be seen, silently making my descent towards the nearest corpse I could smell.

 By now I have grown accustomed to this vile act. I can remember the corpse being still fresh, having passed during the hours of daylight. Even though, it did not sit in the hot sun and become putrid, the disease was still evident. I still grimaced upon the nights I fed. The blood was still disgusting as ever. Above myself, I heard a soft flutter. 

Suddenly I felt a large hand grasp around my neck. Roughly, I was jerked up and came face to face with my sire. His eyes were blazing like embers, amber in color with blackness ebbing around them. Rows of hideous fangs were inches away from my face. He was like a statue, still and silent. I was fearful of what was to happen next. My face was plastered into a mask of horror.  My heart would have been pounding if it was alive.

 "Pathetic is what you are, ghoulish corpse eater. Not one of my finest creations, but you have too much resilience to waste." 

His voice was smooth, deep and calloused. There was no emotion to it. But I could feel his own rage. Suddenly he had a look of disgust. I remember being over his shoulder as he took off into the night, leaping into the air with a powerful force. He danced from roof to roof with his graceful movements. No one would believe that such a man in Verona existed. Not even I, if I wasn't here telling you my life, that is. Just as swiftly as we had left, we arrived at where he lurked about during the daylight. Before I had a chance to look, to take in my surroundings, a coffin was sealed. 

[reddeaddamnation]

“Say I love you” - Regulus Black x Reader x Sirius Black [part 1]

A/N: This is a story that I have written like years ago and when I found it awhile back I cringed so hard at the writing style (yes, even worse than my current) that I knew this had to go through massive rewriting because 1. The chapters were like... two passages long with absolutely no context and 2. It was written by a 7th grader. Overall I liked the idea and after some corrections (ahem...deleting the entire thing and starting from a scratch) I decided to post it here.

The night’s veil had descended over the streets of London, bathing the city in a soft darkness, contrasting to the dim street lights, emanating a weak yellow light around themselves. The sky was clear and the moon and stars could be visible, shining with luminescent light. It was a warm, quiet summer night. Not a soul could be seen wandering outside, as the people of the city were long since in bed, sleeping after a long, tiresome and restless day. The lights coming from inside the buildings had died down long ago, allowing the night to seep in through the open windows and the very walls themselves. All except one...

The Black manor was still emitting a hazy glow from a candle, indicating there was life inside, even at such a late hour. Yet, the only sound, coming from inside was the large clock on the wall’s ticking, who’s hands pointed at half past two. Sirius Black, the man thought to be a criminal in hiding, sat at the edge of the long table in the living room, three candles lit in a silver candelabra in the middle of the long, wooden table, contemplating what he has done, as his past haunted him. The fire from the candles danced and swayed gently in their places and cast dim lighting to the man’s features. 

After countless of fruitless attempts to fall asleep, Sirius had given up and instead tried to relieve his mind with a glass of wine from his cellar. Memories of his time jailed in Azkaban preyed upon his conscious. The dementors’ eerie voices echoed still in his ears, making him shudder. He wondered how it was possible that he kept his sanity for so long, locked there like an animal for a crime he was innocent of. Sometimes he felt like he was on the brink of insanity, but there was always something that kept him going. Perhaps his innocence? Or his godson Harry? Maybe even the woman he was in love with. 

His thoughts drifted towards her. Her beautiful smile, her soft [H/C] hair and shining [E/C] eyes. He longed to kiss her, to feel her lips on his. But, alas, he never gained enough courage to do so or tell her how he felt. Because Sirius Black was a man who had many insecurities beneath the cheerful and laid-back shell he constructed to keep people away from seeing his scarred, broken soul. He remembered how he had met her. The fateful winter day that brought him hope and he found himself slowly drifting down a path he hadn’t seen in years. And he didn’t even realize it until it was too late and he fell in love after so long.

Small, white snowflakes were gently falling down on the streets of Hogsmede, covering everything in a thick white mantle of snow. Sirius, or more likely, Padfoot was walking down one, shivering from the cold and weak from the hunger that had befallen him. He was looking for something, anything that could relieve him of the starvation. A dropped piece of bread, a leftover meal, thrown in the trash...anything... And then, as if someone above heard his pleas, he came across a girl, who’s clothes were covered in the snow, holding a bag, radiating a delicious smell. The students from Hogwarts had come on a field trip. “Oh!” she had exclaimed, noticing him, or at least, the black dog he had taken the form of “You poor thing...” She came closer, delving into the bag and retrieving a piece of bread “You must be starving...” In that moment, he had thought she was the purest thing to ever exist in this world. 

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by footsteps. He turned around sharply, startled by the sound, only to see the very same person he was thinking about. “Hey, hey!” she exclaimed quietly, bringing her arms up to chest level “It’s me.” Sirius sighed quietly, calming down and let a small chuckle leave his lips. He had become very jumpy after his stay in Azkaban to the point he didn’t even trust the safety of his own home, where he was among people he would trust his life with. “Sorry, I...” he spoke quietly, trying to explain his behavior “I was just too deep into thought.” [Y/N] walked closer, now sure that he was calm. “It’s okay.” she smiled, sitting next to him “Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked. “I tried but found out that it’s a more difficult task than I anticipated it to be.” he glanced at her with a seemingly cheerful smirk and a scoff “And you?”

[Y/N] had been living with him ever since she had a terrible fight with her family, resulting in her moving out and asking Sirius if she could stay with him and Harry until the entire ordeal was cleared up. Sirius, of course, accepted. “I’m just here for a midnight snack.” she answered, shrugging her shoulders. Sirius nodded in understanding. The two sat in silence for several long moments. “So, what were you thinking about?” [Y/N] finally spoke, trying to break the silence. “Oh, nothing important.” Sirius waved his hand carelessly with a smile. But his eyes weren’t smiling “Just some things I remembered from back in the day at Hogwarts.” to change the topic, he averted the conversation in her direction “You know, after you graduated last year, I just couldn’t help it. Have a lot of things changed?” She laughed and the mood in the room immediately changed. “Not at all. You know old Dumbledore.” 

Sirius couldn’t help but scoff, himself. “I’m glad I joined Dumbledore’s army, though.” she spoke again “And I hope I can make everyone proud.” Sirius observed her for a minute, before answering. “You already are, [Y/N]. Everyone is happy you joined a good cause. Me, included.” he smiled, sending her a playful wink. 

Suddenly, they were both startled by a loud, strange, frightening sound coming from the door, as if someone was desperately trying to open it. But the door was locked. After the stranger outside realized his attempts to open it were futile, three eerie knocks banged against the wood. By now Sirius and [Y/N] had stood up, tense to their toes, wondering who would be wanting to come in at this late hour. “Stay here.” Sirius instructed, wand at the ready, as he tiptoed over to the door. “I’m not leaving you alone!” She answered in a hushed, but panicked tone, following him close behind, her own wand in an iron grip.

The intruder banged against the door again and didn’t stop until Sirius was at the door. He pressed his index finger to his lips, a sign towards [Y/N] to be quiet, before he swung the front door open quickly in a swift motion and in the next moment the body of a man collapsed through the opening, curling into a ball on the floor. Sirius and [Y/N] stepped back, startled, eyes blown wide. In the darkness, all they could notice about the newcomer was that his clothes were a ripped, filthy mess, stained with a dark substance that was also smudged on his skin where it was visible. 

The two hosts stood frozen in place, shocked and bewildered, wondering what should come next. Sirius was first to react, crouching down next to the stranger. He took a closer look into his face, shifting his position on the ground. The man didn’t protest. Who knows how long he had been traveling... But the moment Sirius looked at his face, he lunged backwards as if his hand was burned and the shock on his face was turned into pure horror and disbelief. “No...” he whispered. “You’re dead...” [Y/N]’s eyes frantically altered between the two men, confusion taking over her “Sirius?” she called “Sirius, what’s wrong? Do you know him?”

The clock on the wall’s bell echoed hauntingly, indicating that it was exactly three in the morning. “Please...” the stranger’s raspy voice sounded quietly “Help me...” Sirius didn’t answer. He was still in disbelief. The minutes felt like hours. [Y/N[ bent down to take a better look at the man in rags and found a striking resemblance to Sirius. “[Y/N] [L/N]... meet my beloved brother Regulus Black...” Sirius finally spoke, voice full of disgust and distrust.

[miraculousstuffwotifound]

Faedrien: MariChat May, Prey

There was a girl in the river. Her long black hair glinted in the sun as she lounged in the water, the river lapping around a red spotted bikini top. Probably a tourist come to savour the regions legendary beaches. She was pretty, Chat Noir admitted to himself. For a mortal anyway. Not that it mattered. He let a hint of glamor wash over him, calming his eyes from luminescent green cat slits to warm green that human women found sooo irresistible, before teasing out an invisibly charm over his cat ears and tail.

He gave a lopsided smile. That would do.

At the end of the day a fae has got to eat... Bending, he reached down to a nearby feathery stem, and using his fae power, reached out to the life force within the plant. The feel of the forest washed blissfully though his veins, and with a sliver of energy he coaxed a sunny white blossom from the leaves. No harm in laying on the charm, after all, he had a good feeling about this girl.

The fae were unusual in their appetites; though they could quite happily live on the lifeforce of the forest around them, they were creatures of magic, and the energy for fae magic could only come from one source; confessions. When taken correctly, simple words could steal the slightest life energy from another. Right from the simplest personal information like names to the delicious displays of shame and drama, there was a veritable feast of flavours for the discerning fae, either willingly shared or charmed out at the hint of glamour. The bigger the secret, the more draining it would be to the prey. Alas it was difficult to get a naive human these days for the really big confessions, but Chat happily subsisted on little scraps of juicy gossip that he could wheedle out of tourists.

 He molded his features into the picture of unsure innocence, before slipping out of the deep shade of the forest.

“Hey there!” he called out, and the girl turned in the water with a small smile, “do you know where this path leads?” Chat feigned sheepishness, “I think I am kinda lost.”

The girl’s eyes raked swiftly over his body, before she smiled up at him.

“I don’t know” she replied, before biting her lip coyly, “Sorry. I walked up from the beach, and just thought the water looked inviting.” Her eyes were wide and blue, and Chat got the sense that she wanted him to stay and chat. Which was more than fine by him.

“Thanks anyway.” Chat leaned forward, holding out the flower, “here, have a chamomile flower for your troubles.”

She set aside the book she had been reading, smiling softly at him as she took the flower, completely entranced. Chat smirked internally. He had hardly had to use a glamour and she was already falling over herself.

“So what ya reading?”

“Twilight" the girl blushed demurely, and her confession spread the lightest glow of lifeforce through Chat’s limbs. How delicious.

“That is the one about vampires right?” Chat grinned. He had only met a few vamps in his time, but he knew enough to know they were nothing like the fiction he had read in the pre-teen books he had snagged from tourists. Luckily the only bloodsuckers you had to worry about this close to the sea were the mer.

“That’s right. It’s quite popular at the moment so I thought I would give it a try.” she smiled, stroking the spine of the book, “One could say I have a taste for the supernatural.” The poor girl didn’t know how right she was.

“Then I wish I was supernatural,” Chat gave a flirtatious grin, and the girl gave a tinkling laugh like falling water. Not one of his best pick-up lines for sure, but he appreciated the irony.

She was going to be a pushover; he could probably collect a few secrets in quick succession and be on his merry way before she even noticed how tired she was.

He plonked himself casually on the trunk of a fallen tree that bridged the river. As a forest creature he far preferred to stay in proximity of his plants, especially when they were so close to such a delicious conversationalist.

“So where are you visiting from?” the dark-haired girl asked, twisting a pigtail coyly.

“What made you think I was a tourist?” he shot back with a smile.

“There’s a lot of tourists about this time of year ya know? The beach is so busy, but I think I prefer a bit quieter, and only seeing the occasional person.” She gave a conspiratorial smile and leaned towards Chat, “Makes the meetings you do have all the more fortuitous.” Chat swallowed. Maybe he should dial back his glamour before he was the one getting seduced.

“Ah so you’re a local lass then?”

“I live nearby I guess” she answered cryptically. Even that hint of where she was from sent a surprising zing of lifeforce though him. So she was ashamed of where she was from? Interesting, but not uncommon. He decided not to pry; after all there were far better titbits to be had.

“All the better to meet you then,” he held out his hand, “My name is Adrien.” He gave his human name smoothly.

“Marinette” She shook his hand, and her fingers were as warm as the lifeforce that slipped out with her words. Names were always the tastiest of morsels. Chat gave a lupine grin.

“So, Maarinette,” Chat lazily stretched the vowels, “as a local lass, where would you recommend for a night out with, say, your boyfriend?” he tried to look abashed as he asked the question, as if he was a normal human boy asking an attractive girl a thinly veiled question about her relationship status.

She gave a sly grin, and he knew he had her in the bag.

“Boyfriends, I don’t know, but my friends often frequent the Ladybug Club.” her voice was lightly flirtatious.

He decided to push harder, letting a sliver more glamour into his words.

“Soooo, no boyfriend then?” he leaned down on his log, “I would have thought a girl like you could have any boy in the town.”

She chuckled,

“Everyone has their drawbacks. I am out of town far too much to have an established relationship…” she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening. Chat’s own eyebrows shot up at the wave of life force that came with the innuendo of the statement. As always, love delivers juicy admissions, and this girl was a goldmine of secrets! It seemed that every sentence she spoke was loaded with ulterior meanings.

“That’s understandable,” he placated, letting a strong glamour ease her back into conversation.

“Urg, forget I said anything.” She pushed her hair back away from her face, embarrassed. A more dramatic response than expected, but one that Chat did not feel compelled to follow up on, even as a potential road to juicier secrets.

He cast around for a different topic.

Standing up, he snagged a couple of low hanging twigs of white cherry blossom, twisting them into a flower crown. He hoped he had not ruined his chances of further conversation.

“Cherry blossom, for beauty” he said aloud. And white cherry blossom for deception. The two were more similar than most humans would like to admit. This the fae boy knew.

“What are you some kind of botany boy?” Marinette said with a giggle as he dropped the flower crown onto her head, the pale blossoms stark against her midnight hair.

“I guess,” Chat grinned sheepishly, “I love forests like this.” Chat was aware of a dopy smile spreading across his face, “There is just a sense of magic about some places you know?” Marinette smiled gently in response. She did have a love of the supernatural after all.

“That’s…kinda cute.” her words had his head spinning more than the hint of life force that came with it.

Time to ramp up the charm and glamour to see if he could make a really big score.

Chat wetted his lips.

He plopped himself back on the log, leaning down.

"So you think I’m cute?" Chat let a little glamour seep into his voice.

Marinette sat up from the rocks she had been leaning against, and her eyes were so very blue as she crossed the little pool of water, the pale shadow of her bare legs moving under the surface. He waited with anticipation for her answer.

“Maybe just a little bit.” her voice was that of water whispering over rocks. She was so close, hanging on his every movement.

A stray part of his mind was wondering what it would be like to kiss her. He usually tried to avoid such feelings if he had glamoured someone, but there was just something irresistible about her, her humour, the way she laughed. He tried to get his head in gear, ask another question, but the only confession he wanted in that moment was;

"Wanna make out?"

Marinette's eyes were heavy lidded as she raised herself out of the water, pulling herself against Chat’s log. Chat didn't dare break eye contact as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, her hands tight around his shoulders as he waited for her reply. “Not. Quite.” Her hands bit into his shoulders as she yanked him off the log. Suddenly there was water everywhere. Chat’s glamour dropped as his claws scrabbled to keep a hold of the wood panicking as he felt sharp teeth pierce his neck.

Desperately he grabbed a branch, letting his power flow through it, coaxing a tree into existence in the middle of the pool. Abruptly the teeth in Chat’s neck were whipped away in a flurry of branches.  

There in the tree hung the girl, pale pink fishtail dangling in the branches as she wriggled, Chat’s cherry-red blood running down her chin.

 There was a moment of silence as Marinette and Chat stared at each other.

It was Chat who broke the silence, sheepishly raising a hand to scratch his newly reappeared cat ears

“Well you did say you had a taste for the supernatural.”

AN: Well tbh Adrien should have twigged something was up when a lone woman comfortably flirted with a man when there was no one around.

“stupid fae, and stupid glamours. I am going back to the freakin ocean”

“wait does this make you MERinette”

“shut up Faedrien.”

[wolvenpugilist]

@foxcharmed​ - CANON closed-plotted starter.

                    CALLOUSED FINGERTIPS mindlessly followed the trace of the scar across his facial skin, his rose lips slightly parted as if he was in deep thought whilst his glance emotionally stared off into the void – one could have easily assumed he followed the loud exclamation of the crowd right below his prestigious view, that he was interested in what surely was one of the current most anticipated matches - alas he was not. The same fine ionian rice wine was still swirling in the golden goblet covered with pristine gems of purple for more than an hour, left untouched like the piles of gold coins next to him. None of it was satisfying; none of it had any meaning today.

                    WITH THE CORNER of his very eyes he noticed the defeated raising one hand in the arena, a final plea for mercy, yet Sett merely pressed his lips tightly together bearing naught but a mask of relentlessness. As the Cleaver slowly butchered his opponent without any pardon and the dry, dirty ground beneath his gigantic feet bathed in the blood, Sett did not interfere – instead he observed the spectacle with the same glassy eyes he already bore for many days when he was unseen, feeling naught upon the sight of the sudden death of one who had once been his star combatant. Just for a little while, at least. These so-called Champions came and went, as quickly as they appeared. It mattered not to him.

                    NAY, HE TRULY found no enjoyment in the sight of someone’s life ending – he never did. Nonetheless the reaper visited his Fighting Pits each day walking hand in hand with the many corpse carriages, claiming what rightfully belonged to them. He was none to stop it, it was merely all part of his business. The show had to go on. But for quite some while he even paid less attention to the black veil’s visit – despised its appearance while trying to neglect its existence fully. All because he told himself, more than just once lately, that one’s life meant to end here and not in one’s bed.

                    WITH THE FINAL BEATING rhythm of the drums to proclaim the end of today’s show, Sett arose from his rustic throne, his mind as sharp as ever again. The crowd was always quick to leave after the fight had ended – and his crew knew that they had to be equally fast to collect and count what rightfully belonged to him to not fear any consequences. Yet today he would make certain that they worked even faster – he could not afford to waste as much time. Entering the vestibule he barked orders left and right in a tone which was colder than ice.

                  He was not known for being soft among them and never would be.

                    THE CORPSE CARRIAGE was still standing in front of the arena’s doors, unsure whether they would get another unknown, silent passenger or not. Coral colored eyes recognized the shadow on a pale, motionless face midst the masses– crimson red dripped from the corpse’s slightly opened mouth and the dead eyes were wide open to face the inevitable. His former star combatant silently insulted him with each lost stain of blood for not saving him. He ignored it; striding pass it whilst making eye contact with death with its mocking grimace itself. There was no fear, it was a silent proclamation of war as he knew he would see its face sooner or later again, too close to his own personal life.

                    TO VISIT HIS MOMMA’S HOUSE was always routine, even now as adult. Yet truth to be told he was scared of what he would find in this small, shabby cabin. Sett had always hoped that one day his momma would decide to move elsewhere – away from the townsfolk who had insulted her during his entire childhood, who had not moved a single finger to help them all the time – but she never did. Mayhap to live in such place was a precious memory for her – one he could not comprehend. All he remembered was an unknown face of a cocky, useless man who had left them alone for his own profit and the many times when he ran back home, another bloody wound somewhere on his body inflicted by those who thought him to be a monster. Well, at least they got this part right now.

                   The nice times when he pretended to be someone else were long over.

                    HE STILL REMEMBERED so many days he had spent here – but the splinters of old wood and uncared weed slowly created a different scene in front of his very eyes; devastation, the end of it all. There was no longer the sweet scent of his momma’s finest dish lingering in the ear; he could no longer hear her voice shouting for him because he had been away for too long. All these years he had put on a mask for his mother, never telling her the very truth – and now he might as well never. Sett did not wear the same clothes he usually wore in the arena – to show that he was the Boss of them all – but even now, after not having seen his mother opening her eyes for longer than a few seconds for weeks, he had not given up his charade.

                                By now he doubted she would even recognize his face.

                    INSIDE THE SMALL CABIN there was no light again, but even then he would recognize the relatively small silhouette inside the bed any day. Her skin had gotten paler again and the fur on her ears had almost completely disappeared. Of course she had not touched her soup. His momma did not seem any day older, yet her body was telling an unforgiveable story of humiliation, torture and shame. One he had witnessed each day, one had endured for too long until he rose from the ashes like he had to. But he was, in the very end, so different to his mother.

                    SHE DID NOT OPEN her eyes as Sett sat down next to her bed on a stool, not bothering to place any sack of coin next to the almost motionless figure in front of him. Her claws were partly clipped on her slender fingers and a film of sweat upon her skin told him about her struggles during his absence. Placing one hand on her forehead he could not feel any warmth, nor any coldness. If she was a mere human she had to be healthy, giving none of the usual symptoms he often had as child – alas she was not. Naturally the man knew about his mother’s heritage – about the blood running also through his own veins – but he felt closer to be human than what his mother was. The term Vastaya was for him just an insult.

                    WIPING SOME of her fine wisps of hair away from her face, his ears twitched in desperation upon seeing this haggard, tired silhouette of his mother. No one knew why her body had just given up like this – and no matter how much coin he put into solving this mystery, he was yet to gain any result. It was as if the storm of her life had been too harsh on her and that she had given up – at least this was what he had been told and what he could not believe. His mother would not yield to the reaper as easily, perchance even less willingly than him, that was for certain. Yet with each passing day his mother slipped away – and soon there was no change of season anymore she would be able to bear. The impending black veil already started to slowly sink over her – and this was nothing he was willing to watch.

                                The man saw death each day – he laughed back at it.                                                        He smiled at it. He bore it.      But without the only person who had always supported him in life there was naught left.

                    THE HEAVY EYELIDS of his mother opened slightly, as if she was suddenly aware of her son’s presence, but only for a fragment of a moment it was possible for him to see her lavender colored eyes – weak, tired, almost as dead as these eyes he had seen not too long ago on the corpse carriage. Just this time there was a grotesque, abstract sense of beauty in this scenery with her lips halfway curled to a weak, knowing smile. She knew he was here with him, in one of her final moments.

                                          Ma, you always wished for the best.

                    NAY, HE WOULD FIGHT DEATH. He always did – and if someone told him he would not be able to he would laugh at them and send these to the reaper instead. For most part of his life this strategy had worked extremely well and he saw no reason for it to not work again. He was no medic; he knew naught but to endure, inflict pain and how to do great deals. Bloodstained hands, scars covering his skin and a grim façade he wore was all he had on top of this gold, but he would surely make certain that his fist would hit the right target next time if another so called healer would not be able to help his momma. Humans were disgusting creatures; he had no doubt they merely did not wish to help them for being different to them.

                Claws, ears, fur and a tail – his momma had never belonged to this world.                     But nonetheless she did. Because her kin could not bear her existence.

                    HIS CORAL GAZE lingered on his mother’s face, trying to see the very features who had always given him comfort in the harsh past. The memory of it would not be forgotten, having long found a place in his icy heart. With a final squeezing of her fragile hand, Sett lowered his head a little to whisper into her ears during her hopefully pleasant newly found slumber.

                                             »I’ll be back soon, Ma.«

                    THE MAN CAREFULLY shoved his body through the small cabin, not looking back anymore to the almost dead woman in the back who could no longer tell him to be careful. That she was proud of him telling her all the lies she wanted to listen to. There was very little guilt he was capable of feeling inside his numb heart, but the very truth weighted heavily upon it. He would rather see disappointment inside her eyes than no light at all.

                    THE NEAREST TOWN was quite a few minutes away – which had been a convenient factor for almost two decades, but now it was making the struggle against time even more difficult. The once laughing, mocking townsfolk now feared his very tall and impressive presence; usually running back inside their houses upon recognizing him from far away. They all knew what he had become – what he was capable to do – but they all kept silent, fearing the worst by provoking him. Hateful gazes had become grimaces of pure horror; and he very much preferred this over them spitting at them and throwing stones again. Sometimes in his darkest dreams he could still remember the sharp points digging into his flesh.

    Fear merely meant that they accepted the fact that he had become the predator instead.                                       It was the survival instinct of all creatures.

                    IT WAS ALREADY LATE and most have already found shelter near their warm fireplaces inside their houses – but the very few remaining people immediately made space for him, pressing their backs against wooden fences and old buildings. For them he was the most known reaper, the man whose footsteps was always covered in blood. Just for once, however, he intended to save a life. Sett knew where to go, but not what to expect. Naturally, the moment the town’s healer peaked through the slit of his door just to realize who was in front of it was the scariest of his entire life. His young children were immediately chased away to a different corner as if the plague itself dared to enter his humble house.

                    SETT HAD BECOME quite sharp to detect lies in people’s words – he could recognize honesty and sheer lies to save their own skin. Whether he liked the small, pathetic man in front of him or not did not matter; but he knew for certain that he spoke the truth – he had indeed visited his mother only this morning since she was supposed to lend him an hand as discussed weeks ago. And there was naught he could do for the vastayan woman, not knowing what the cause of her sudden disease was. The young man intended to leash at him, to grip his collar just to make him say something else – yet the scared looks of two innocent pairs of eyes in the corner of the house and the soft weeping of his wife made him not do it.

                                 They better not interpreted it as weakness –                              but he had already spilled enough blood for today.

                    STEPPING OUTSIDE the house again, taking a deep breath in the cool breeze of the night, he noticed two shining pairs of eyes watching him carefully from the shadows. There was no fear inside them; and usually this meant big trouble. As if he didn’t have enough of that already.  Turning his body around, directly facing the unrecognizable shadow of the stranger, Sett pressed his lips to a thin line.

                     »Listen, I ain’t in the mood for hide-and-seek, ‘kay?«

[bells-of-black-sunday]

prt 1

Honestly I’m planning on getting more into Luci’s time in the fold in prt 2, this is mainly jus setting up him and Abaddon’s relationship since Abaddon is a rlly important figure during Luci’s time in the fold

Lucifer approached the tall golden gates that guarded the first sphere of the seraphic fold, he may have just shortly taken up a true form, but he had already been accepted into the social elite purely because of who he was created by. God. Yes, God with a big G, impressive he knows. The masked guard looked up and tilted their heads at the angel before them. They both knew what he had done to many a creature beforehand, but alas the council had already informed them of his importance and thus they were forced to let him through. The extravagant gates slowly pulled open so the prince could pass allowing his dark hooves to click against the smooth marble. 

Slowly he walked through the parasites that clung desperately to their laws and social structure, but he wasn’t going to not make an impression. His long silks flowed behind him barely covering his frame as his black veil concealed the under half of his face, extravagant jewels and gold decorated his horns and claws no doubt turning the heads of those he passed by. He’d never been known to be a simple creature, even before he could walk he’d take on appearances that stunned those that seen him. Eventually he ended up at his new home, a palace that overlooked all of the spheres even the council member’s abode itself. 

He reached to push open the gate when a large figure pulled it open for him, "Welcome home your highness." The angel greeted allowing the young prince to pass. Lucifer was absolutely baffled, did daddy really think he needs a bodyguard? "Thank you...and your name is?" "Abaddon." He was to the point at least. Lucifer smiled baring his fangs, "Come along then we have much to do and I'd like to get to know who's babysitting me." He clapped his hands and walked up the long pathway until he was inside.

The rest of the day went on quite normally, Lucifer learned if Abaddon's time as a council member, his lost mate, etcetera etcetera. They grew closer and a friendship started to bloom as the night rolled around Lucifer relaxed on his chaise lounge sipping wine when he finally heard the question he had expected to hear "Why did you come to the fold?" An innocent question, sure, but one the young prince wasn't too fond of. He slowly swirled the glass of wine in his palm,

��"I wanted to make something of my existence and I figured a place as up the ass as this was better than anything else, because if I can make it here, what else is stopping me from taking over other portions if reality? God?" He let out a breathy chuckle, He's too spineless to do anything. He didn't stop me from killing lesser gods to gain enough material to make my form ...to make me."

Abaddon's ram mask stared back unblinking, unmoving for a few seconds before he sighed and sat up in his chair, "....Little prince, don't you think there's a reason he never stopped you?" Lucifer immediately sat up and blew hair out of his eyes, "My creator is a self absorbed asshole that's only good at drinking himself into a coma. Abaddon, you don't know him like I do. You haven't seen the things he's done." He placed his wine glass on the coffee table laying his head in his hands, "...And yet he makes me feel safe when he's around. I don't...get it." He huffed brushing his hair back behind his leathery wings before he'd lay back down.

The bodyguard was silent after that. What was he supposed to say? He hadn't met the creator personally and everyone knew the rumors of Lucifer's birth into this world, God's smartest and most beautiful creation, at least that's what people say. From Abaddon's perspective he just seemed like a child lost and throwing a tantrum. He slowly reached out and combed his talons through the young prince's white locks. The prince simply closed his eyes, "Carry me to bed will you?" He mumbled rubbing his face, "I'm tired of drinking." He extended his arms upward in anticipation. The ram faced angel slowly stood rolling his eyes beneath his mask and picked up the angel letting him sit in the crook of his arm.

Once he got to the young prince's bedroom he laid him down on the teal sheets and began to extinguish the lanterns when he heard Lucifer's sheepish voice, "Sleep with me tonight please...I'm not used to sleeping alone." The guard sighed, "Of course your highness." Isn't he a bit old for this? He began to take off his armor keeping his back to the no doubt unbroken gaze of the angel behind him. Once he was in nothing but his baggy cloth pants he climbed into bed next to the young prince unprepared and not expecting the prince to immediately curl up against him.

[vorfreudc]

@feixing02 | Liked for a Deity AU starter! 

“It was you,” said Nibel in a hushed voice, “you did this.”  Stepping from the thick overgrowth his tone was soft almost fragile, as if his heart would break at any minute. Not for the windswept Goddess, but for the unfortunate to have met her. He presses her no further for reason or offers apology for his own intrusion. Prayer that drew him to the mortal plane were long answered yet he lingered, drawn to swiftly to desperation of final pleas though none would think to invoke his name. Human lives were a blink to a god and he would not fault them for their want longer years. The earth would become soft tonight by blood and Gaia will would drink her fill on the red ichor.  

Nibel’s posture remains rigid with no tip of the head of the nor slight bow that gods of old insist upon when sharing in one another’s presence. Without passing the Goddess a glance the god of Beauty and allure smoothly steps past her to kneel in the center of carnage. He notes a shrine crumbling, in the epicenter. Human attempts to gain favour with the gods, their reminder of homage and belief. Sticks and stones. Their human existence was more than enough. They were divine. If only they could be made aware that they were the only thing gods saw in the sandbox world each have created together for them. Alas, the eye was the easiest to deceive and and even among the deity’s own few could see him. 

Nibel bends, moving a palm to press close unseeing eyes. Those who believed that death and beauty could be in tandem with one another were fools. Under a breath he offers his own blessing to the fallen with little hope that hushed words are enough pierces Death’s veil. “These were but mortals. Have they wronged you so to deserve their fate?” The gods voice is even. There’s no hint or reproach, no aggression. Nibel waits, and when no answer comes he rises to speak again, sharp eyes scathing in the calm he expresses himself to turn to her.  

“Speak.”

[rose-in-the-stone-moved]

He and She

Some time in the night she woke in the dark.  She was ill -- more ill than she had felt those last few days spent cautiously hiding it behind her smiles, and reassurances, and the veil of her continued exhaustion -- so much so that, however subconsciously, she was compelled to reach up and touch a scar on the back of her neck as if it was to blame -- the scar that only she could see.

Her fingertips brushed smooth skin; the line of her hair.  There was no scar -- or at least no trace of one.  There was nothing.

There was nothing.  As she drew back her hand, she became aware of the absence of lamplight from the streets outside; its glow no longer illuminating the edges of the room, the things within it.  Around her, she could distinguish no shape, no shadow, no impression of the furnishings, the posts of their bed, the figure beside her. The sound of her husband’s breathing was gone, replaced by thick, uncomfortable silence. She reached out to him. She touched the empty darkness. Someone had drawn these inky black curtains around her as she slept; had left her there alone.

Alone.

Until she felt the cool of his breath when it tickled her ear -- the low and ragged sigh of a dangerous promise.

It was a promise he intended to keep, she knew. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end.

She’d only glimpsed the true face of that person just once -- if it could be called that: ‘a true face’ -- and yet there, in the dark, without seeing, she could imagine the outline of every scar and every suture. She knew the places where the color of his own skin began and where it ended, patched up with the ragged remains of someone else’s suffering. How many had died to become the grisly suit that housed his twisted soul?

The memory of him was burned into her mind. That day -- a day that felt so far away now that it seemed almost a dream, a nightmare -- when he lowered the mask he wore, one glimpse of his “true face” had been enough. He knew it wouldn't leave her. Now she saw the twitch of his lips without looking, contorted into the smile of a man who'd not lost his hubris in death.

And there was something of a madness in his eyes -- the only thing remotely, unwaveringly human that was left of that ghastly spectre. She felt them as they studied her.

“Are you happy?” He interrupted the silence. She had almost forgotten the sound of his voice; wished there was no need to remember. The question tasted foul in the air between them.

It was not asked in compassion.

And every part of her screamed not to answer him.

“Yes,” she whispered anyway, taking the bait like a fool.

What he wanted every time.

“Of course you are,” he cooed. She could hear the subtle note of triumph to his words.  “But it won’t last -- you know that.”

“And you don't belong here. Go.” Now it was her own voice that was unrecognizable: the biting, terrified command.

“Because you can’t run forever,” he went on, heedless.

“There’s no place for you here anymore. Go.” He was dream, she told herself. It was only a nightmare -- only a dream.

“But you keep trying, don't you? Just how far can you run, I wonder?”

“I'm not running,” she insisted. He hoped he couldn’t hear the question in her words.

“Oh, but you are. Trying to bury every little thing that frightens you beneath the foundations of your happy, ignorant little life, right down to the very monster in these walls -- isn’t that right?”

“Stop it,” she whispered. Her pulse quickened. It pounded in her ears.

“But you know better now, don’t you?  Things don’t always stay buried, do they?”  Gwenneth tried to interrupt him; was silenced by the strength, the feeling of fingers tightening around her arms.  

“They always come back to you in the end. Just. Like. Me.” His words were a mocking sing-song. She wanted to scream.

“I told you to go,” she managed. “You’re already gone -- you lost.”

“Then why are you still running from me, hmmm?” His voice was poison. She felt him draw closer.  “On the contrary, poppet, I won. You think I don’t see the way you still cower from my shadow? Think I'm not aware of what transpired in Ala Mhigo? Oh, and you thought you were being so brave again. Poor little duck.” Gwenneth recoiled at the memory he conjured. He'd wanted that too.

“And there’s the rub,” he went on. “Even if I did lose, do you really think I'm the last beast that needed to be put down? You know better now, don't you?”

His words, his speaking made her dizzy. From everywhere and nowhere came the acrid stench of smoke, of burning. The memory of it. She wasn’t sure if it was the fire he’d started, or the one they had set to put his victims out of their misery.  No -- to put their souls to rest.

They had tried to make her look away back then, as if turning her back would somehow make her forget what she'd seen; as if closing her eyes would shut the door against the existence of that evil forever.

No, it was burned into her eyes along with that demon’s face.

The thought of it caused her to choke down the bile that rose in her throat. On the very edge of her senses, she swore that she could hear them screaming in the flames.  She knew that was wrong; that it couldn’t be so. Even in life, they had lost the capability to cry out a long time ago. He'd taken that from them along with so much else.

Tears stung her eyes. Resolution faltered. She heard him chuckle low at her ear.

“Go on then,” he hissed. “Run.”

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Instinct drove her to lash out -- one hand reaching for a blade that she couldn’t find, while the other threw off the covers that she couldn’t feel, only vaguely recalling that she was still in bed--

--and in the darkness, in a suffocating black sea that closed around her -- played with her -- while the phantom of a madman laughed somewhere in what now seemed to be a great distance between them, as though he’d cast her into a well -- an oubliette.

She thought of her husband; called for him until her voice cracked from the effort.  When there was no answer, she thought instead of Kail’s lantern; pulled it out of the recesses of her memory, willing it to appear in the distance. In her mind’s eye she could just make out the familiar glow from where it bobbed at the prow of the seaman’s small boat. She reached for it like the beacon it was.

A hand reached back.  For one brief, relieved moment she thought it was the pirate, there to pull her into the safety of his dinghy, into the blessed glow of that lantern-light. Instead she was met by the slick touch of flayed fingers as they wrapped around her wrists. Dozens of fingers on countless hands that grasped at her for salvation; for her damnation. They fought to pull her down, pull her under, pull her back to the blackness and the sound of a laughter that drowned her.

Some time in the night she woke in the dark, flailing like a desperate animal as she struggled to break free from the nightmare that had seized her.  Her screams were such that they could wake the dead--

--were they not already awake.

@heavens-light-and-hells-ice and @erstwhile25 for mentions, and a shout-out to the retired @maskedknightofishgard for the NPC and letting me run with him.

[inter-se-solus-blog]

Drabble for @o-tabescere [ mainly a little scene for a possible happening ]

     ◆ There was a chilling quiet, a softened sonance of a white rushing noise, drowning out any pain, melting it into a multitude of jarred and torn sensations by the time mind mingles and turns, slowly - slowly - far too slowly, in its endless strive to come back towards reality { while all in itself, this was nothing he even wanted to endeavour, let him rest. just let him rest }. With endless back and forth and the deeply settled, burning ache, coating and licking at his skin, muscle and tendons - still, there was the tingling sensation of a healing aspiring to soothe whatever biting bits of torment would veil his otherwise so still and unmoving physique. It's quite funny just - that this was such a peaceful feeling. Buried and hidden in the faint crashing intonation of shifting rubble, still re-adjusting, re-aligning, falling back in place for impact had been quite so severe to shift and change the outcome of what formerly was a building standing proud.

    ◆ And he laughs about it { why doesn't it stop? } in that faint, near breakable feeble chirr of trembling voice. As soon as it came, it was gone again.

    ◆ Like nothing else but a shy wind meandering further and further, reaching for him in its caressing try to find an essence of will, a desire to survive. Who would have thought? That loneliness was such a crushing, crippling burden to carry? Who would have thought, that a man like himself, was despairing with these thoughtless emotions? Just as much shifting and wandering about in his mind, like the sudden unexplainable noise-filled eruption after everything had laid so terrifyingly, so hauntingly beautiful and quiet. Not enough for his eyes to open - even thought like it was, Uta was stark aware, that he was not by himself anymore.

    ◆ [ Hey---! ] Single noise, drowned out yet once again. A fluttering breath to fill his lungs. [ Uta! Damn--- ] Something broke? Did he hear it? [ List--- I am here--- hey! ] Was it not enough? Was it not what he would want to hear? How ludicrous to see him quite like this, to watch a man of unexplainable and unimaginable powers broken and torn and like a porcelain doll unable to mend the cracks and seal the gaps. Whoever would lay eyes upon him - whoever would so truly know about what all the mask maker had hidden in the past it would explain itself as a charade of his own self. When his body had been aching and groaning, trapped still and unmoving in limp and far too still form. Healing oneself would have been such an easy task to fulfil - and healing was all blood and flesh and bones, broken and mangled, would do in deliberately setting themselves back into place.

    ◆ [ You are not alone, you know it! You were never alone! ]

    ◆ And he all but breathes when this set of words rushes through numbing mind tauntingly quaking in the back of his head { so truly dreamlike in how it wanted to mess with what little recognition of the moment had been there }. Ah, yes. Burning, the electrical surge of pain that tore him from the finely crafted body of a kakuja. Maybe he wanted it?

    ◆ ' Damnit! Wake up already. ' While sleep does elude him wholly.

    ◆ And everything that followed would come back as all but a recollection uttered by beloved lips a few hours later { fighting, fighting, they could rest up soon enough }. All had become a blur in these moments, all that had been said, desperate outcries, explanations, those hands that would wander his torn and near destroyed form { no pain at all, nothing that really would make him twitch or turn, too unbeknownst to the surrounding to try and hide from arms that - soon enough - had cradled him in strong grasp }. How delirious indeed, he could remember, when just told, that Renji tried to move them. Move them out and somewhere else, for the creatures created from a childish greed had found what was the host of far too much power and made to attack them. Wasn't it quite such a fantastical spectacle?

    ◆ That those who had been so powerful, would be unable to budge and move? And desperation, distress, pondering upon the what and the how { like a tragedy to unfurl? yes, yes just like this. the unexplainable desire to protect what he could have ripped away from life and destroyed in anger }. But never wanted to.

    ◆ And everything that happened in these few seconds---

    ◆ ---had been all but a blur.

    ◆ ' Please. ' A mind-numbing experience of a game they were not meant to play. ' Come on, I won't leave you behind. ' Louder, ever louder. A waning sensation of delight, destroying and lowering any defences his mind had built up swiftly and deliberately, now with the fine and simple cracks twisting themselves until it burst. ' Don't leave me. I love you. '

   ◆ Attackers dispersed into absolute nothingness. 

   ◆ The calm around them settling in near haunting past breaths deeply taken that Uta was able to make out. Shaking, trembling of that strong physique that finds itself so closely pressed against him. It had only taken a mere few seconds for that devastating counter-attack to fill the space and then empty it out in as if there had been nothing at all to plague their minds. So Uta guesses - and assumes - that there is still something - someone - worth living for { as much as his mind would scream at him for it to be a lie }. But was it just? When his eyes took off the brilliant shine of burning red, falling pliant and softened like the breath he took that heaved lungs and made it appear like that picture-perfect shattered puppet was all the more alive and strings severed, being left to freely walk anew.

    ◆ "Let go, Ren."

    ◆ And it is barely even palpable, spoken into the nothingness right before him when eyes focus anew and adjust with these first words ever spoken since desperate pleas had reached near deaf ears and he means it - yet tingling sensations shivering thoughts did not want it quite at all. This hold was merely a necessity, for the grip around his otherwise limb form had tightened, leaving an ache the Mask Maker decides to be quite so - pleasant.

    ◆ Laughter that follows was filled with mirth, subtle and soft and like a breeze that would travel through the opened cavity of that 'room' they had found themselves trapped inside. And even though, that he had ushered words of obvious request, arms around him wouldn't loosen from their despairing tumult felt with the shake of strained muscle felt beneath his searching fingertips. That very hand that had lifted from its unsuspicious placement onto the ground. A hidden sort of power used in leading kagune to travel through cracks and holes and pierce and destroy from below what he would not permit to lay a single touch upon him. "Ren." Once again a little softer, with his lips to travel along smooth skin of neck exposed and chasing the pulse racing and heart to beat like a drum. Heavier, harder.

    ◆ While himself was still so pliant and calm within grasp. ' ... What? Ah. ' But there was no moment to let him go anymore, all that ache and pain be damned, the sore feeling of a slow piece by piece to be placed back together - it's such a deliberate masterpiece of tranquil destruction { who would have thought? that a set of three words was all that had been needed to re-enkindle will to live? }. Alas, such a heavy outcome to a personal war. Disrupted personalities, in need to be put back into place, like small little dolls, meant to stand right next to one another { and he could have smiled about it all, and did when widened eyes do find him with questioning gaze }. ' You... I'm sorry, I... '

    ◆ Higher and higher. That touch ceasing along arms that limber themselves around his form, still cradled so close and kept in that ever-lingering warmth that could reach all but his mind and soul. ' Are you in pain... I'm... ' Stumbling words.

    ◆ "Ren."

    ◆ And so he touches that delicate and chiselled shape of face feeling near too fragile and torn from its strength and grandeur, drawling with fingertips along the fine cut of jaw in soothing a lamenting, tormented soul. Meant to turn him, to tilt that beloved one that slightest bit closer to himself in the calming and quietening motions of a lullaby. Breathing in. Breathing out { again and again and again }, and his own heartbeat such a stark difference to the one that needed to find its own setting once again. Pain, yes. How he ached with different feelings. With throbbing desires. That tender moment of nothingness all but shared between one another.

    ◆ Let the world be damned for a few seconds just.

    ◆ Let the war between their fractions rage on for a few more gusts of wind.

    ◆ He could have laughed about it again, but all he did was smile when palm does rest alongside elegant cheek and tilt him and turn him to simply kiss his parted mouth. And how that taste had been all he ever wanted. Formerly adjusted, brushed away as if never existing anymore at all. All just desired, fingertips of that beloved soul to be felt in pressing deeply into his skin.

    ◆ An open-mouthed kiss. A breath shared between one another and wanting to have more and more. But not now. Not in that unfortunate set of events that had unfurled outside, in need of eradication of a greater disaster right at this time. And he smiled still about that shocked response received to words of comfort, of worrisome feelings settling deep in his chest. Moving himself to kiss lips yet once anew, sweet and light and benign to be had. "I'm fine, Ren." Fine.

    ◆ Fine. Truly calmed. Truly here in this moments' haunting quiet. And as if nothing had graced him ever once before, not a single laceration was there anymore to still litter comfortably held form. "Thank you." And oh how it aches - that silent sound, whispered breath of "I love you too."

[gosh-mr-big-brain]

The Adventures of Prince Charming & Anthony Stark (Part One)

I was rewatching Once Upon A Time and was literally on only the third episode when I went “Huh, Snow and Charming kind of remind of Steve and Tony.” And then it kind of spiraled from there. Man, I spend way too much time thinking about those two idiots. But anyways, this is a scene from the third episode where ‘Snow’ is kind of an outlaw and ‘Charming’ just wants his ring back. Enjoy. 

    In hindsight, Tony Stark really should’ve saw this coming. Things had been going much too well for him lately and given the astonishingly bad luck he had been suffering through these last few years, the fact that he’d been having good luck at all should have rang quite a few warning bells. At the very least he should’ve been able to tell someone had rigged a net almost directly outside of his current hideout. But, alas, he hadn’t and now he was paying the humiliating price of being trapped in that same net, swinging wildly in the air, ten feet above the ground he had just been standing on. Now this was much more reminiscent of the kind of luck he was used to dealing with. But the icing on the horrific cake that had become his life was the smirking, blonde noble who took this as an opportunity to saunter out of the brush, his cocky laugh reverberating throughout the small clearing they were in. A man who he had not only encountered before but had stolen from (One of the easiest robberies he had ever managed during his short time as an outlaw in his own kingdom) less than a week prior to this mortifying capture. Oh how the tables had turned.

    Still chuckling to himself, the noble stepped further into Tony’s line of sight, his expression filled with barely contained satisfaction. “I told you I’d find you,” he mocked, ambling towards his newly captured prey until he was standing almost directly beneath its prison. “No matter what you do, I will always find you,” the man finished, grinning up at Tony and crossing his arms across his broad chest in a manner that practically radiated an arrogant smugness. Of course, out of all the people in the Enchanted Forest that happened to hate Tony and want to kidnap him (Which was, unfortunately, a long, evergrowing list), it just had to be him. God, how embarrassing. If he was going to get himself captured, at least let it be the Evil Queen orchestrating it- not this idiotic noble with a petty grudge. What a let down he was.

    Tony glared down at the triumphant man through narrowed, calculating eyes, his gloved fingers tight gripping the woven net as he desperately attempted to not look too foolish despite the fact that he was currently trapped in that said net. “Is this the only way you can catch a friend?” he inquired, raising a single, practiced eyebrow. “By entrapping them?”

    To his neverending surprise, the noble didn’t balk at his sarcastic response but instead easily returned with the blunt statement of, “It’s the only way to catch thieving scum.”

    Tony scoffed, tilting his head to the side in what he hoped appeared to be a condescending manner. “Well aren’t you a real ‘Prince Charming’,” he retorted, his tone dry and just as frank.

    “I have a name you know,” the man responded lightly, his expression still too unbearably amused for Tony to deal with properly.

    “Don’t care,” he quipped instead, his lips quirking up into an idle, lopsided smirk. “Charming suits you.”

    The noble’s face broke out into a smile that very nearly made Tony wish the huntsman who had been sent to kill him had finished the job rather than saved his life so he could live to experience this horrific encounter.

    “Now cut me down, Charming,” he growled, the lazy grin vanishing from his face completely.

     Charming chucked again (Why couldn’t Barton have just let that arrow go?), seeming to find this situation much more entertaining than Tony did. “I’ll release you when you return the leather pouch you stole with my jewels.”

    Tony’s eyes flickered to the left as if he were considering the noble’s last statement before rapidly shaking his head, his lips pressing together into another thin smile. “Not the jewelry type,” he remarked, turning his steely gaze back to Charming.

    “Indeed,” he conceded, dipping his chin downwards in acknowledgement. “I noticed.”

     Tony reeled backwards in his woven prison for a moment, letting his mouth fall open in surprise (A rare feat that not many were able to accomplish) before quickly composing himself. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you insulting me?”

    “No, quite right. My apologies,” the noble responded, his tone dry and deadpan. “How dare I cast aspersions at the person who robbed me?” He paused for a short moment, eyeing Tony with a look of careful consideration. “Where are my jewels?”

    “I sold them,” Tony emphasized, leaning forward in the net so that his face was pressing into the rope.

    All too quickly, Charming’s gaze gained an urgent quality to it, marring the wary amusement that he had previously been wearing. “What?” he inquired, the question barely audible.

    “What do you care? Don’t you have a palace full of treasure somewhere?”

    “These were special,” Charming insisted, his hand rising to rest on his leather-clad hip. “Among them was a ring that belonged to my mother.” But then a small, barely visible swallow that seemed to, oddly enough, convey that, somehow, the fearless Prince Charming was frightened of something. Or, perhaps, someone. “A ring I was about to give-”

    “The nag with the bad attitude? That’s what this is about?” Tony interjected, disbelief colouring his monotonous tone of voice.

    The noble hesitated a beat too long before responding with, “She’s my fiancée.” Although it sounded more like he was simply stating a fact of life rather than defending the woman he was supposed to love and marry.

    Tony nearly burst out in loud, booming laughter but, somehow, he managed to compose himself. “Good luck with that. You must be getting something pretty impressive to have agreed to that union,” he remarked, laughter filling his voice as he shot Charming a crooked grin.

    Excuse me?” he challenged, his eyebrows furrowing in question. He shifted slightly as well so that both of his hands were now resting within one short, easy reach from the hilt of his sword.

     “I know how this works,” Tony replied dismissively, ignoring the warning that had layered his tone. “True love? It doesn’t exists.”

    The noble glanced away at that, as if he were struggling to contain the annoyance he was feeling towards the man he currently had trapped in a net.

    “It’s all arranged marriages and business transactions. There’s no such thing as love at first sight or true love’s kiss. Let me guess-” Tony drawled, staring Charming down with a knowing look. “-her kingdom wants to take over yours and this is, what? A last ditch effort to avoid war?

    “This is not a takeover,” the noble began, stretching one hand out in front of his body in a defensive manner. When Tony merely smirked at him in return, he continued, his voice raising reflexively. “It’s-It’s a merger and, quite frankly, it’s none of your business. Now, this is what’s going to happen.”

    “Mmhmm,” Tony hummed, resting his chin between two, coarse pieces of rope and closing his eyes.

    “I’m going to cut you down-”

    “Mmhmm.” He nodded his head slightly, the movement almost microscopic, and opened his eyes so he could eye Charming from underneath his lashes.

     “And you are going to take me to whoever had my jewels-”

    “Mmm.”

    “And then you are going to get my ring back.”

    “Mm-mm.” Tony shook his head, pursing his lips together. “Why would I do that?”

    The noble’s smirk returned, fullforce, in that same, self satisfied way. A way that appeared to say, Funny you should ask, even though this situation wasn’t funny in the least. Tony instantly regretted his question. “Because you don’t want me to tell anyone who you really are,” Charming responded, his tone slightly hushed as if he were revealing a secret. He then proceeded to reach inside his jacket and pull from it a crumpled sheet of paper. Then, with all the flourish of an actor on the stage, he smoothed out the paper, raising it so that Tony was able to see the simple sketch of himself on one of the Wanted Posters the Queen had developed and Charming was now holding, his lips pressing together in a thinly veiled smile. “Anthony Stark.”

    Tony remained silent, forcing his features to stay blank and unassuming, and merely eyed the noble, waiting to see what he would do next.

    “Help me get my ring back or I turn you over to the Queen’s forces,” he stated, lowering the poster to his side. “And I have a feeling the Queen’s not as-” he paused for a moment, giving Tony time to contemplate whether it really was too late to go back and find Barton. “-charming as I am.” A smug, triumphant smile was now fully resting on his lips.

    Tony considered the situation for a moment before finally coming to a decision, his expression and tone of voice clearly displaying how unhappy he was about it. “Well, I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your getting true love.”

    “Hmm,” Charming hummed idly before pulling his sword from its scabbard and easily slicing through the robe that was holding the net and Tony in the air, allowing Tony to crash to the forest floor with a yelp that just about destroyed the very last shreds of dignity he happened to have left.

    “Thanks Charming,” Tony gasped, his back pressing into the ropes that had only just been holding me in the air as he struggled to catch his breath. “You know, I wasn’t too sure about the name thing at first but now I believe that you have truly earned it.”

    “Well, I should hope so,” the noble quipped, now standing directly over Tony with his arms once again crossed over his broad, leather-clad chest. “Now get up, Stark. We have a ring to find.”

[anywherein12seconds]

Read, Be Smart, Be Human.

The modern internet-bazaar mediated an unfathomable amount of human interaction compared to everything that previously existed in our history. This meeting place of different ideas lifted the veil of ignorance from our tribal mythological mindsets. As a consequence we’re seeing ourselves as never before, the strange and different men and women from other cultures are starting to appear.. human, like us. And it’s not that “we begin to see our rights”, but we see that we transcend the concept all together.. We are Nature, we don’t need “rights” to be given by anybody! We cannot be kept on “private land” anymore, at the landowner’s discretion and whims. We begin to see that we are IT, we are the land, we are the sky.. Albeit worn out, the figurative “waking up” is exactly what’s happening to us.

This internet-bazaar is also the greatest tool of social data gathering. Opinion polls, search engines, statistics, they show the temperature of humanity in perfect detail and in real time. But this is not a “mirror” in which society could see itself and profit, building confidence at its beautiful features, harmonise its movements or able to correct its bad posture. This is a secret private keyhole through which a select few have discretionary access. Once ago the ones that knew the ocean currents and the trade winds were able to exploit them to great benefit, but today the greatest energetic flow to be taken advantage of is that of human mind. Just look around you, the whole surface of the earth was reshaped by abstract mind like no other geological force ever did in such a short period of time. Humanity is like a great unconscious beast whose powerful movements are made use of by the tiniest of parasites. The sudden signs of awakening given off by the great beast, starting to see itself and see its potential to move for its own interest,have been promptly noted. And the parasites are having none of it!

Those who are at the top are as ignorant and savage as those that are at the very bottom. The latter from the lack of education, affection, food and constant malaise, and the former from the putrid environment of overindulgence mixed with the lack of moral fiber one develops from a detached life. Behind exclusive suits and ties.. just prosaic aggressive apes with an attitude, having this newly installed thing called “ego” driving them with perfect authority. And this makes them the most deranged clique of all, desperate for power, needing duality, self and “other”, needing subjects under their mighty boot. They only feel good in a primitive cast system. The biggest enemy of all such parasites is democracy, real democracy not “representative democracy” which proved itself to be the same old autocracy who at the end of a few revolutions decided to ditch its pompous attire for a casual outfit and blend in with the angry crowds. Consequently, the biggest enemy of all important decision-makers on this planet is a flourishing educated humankind!

Our current official and unofficial agencies of power are all having a vested interest in fractionating society and its means of coalescing, so that the pyramid of rule never gets dismantled and redistributed democratically (as any sane and modern society should be). They want to keep us apart and busy with fearing each-other.

How best can you break the wings of education, democracy and equality than parsing the human-cattle, inventing and nurturing tribal mindsets and conflicts among them. Russia is again in conflict with the US, England is rejecting the EU, China is menacing SE Asia and the US, tensions mount around the recently opened northern corridors between Canada, Russia, Norway and others, “terrorism” is used everywhere to take away the rights of citizens, restrict borders and heighten the means of surveillance. “What the fuck happened with humans?” one might ask..

Make no naive mistake, all these hostilities are NOT of the russian, american, syrian or european people. It’s the local parasites! And there are NO such things as uncalculated actions “done in anger” either. These are precise purposeful moves that have NOTHING to do with the interest of the people, nor the will of the people. Just as the former Cold War proved, “conflict” is the greatest excuse to control your own citizens! Conflict suits perfectly the establishments on either side, be they corporate-congress and communist party, military-industrial complex and the arabic state, or the fascists and oligarchs. Conflict blows their authority out of proportion! And while they indulge in greatly increased powers, the people on both sides are willingly renouncing their privileges, kissing the feet of their “protectors” for keeping away the dangerous.. people. Now, guess what the people on the other side are doing? War is how the biggest business on Earth gets made.

If we take the families of all those brave presidents, politicians, army generals and businessmen that provoke these high-cost conflicts, and put them in the frontline of pain and misery, would these conflicts still be “unavoidable”? Just think about the mighty triumphant Trump having to run with a rifle on the battlefield.. All US conflicts would turn into cooperation, or at least diplomatic settlements in a matter of weeks.

With the current sociologic, logistical, technological, computational, statistical, communicational, data-gathering means that Humanity has, the eradication of terrorism, poverty, illiteracy and political strife between nations would be a thing accomplished in decades. Alas.. this would be the nightmare of all parasites! Including those that guzzle on your back.

The politico-economic elites rode the wave of globalization exploiting everything they could out of it, at the expense of the populations who endured the lowering of wages, unemployment and other hardships, and now the same elites are preparing to ride the wave of anti-globalization.. again, extracting everything out of it at the expense of the people. 

It isn’t the world that’s gone crazy, it’s the elites who are playing desperate and deranged games, clinging to the primitive feudalism that guarantees their power. We are not identifying and fighting a certain “elite” here, we’re fighting the petty aggressive animal ignorance that manifests at the very top of humanity, in every structure of upmost decisional power, from politics to courts of international law, big business and religion.

With our modern scientific, technological and other cultural means we would be able to witness for the first time in history Humanity having sovereignty over itself. You can be part of that by just bringing your focus on it. Start with the interesting and informative talk in the link above.

Image: The New Yorker