#he feels like he’s lost his faith and fallen back to what he was

[anpiels]

i need to finish this so bad

[gumified]

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better. 

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.” 

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him. 

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."  

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name." 

"Does that mean you'll help me?" 

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal." 

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured. 

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?" 

"And I'm willing to pay that price." 

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice. 

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you. 

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him. 

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept." 

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth. 

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you. 

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you. 

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants. 

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.” 

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting. 

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.” 

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit. 

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.” 

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.” 

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused. 

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks. 

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision. 

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” 

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive. 

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face. 

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag. 

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you. 

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.” 

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely. 

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure. 

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body. 

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive. 

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory. 

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

[writingpandagoth]

Summary:

After the war, Severus Snape expects nothing but silence and solitude—until you. Gentle, unafraid, and quietly unwavering, you don’t try to fix him… you simply stay.   (Inspired by the song Ordinary by Alex warren.)

Ordinary

They say, 'The holy water's watered down  And this town's lost its faith   Our colors will fade eventually  

The castle was quieter now. Not in the absence-of-students sort of way, but in the way a place becomes after too much grief has soaked into the stone. Even the portraits had fallen into a gentler hush, as if they too were mourning something long gone.

Severus Snape walked the corridors like a man suspended between realities—alive, yet not truly living. His robes trailed behind him in silence, his gaze fixed just above the heads of anyone who passed. He rarely spoke unless forced to. Rarely ate. He wasn’t so much present as tolerated—by the castle, by the staff, by himself.

They had let him come back, astonishingly. Perhaps because he had survived. Perhaps because no one else knew what to do with him. Perhaps because Albus would’ve wanted it.

In the dim light of the staffroom, he poured himself tea without tasting it. The clink of his spoon was the loudest sound in the room. That was, until you entered.

You didn’t announce yourself. Didn’t even seem to notice the way every space you stepped into subtly shifted. You simply moved quietly, confidently, like someone who didn’t need to fill the silence to be seen.

He didn't speak. He never did. But you smiled at him anyway.

Not out of politeness. Not in pity. Just… a smile. Like the kind someone might give a bird perched on a snowy windowsill. Quiet recognition. A softness untouched by expectation.

He held your gaze for a moment too long—and then returned to his tea.

You sat across the room, a book in your hands and a blanket draped over your knees. You said nothing. Made no effort to engage him.

Yet somehow, Severus felt less alone than he had in months.

The book in your hands was old—he could tell by the fraying spine, the way you thumbed its edge like it was an old friend. Not many people handled books like that anymore. He wondered briefly what you were reading, but the question never made it to his lips.

Instead, he watched you out of the corner of his eye. Observed the ease with which you breathed in the silence, unbothered by it. You didn’t fidget. Didn’t glance around in search of company or conversation. You simply… were.

It made something restless in his chest still for the first time in days.

A small group of students passed the doorway, laughter trailing in like the last breeze of summer. He tensed instinctively, but they didn’t notice him. Of course they didn’t. Most of them had stopped seeing him the way people stop noticing the cobwebs in a forgotten corner—there, but untouched.

“Professor Snape,” one younger student murmured respectfully as he passed. No sneer. No fear. Just a name.

He gave a barely perceptible nod in return.

You looked up briefly, your eyes following the boy’s retreating steps before shifting back to your book. Still, you said nothing.

But Severus felt your attention linger like a brush of warmth across cold skin.

It unsettled him.

He stood abruptly and moved to the window, the steam from his teacup rising in thin curls. The sky was heavy with clouds. Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard thunder. Or maybe it was just the wind pressing against the old glass.

Behind him, the chair creaked as you shifted—stretching, maybe, or curling deeper into your seat.

“I didn’t expect to love the quiet this much,” you said softly, voice low, not meant to intrude.

He didn’t respond.

You didn’t expect him to.

There was something strange about it. Your presence. It wasn’t light exactly—you didn’t sparkle or glow or fill a room with false cheer. But you made the silence feel like something you could rest in. Something alive, instead of empty.

And that… bothered him. Because for the first time in a very long while, Severus Snape wasn’t sure if he wanted to be alone.

 

So if our time is runnin' out Day after day  We'll make the mundane our masterpiece

 

it started with tea, a week later.

Not conversation, not glances—just tea.

Every morning, the staff room held the same quiet ritual. Steam rising from mismatched cups, the faint rustle of the Daily Prophet, the soft clink of spoons stirring sugar. And every morning, you were there. Not in his space. Not demanding. Just present.

Sometimes you brought a biscuit or a slice of spiced bread, always set neatly beside your own tea without offering. You never asked if he wanted one, never forced politeness. But once, when he arrived earlier than usual, there were two biscuits on your napkin.

He took one.

You didn’t look up from your book.

That was how it began.

Over the next few days, you passed like ships in a fog—soft glances, occasional nods. Nothing direct. Nothing verbal.

But you sat near him now, not across the room. Close enough that he could hear the page turns of your book, the tiny hum in your throat when you were deep in thought. Some days you would knit or write with your legs curled under you, like you had always belonged in that chair.

You never asked him questions.

You never filled the air with noise.

You just sat. With him. Like he wasn’t a monster. Like his silence wasn’t something to be solved.

It wasn’t until one particularly dreary Thursday that he realized how much he had come to expect your presence.

He entered the room, slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and felt something strange tighten in his chest when your chair was empty.

No blanket. No book. No quiet smile.

He stood there, teacup in hand, unsure why the room suddenly felt colder.

He was halfway through steeping his tea when the door creaked open and you slipped in, cheeks flushed from wind, hair damp with mist.

“Morning,” you said softly, already moving to your usual chair.

He didn’t answer.

But when he sat beside you, he placed a second biscuit on your napkin.

You blinked down at it in surprise, then looked at him with something unreadable in your expression—warm, perhaps. Or maybe… grateful.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

But the silence between you no longer felt empty.

It felt like a masterpiece in the making.

 

Oh my, my  Oh my, my love  I take one look at you

 

it was a few weeks later when he saw it.

Severus didn’t mean to look.

It wasn’t an intentional thing—just a glance as he walked past an open classroom door. But what he saw made him pause in the corridor, just beyond the line of sight.

You were kneeling beside a small first-year, your voice low, hands still. Not touching, not pushing—just present. The boy’s lip trembled, wand clutched too tightly in his grip. Whatever had happened, he looked on the verge of tears. But you didn’t crowd him. You waited. Let him breathe.

And then you smiled.

Not the polite smile you offered the staff. Not the knowing one you sometimes gave Severus when your eyes met across the staff room. This was something different—bright and warm and completely unguarded. Like sunlight through a frosted window.

The boy let out a shaky breath and nodded. You whispered something Severus couldn’t hear, and the boy smiled back before scurrying off with a slightly steadier step.

You stood slowly, brushing off your robes, and looked toward the hallway.

He moved before you could see him.

Back into the shadows, away from the vulnerability curling in his chest like smoke.

Later, you joined him in the staff room. Tea. Blanket. Book.

As always.

You didn’t speak, but your presence wrapped around him like a memory he couldn’t quite chase away.

He glanced over without thinking.

Your hair was tucked behind one ear, fingers curled lightly around your teacup. Your lips moved silently as you read—soft, careful enunciations. You had a small ink smudge near your thumb, and the edge of your boot tapped absently against the chair leg.

You were… unremarkable. Ordinary.

And he couldn’t stop looking.

For the first time in so long, he noticed the way his heart felt in his chest. The way it pulled just slightly toward you, like gravity, like instinct. And he hated that it felt fragile. Exposed.

You looked up suddenly, and your eyes met.

You didn’t speak. Just smiled.

That same, quiet smile you’d always given him.

But this time, it felt different. Not like politeness. Not like recognition.

This time, it felt like invitation.

He looked away first.

But not before you saw it—the flicker of something he hadn't let show before.

And for the first time since the war, something bloomed in Severus’s chest that wasn’t sorrow.

 

You're takin' me out of the ordinary  I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried

 

Only after a few days he was starting to sit closer.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself. The staffroom was small, after all. Your usual seat was by the fire, and there weren’t many chairs near it. It only made sense to sit beside you.

That’s what he told himself the first day.

And the next.

And the day after that.

But he never sat anywhere else now.

You never commented on it. Never shifted away. If you noticed, you gave no sign. Only poured your tea, opened your book, and let him be.

But the distance between you had shrunk, and Severus could feel it.

He felt it in the brush of your sleeves when you reached for the teapot at the same time. In the way your knee nearly touched his when you crossed your legs in the chair. In the faint scent of lavender and parchment that clung to your robes.

It was maddening.

Not because it was loud or invasive. Quite the opposite.

It was quiet. Soft. Like a whisper he couldn't unhear.

In the library one evening, he found you sitting on the floor in a corner alcove—legs tucked under you, parchment spread out around your knees, ink smudged on your finger again. You looked up when you saw him. Smiled.

He said nothing, but paused.

You looked back down, returning to your notes. No invitation, no expectation.

Still, his feet moved before his mind gave permission.

He sat down beside you.

The stone was cold against his legs, the air sharp with winter’s early breath, but your presence warmed the space between you.

You didn’t speak, and neither did he. But when your hand reached out to pass him a spare roll of parchment, your fingers touched.

Just barely.

Barely—but it was enough to send a current down his spine.

He didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

And when you went back to your scribbling, your shoulder nearly brushed his.

It should have been uncomfortable.

Instead, it felt like a quiet kind of gravity.

He left before you did. Didn’t say goodbye.

But that night, for the first time in years, Severus Snape lay in bed and imagined the sound of someone breathing beside him.

Not in lust. Not in fantasy.

In peace.

 

On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

It was raining.

The kind of steady, rhythmic drizzle that made the castle feel wrapped in cotton—soft, muffled, private. The fireplaces were glowing brighter now. The stone walls had a chill to them that clung to skin and sank into bones.

He found you in the courtyard.

Why you were out there in the cold, he didn’t know. Your cloak was drawn tight, your hair damp with mist, your fingers curled around a steaming mug. You were standing beneath the arched overhang, watching the drops fall into the stone basin at the center of the courtyard garden.

You didn’t flinch when he approached.

Didn’t speak. Just lifted your mug in greeting, then looked back toward the rain.

He stood beside you.

Close.

Closer than usual.

The silence stretched—comfortable, then weighted, then thick. The kind of quiet that rang with everything unsaid.

“You always find the still places,” he murmured before he could stop himself.

You looked at him. Not startled. Not surprised.

Just… seen.

“Maybe I just recognize stillness when I see it,” you said softly, voice warm as the mug in your hands.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You turned your gaze back to the water, and he allowed himself—just briefly—to look at you. Really look.

You weren’t beautiful in a way that demanded attention. You weren’t gilded or painted or wrapped in honeyed charm.

But there was something in your stillness that undid him.

Something sacred.

Something dangerous.

His fingers curled into his palm.

You turned again—slowly—and met his eyes.

The tension between you was delicate, fragile. Like the surface of a bubble catching sunlight. One wrong move and it would burst.

But you didn’t reach for him. Didn’t ask.

You just stood there.

Near enough for him to feel the heat radiating from your skin. Near enough to kiss you, if he wanted to.

And Merlin help him… he wanted to.

Instead, he stepped back.

Barely. Just enough for the cold to settle between you again.

You didn’t follow.

Didn’t flinch.

Just smiled. Softly. Almost sadly.

And he hated himself for the part of him that wanted you to reach for him anyway.

That night, he dreamt of you again.

Not in a way that left him breathless or shamed.

Just… quiet. Your fingers tangled with his. Your breath on his chest. The silence between you.

He woke with your name on the tip of his tongue and a yearning that felt like it might hollow him out.

 

Somethin' so out of the ordinary You got me kissin' the ground of your sanctuary

 

The castle was asleep.

Even the portraits had gone still, their snores muffled by thick stone and years of dust. Moonlight streamed through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the hallway floors.

He wasn’t sure what woke him.

A sound. A memory. A ghost.

The dreams had returned—fragments of screams, of blood, of choices he couldn’t take back. They clung to him like fog, cold and choking, and when he sat upright in bed, his chest ached with the weight of things unsaid.

He didn’t scream. He never did.

He just… broke, silently.

Like he always had.

You were awake when he found you.

In the tiny corner of the library you often claimed after curfew—wrapped in a blanket, knees drawn to your chest, a half-empty cup of tea forgotten at your side.

You didn’t look surprised to see him.

You didn’t ask why he was there.

Just shifted wordlessly, making room beside you on the bench.

Severus stood frozen for a moment, breath still uneven, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The part of him that wanted to walk away—the old voice, sharp and bitter and defensive—was screaming.

But you didn’t speak.

You just… waited.

Like you always had.

So he sat.

The bench was narrow, and your sides pressed together, shoulder to thigh. You didn’t pull away.

And when his hands began to tremble—just barely—you reached out and laced your fingers with his.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

You didn’t say it’s okay or you’re safe. You didn’t ask questions or offer pity.

You simply leaned your head against his shoulder and held on.

As if he was worth holding.

As if you’d do it again.

And again.

And again.

His breath hitched once—just once—and then he exhaled. Slowly. Raggedly.

Then, hesitantly, he leaned into you.

Not fully. Not yet.

But enough.

Enough that you could feel the way he clung—not with arms, but with need.

You stayed that way for a long time. Long enough for the nightmare to fade. Long enough for his pulse to settle.

Long enough for him to begin to believe—maybe—that this could be something holy.

That you were something holy.

And he had found sanctuary.

 

Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

The next days that followed were almost like a blur.

He didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The weight of your hand against his—gentle, calm, human—shouldn’t have left such a mark. But now he noticed everything. The shape of your presence. The way you moved, quiet and certain. The warmth of your body when you sat beside him, the scent of vanilla in your hair.

And the worst part—the best part—was that you never tried to force closeness. You never chased. You never asked.

You just waited.

Always near. Always open.

And somehow, that was what broke him.

It happened in the corridor.

A group of students had passed you, laughing too loudly, running to dinner. One brushed too close, bumping your shoulder and nearly knocking the books from your arms.

You stumbled slightly.

Before he even realized what he was doing, his hand was on your waist, steadying you.

You looked up.

And something in his chest cracked wide open.

Because your face was close—too close. And you were looking at him like you knew. Like you had always known. And you didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

His fingers lingered. Your breath hitched.

Then slowly, your hand came up, brushing against the back of his.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t grand.

But it was enough to make his heart slam against his ribs.

Enough to shatter him.

That night, he sat in his quarters with a half-full cup of tea growing cold in his hand.

He stared into the fire, but all he could see was you.

The look in your eyes. The way your fingers had brushed his, like a whisper meant only for him. Like your touch had been stitched together by every quiet moment you’d shared. Every time you hadn’t walked away.

He pressed his hand to his chest, as if he could hold the memory there—where it might be safe.

And maybe—just maybe—if you touched him again, he wouldn’t turn to dust.

He’d turn into something new.

 

Hopeless hallelujah  On this side of Heaven's gate  

He wasn’t sure what drew him to your office that night.

The door was open, as it often was in the late evenings. A soft candle glowed on your desk, casting long shadows over the walls. The fire flickered low, and the room smelled faintly of dried herbs and vanilla.

You were seated in your usual chair, legs tucked beneath you, a book resting on one thigh. You didn’t startle when he stepped in. You didn’t speak.

You simply lifted your eyes… and waited.

That was what undid him.

He stepped inside, slow and unsure, as if each step might break him. He didn’t know what he meant to say—not really. Only that something inside him ached, and it had nowhere else to go.

You closed the book without a sound and patted the armchair across from you.

He sat.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The fire cracked. A clock ticked somewhere beyond the bookshelf.

Then quietly—like it cost him something—he said:

“I am the reason she is dead.”

The words fell like ash between you.

Still, you said nothing. Didn’t ask who. Didn’t press. You only looked at him—really looked—and waited.

“And when I became a spy I told myself it was for the greater good. That it was war. That I was playing a role.” He swallowed, jaw tight. “But I...After Dumbledore...”

His hands were clenched in his lap, pale and trembling.

“I’ve spent every moment since trying to earn back something I never had the right to claim.”

He didn’t cry. He never did.

But the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with breath, with the unsaid, with the ache of truth finally spoken.

And then—then—you moved.

Not with words. Not with platitudes.

Just quietly rose, stepped around the desk, and sat on the floor in front of him. You reached for his hands. Took them gently, as if you were holding something sacred.

He didn’t pull away.

He couldn’t.

“It's not about what you chose,” you whispered. “It's about what you carried. And how you kept walking despite believing you are not worthy of it. That's what I care about. Why I care so deeply about you.”

His breath caught.

You didn’t kiss him. Didn’t lean forward.

You just held his hands and let him breathe.

And in that quiet, something in him settled.

Not forgiven.

Not erased.

But… held.

Later, you would fall asleep in the armchair beside him, knees drawn up, your head tipped against the cushion.

He watched you in the firelight, and for the first time in years, Severus Snape looked at someone and thought:

Maybe I won’t be alone forever.

Oh, my life, how do ya Breathe and take my breath away?

 

You were laughing.

Not loud, not wild—just the quiet, breathless kind that slipped past your lips like wind through trees. It happened while you were walking with a group of third-years through the courtyard, one of them animatedly retelling a story that was clearly exaggerated, complete with wild hand gestures and dramatic sighs.

And you were laughing.

Severus hadn’t meant to watch. He’d only been walking past the upper hallway window, heading toward his classroom, tea cooling in his hand. But he stopped.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to see.

Your head was tilted back slightly, eyes warm, lips parted. Your hand was pressed gently over your chest, like you were trying to contain the feeling and couldn’t. The students around you smiled too—at you, not just with you.

And Severus Snape, who had spent years trying to quiet his own heartbeat, suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Later, in the staff room, he sat beside you as always. You didn’t speak much. He liked it that way. But this time, you noticed his eyes lingering.

He didn’t look away fast enough.

“What?” you asked, quiet and amused, setting your book aside.

His mouth opened—and then closed again. He shook his head.

You tilted yours slightly, a soft smile curving at the corner of your mouth.

“You look like someone who’s about to say something,” you teased gently.

“I don’t… often watch people,” he said, more honest than he meant to be. “But you—” He paused, throat tight. “You make it difficult not to.”

You blinked once.

Then twice.

And instead of laughing or brushing it off, you reached out and nudged the edge of his tea mug with your finger—lightly, almost absently.

“I like being watched by you. You have so much warmth in your eyes” you murmured, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. “It makes me feel safe.”

And just like that—without moving, without touching, without anything but that one, quiet truth—

Severus forgot how to breathe again.

You returned to your book as if nothing had been said. But your foot bumped gently against his under the table, and when he didn’t pull away, you left it there.

And for the rest of the afternoon, the silence between you pulsed like a heartbeat.

At your altar, I will pray You're the sculptor, I'm the clay

 

It was nearly midnight.

The halls were empty, the world wrapped in stillness. Severus stood outside your office door, unmoving, hand poised to knock—and yet he didn’t.

The door was slightly ajar. The soft glow of candlelight spilled into the hallway like a silent invitation.

He didn’t knock.

He stepped inside.

You were curled on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, bare feet tucked beneath you. A book lay closed on the cushion beside you, your gaze already lifted toward him.

You didn’t look startled.

Only expectant.

Only calm.

He closed the door behind him. The latch clicked, loud in the quiet.

You sat up slightly, your blanket slipping down to your elbows.

He didn’t know where to start.

So you waited. Of course you did.

“You’ve…” He paused, jaw clenching. “You’ve changed something in me.”

A soft hum in your throat. You didn’t interrupt.

He took a breath.

“I’ve spent most of my life… folding myself into corners. Into shadows. And even after the war, when the world stopped needing me to vanish—I still did. Until you.”

Your brows furrowed faintly.

“You don’t ask me to be anything,” he continued, voice low, rough. “You don’t expect… apologies. Confessions. Explanations.”

Your lips parted, but you still didn’t speak.

“You see me,” he said. “And for some reason… that doesn’t terrify me anymore.”

You moved then—slowly, carefully—as if not to startle him. Your hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve. A touch that asked permission, not possession.

He didn’t flinch.

“I see you,” you said softly, “because I want to. And I stay because you let me.”

His heart was pounding—too loud in his chest, in his ears, in the spaces between you.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you replied, your thumb now brushing the inside of his wrist. “You just have to be.”

Silence.

A breath.

Then his hand lifted—tentative, trembling—and he cupped your cheek.

You leaned into it. Without hesitation. Without fear.

And when he bent his head toward you, when his lips met yours for the first time, it was not a claiming.

It was a prayer.

Soft. Trembling. Sacred.

The kind that didn’t ask for answers.

Only peace.

Only presence.

Only you.

And when you pulled apart, your forehead resting against his, he whispered:

“You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted to worship.”

 

Oh my, my You're takin' me out of the ordinary I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried

 

The world didn’t shift.

There were no fireworks. No triumphant orchestral swell.

But when you opened your doorOnly two days later and found him standing there—wet from rain, hair clinging to his cheeks, eyes dark with something deeper than longing—you didn’t need anything else.

You stepped aside. Let him in. Closed the door behind you.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at you. Like he was memorizing your face all over again.

Like this moment was the one he’d return to if everything else fell apart.

And then he moved—slowly, reverently—and kissed you again.

Not soft, not this time.

This kiss held weight. Want. Worship.

It was a promise sealed with breath.

You held onto him like you’d always meant to—fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, grounding him.

He touched you like you were something he wasn’t sure he deserved but refused to let go of now that he had you. His hands found your waist, your back, the curve of your neck. Everything sacred. Everything yours.

And when you moved to the bedroom—fingers trembling, hearts racing—there was no rush.

Just time.

Time to feel.

Time to stay.

Time to let himself be loved without fear of it slipping through his fingers.

Later, the rain still whispered against the windows, but inside… there was only quiet.

You lay beside him, one hand against his chest, your breath steady.

And Severus stared at the ceiling like he’d never seen it before.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispered, the words foreign on his tongue.

You shifted, kissed his jaw gently.

“It’s real,” you murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He turned then—propped on one elbow, eyes locked to yours.

“If this is what forever feels like,” he said, voice low and hoarse, “I want it. All of it. With you.”

No hesitation.

No fear.

Only you.

Only always.

 

On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

Severus had never known quiet like this.

Not the kind filled with solitude, or grief, or shadow—but a silence that wrapped itself around his bones like warmth. Like safety. Like belonging.

You lay across his chest, one hand drawing lazy patterns over his ribs, breath steady. The fire across the room crackled softly, casting gold over your skin. And he… watched.

He couldn’t help it.

There was something in the way you existed when you thought he wasn’t watching. The way your lips parted slightly when you were sleepy. The way you hummed when you were content. The way your fingers always sought out skin—even in sleep.

You were a thousand quiet moments that stitched themselves into his soul.

And he was utterly drunk on you.

You didn’t speak much that day.

You didn’t need to.

You moved through the castle together in perfect rhythm—his coat brushing yours as you walked, hands grazing but not always holding, glances shared like secrets.

You made tea. He reached around you to grab mugs. Your bodies touched in the smallest ways—in the kitchen, on the couch, beside the window—and every time it happened, it lit something in him that made it hard to breathe.

That night, you read by the fire. He sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee, fingers idle.

You looked up at him, catching him mid-thought.

“What?” you whispered, voice dipped in candlelight.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned forward—resting his forehead against yours.

“You’ve undone me,” he murmured.

You smiled gently. “Good.”

And then—so softly he almost missed it—you added:

“I want you like this. Always. Messy. Unfiltered. Yours.”

His breath caught.

And then he kissed you again. Slow. Deep.

Like a man starved for something only you could give.

And when he pulled back, eyes still closed, he whispered:

“Thank you.”

 

Somethin' so out (out) of the ordinary (ordinary) You got me kissin' the ground (ground) of your sanctuary (sanctuary)

 

It was a letter that came nearly a year later.

Severus had returned from a late afternoon class, shoulders tight with tension, robes damp from the rain that had rolled in out of nowhere. The castle was dim, lit only by wall sconces and the dusky blue-grey of early evening.

He didn’t expect to find you waiting in his quarters.

You were seated on the edge of the armchair, hands folded, face calm—but there was something about your stillness that made him pause in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice lower than usual.

You looked up at him—steady, quiet.

“There’s been an inquiry,” you said softly. “About you.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. He stiffened. Cold.

“Who—?”

“I don’t know. An outside board. Political. It sounds like someone wants to dig up the past again.” Your voice was careful. Gentle. “But I took care of it.”

He blinked.

“What do you mean, you took care of it?”

You stood, walking slowly toward him. Not defensive. Not triumphant. Just… open.

“I gave a written statement,” you said. “Told them what you’ve done since the war. What you’ve been to this school. To the students. To me.”

He stared at you.

“You gave them your name?” he asked, breath caught between fury and fear.

“I gave them my truth, Severus,” you said, gently but firmly. “I told them you saved more than lives during the war. You’ve saved hearts after it.”

You reached for his hand. Took it. Pressed it between both of yours.

“I didn’t do it to protect you,” you said. “You don’t need protecting.”

His throat was tight. His pulse unsteady.

“I did it because I love you. And I’ll tell the whole bloody world if that’s what it takes.”

He didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

He just looked at you—at the softness of you, the strength, the choice you made so willingly.

And then, slowly, he dropped to his knees.

Not in shame.

Not in weakness.

But in reverence.

You gasped softly, reaching for him—but he just wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head against your stomach. Holding on.

And for the first time, he let it show. All of it. The fear. The awe. The love.

Your arms wrapped around him.

Held him like he was something worth holding.

And in that moment, Severus Snape loved you not in silence. Not in shadow.

But in full, aching surrender.

His sanctuary.

His everything.

 

Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

The fire was low.

Not crackling—just glowing. Like a heart still beating after a long, aching day.

You reached for him first this time.

Your fingers brushing the side of his neck, tracing the line of his jaw, resting over the pulse that fluttered just beneath his skin.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because when he looked at you now, it wasn’t with hunger or hesitation.

It was with reverence.

And when he kissed you, it was slow. So slow.

Not because he was unsure—but because he wanted to remember everything. The taste of your breath. The tremble of your fingers. The way you exhaled like he was something holy.

You undressed him gently.

Not like you were removing armor.

Like you were freeing him.

And he let you.

Let you trace the scars. The old ones. The new ones. The ones no one else had ever dared to touch.

And when you kissed the curve of his shoulder, the hollow beneath his collarbone, the place just over his heart—

He broke.

No sound. No cry.

Just the slow, shattering realization that he had never, in all his years, been touched like this.

Like he was cherished.

Your bodies moved together in silence. No demands. No desperation.

Only a rhythm that felt like breath.

Like life.

Like home.

You held his face as he trembled above you. Whispered his name like a prayer.

And when he buried his face into your neck, gasping, lost, found—you wrapped your arms around him like a vow.

“I love you,” you whispered.

No question. No hesitation.

And for once… he believed it.

For once… he let it in.

Afterward, you lay tangled in sheets and each other, skin to skin, soul to soul.

He was quiet. But not the haunted quiet.

The kind that comes after a storm when the world is washed clean.

Your fingers ran through his hair, slow and steady.

And when he finally spoke, it was a whisper:

“Whatever is left of me… it’s yours. I love you”

 

Somethin' so heavenly, higher than ecstasy Whenever you're next to me, oh my, my

 

Sunlight filtered through the window, warm and golden and impossibly kind.

It bathed the room in soft light, catching on the folds of the blanket pulled halfway down your back, the way your hair spilled across the pillow, the curve of your shoulder beneath his arm.

Severus had never lingered like this before.

This was something else entirely.

He was still here.

And so were you.

You stirred slowly, as though waking up in a dream, and blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and the faintest smile.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice rough with sleep.

He could have sworn his heart ached at the sound.

“Is it?” he murmured.

You stretched, your foot brushing against his beneath the covers.

“It is now.”

You didn’t leave bed for hours.

You stole the blanket. He grumbled and stole it back. You laughed—really laughed—and he couldn't stop staring. Your laughter wasn’t loud or wild. It was soft, breathy, like honey and fresh air.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, cheeks pink, hair a perfect storm.

“I’m allowed,” he said. “You’re mine.”

You blinked at that—slow, stunned—and then reached for his hand under the sheets, lacing your fingers.

“I’ve been yours since the first time you screamed at me with silence.”

He huffed. “Romantic.”

“The most.”

Later, when you finally dragged yourselves into the kitchen, you made food while he leaned against the doorframe watching you. Hair messy. His shirt on still half-buttoned. Eyes filled with warmth.

You looked like forever.

And when you turned to ask him what tea he wanted, he caught your wrist and pulled you into him.

Kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then your mouth—slow and warm and impossibly whole.

You smiled against his lips.

“Hi.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Hi.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Severus Snape wasn’t waiting for the moment to end.

Because this—this—was heaven.

 

World was in black and white until I saw your light I thought you had to die to find

 

He watched you from the window.

You were sitting in the courtyard, surrounded by late-blooming flowers and golden leaves. A stack of parchment was balanced on your knees, quill tapping absently at your chin. The sun caught in your hair, weaving through it like firelight.

And for the first time in his life, Severus Snape thought the world looked alive.

Not sharp. Not grey. Not something to survive.

Just… beautiful.

He remembered a time when everything had felt faded. Like the world had lost its magic and the silence in his chest was just the cost of breathing.

He had lived like that for years—ghost-walking through corridors, sipping bitter tea, speaking only when spoken to. Not quite dead, not quite living. A relic of a war no one wanted to talk about.

And then you came.

With your soft voice. Your presence. Your infuriating patience.

You never asked him to smile. Never asked him to speak. You just stayed.

And that was how you saved him.

Not with spells.

Not with speeches.

Just by being there.

He found you later in the staff room. Your chair by the fire, legs curled up, a blanket around your shoulders. A mug of tea sat untouched on the table beside you, steam long since faded.

You looked up when he entered.

Smiled.

And something inside him just… broke open.

He crossed the room slowly. Sat beside you. Took your hand in his without a word.

“You alright?” you asked softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

He nodded once.

And then whispered, “The world used to be...cold.”

You looked at him, head tilted gently. Waiting.

“And then you came,” he said. “And everything… changed.”

You didn’t say anything.

Just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Slow. Lingering.

He closed his eyes.

And in that moment, he knew—

He hadn’t had to die to find peace.

He just had to find you.

 

Somethin' so out of the ordinary  I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried  On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine  The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

It was late.

The stars hung low in the sky, like someone had pulled them closer just for the two of you.

You were sitting on the Astronomy Tower—blankets beneath you, shoulders pressed close, a flask of tea passed back and forth. The castle below was quiet, breathing in the night like a lullaby.

You were tracing constellations in the sky, naming them lazily.

He wasn't really listening.

He was looking at you.

And thinking about how you’d made a home out of him.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked suddenly, voice barely more than breath.

You smiled faintly. “Sometimes. But I believe more in… choices.”

He nodded.

Then, slowly, reached into his pocket.

You didn’t notice at first—not until he gently took your hand and pressed something small and warm into your palm.

A ring.

Simple. Silver. Understated.

Just like him.

You looked down at it, then up at him—eyes wide, breath caught.

“No kneeling,” he said, quiet. “No speeches. Just this.”

He turned your hand over and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want to grow old with you,” he whispered. “I want to share silences and storms and whatever else this life has left to give. I want you… until we’re dead and buried.”

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t need to.

You just leaned forward and kissed him.

Not urgently.

Not dramatically.

Just like someone saying yes with their whole heart.

And when you finally pulled apart, you slid the ring onto your own finger and whispered:

“Forever’s always been yours.”

He let out a breath like a man exhaling every weight he’d ever carried.

And the stars above you pulsed just a little brighter.

As if they were cheering.

 

Somethin' so out (out) of the ordinary (ordinary)  You got me kissin' the ground (ground) of your sanctuary (sanctuary)

 

The music was soft.

Vinyl cracked gently in the background, old jazz filling the cottage with warmth. The fire was low, casting amber flickers across the walls. Outside, snow kissed the garden, blanketing it in silence.

And inside, Severus held you in his arms.

You weren’t dancing the way you used to—no grand spins, no rhythm. Just slow steps. Rocking gently in the center of the living room. Your cheek resting against his chest, his hand warm against your back.

You sighed. Not tired. Just content.

He kissed your temple.

“You’re still my favorite silence,” he murmured.

You smiled against his chest.

“And you’re still my safest place.”

Your home was small, tucked into the woods beyond Hogsmeade. A little crooked. A little drafty.

But it was yours.

Photos lined the mantle—of you, of old students who still wrote letters, of gardens that had bloomed and quiet winters you’d weathered.

Severus never thought he’d see this version of his life.

He thought he’d burn out. Be forgotten. Fade like a ghost in some forgotten hall.

But here he was.

Older. Softer. Held.

And still—always—yours.

You looked up at him as the song slowed.

Lines around your eyes, silver in your hair, your ring catching the firelight.

And he thought—I have never loved anything this way. Not even once. Not even close.

“You’re staring again,” you whispered.

He smiled—really smiled.

“Of course I am. You're mine.”

You leaned up, kissed his jaw.

And you kept dancing.

Not toward an ending.

But into everything you'd built.

Everything you'd become.

Two ordinary souls.

With an extraordinary love.

 

Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

[milkbobatyun]

a fallen star

pairing: zhongli x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: to spend an eternity with him, was something you could only hope fate was kind enough to grant you in your next life.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i love archon zhongli smsm, im sorry to all the guizhong lovers for making her evil, but it's for plot purposes alr :( lwk ended up rewriting this like 3 times cus i didn't feel like it was good enough LMAO

when guizhong was there, morax barely spared a glance towards you. her beauty and skill easily outshone yours, rendering you a mere shadow in her presence. it made your heart ache with sadness. she was the sun, you were the moon, silently beautiful.

they were comfortable, guizhong laughing daintily at a joke morax made, hand placed on morax’s arm. she held his attention, like she always did.

“...what do you think, [name]?” the sudden question startled you from your thoughts as you blinked and smiled apologetically.

“sorry, i was lost in my thoughts.” your own voice sounded dull, not tinkling and pleasant on the ears like guizhong’s.

morax’s amber eyes swept over yours, picking up the dejection in your posture, how you seemed uncomfortable, every muscle tense, as though you were ready to flee at any moment.

“i was just considering some new activities we could introduce for the upcoming lantern rite.” guizhong piped up, cheerfulness lacing her tone.

morax nodded in agreement, “guizhong’s ideas were innovative, as expected from the goddess of dust.” he praised.

of course, guizhong would be praised for her brilliant ideas. she was the perfect goddess, flawless in every way. unlike you, whose body was adorned with imperfections, from battles with the enemies of war and your own inner demons.

standing next to her felt like standing next to the sun, bright and warm, while you were the moon, unnoticed, but trying your best. thinking back, you realised that it was a long time since morax glanced at you the same way he looked at guizhong.

to him, you were the reliable goddess of strategy, someone he could always trust to have his back. in his eyes, you were his world, the one who hung up the stars and kept the world turning.

like stone, his faith in you was immovable, he trusted your words and plans for the archon war, to train and teach xiao. but guizhong, she held a different type of beauty, her presence commanded attention, her creations and innovations new and intriguing. he found himself spending more time and attention on guizhong, pushing you aside.

like stone, he was dense. if he had known earlier, had accepted his own feelings and understood why, when he was lost in the sea of people at a festival, his eyes searched for you, how your touch sent sparks of electricity across his skin, then this, all this, could’ve been avoided.

poor cloud retainer. she pitied herself. how did she, the clever, unparalleled adepti, become chained down by two idiots for friends? it was clearer than day that the two of you harboured feelings for each other, but how did neither of you realise.

it was time for her to be the perfect wingwoman and start her matchmaking career earlier than anticipated, before she lost the chance.

the tea had been poisoned. from the faint curve of guizhong’s lips, her eyes, alert and watching as you downed the cup she had given you, it was so obvious a five-year old could guess.

but you were preoccupied, the slip of paper your messenger pigeon delivered sat on your desk, strewn about with papers on war strategies and your mind racing through all the reasons why he wrote that message.

‘come meet me at the pavilion balcony. xiao will come find you.’

xiao escorted you along the path, the two of you discussing his training, for morax had entrusted you, the goddess of strategy, to be his teacher.

the terrain to the pavilion was difficult, you found yourself panting for breath. halfway up the mountain, the path began to twist and turn under your feet, sweat beading on your forehead. you tripped, feet stumbling over the stones of the path, each step weighing down on your feet.

xiao reached out, brows furrowed in concern.

“is everything ok, shīfu?” xiao’s quiet voice cuts through the ringing in your ears.

you lean against the stone face, shaking your head.

“i must be too tired.” you assure him, though your voice was tight with pain. “you little rascal and morax, always keeping me on my toes, overloading my desk with work.” you jested, playfully poking xiao in the side. “let me rest for a bit and we can keep going.”

pausing, you take in several shaking breaths. xiao’s golden eyes remained fixed on you, concern reflecting in his amber eyes.

with an effort, you pushed yourself off the stone face, marching onwards. xiao crouched in front of you, offering to carry you on his back. you stubbornly disagreed.

“whoever heard of a disciple carrying their master?” you teased, though pain was etched in the lines of your forehead.

xiao hesitated, his eyes flickered between your pale face and the inclining path ahead, but he respected you. thus, he fell into step beside you, ever watchful.

shadows crawled into your vision, blurring the edges and twisting the view of the path. a sudden wave of lightheadedness forced you to your knees, the world spinning sideways. xiao’s quick reaction caught you, leaning you against his shoulder.

“shīfu,” his tone filled with a rare edge of worry and fear. “you’re in no condition to continue.”

you shook your head. “i can do it, it’s going to be fine.” you didn’t know if this was to reassure yourself or xiao, but the sentence repeated itself like a mantra in your head.

the sun slowly set, painting the surrounding mountains with stunning shades of orange and gold, before the deep velvet of night overtook it, stars twinkling in the sky, the moon a watchful guardian.

with xiao supporting your weight, you stumbled up the last few paces up to the pavilion, not noticing the tall figure already present.

your heartbeat raced in your chest at an uncomfortable pace. the hollow thuds rang in your ears, mixing into a clashing melody with the piercing ringing. it made you feel nauseous, bile rising in your throat. you clawed at your chest, hoping it would slow down.

with a heave and a wretch, you threw up, the scarlet liquid splattering on the pristine stone tiles underfoot.

startled by the noise, morax spun around, amber eyes falling upon your trembling figure. xiao’s golden gaze, usually so calm and steady, now radiated desperation a silent plea for help.

for a heartbeat, morax stood frozen with shock. then, without a second thought, his posture of elegance thrown to the wind, morax races towards you.

he dropped to his knees, sinking to the floor, gently cradling you in his arms, gloved fingers gently tapping against your cheek, desperate to keep you awake. his voice trembled as he chanted your name, praying to the stars you would stay with him.

“[name],” he murmured urgently. “wake up, look at me.”

through the fog of pain and exhaustion, you felt the warmth of his embrace radiating, a familiar voice cutting through the pain. his scent–earth, osmanthus and tea…no, the scent of home–wrapped around you like a hug. you squinted up at him, your body feeling impossibly heavy, darkness threatening to bring you under.

“morax,” you breathed, chest heaving as you fought for breath. “i came…to see you, as you asked.”

morax looked at you in confusion. “wasn’t it you who asked to see me?” he questioned.

confusion surfaced on your face, until you realised who the mastermind behind this meeting could’ve been. you chuckled, clear and bright, gave way to violent coughing, which left you gasping for air.

“it must’ve been cloud retainer then.” you wheezed, breath struggling. “sly crane,” you teased, voice devoid of malice or hate. “this is her way of meddling.” you manage a wry smile.

you don’t give morax a chance to reply before you’re speaking again, holding a finger to his lips as words gushed from yours like a fountain.

“you know, i’ve liked you for a long time,” you confessed, your words carrying the weight of years of longing. “so long. i’d always hoped that you would look at me the same way, but you never did. seeing you with guizhong all the time breaks my heart.”

your chest tightened painfully, each breath a battle, but you fought on. “you mean everything to me, but i dont mean anything to you. i see the way you look at her, i hope she brings you joy.”

you open your mouth to speak again, but cold droplets that land on your face interrupt you from speaking. with an effort, you tilt your head up, watching the tears cascade down morax’s face.

with a trembling hand, you reach up to wipe his tears. morax’s hand envelops yours, his warm hand contrasting against your cold, clammy skin.

morax’s breath hitched, as his amber eyes searched yours. you open your mouth to say something more, but morax interrupts you.

“no,” he breathed. “i do love you too, i think,,” he pleaded, “ if you give me some time, let me work this out slowly.”

“i want to,” you breathed out. “but i dont know if i have time left. i’m cold.” you snuggled deeper into morax’s embrace, uncertainty weighted in your heart. you could feel your life slipping away, the edges of darkness creeping closer.

“im tired.” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper. “i’ll just…sleep a little while…”

“shīfu,” xiao’s trembling voice broke through the silent night, “please, don’t leave me yet.”

you peel your eyes open, turning your head in xiao’s direction, motioning him to come closer. obediently, xiao approaches, tears streaming down his face like a waterfall.

“shǎháizi,” you breathed, voice light with teasing. “listen well to morax, he will be your new master from now on.” you instructed, hand reaching out to pet his head. “smile for me?” you mustered a weak smile that xiao reflected, his own sorrow mingled with hope.

a final bought of violent coughing tore through your body, each one sending pain sparking through your body. blood spilling from your lips. the metallic taste filled your mouth, mixing with the bitter taste of fear as darkness overtook you.

your eyes fluttered shut as the life left your body. in the distance, a star fell out of the sky, its tail trailing like a sorrowful goodbye.

“[name]?” morax whispered, voice raw with regret. “open your eyes, look at me.” his plea fell on deaf eyes. “you never heard my response, you can’t leave me yet.”

“i think…no, i know, that i do love you.”

fate was cruel, you had found your forever, but at the wrong time. someday, perhaps fate would grant us a second chance.

footnotes:

1. shīfu (师傅) — meaning master or teacher, this word is often used in chinese to express respect to someone who is skilled in a particular area or field.

2. shǎháizi (傻孩子) — "shǎ" meaning foolish (傻) and "háizi" meaning child (孩子), this word can be used as a term of endearment, meaning foolish child

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[luveline]

this is quite vague, sorry, but would you please write more for coworker James? maybe him and r are sneaking around to kiss or they go out or Sirius and Remus find out. Idk whatever you feel like!!

you and James at the end of a secret date | ty for requesting! fem

You kissed James because you had to. You’ve never felt that pull before, but he’d been sitting there on the step next to you, close enough to see the freckles on his nose and count them, and— well, it’s hard to explain. But you kissed him. 

So far, it’s working in your favour. 

“It’s fine,” James says, breathless where he’s kissing your neck. 

“No, I think I broke it,” you say, squirming away from him to see the lamp where it’s fallen. “Shit.”

James had been kissing you on his sofa and your arm had a mind of its own, moving backward, whacking the body of the lamp where it had been living innocently on the side table. Now it’s in five separate pieces on the floor, but James doesn’t care. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“I’m not.”

You laugh, a little lost in the way he’s touching you. James isn’t being too much, despite your legs spread around his hips to let him kiss you and the slip of your stomach that’s exposed itself. He’s kissing you hard, yes, but he isn’t grabbing anything too sensitive. He isn’t initiating, just kissing. 

“No, ‘cos– ‘cos I’ve broken it, I have, I’ll have to buy you another one. It’s from IKEA, right? It’s–”

“It’s from IKEA,” James affirms, lifting his face from your neck to meet your eyes. His lips are pink from kissing, the tip of his nose ruddied. “I can get another one any hour of the day. Can you stop worrying?” 

“No.” 

James laughs and holds your cheek. “No, I guess you can’t. And I was getting ahead of myself, wasn’t I?” He turns his hand, stroking your under eye with a careful fingernail. “It’s getting late. I should drive you home.” 

You’re crestfallen, then. “Is it?” 

He checks his watch. “S’almost eleven.” 

You have work tomorrow. You’ll have to wake at 6AM. But you don’t want to leave, don’t want James to get off of you, don’t want to go back to the office where you’re still pretending to hate him. 

Not very well, mind you, but pretending all the same. 

You’re distracted from your melancholy by the marvel of him above you. His hair seems darker than ever today, black and shiny and nice to touch, a tad mussed from your hands. You smooth down each wanton curl and get a good look at his eyes. His lashes… it leaves you breathless again, how long they are, how beautiful he seems. 

You’re dating, sort of. Not together. You can’t stay the night, you haven’t fucked, and he doesn’t seem to want to yet. It’s still early days.

You aren’t sure if you’d let him fuck you here, but he hasn’t tried. You’d thought the neck kissing was a precursor, felt heat blooming in your chest and somewhere lower as he held your nape. You can imagine it easily from this position, blood rushing to warm your chest, a tizzied kiss of it to match James’ blush. He’d touch you, and you’d let him. He’d push your shirt the rest of the way up and see you clearly. 

“James…” you say softly. 

“What?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He strokes your cheek. Your skin stretches gently under his touch, your eye squinting closed. “What sort of something?” he whispers. 

You wanna ask why he won’t fuck you. It would make sense —isn’t that what rivalry is, heated competition with poorly hidden sexual tension? Is that what you and James had?

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What sort of something?” he repeats with a laugh. 

“I don’t want to say it out loud.” 

James lets your head rest against the armrest and pillow smushed behind the top of it. He leans down to kiss you, a pulling thing you can’t help following. “Then don’t say it,” he murmurs, his nose dragging up your cheek as your lips part lazily. “Maybe I can guess.” 

“I don’t think you’ll be able to.” 

“You never have any faith in me.” 

You have much more in him as of late. James has yet to let you down. You kissed him and it’s like he refuses to be cruel about it, never letting you worry, eager in his reciprocation. Things are still confusing between you because you’re avoiding a conversation you’re too afraid to start, lest he want something casual. Instead, you’ve let him drag you deeper into his caging. It will hurt twice as much to ask now. 

“It’s stupid,” you say. “Never mind.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“No, it was.” You scratch his scalp as you know he adores. “It’s eleven. You can kiss me for at least another half an hour.” 

If he hears the hopefulness in your voice he ignores it. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you up.” 

“Well, only if you want to.” 

“I always want to kiss you, you vexing woman,” he murmurs, shivers lining your arms and spine as his lips part against your cheek. He kisses downwards, sloven, half moon kisses, lightest scratch of his teeth on your neck. “Is it too immature if I leave a mark?” he asks. 

Immature? You have no idea. “I don’t mind what you do, just not above the collar, please.” 

You grow still as he tugs at the neckline of your shirt to expose your chest. It isn’t what you meant, and you’re not about to correct him. 

“Tell me if I…” He looks up at you, smiling nicely. “Just tell me if I take it too far,” he says. “Okay?” 

He plants a kiss over your heart. You hate thinking that he can feel it, hammering, betraying your deep feelings. “Okay,” you breathe.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city. 

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him. 

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun. 

“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?” 

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that. 

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices. 

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly. 

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again. 

And again… And again. 

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him. 

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby. 

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing. 

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you. 

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes. 

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe. 

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check. 

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. 

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his. 

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men. 

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore. 

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her. 

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table. 

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are. 

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles? 

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good. 

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?" 

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?" 

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared. 

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends. 

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary. 

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours. 

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again. 

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?” 

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now. 

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?” 

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts. 

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again. 

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister. 

[purplecritter]

theories/thoughts/analysis about touchstarved 2025 demo

So uh, I did a long analysis post back when the first demo dropped. I won’t repeat things that I already wrote there but I have some more thoughts especially with the changes and additions they made + several of the scattered official tumblr posts that followed the demo release!

Also heads-up, I will edit this with the daily routine posts from the devs' account if they're relevant, since I already commented on Mhin’s, but apart from those I won’t touch this anymore afterwards 🙏

(Spoilers under the cut)

Kuras

His new red choice… Really amps up his association with fire, and it seems to be directly linked with how close we are to him: if you didn’t get the red choice you still feel it, but you’ll miss this line: “I realize it’s more than physical warmth. The sensation calms my nerves and quiets my mind—the closest thing I’ve ever felt to a comforting embrace”. One thing is interesting though: the red choice was unlocked during my Unnamed playthrough, but not during my others even if I picked the same choices. I tried again picking the opposite choices with my Unnamed and still got that red choice, so I’m pretty sure it depends on your origin, not your relationship with him. Since, as of now, Kuras hasn’t yet revealed his true nature to us (I suspect Eridia more or less knows, though), it would make sense that specifically the origin about detecting hidden supernatural presences would notice earlier than the others.

The dev answered a question on their tumblr about Kuras, “Kuras came through the Shroud because he loved humanity. He’s had human friends, colleagues, and lovers… all of whom he’s destined to outlive. Each person he’s loved—and lost—left an indelible stamp on him.” The stamp part caught my attention; since we feel his powers more whenever when get closed (physically, but moreso emotionally), I wonder if he can… channel? That affection into energy. Kind of how deities are fueled by their followers’ faith, perhaps an angelic being like Kuras is fueled by emotions?

A bit of relevant lore was posted on the dev team's tumblr: “Divine Teacher — The Senobium's folklorists note a curious pattern in humanity's oldest tales. Though the details vary, these stories share a common theme: an otherworldly teacher, bringing the divine gift of knowledge. Alchemy and literacy, art and war...supposedly this being shared all that they knew with the earliest civilizations. In some tales, the otherworldly teacher is a loving, benevolent figure. In others, they are a harbinger of chaos and ruin.” as well as the quote “Hope. A strange concept, after so long seeing myself as the agent of ruin.” Prometheus is the obvious parallel, due to his association with fire (though I would hope Kuras still has his liver intact), but there’s many versions of the Theft of Fire; in the Book of Enoch there’s fallen angels who shared knowledge with humans, too; and undoubtedly several more myths about inhuman figures sharing knowledge. Mhin says that “[Kuras]rarely does [take payment from patients]. That just means he’s paying down the debt elsewhere” which could be related to his distaste for dealing with the Senobium… I wouldn’t even be surprised if he had a hand in creating the Senobium (his robes are white too, and he does collaborate often, yet he isn’t afraid of retribution for messing a little with its members from what we can see of his ending scene), and he had all the time in the world to witness how the knowledge he gifted was used for worse things that he could’ve hoped for :(

Kuras, like Ais, keeps on his own for the most part, though they don’t dislike feeling close to people: Ais actually dislikes isolation but he’s probably too jaded to want to bother interacting, while Kuras actively craves closeness (it’s part of the reason he has a free clinic methinks) even if he knows it will hurt him when he loses it.

Leander

Leander’s group is now called The Adderstone. The symbology of an adder stone, aka witch stone, is definitely a bigger hint at Leander’s unique connection to magic, whereas previously the Bloodhounds evoked the feeling of a mercenary group with a penchant for investigations. In the new demo Adderstone is defined as “a semi-precious mineral that draws out poison”, which also makes me think of his constant disposition as a confident protector and his tendency to disregard the riskier aspects (ie, he wouldn’t care about getting poisoned himself). The Adderstone’s meaning is still vaguely reminiscent of my previous thoughts about the Bloodhounds: Hounds are a breed specifically intended to track something specific (or someone specific) by scent, and in the new metaphor that something/someone is the poison that Leander and his mercenaries are drawing out, hunting.

Adder stones are sometimes also symbolically tied to snakes, some sources saying they were created by turning dead snakes into the stone, others say that the ring-like formation was made by a hardened bubble of saliva when snakes joined together… All quite nicely tied to the recurring Ouroboros symbol in Leander’s outfit and merch!

“I’m no prior or curator. I’m not much for paperwork or pencil pushing. And honestly, I don’t even think those robes come in my size.” I am reminded of an old post by user @/toeridiaorbust about how Leander and the Bloodhounds Adderstones clothes are a direct color inversion of the Senobium’s robes.

“If you want nothing but guidelines, improper policies, and needless bureaucracy, you know where to go […] The Senobium won’t help you. They’re more likely to torture you than to lend you a hand.” Now this? Makes me wonder if his prominent scars are connected to his loathing towards the Senobium.

“But I’m not going to wait from word from on high […] These are our streets. We make our own luck here […] I founded the Adderstones to help people like you.” connects to the “as above, so below” tagline that was in his posters in the first demo and first hinted at him creating the Adderstone as an alternative to the Senobium.

The lore snippet about him on the dev’s tumblr doesn’t add anything that we don’t know from the new demo about Leander and the Adderstone, but there’s an interesting part at the end: “Locals speak praise for the charming leader whose seemingly benign reign extends even below the city streets into the shadowed depths of the Silent Crypts.” Considering all of his symbolism about the cycle of rebirth (I went into detail in my old analysis post), the fact that this references a crypt of all places doesn’t feel coincidental… We haven’t heard of the location yet from what I can remember, but I would bet that it’s connected to Leander’s hidden curse / source of power.

In an old post, the devs confirmed that “The magically talented son of an old Hightown family, Leander was expected to join the Senobium when he came of age. Instead, he packed up his bags twelve years ago to chase his own dreams” which matches with his own words in the demo: “I grew up idolizing the Senobium. I wanted nothing more than to join their ranks, to learn magic from the best, to make a real difference. I was young and blinded by the legends and the legacy. I was so damn naive. All it took was one trip here, to Lowtown, to show me the truth.”

“I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me” + “How would you feel about being on a leash?” + “You can decide how to thank me. Or I can decide for you.” he’s not beating the yandere allegations.

“It’s not every day I find something that truly challenges me” we already knew he likes being challenged, which is pretty much his whole relationship with Ais. It’s interesting because with MC, he tends to prefer when they defer to him, trust him, take the flower and hold hands…. I think both things are a way to reaffirm his confidence: a challenge surpassed is proof that he’s strong enough to face what he has ahead, and having people trust him (in Kuras’ words, even willing to put their lives on the line for him) is a different way to feel that kind of influence.

The new scene of him coming into MC’s room with the excuse of having information about the curse, it feels like a contrast with the other characters’ ending scenes. Everyone shows a little about themselves, their attitude or their habits, but Leander feels like he mirrors MC. Even asking him about his relationship with the others, he comments on what we say about them rather than speaking up about them unprompted.

I initially didn’t think much of it so it may be nothing but it’s worth mentioning anyways: while chatting with Leander nearer the ending, he can say “How would you feel about being on a leash?” which is easy to dismiss as just him being a little freaky, but then I recalled after the first encounter with Vere, when the MC remarks that they could share his fate and get “leashed” by the Senobium. I doubt Leander would intentionally let MC in the hands of the Senobium, considering his animosity towards them, but it’s still a chilling thought that feels like foreshadowing...

Vere

re: his bad/secret ending, I appreciate that he shows some restraint this time around. I’m now pretty certain that you can only get the option to “Reach out to him” (red choice) versus “Resist him” (neutral) if you played along with him at least a little bit; while “Surrender” (bad ending) is only unlocked if you don’t have his approval and you say that if you can’t find a cure it’s over for you (rather than “I’ll keep looking”).

In two posts on tumblr (here and here), the devs posted a couple of peeks at Vere’s living space. “Candles flicker in the waning light, illuminating a crowded desk at odds with its gloomy surroundings.” and “Few in living memory know why the Senobium built the secret prison where Vere is kept. What do you think happened to the other prisoners?”. Given it’s described as a secret prison, I’m torn about it being located in the entertainment district where we first found him. One one hand, he was shackled there and it was morning, the Senobium cleric hadn’t yet come to fetch him. On the other hand, it feels like a weirdly dangerous place to put the deathly charming Monster in? No other buildings can be seen from the window, which is either just to not clutter the view or it’s a tall building, a spire taller than the rest, which would only leave the blue sky visible from that angle. The three items that mainly occupy his space are candles (I would’ve thought he would be able to see in the dark, perhaps just not comfortably or perhaps he likes the atmosphere they create... or they're not there for his benefit, but that of his captors), books (I could swear there’s a full picture of his sketchbook somewhere but just considering this sneak peek of it here, I think it’s the one in the middle of the desk… As for the books, he doesn’t like puzzles, I’m not sure he would be the studious type, so my bet is on them being entertainment), and shackles in his bedroom and by the desk. This last detail feels particularly invasive, as the implications are that someone is scheduled to keep an eye on his routine, dictating when he is allowed bedtime and when he can read/draw/brush his tail (there’s a little brush and mirror in the shelves). There’s also some handwritten papers on his desk, I wonder if he’s allowed to send letters or if he just writes them? One additional detail caught my attention: doesn’t the decoration in the chair by his desk look remarkably similar to the design of Kuras’ earrings? Though there’s different additional elements for each, they both are a circle with three drops underneath it… Which makes me even more convinced that Kuras played a significant part in initially capturing Vere. The comment about “What do you think happened to the other prisoners?” brings to mind Vere’s insistence that if the Senobium realized what the MC is, they’d be leashed as well. I don’t doubt that other Monsters have been kept by them in a similar manner, perhaps some of them also were offered a way to end their suffering by Vere, like he did with MC in his secret/bad ending.

In a tumblr post by the dev team about his lore: “Bloodstained Snow — The Senobium's archives hold countless records of stories that defy belief. One ancient report recounts the haunting of a remote village by what is described at first as a god, and then as a demon. Heavily redacted, the papers depict a team of researchers hunted by a self-proclaimed deity that transforms into a malignant entity. After the beast succumbs to freezing conditions, its ultimate fate is unknown-doubtlessly lost with the pages removed from the report.” I would bet that this is (part of) the reason why Vere dislikes snow… Apart from that, it’s interesting that Vere presented as a god first. History is written by the victors, and I wouldn’t take this recounting as the full truth. If he approached the village like he did with us, at first charming (if a bit unnerving, but deities can afford that) and then started preying on people’s trauma/insecurities, it’s not much of a stretch that they’d label him a demon—and to be fair, his monstrous form doesn’t inspire much safety either. I wonder if he first caught Kuras’ attention (or wrath) by proclaiming himself a god?

I’m also still thinking of Vere being a foil for Mhin: both hunt Soulless, he does out of obligation and they do presumably as a choice in line with their ideals; one leans completely on his Monster side and lets it leak through nonchalantly, the other despises Monsters and hides their own unnatural skills; Vere puts on airs to hide his thoughts, overwhelming you with (effective or not) charm, while Mhin is standoffish and avoids opening up by… well, avoiding you.

Ais

The Exile notices “Not many scars, though. Strange. Save for one cut along his brow, Ais is unmarked for how seasoned he acts.” In a post on tumblr the team answered a question about this particular scar: “Ais’s scar serves as a memento of his first day in the human realm, a stark reminder of all that can be lost. His gang imparted a lesson he’ll never forget, and he returned the favor in kind.” What feels more likely to me, is that he passed through the Shroud with his gang, they had a serious disagreement and/or they betrayed him (we already know from the character sheets and other hints that he doesn’t like being alone, I feel like it’d take something serious for him to turn his back on them), fought and he got injured during this confrontation. Then he found (?) Ocudeus, and we can assume from the fact that the red-eyed woman who lead us to the Seaspring still had visible marks of her previous health, that the Seaspring doesn’t restore wounds, so the wound was already there and didn’t get healed. I don’t think it’s likely that Ais has regenerative powers (also, his knuckles are bruised constantly, and he bleeds when MC bites him).

Leander also says that Ais “doesn’t see humans as equals”. Humans, by their very nature, can’t realistically be a match for the power of a Monster, so Ais wouldn’t consider them on the same level as him. In the same line of thinking, he seems to like more when MC can hold their own, and I feel like it’s connected to his trauma about being betrayed: if people can take care of themselves (like Vere, who’s as dangerous as Ais, and Leander, whom he respects), if he gets betrayed by those he likes, then at least he won’t have to hold back and it will be a fair fight.

When Ais says his old gang “took a walk”, the Exile wonders about this “He knows how to scare people, and he expects submission, but it’s uncommon for someone so used to being in power to be so… alone.” The Exile also has the most positive reaction by far to the Soulless in the Seaspring. When talking with Mhin, the Exile says “[Ais’] Soulless seem to like him though […] There’s a big difference between Ais’ Soulless and that many-eyed Soulless [that attacked me].” Being playful (perhaps even being in groups) isn’t a behavior they usually display, and I wonder how much of that is because they share being under the influence of Ocudeus so they're not hostile to what they consider allies, and how much it could be Ais’ doing instead: if he feels so alone, I would bet that he would (subconsciously or not) use the bond with the Groupmind as a way to feel less isolated, and those feelings impact the behaviour of the Soulless.

Ais talks about “a time where Leander’s resolve will be tested, same for anyone in this plane or the next” I think that the Adderstones remind him of what he had, or could have had. He sees something of himself in Leander, but Ais is jaded by his previous experience. I now wonder if the assassination attempts are his way to test him, make sure he’s ready for whatever comes, something that he feels like he lacked when he was left alone?

The lore post about Ais on the official tumblr reads: “Death Knell — Whispers echo about a fearsome Monster within the Shroud, their overwhelming power and authority stretching across the realm’s underworld. Few have seen the face of this infamous ruler. As Monsters continued to abandon the Shroud to seek thrills in the human realm, the being stayed behind, devouring forsaken domains and Monsters alike until no challenges were left. Now, as the being seeks conquest elsewhere, Monsters stir in anticipation of impending carnage.” This also could reference the time where [everyone’s] resolve will be tested; I wonder if it’s a general comment, about Monsters as a whole (Ais himself likes a good challenge), or if Ocudeus specifically is working towards something. In England, there was a tradition to ring the so called passing bell from the church when someone’s death was imminent; then the death knell when they passed away (there’d be additional rings to signify gender, and age, so that people could get an idea of who it was); and finally the corpse bell when the funeral was being held. If we want to read too much into the cool moniker, perhaps Ais is not meant to be the harbinger of chaos, but merely a warning sign.

The Unnamed will comment about hearing a faint heartbeat pulsing underground, when they first approach the land near the Seaspring. Earlier they also comment about feeling a kind of thrumming in Eridia itself, I wonder how far Ocuseus’ influence expands? Is it limited to where its Groupmind members are?

Leander says that he’s known Ais for around six years, which considering Kuras says that Ais is a recent arrival, could be that he’s passed through the Shroud into Eridia for less than a decade even?

Mhin

They’re EVEN MORE of a nerd in this version. Clearly knowledgeable about Soulless’ biology, even though they deny having studied anatomy or medicine. In an older post on the devs' tumblr, “Mhin was forced to apply their anatomical knowledge to violence in order to survive. After years of bitter experience, they learned to fight with agility, elegance, and surgical precision. Even in Eridia, their skills see more use in combat than healing.” which again makes me think they maybe didn’t formally study them, but being an apprentice to someone isn’t out of the equation (perhaps even Kuras, the Divine Teacher?). Them saying to an Alchemist’s red choice “It’s been a while since I had someone answer [my theories]” hints that they weren’t always alone in leading a life like this, before. Like Leander says about them, “Vulnerability doesn’t get you much except heartache.”

“Something about them is strange, unlike any human or Monster I’ve ever met. I can’t quite place my hand on why, and that’s a first” is what an Unnamed says when first encountering them. Not human, not Monster, but a mix of both—Not enough Monster yet too far gone from Human. A post on the devs’ tumblr depicts Mhin (partially?) transformed: they’re still clearly recognizable, it could be they’re just mid transformation but considering the comment from the Unnamed, I don’t think Mhin can become fully a Monster (like, say, Vere’s shadow fox is also kinda incorporeal but more shaped): it is said that Monster gain more control over their human form as time progresses, so Mhin has probably only recently become like this. The description of “a tar-like substance leaking from their eyes and bony extrusions” matches their pin designs as well as their “costume” in the official 2024 Halloween art, and the tar/blood leaking from their eye matches the pastry on the official 2025 Valentine’s Day art (bottom right corner).

Ais calls them “dove” and considering their Monster form seems to be quite the opposite, black ichory feathers and all, makes me believe that Ais has seen them shifted sometime and is poking fun at it. Or I’m just reading into it too much and it’s about them having white hair and Ais defaulting to bird nicknames for some reason.

The Exile comments “It’s one thing to strike down Soulless. They’re creatures of instinct, aggressive and dangerous to everyone. But Monsters are lucid, thinking beings—beings that Mhin seems to loathe.” It feels like their hatred is brought on by how familiar they are: they know the thoughts that compel a Monster (hence their insistence that MC seeks help from someone less dangerous than them) and they hate that they’re their own thoughts.

In a recent post detailing their daily schedule, it seems to me that Mhin doesn’t sleep, or barely does. I’m more inclined to say that it’s a consequence of their nature, that they haven’t accepted (so they still want to sleep, even if they can’t or don’t need it), similar to how Kuras doesn’t really eat.

Since they both compete in the same field, I wonder if Mhin and Vere first met while hunting Soulless? Do they ever meet while on the same contract, or do they run in different circles?

I don’t think they mentioned this in the first demo, but Mhin says they grew up in Eridia. Which really surprised me, because in the pre-release content they’re referred as “outsider” and “outcast”… Unless that’s changed in the rewrite, maybe they were cast off when they were young, or maybe they weren’t physically exiled but rather their family/group of origin estranged them? “Eridia wasn’t perfect, but it used to be a place worth living in” also could be said in a more subjective sense, Mhin didn’t lead a perfect life but they were satisfied with it before. Moreover, Leander says about them “I’ve known them since they arrived here.” Perhaps they grew up in Eridia, left at some point, and came back later? And when asking Kuras about Mhin, he says “Like you, they’re a recent arrival.” though that could just be that Kuras has a different concept of time, considering he’s centuries old. In any case, I highly doubt it’s just an oversight from the team because so far every detail is very curated. There’s something here about Mhin’s timeline that I can’t quite put my hands on yet.

Now the juiciest bit of info about them yet in my opinion, is on their tumblr lore drop from the studio: “Lost Expeditions — In a bygone era, before Eridia became the last beacon of humanity, there was Lovent. Yet where a bustling metropolis once stood, there is now only a blasted crater and empty ruins, blanketed by fog. The inhabitants, and large chunks of the city, had vanished into thin air. Over the following years, scholars flocked to the ruins in search of answers. Like the Loventians, they disappeared without a trace, and none ever returned.” Lovent is also referenced in another post, as “The previous largest city, Lovent, was the epicenter of the first Fogfall. In the century since, Soulless and Monster incursions destroyed most cities, leaving Eridia as the largest remaining one.” It makes me wonder, if Mhin maybe did grow up in Eridia, went to Lovent either in time to be caught in its destruction, or afterwards to investigate it. It’s possible that this is how they became a Monster… In the description of their flower, there’s also a reference to “barren wastelands to ruins perpetually shrouded in Fogfall” which is way too similar to “empty ruins, blanketed by fog” to be a coincidence. It’s possible that they physically entered the Fogfall/Shroud, and what emerged wasn’t fully them anymore.

Thanks if you read so far, as always I’m always happy to read other thoughts about it all or if I missed something 👀

[sorchathered]

Guilty Eyes and Little White Lies

Pairing-Bob Floyd x reader, Bob Floyd x Natasha Trace, Jake Seresin x reader

Warnings-talk of sexual activity, language, drinking, adultery, angst

Summary- you’d thought you had the perfect marriage, what happens when you’re betrayed by the one you love most, and how do you piece yourself back together? Sometimes a little revenge isn’t a bad thing.

A/N- This one has been sitting in the vault for a while! Not my usual at all, but I’m feeling the angsty vibe lately and rolling with it!

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He truly hadn’t meant to let it get this far. The bird strike incident a few weeks ago had them both on edge, feeling their mortality and in a moment of weakness he’d let her kiss him. He’d blamed it on nerves, claimed it didn’t mean anything and continued to push down the gnawing feeling that it might be something more. Then the mission had happened, they’d nearly lost Maverick and then Bradley, and when everyone came back safely everyone had gotten a little too drunk on the carrier that night and he’d somehow found his way to her bunk. They’d fit together in a way that scared him, and when he woke up the next morning he looked down at her sleeping form and didn’t think of you once. But reality hit when they got home, and the wedding ring on his left hand felt like a 1,000 lb weight.

Bob Floyd had royally fucked up, he’d broken protocol by sleeping with his front seater, and the worst part of it all? He’d cheated on his wife. His sweet, beautiful, faithful wife who was waiting for him back in Lemoore. The one he’d sworn to love until he died, and it brought on another wave of nausea as he paced the floor of his barracks room just thinking about how far he’d let things go. He’d fallen for Natasha Trace in the weeks he’d been at Top Gun, he hadn’t meant to truly but she got under his skin in a way that he couldn’t shake. She knew he was married, knew what they were doing was wrong and had agreed to stay apart until he could figure out what to do, but seeing her every day made it more and more difficult to do the right thing. The right thing…the right thing would have been to end it immediately and tell you the truth right when it happened. The right thing would have been to request an immediate transfer back home after the mission ended, but he didn’t do that either. He’d been dodging your calls for days, making up excuses while he tried to find the right things to say, but he knew you were too smart to believe him. You knew something was wrong, and it wouldn’t be long before it all came toppling down.

——————————————————————

When you’d both been stationed at Lemoore two years ago it had been like a dream, finally in the stationed in the same place after years of long distance. You’d soaked up all the quality time, getting to work together every day and go home together every night had always been the goal and it had been everything you’d hoped for. Nothing is ever perfect though, and Jake Seresin was the very definition of throwing a wrench in the machine. He lived to rile Bob up, and nothing ruffled his feathers more than when Jake flirted with you. He always joked that you were far too good for Bob, that you needed someone wild to balance you out and keep you on your toes, you’d constantly shut his flirting down and asked him to be nicer to your husband and for a while Jake did back off. That is until he and Bob got called back to Top Gun for this mission, and most especially when his jabs had been confirmed, opening an empty conference room door one evening to find your husband pressed against Phoenix with her hand down his pants. After they’d been caught he had ended it, he hated himself for what he’d done but couldn’t bring himself to find the words to tell you the truth.

Bob knew there was no point in begging Jake to keep his mouth shut, so he simply asked to be able to explain to you himself. You’d been devastated, but not surprised. He’d been avoiding you for weeks, every time you’d discussed coming down for the weekend he’d claimed he had things to do and didn’t want to drag you down to San Diego just to sit in a barracks room. You’d held it together as best you could but you were furious, you’d never given him any reason to stray and to watch him throw 5 years down the drain for a woman he barely knew set a fire in you. So one Friday you packed an overnight bag and drove down to North Island, pulling into the unfamiliar apartment complex late in the afternoon. The ridiculous jacked up truck in front of the building told you he was home from work, and you made your way to his door still shaking with nerves despite feeling so confident all day. Jake Seresin in nothing but sweatpants was a sight to see, and the shock on his face was even better. He had texted you a few days before to make sure you were ok, offered you a place to crash if you decided to come down and discuss things with Bob in person, he certainly didn’t expect you to show up and had to say he was glad he got to reap the benefits of Bob’s shitty lapse in judgement.

“As happy as I am to see you Sweetheart, are you sure you’re up for all this? You don’t have to do this yet if you aren’t.”

“It needs to be done Jake, I need closure and I want to move on. So take me out to this bar you guys keep talking about, and let’s burn the rest of my marriage to the ground.”

——————————————————————

Just a few hours later you and Jake were perched at the bar, nice and tipsy and feeling lighter than you had in days. You knew Bob and Phoenix would be there soon and the thought suddenly had you white knuckling the bar stool, maybe you’d been too bold in thinking you could handle catching him in some other woman’s arms, maybe you weren’t as brave as you thought you’d been after all. Jake seemed to notice the shift in you, knocking his knee into yours to pull you out of your head. He gave you a wink and peeled your hands from the stool, taking them both in his.

“You sure you still want this? I am totally fine with us heading home with some ice cream and letting you cry it out, but I’m also down to kick his ass if you need me to. Whatever you want to do we’ll do it, just say the word and we’re out of here.”

You heard him before you saw him, the group of aviators from his squad calling his name and you knew it was too late to run. You shook your head, plucking Jake’s tequila shot from his hand and downed it, revenge was all you had left and you’d be damned if he took that from you too. Standing up and smoothing the material of the dress that was your husband’s favorite you backed yourself up against the bar, settling yourself between Jake’s legs and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Put your money where your mouth is Seresin, show me what I’ve been missing.”

——————————————————————

Meanwhile on the opposite side of the bar everyone is saying their hellos, none of the squad know what’s been going on behind the scenes and as far as they can tell it’s just a normal Friday night meetup. Phoenix is the first to notice that Hangman is missing from the crew, Rooster nodding towards the bar letting them know he’s on a date with some girl from out of town.

“Hangman has a girlfriend?! Since when?”

“Beats me, he just said she’d come down to visit for the weekend and he’d bring her over when she was up for it.”

Bob is clueless to it all, and offers to grab the next round as everyone sets the table up for a new game.

He’s settling into a bar seat with Phoenix to wait for their beers as she nods in your general direction.

“Well they look cozy, but I swear I’ve seen that girl before, she looks so familiar. Bob, have you seen her before? I feel like we know her.

He looks up towards the direction she’s pointed and it feels as if his world has been upturned. Because just across the bar from him is Lieutenant Jake Seresin with his tongue down his wife’s throat, bodies pressed together with a handful of your ass.

“I know exactly where you know her from Phoenix, that’s y/n. That’s my fucking wife.”

——————————————————————

Jake is having the time of his life if he’s honest, he’d always been fond of you but he had enough respect for the sanctity of marriage to keep his hands to himself. You’d always belonged to someone else, that is until Baby on Board had done exactly what he expected and fumbled the bag. He knew you were hurt and that his chances would be slim for a while, but he’d bide his time if that meant he got to hold you like this tonight. And if it helps satisfy your need for revenge? He certainly wouldn’t mind helping you out with that. He was just a philanthropic kind of guy after all. You were a little tipsy now, giggling while he kissed you and he decided to play up the game a little and slide a hand down to grope your ass. You yelped but leaned into his touch, and he had to keep reminding himself this was just a game, that you weren’t his and that he still had to win you over.

“Jakeeee, you’re gonna get us in trouble if you keep this up, I don’t want us catching an indecent exposure charge” you said a little breathlessly into his mouth, maybe this hadn’t been the best idea; you could definitely see the appeal, and as it turned out Hangman wasn’t just all talk- he was very good.

“Sweets if I had it my way we’d already be halfway to my bedroom, but I’ll save that for another night. ‘Sides it looks like we’ve struck that nerve you were looking for, your husband’s looking our way and I think he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.” Jake cocked his head in the direction of Bob and Phoenix, winking at them as he continued to press kisses into your neck.

“Oh-oh shit, maybe we should go outside before we start a bar brawl.” You were wide eyed as you pushed him back a little, but he could see you were still comfortable with him continuing the plan so he looped an arm around your waist and tossed a 50 on the bar as he led you towards the back exit.

——————————————————————

“What do you mean that’s your wife?! What is she doing here, and what is she doing with Seresin?”

Natasha is spiraling, meanwhile Bob can barely hear her. He can only hear the rush of blood in his ears and his heart thumping out of his chest, nausea rising up in his throat as he catches Jake’s eye. The motherfucking gall of Jake Seresin, he’d spent months jabbing at Bob about how you were too good for him and while it had stung he’d been confident that you’d never be interested in him, but now to see your body pressed to his, kissing someone else? It confirmed every fear he’d had, he absolutely deserves this; you’d given him everything and he’d burnt it down but damn if it didn’t hurt to watch you walk away in the arms of someone else.

“Nat- I can’t do this right now. Can you find a ride home? I need to talk to her, see if she’ll let me apologize in person.”

She looks hurt, but she knows damn well she has no reason to be, this is on the both of them and she has to respect whatever choices he makes.

Bob follows the path you and Jake took towards the back exit, no idea what he’s going to say or if you’ll even listen but his feet carry him anyways, into the balmy night air and across the lot where he can see the two of you talking.

—————————————————————————

“Alright pretty girl, had enough revenge for tonight? Think it’s about time we get you home.” Jake said with a grin as he ushered you towards the truck at the back of the parking lot, you were a little unsteady in your wedge sandals but it had felt good to let loose tonight. You didn’t give a shit what Robert Floyd thought of your behavior, you’d tried to be his everything for so long and knowing that he could throw it out the window so quickly just solidified that it had never had anything to do with you. Something in him was broken, he could have had a long lasting love and he took it for granted. You wrapped both arms around Jake’s bicep and leaned into him with a sigh; you didn’t know what this was with him but you definitely knew you weren’t ready to get your heart broken by another handsome face anytime soon. All you could hope was that he’d settle for friends in the meantime, but you couldn’t dwell on it now, because through the buzz of the alcohol you suddenly heard a voice you knew all too well calling your name above the crash of the waves. Of course he was, he couldn’t just let you have this one night to have the upper hand, he’d actively avoided you for weeks and the second someone else paid you attention he suddenly had something to say.

You went ramrod straight and froze, Jake turning slightly to see what had you so tense and scoffed as he watched Bob make his way towards you both. He tugged a little to shield you from Bob but you looked up at him and shook your head, you could handle this; there was no need to delay it like he had and you had plenty to say.

“Y/n, can I just have a minute-“

“You don’t deserve a second of her time Floyd and you know it.” Jake snapped, but the gentle touch of your hand on his arm gave him pause; it wasn’t his job to be the white knight and he knew damn well you could handle yourself, but he couldn’t help but want to shield you from anymore pain.

“I’ve got this Jake, give me some time ok? I’ll be back.” You squeezed his arm and stepped away, and you thought you saw pain flash over Bob’s features at the familiarity between you two, but he had no right and he knew it. You followed him down the rickety wooden ramp to the beach, the sound of the crashing waves filling the awkward silence.

“I’m sorry.” He said, so quietly you could barely even hear it, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he looked down at you, and all it did was make you see red.

“You're… Sorry? After shutting me out for weeks and then telling me what happened in an e-mail, you’re sorry? Well I’ll be, that’s gotta be the biggest pile of horse shit I’ve ever heard Bob.” You laughed, but it was harsh, it had him wincing from the coldness in your tone.

“You’ve got to be shitting me, I get an adrenaline rush, I get feeling your mortality, hell I’d even get it if you just kissed her. But you slept with her, you gave pieces of yourself to her that were only ever supposed to belong to me, and then to make it worse you hid it from me…for weeks! You have always been someone I considered to be honorable, and this? This betrayal? This is slimy. This is cowardly, and you fucking know it.”

You didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, you simply said your peace and when you looked back at him his eyes were full of tears and regret.

“I broke us, I know that. I’ve always known you deserved better, tried to be better, and I don’t have an excuse for any of it. I don’t know how I got here, I just know that I’m sorry. I ended it, we are just friends now, and I know that means shit to you but I’m trying. I just didn’t know if you’d even listen if I called, and then you came in tonight, with him and I realized just how much it hurt. God, seeing you with him- it makes me sick. I get it now, I get how much it must’ve hurt you. I know that’s why you did it, and I deserve it, I deserve it all. I don’t know where we go from here, but I don’t want you out of my life, I know it’s unfair to ask.” He couldn’t even look at you, it was infuriating to think that the man you loved had become this shell, a person you couldn’t even recognize.

“I wish you well Robert, I would never wish harm on you, but no. You clearly need to work on yourself, and so do I. Wherever that journey takes us, it’s not us against the world anymore. I don’t think I could ever look at you the same, and it’s not fair to ask me to try. I’ll speak with our lawyer, see if we can wrap this up as smoothly as possible, but there is no more us. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” You say with a sigh and a small tear rolls down your face before you can swipe it away, one last tear shed for the end of a life you’d always dreamed of. As you walked away from him and made your way back to the lot, you could hear his broken sobs, and you prayed whatever higher power existed would help him move past this, because you couldn’t stay.

Jake helped you get in the truck and the two of you drove in silence on the short trip back to his home, he could see you lost in thought so he let you drown in it for a few minutes until he pulled into the parking area. You swiped more stray tears, and then with a deep breath let your body sag into the plush leather of his f-150.

“You know why I was always on him about not being good enough for you?” Jake said quietly, causing you to turn and face him. You had always wondered, and begged him to stop more than once, he’d always said it was just fucking around but you had a suspicion it was something more.

“It wasn’t because I was trying to put a wedge between you two, well…maybe some of it was, but really it was because he never really saw you. It was always about him and you seemed sad, like you were ornamental, a box to be checked off on his list (and he did love to make lists), but never like he truly saw what he had. It drove me nuts, I’d kill for that, and I knew it was wrong, but I wanted it with you. And then when he fucked it all up I knew it would hurt you, but I couldn’t help but think that I could be the one to show you how much better you deserved to be treated. I can love you better, maybe not today, maybe not for a while, but I’ll wait y/n. You’re worth the wait.”

He looked wrung out from his confession, you knew he’d had some kind of schoolboy crush but it had never occurred to you that his feelings were genuine. He was the Hangman for gods sake, he’d always seemed like this larger than life flirt, why on earth would he be into some mousy little jag lawyer who was already married to one of his teammates? Maybe he was right, you did have a habit of putting yourself in small boxes to let Bob shine, he’d never asked you to but you’d done it anyway; you’d always put him first but he’d never thought to do the same.

“I’m not ready yet Jake, and I can’t promise I’ll be ready anytime soon. I’ve got to find me again, I don’t even know how I got here. But someday…someday I think I might like to know what it’s like to be loved by you. If you can wait for me, I’d really love that.”

He grinned at you and you couldn’t help but smile back, there was just something about him that lit you up in a way you’d never felt before. Friends would have to be enough for now, but someday you’d let yourself really appreciate just what it could be like to be truly loved.

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🏷️ Tagging- @attapullman @mynameismckenziemae @bobgasm @sebsxphia @roosterforme @seitmai @sailor-aviator

[22ayla21]

Hello, may I request a Raspberry sorbet and Red wine for Lilia Vanrouge, please?

"Raspberry Sorbet and Red Wine"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

Evenings in the Briar Valley breathed a special enchantment. The winds whispered ancient tales, the sunset sky blazed with a deep gold, and time seemed to slow its pace, gifting each moment with fullness – like wine poured into a slender glass, waiting for its aroma to fill the air.

Lilia, comfortably settled on the terrace, watched his wife with a tender smile as she fussed over their little daughter. The girl laughed melodiously, patting the table with her small hands, where a dessert stood – raspberry sorbet. Bright, sparkling, as if a ray of the setting sun had frozen in its berry coolness. His wife gently fed their daughter, laughing in response to her funny grimaces as she wrinkled her nose at the cold, but immediately demanded another spoonful.

At that moment, Lilia thought that if love could be compared to something simple, then in the very beginning it was exactly like this – like this raspberry sorbet. Light, refreshing, with an unexpected spark piercing the very heart. A burst of flavor, a fleeting bliss – and now it was hard to imagine life without this sweet coolness on the tongue.

When he first realized he had fallen in love with an ordinary woman – not a sorceress, not a warrior, not an ephemeral dreamer, but a living and real one, with warm hands, tired eyes, and a kind voice – it was like inhaling the scent of a summer garden after the rain. An inexplicable, almost childlike feeling. Raspberry sorbet in the heart of a warrior.

They were different. He – from a world where honor and blood were inseparable, where every gesture held magic, and a smile could be both caress and deception. She – from a world where tea is drunk hot in any weather, and where the words "everything is fine" truly mean peace.

But love turned out to be something more than a simple coincidence or logic. It had, as it turned out later, the patience of wine.

Years passed. The raspberry sorbet did not disappear – it remained in memories, in light touches, in quiet laughter in the kitchen. But love became different. Not a flash, but a depth. Not an icy sweetness, but the velvety richness of mature wine. Aged, rich, where each year lived added a new note.

There were quarrels. Sometimes the silence lasted agonizingly long. Sometimes they got lost in the routine of everyday life. But they always found their way back to each other. They always returned to what bound them. And every time her fingers gently touched his cheek, and her gaze met his – calm, understanding, warm – Lilia felt that long aftertaste. Rich, like that of a wine, of which one sip is enough to warm the very heart.

Sometimes he brewed tea, not caring about the exact proportions, and she baked a pie, grumbling at the capricious oven, and in these moments love manifested itself in laughter, in playful teasing, in random kisses, in the babbling of their daughter. He looked at them and understood: there had been battles, blood, triumphs, and defeats in his life – but here was the true reward.

Love, like sorbet, refreshes the soul at the very beginning, giving faith in a miracle. But only time, patience, and years spent together turn it into wine – a drink where every sip is a story, and every moment is meaning.

Lilia closed his eyes. A light breeze played with his hair, his daughter laughed carefree, and his wife leaned down and touched his temple with a kiss, leaving a fleeting raspberry scent on his skin.

"Everything okay?" she asked softly.

"Perfect," he replied, feeling warmth spreading inside him.

He knew: love is not just one feeling. It is an entire journey. From icy sweetness to warm depth. From a fleeting spark – to an unquenchable fire that warms the whole life.

[bots-and-cons]

Just saw that your requests are open and would like to request an angst/no comfort scenario for Megatron.

Imagine his romantic partner defected to the autobots because of the violent behavior of the cons and was presumed MIA. Once both fractions are on earth, the s/o shows up and both meet each other again after a long time during a fight.

I hope everything is understandable. (Sorry for grammar mistakes, english is not my main languages)

A/N: Oh boy, I love writing angst and the little sprinkle of “no comfort” is just great lol. I also have this scenario which I wrote like years ago, but it’s also total angst with Megatron. I also got an idea for a part 2. Idk if I’ll ever get around to it, but we’ll see

He couldn’t believe his optics. It was you, it was really you. The video from his troops' first battle on this puny planet was playing on the screen and you were right there. You were fighting against the decepticons you had once been a part of, alongside the autobots and that damned Prime.

“Turn it off” Megatron growled at Starscream.

“That traitor, I’ll have them disassembled for this” Starscream hissed as he paused the feed.

“You will do no such thing! Now leave me!” Megatron raised his voice, not even glancing at the seeker.

His optics were fixed on the screen. It couldn’t be anyone else, he knew that frame as well as he did his own, or at least he did in the past. How many more scars had you acquired during your time away from him? How much had you changed? How much had the autobots managed to brainwash you for you to fight alongside them?

Back when you had joined the autobots, you had been lost. You couldn’t stand the decepticons and their cruelty anymore, but above all you couldn’t watch what Megatron was becoming. He wasn’t the same mech you had fallen in love with so long ago. You had tried to reason with him so many times, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. Even the way he looked at you wasn’t the same as it had been. There was something dark about it, something wrong. You weren’t even sure if there was love in his optics anymore when he looked at you. It was such a drastic contrast to the warm, loving gaze the two of you once shared. So you left, you left behind all your friends, everyone you knew and your whole life. You hoped that maybe you could make up for some of the pain you had caused by joining the autobots.

You had a reputation among the autobots of course. The partner of Megatron, the mech that was the root of all evil. The one who had stood by the most terrible warlord the galaxy had ever seen, while he had destroyed your home planet and slaughtered countless of your fellow cybertronians. You knew you had a responsibility to try to balance the scales. You just wished you’d realized it sooner.

Megatron needed to find you, he needed to know why and how you disappeared. The thought of you leaving him of your own free will had never really even crossed his mind. He had been sure you’d been captured by the autobots, that you hadn’t just left him, but now his faith in that was wavering. He needed to know the truth, and he needed to hear it from you.

Megatron was on earth. That certainly explained the uneasy sense of dread you’d been feeling, but when you heard Ratchet say the words, it didn’t make you feel better. If anything, you felt even worse. You had never wanted to see him again, but now he was here. You were on the same planet as him again, and you didn’t know what to do or how to feel. You would have to face him eventually, probably in the field of battle, and you didn’t know if you could handle it. You didn’t give him an explanation, you just left during one mission and never went back. You would never go back. The autobots, even during war, had shown you a world of empathy, kindness and true friendship. They were your family. Something you never really had with the decepticons.

Even though you wanted to, you didn’t hate him. Somewhere deep inside, you might’ve still even loved him, but you had pushed those feelings aside long ago. When the time came, you would be willing to pay for your sins with your life if that’s what was needed. If it would save others, you would give your life to save your allies from the one you once called the love of your life. If someone had to die by his hand, you’d rather it be you than anyone else.

It took weeks, but when Megatron finally got word that you had appeared at an energon mine with a couple of autobots, he rushed there, not wasting a second. When he finally saw you on the battlefield, you looked the same as you did the day he lost you. The two of you looked at each other, and for just a second, it was like there was no one else there. For a moment, it was just the two of you, and for a moment Megatron was convinced things could be like they had once been. Then it happened, you turned your blaster towards him and the look in your optics was one he’d never seen before.

You hesitated, just for a split second, but that was enough for him to dodge your shot. You could see his expression change as you fired. He looked like he couldn’t believe what you’d done. That you would turn your weapon against him. Then it came, that look of rage and that the burning hatred you’d seen him aim at so many others. There was a time you’d been sure he’d never look at you like that, but here you were. You were aiming to kill the one you used to love more than anything, and you almost couldn’t bear it.

Megatron couldn’t believe that it had come to this. The one he had loved and still loved was attempting to kill him. He had given you everything, and you were trying to take his life. This must have been the work of the autobots. There was no other option, you would never try to hurt him of your own free will. He looked around frantically with a crazed look in his optics and pinpointed the Prime in the middle of the battle.

You could see Megatron looking at Optimus and you knew what he was thinking. You moved before you could even really think. Megatron was so laser focused on Optimus, that you managed to tackle him and make him fall off the cliff behind him. You fell with him.

Megatron didn’t even realize what he’d done before his back hit the ground. The fall wasn’t long, so it didn’t really affect him, but when he noticed he had wrapped his arms around you in a protective manner to shield you from the fall, he didn’t know what to think. The anger that had just been burning in his chest was gone, and all he could think about was having you in his arms again.

“Let me go” you said quietly as he kept holding onto you, while laying on the ground on his back.

He couldn’t help but ask. He had to know, he had to hear it from you.

“What happened to you?” Megatron asked, still holding you so you couldn’t get away. Your arms were pinned to your sides, and you were laying on his chest, facing him.

You couldn’t look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you would throw away everything you had built with the autobots just because he looked at you lovingly again. You were afraid you would give in and go back to him. You didn’t want that. You would never be treated like that again. You wouldn’t be treated like an object, or a trophy he could parade around.

“Let me go” you repeated, forcing the words out of your mouth.

Megatron hesitated for a moment, but he decided to let you go. He wanted an explanation, but no matter what it was, he was going to take you with him. 

You got some distance between him and yourself, but you still didn’t look at him. Not in the optics anyway. He looked the same he had the day you left, but there was a different, more destructive air about him.

“What happened to you?” he repeated.

You weren’t going to answer, and you didn’t owe him an explanation, but you still opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, a nearby explosion interrupted you.

“Come on (Name), we have to go!” Arcee yelled from on top of the cliff.

You looked up at Arcee and then glanced at Megatron, who took a step towards you. You could guess what he was thinking. He surely wanted to take you with him, but you couldn’t allow that to happen. You swiftly started climbing back to the top of the cliff.

Megatron took another step forward, but froze as he noticed a few of the autobots standing on top of the cliff, pointing their blasters at him. He considered his options for a moment, and no matter how much he wanted to drag you back to the Nemesis with him, it wasn’t worth a potentially serious injury. All he could do was watch as you climbed up and got to the top of the cliff. You were going to slip away again. You were going to be taken away from him again.

You were about to leave, but you finally gave into the desire to look back at Megatron. This time you met his gaze, and you could feel yourself growing confused as soon as you met his optics. You weren’t sure what to make of his expression. For a second, just a second, you thought you could see the old him. The one before the war started, the one you’d fallen in love with so long ago, but that thought faded as his optics grew colder and his expression hardened. Now all you could see was that same jealousy and possessiveness you’d seen before you left him. He looked at you like a possession, something he owned, something that he thought had been stolen from him and something that he would tear through anything to get back. That thought terrified you.

He would get you back, and he would do anything to make that happen. He would rip apart the autobots to get to you and make sure you could never be taken from him again. You were his, and he would get you back and never let you go again.

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter XII - Tears

Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. But you both have taken vows that make sure your paths may never cross. Until they do.

Aka a fix-it fanfic where Acacius survives the Colosseum.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 34k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist // Ko-Fi

notes: smooches to all of you and sorry for making y'all suffer a bit this time, i swear i'll make it up to you! ♡

Chapter XII - Tears

The house has long fallen silent when Acacius finally climbs the path that leads to his front door. Two or three braziers are placed between the withered plants, the flames the only spark of color in the otherwise bland winter landscape.

He tried to scrub it off. He tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest as he watched you rush out of the caldarium, your clothes and feet leaving a trail of water behind you. You looked so lost in his large cloak, the dark fabric shrouded around you like it could protect you from what was behind the doors. Acacius stood frozen to the spot, the thermae quiet enough to hear the front door close. You were gone.

He stayed still for a few more moments before he found one of the large brushes and rubbed it over his skin in the water in rough, circular motions. Trying to scrub off the guilt that settled over him. Guilt over starting this entire thing. And guilt over ending it.

It was the right thing to do, he kept reassuring himself in his own head. There was no way that you could be together. He’s not a stranger to difficult decisions, neither in battle nor his personal life. But usually they don't leave him feeling like he made a significant mistake. They don’t leave him feeling this hollow.

The image of your body in the water swims in front of his eyes. A thin sheet of water over your skin, your back arched in pleasure, his name falling from your mouth.

He fucks his own fist beside the pool before he leaves.

The night air is cold and ruthless and he hopes that you managed to be back in your bed more quickly than him, a shiver running through his body as he ascends the stone stairs towards his bedroom. He leaves his shoes outside, wanting to make as little noise as possible. The door barely creaks and the sigh of relief is already on his lips when his eyes fall on Lucilla's form on the further side of the bed, sheets draped over her body, blonde curls peeking out at the top.

Acacius slips his clothes off, finding that his skin still feels as heavy as it did before. He looks down at his own body, like he expects it to carry a written account of what he did tonight. But there is nothing there.

So, he lifts the sheets enough to crawl under them beside his wife. Despite them having agreed on this arrangement, that they remain to be seen as lovers in public, it is another complication in the situation with you. He’s certain that he’s seen Lucilla pass into the temple of Vesta on one occasion or another and knowing she is a woman of deep faith, Acacius makes a mental note to ask her about it, maybe find a reason to keep her away from the temple–and more importantly, from you. It may not do well for you to see her after tonight. Or him. Which will be difficult to upkeep, considering you are set to join him on a weeks– if not months–long trip.

The General settles on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling when he feels the bed shift beside him. And even without light, Lucilla's eyes on him feel as clear as day.

For a few moments, neither of them speak. He wonders what she is thinking but he knows better than to ask. But he doesn't have to.

“I was waiting for you.” Her voice doesn't carry a hint of accusation, sounding more like a gentle statement. A fact that is not to be changed. Like he had no choice but to leave her waiting throughout the night.

He hasn’t kept track but it must be nearing three in the morning by now.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes still quite not meeting hers. “I fell asleep at my desk.” He knows she doesn't want to hear about his work but he figures it may be better than the truth.

Lucilla sighs quietly, her hand stroking his cheek, dainty fingers rubbing over his beard. “Is it the campaign? How is your chest?” Acacius shakes his head, a silent denial that they both know isn't the truth. But for the second time tonight, the words he needs to say to a woman he loves seem to be stuck in his throat.

“It is nothing of the like. It has just been a few busy days.” Brown eyes meet blue just in time for him to see her face change as her hand reaches his hair, the tips still wet from the water. He can lie to soldiers and emperors alike. But not to the person that knows him best in the world.

“I wish you would tell me the truth.” She whispers, pausing briefly before adding; “But I understand why you don't." Her lips find his cheek and Acacius reaches for her. Before he can pull her into his embrace, she has pulled him into hers. His head settles against her chest and everything seems a bit lighter with her smell around him and her steady heartbeat below his ears.

“I did not want–” He pipes up, dimly aware of how broken he suddenly sounds but Lucilla just shushes him, one hand returning to pet his hair. It's why they still sleep in the same bed. Because they understand each other and she does not even make him tell the truth. She simply lets him cry into her chest until he wears himself out.

“Acacius?” She whispers eventually, the blanket tucked tightly around both of them. “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything.” He hums, keeping his eyes closed. It feels too hard to open them.

“You will come back, right?” The tremble that was in his voice a few minutes ago is now found in hers and he inwardly curses himself for mentioning the campaign in the first place. “Promise me you will come back.”

“I always come back, my lady.” Acacius whispers, opening his eyes and looking up at her. This time with nothing but truth in his eyes. “I always come back to you.”

She nods, seemingly satisfied for now and his eyelids begin to droop again. “If not for me, come back to whoever it is that brings those tears to your eyes.” He barely registers the sentence, already drifting off into a land of dreams where you are still there, where there is no war looming and where no gods stand in your way.

***

Sleep won’t come. You braided your hair and hung your clothes out to dry the minute you snuck back into your bedroom, stuffed Acacius’s cloak deep into the wooden chest in the corner of the room, not wanting to see it, and by extension, to see him.

But the thoughts of tonight are all-consuming. His words echo in your head, occasionally interrupted by the memories of his touch or his moans.

‘I knew it was a mistake to talk to you in the temple.’

You inwardly curse yourself for ever falling for his stupid tricks, for letting yourself believe that he was actually interested in anything other than an illicit, fleeting version of love. One that you fell for because you were not supposed to have it, never did have it and likely never would. Everyone hears what they say about soldiers on the streets, about those passing through and spending their hard-earned money on whores wherever they go. You figured a General would be above such things. But clearly, you were mistaken.

The house of the Vestals is quiet at night, the women usually retiring rather early. Often, after passing through busy streets filled with drunks and thieves after nightfall, stepping back into the house below the hill with the large courtyard felt like an escape. No one bothered you here, even the lowest people too respectful to risk the safety of Rome’s priestesses.

Tonight, for the first time in very long, you don't find comfort in your room. You've never felt so much like you're stuck in a prison, your vows hanging like bars in front of your doors and windows. You have no way of avoiding Acacius, much less a way of leaving Rome.

“Oh gods–” Between the midnight meeting and the ensuing conversation, you completely forgot that you are due to leave in two days. The excitement in your stomach has turned into dread and you feel tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You rarely cry, usually just reprimanding yourself and deciding that your tasks are too important to get caught up in such childish emotions.

But the tears keep coming, quietly flowing down your cheeks and you rush back to the chest in the corner, pulling the dark cloak out and pressing it to your front as you crawl back into bed. You sling your arms around the soft fabric and imagine that it was him, that his calloused thumb would stroke your cheeks and brush your tears away. His smell surrounds you as you drift off into a fitful sleep.

***

You manage to avoid him the next day. You’ve accepted your fate, packing up the last things and saying goodbye to your friends. After washing your hair and stepping out into the sunlight, you feel much better, like everything that happened was just a bad dream. You’re ready to be polite and nothing more, to fulfil your duty as you have been asked to. Maybe it will lessen Vesta’s grievances against you, somehow make up for the sins you have committed.

The Vestalis Maxima is waiting for you with a large package of food when you step into the common room the morning of your departure. “Here you are, dear. I will take you to the General’s house, a few soldiers are waiting outside to carry your belongings.”

“Thank you,” you smile gently, taking the package from her and making your last round of goodbyes. Severa throws her arms around your neck when it's her turn, squeezing you against her.

“Be safe. And please, tell me everything when you get back.” She practically begs, reaching out to adjust your veil one last time.

“I will,” you promise, laughing quietly. “I will leave out no detail. You be good, yes?” She promises. Then, she hugs you again until the Vestalis Maxima steps forward.

“Alright, you two. It is time to go. Are you sure you are all packed? Are your clothes thick enough? It is cold today.” She gives you a once-over much like a mother would with a child, her gaze flying over each piece of clothing like she could judge their thickness just by looking at them. You reassure her that you have prepared well and she walks you all the way up to Acacius’s house, directing the soldiers behind you that carry your belongings. Then, she asks you to be good and serve Vesta well one more time, the soldiers leave to prepare the carriage, and suddenly, you are alone in the large atrium, only a few rays of sunlight filtering in so early in the morning.

It feels odd and you’re not quite sure what to do. You know the house fairly well by now but you remind yourself that this knowledge is only a reminder of your sins so you try and erase the memories. But your eyes are drawn to the same spot you kneeled down in, the first night Acacius touched you. The fish inside the small basin are as animated as ever, small ripples following where they move under the surface.

You raise your head when you hear footsteps from upstairs and as they draw closer, they are joined by two male voices. One you can’t immediately pinpoint but the other is soft yet deep and you swallow at the thought of standing in front of Acacius again.

He appears from behind one of the columns, talking with the servant who let you write the note. When they spot you, they pause their conversation and you can see Acacius’s face change ever so slightly.

“My lady,” he says politely. “I was not informed that you had already arrived.” He nods into your direction and then turns back to the young man beside him. “Eros, why don’t you go and fetch the lady a refreshment?”

“Of course,” the man named Eros responds immediately, giving you a small smile and turning towards the back of the atrium. Your voice shakes slightly as you speak, shaking your head. Your eyes fly back to Acacius.

“That will not be necessary. I had refreshments at home and brought some for the travels.” You’re not sure why you are doing this. It may take an hour or two before you actually have to leave and the refreshments from the kitchen are surely nicer than what is stored in your bag. But the way that Acacius won’t offer you anything himself, hasn't even told you to sit down–it bothers you more than you'd like to admit.

You feel Eros hover in his spot, looking back and forth between you and the General when Acacius smiles politely. “Very well. Then bring some refreshments upstairs please. I have to have a word with some of my men.”

The servant hurries away and the awkward silence between you and Acacius is cut short by another soldier walking in, carrying several maps and showing some of them to the General. You take a few tiny steps back and forth as you watch them and for a few minutes, Acacius seems completely enraptured by what's in front of him, tracing streets and seas with his index finger. It's like you're not even there.

“Acacius.” Lucilla’s robes move around her as she hurries past you, the General’s attention immediately on her. The soldier beside you has to repeat his question twice before you hear him.

“May I take the chest to the carriage, my lady?” There is a hint of impatience in his tone but he’s too aware of your status to make it sound like a proper accusation.

“Oh, of course. I am all packed,” you say quietly, your eyes never leaving the couple on the other side of the atrium. A sad smile spreads over Acacius’s lips and you notice his hand on her waist. You silently wonder if he touches her in the same places he did you, if he uses his tongue the same way, if he moans the same way.

“I want you to take it.” She whispers, barely allowing you to make out the words. You pretend to busy yourself with your stola, fumbling with the fabric that is draped over your arm, hanging on to every word that carries through the room. “It would be my honor if you wore it. And his.”

“Lucilla–” He mutters back and out of the corner of your eye, you see her holding something up to him, something so small that it is covered by her palm. “I gave it back for a reason. I wanted you to have it again after–” Acacius drifts off, his eyes suddenly flying to yours. Caught red-handed.

You cough awkwardly and step back, keeping your head low as you all but run out of the atrium, hearing their conversation start up again as you fall out of earshot.

***

“Your Vestal may give you trouble if she decides to deem listening in on high-ranking officials like yourself as appropriate.” Lucilla jokes weakly as she presses the ring into his palm. “She does not seem scared. I would have thought she would be, so young and never been out of Rome I presume.”

“She is not that young,” Acacius immediately responds before softening his tone again. He looks down at the gold ring in his hand, running his thumb over it. “I am sure she will be fine.” It feels like he is trying to convince himself as much as Lucilla.

She glances around briefly, making sure that no soldier remains in the shadows to listen to their words. “I wanted to join them when I was younger. After Maximus and I were separated in our younger days … it seemed more merciful to live a life of purity than have my father marry me off.”

“You never told me of that.” He hopes that the woman in front of him can't notice how strained his voice has suddenly become. “Why did you decide against it?”

He can tell that he has posed the wrong question by the way her face falls slightly. Acacius takes in the small crease between her brows as her blue eyes fly back down to the ring. “I had my reasons. And I imagine I never felt pure enough. And afterall, purity is in their name.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are very pure.” Acacius agrees quietly and their words just hang in the air for a moment. Would he have done the same if Lucilla had been wearing the veil? Would their paths even have crossed if it had not been for the loss of Maximus? Would he have touched her too, tainting her the way he had you?

A sigh leaves Lucilla’s lips, snapping him out of his thoughts, and she pats his cheek with the palm of her hand, touching him so gently that it feels like she believes he could fall apart at any moment. Not unlike you traced his scars in the thermae, like he was a vase that had been broken and was made whole again, only thin lines telling of his past. “Write when you can. And come back in one piece.”

“You know not everyone will.” Acacius whispers. Every assignment, every campaign means death. The price seems unbearably high these days.

“You are not conquering new lands. You are just keeping the peace.” Lucilla responds quietly, her eyes flying between his. She leans forward, giving him a gentle kiss. “Try and keep your own as well.”

[yujo-nishimura]

"Rubber Duckies"

You are stuck with your studies and your research and you decide to use your crew members as rubber duckies to explain to them what you are doing in the hope of overcoming your writer's block. 

Words: 1023

Comment: This is something I wrote while I am really stuck. I hope his helps other people who experience the same right now or need a little motivational booster for their papers/exams. The whole fic is fluff with a hint at smut (Law and Kid just always leave me feral).

Let me know in the comments if I should add any characters.

Luffy

He would listen patiently the whole time, lowering his head, his eyes covered by his straw hat. After several minutes, you realize he has fallen asleep. When you ask him a follow-up question, he jolts awake and gives you his brightest, most infectious smile. Despite your frustration, you can't stay mad at him.

"It all sounds very complicated, Y/N," Luffy says. "But I believe in you, and I'm sure you'll excel at this. Now come here, we can cuddle and snack on some of the crisps I swiped from the kitchen!"

His boundless enthusiasm and unwavering faith in you, even when he doesn't fully understand the details, leaves you feeling a little less stuck. 

Robin 

As you explain your research question and methodology, Robin listens with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving yours. When you finish, she pauses thoughtfully before speaking.

"I think the only thing this study lacks is your confidence, dear Y/N," Robin says, chuckling lightly. Her words strike a chord within you - she has a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Can I give you a hug?" you ask, feeling deeply grateful for her patience and wisdom. You know her insights have been invaluable, not just for this project, but for the whole crew.

Robin opens her arms widely and smiles at you. "Of course," she says, enveloping you in a warm embrace. At that moment, you feel the weight of your doubts and insecurities start to lift. Robin's faith in you is a precious gift, and it's exactly the encouragement you need to find the courage to complete your work and submit it.

Law 

You decide to explain your work to Law, hoping his keen analytical mind will provide valuable feedback. As you begin speaking, however, you can see his face growing increasingly impatient. He clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hold back interrupting you.

When you finally finish, Law wastes no time in his critique. "I think the structure is off, Y/N. I don't understand why you chose this theoretical framework, and I'm lost - did you even have a research question?"

You gulp, suddenly realizing you may have forgotten to explicitly state your core research question. Law's piercing gray eyes have a way of making it difficult to maintain focus.

Seeing your flustered expression, Law sighs. "How about you give me the paper to read, and I'll go over it with a red pen?" he offers.

You nod enthusiastically, immediately moving to retrieve the document. "Not now!" Law interjects, grabbing your arm before you can turn away. A mischievous smile plays on his lips beneath his white hat.

"It may not be the best study," he admits. "But the way you've explained it, showcasing your intelligence, has left me wanting more."

Zoro

Falls asleep immediately. Despite your best efforts to engage him, Zoro remains unresponsive, his gentle snoring the only indication that he's still present. You continue talking, but it's clear you're essentially just speaking to yourself at this point.

In a way, Zoro has become the most authentic "rubber duckie" of all - the perfect listener, oblivious to the intricacies of your work, but providing a soothing presence nonetheless.

Sanji 

As you dive into the details of your research, you can't help but notice the adoring way his eyes are fixed on you. It's clear that Sanji is enamored, and would likely listen with rapt attention no matter what you chose to talk about.

You continue your explanation, confident that Sanji is absorbing every word, even if he may not fully grasp the intricacies of your work. When you finally conclude, Sanji erupts into enthusiastic applause.

"That was amazing, Y/N!" he exclaims, his face alight with genuine admiration. "You've done such an incredible job with this research. I'm in awe of your brilliance!"

You can't help but sigh, knowing that Sanji's feedback, while well-intentioned, isn't exactly the critical analysis you were hoping for. But as you look into his sincere, shining eyes, you also feel a sense of pride and relief.

Even if you haven't quite overcome your writer's block yet, having someone so genuinely praise your hard work feels like a reward in itself.

Eustass Kid

As you begin explaining the details of your research to Eustass Kid, it's immediately clear that he has little patience or interest in the topic. His brows are furrowed in what can only be described as an annoyed scowl, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat.

Despite his clear disinterest, however, Kid sits through your entire presentation, never once interrupting or trying to leave. You can't help but appreciate the fact that he's making the effort to listen, even if he doesn't seem to understand or care about the intricacies of your work.

When you finally conclude, Kid simply yawns and cocks his head to the side.

"So what's the problem with all this?" he asks, his tone bordering on disinterested. "Sounds like a solid piece of work to me."

You sigh, explaining to him once again that you feel stuck and unsure if you've done a good job. You're hoping for constructive feedback, but it's clear Kid isn't the right person to provide that.

Suddenly, Kid reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you forcefully towards his chest. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as his low voice speaks calmly.

"You're asking the wrong guy about this, Y/N," he says. "I can't tell you if any of the things you did for this research make sense. But if you're struggling right now, I know a way to make you feel better..."

You blush as you realize the implication behind his words, and without further thought, you give in. Perhaps a brief break from your studies, spent in the comforting embrace of someone who cares for you, is exactly what you need to recharge and tackle the problem with a fresh perspective.

[procyonloser]

"Father, I-" Adam started, but the look he was sent had his lips sealing shut. This wasn't the time for doubt, this wasn't the time for second guessing. Right now, he was to be exalting the glory of the kingdom to come, he was supposed to be bathing in the holy spirit.

But, Adam was afraid.

He'd been a dutiful son, he'd followed every commandment. He'd protested against sin and sinners, and spread the message of heaven, the true Heaven. The one not gone to by faith and good deeds alone, but sacrifice.

He was Adam - the Adam, the 930rd Adam to be sent back to heaven, to meet his heavenly Eve in the spirit realm, to bring about the second patriarch, Seth.

Adam never doubted his father's gospel, or the faith of his family. They knew the truth, all other supposed believers, be they Christian, Jewish, Muslim, none of them understood like his family understood. His sacrifice would not be a death, no - it was the beginning of a new age, and a new world. Only by moving into the next period, would God save humanity.

But, Adam was afraid.

He was dressed in white, but his clothes were to be stripped from him, to return his body to the state of unknowning. It was all he wanted, growing up. To be given his deserved kingdom, his wife, his children. They were owed to him, this was the pact of Adam's. He was better than the rest of humanity, because they weren't him, they couldn't do what he would do.

"Remember, my son, this is not death. You're going on to live a new life. You'll be overjoyed to open your eyes and see a virgin world, and a virgin wife." His father whispered, noticing the hesitation in his features. "Lay down, son. My lamb, and be reborn a lion."

Fires were lit around the forest, and distant members of his family and faith had gathered to watch his rebirth. They wore similar robes, and stayed silent, tears streaming down their face as was customary - overwhelmed in grief that they wouldn't be given a world like he would be gifted.

An altar had been built and hand carved hundreds of years ago, out of white marble, that was long since stained. Adam swallowed hard looking upon it, always wondering how it would feel upon his back as he took his last slumber in this world.

Hands began to pull at his robes, torn off him as he walked, by members of his faith, until he was bare. His father gestured for him to lay down upon the stone, and Adam knew now that it was only cold.

"With this, my son, our Adam, we are sacrificing ourselves for his betterment - for the world, and the kingdom of God. While we will be lost here, stuck in this realm, Adam will know glory and beauty we never will. Our souls will rot in the earth until the phases of creation are finished, and all the patriarchs have returned to Heaven, and only then will we join him." Adam's father spoke, voice strong, but laden with pain. With that, he pulled forth the reaping blade from the centuries old wrappings, brought from their village in the old world, stained with the blood of hundreds of Adam's before him. "Dust to dust."

But Adam didn't want to die. All the comments he'd heard from non-believers over his life time began to go through his mind, every jeer, every comment about him being in a cult. He didn't believe them, didn't want to believe them - they were just scared of the truth.

Adam was scared.

He wanted anyone, anything, to stop this. He would call upon the devil himself to keep that blade from slicing open his throat.

Adam closed his eyes, fingers digging into the marble below, as the knife above him was raised, and then sharply lowered.

There was no deep pain, no cutting sensation, he didn't feel warm or suddenly cold. Adam felt nothing, except the strange sensation that a shadow had fallen over him. Then, came the gasps, the exclamations.

Adam heard fear.

He opened his eyes to find a strange small man sitting beside him on the altar, dressed in white and red, with a large hat. He'd caught the reaping blade in one gloved hand, bending it to the side. His face and features were oddly flat, with little nose to speak of, but he boasted and wide and sharp smile.

Adam's father jerked back in terror, eyes going wide. "Demon," he breathed out, before seemingly finding his bravery. "I won't let you stop what is to come, I won't let you take Adam! He will take his place in-"

The figure sighed, flicking his wrist, and Adam's father was flung into the group of others. "Demon? No, no, no. I'm an angel." The figure said, lips tilting upwards, but it sounded like there was humor in his voice. Red eyes on a sea of gold glanced down at Adam, finally meeting his gaze. "You though, you are Adam. I've been looking for your soul, after the whole stabby thing at the hotel. I had no idea they'd stick you back into some boring human again. I couldn't find you until you reached out to me."

Adam blinked, breaths coming in shallow swallows, confused and unknowing what to say.

He was Adam? Truly?

"My...my father was right? My faith? We were right, all along?" Adam breathed out, and the group grew silent, waiting for the reply.

The so called angel blinked, then laughed, reaching down to pinch Adam's cheek. "I forgot how cute you could be when you don't know anything! Oh, Adam, no. These people are all insane! Apart from you being Adam, of course, but even a broken clock, etc etc - you get the picture. No, this is totally ridiculous! You believe, what, each age of the Bible is saying how many versions of each individual there will be? That there's different worlds and all that nonsense?" The angel pulled his feet up, sitting cross-legged next to Adam on the altar. "No, see, God is actually an all seeing but silent entity that created angels, who created humanity - you and Lilith, our ex wife, then you got Eve yanked out of you like a kidney stone! Then I gave you all the apple, and-"

"Satan!" Adam's father screamed from the group that was supporting him to get back to his feet. His face was curled into fury, red and plummy, a vein protruding on his forehead. He spat as he spoke, saliva clinging to his peppered beard. "You're Satan! Stay away from my boy!"

"Bzzzzt, wrong!" The angel said, and Adam began to remember the stories he'd heard. There was only one angel that could be connected to the fall of man.

"... Lucifer?" Adam asked, and the name felt more familiar on his tongue than the would have thought.

Lucifer grinned, eyes swapping colors, and gold pierced into his soul.

"Bingo. And you're coming home with me, young man. You're not meant to be here, after everything you did... Well, you don't belong on earth or heaven." A cold sweat broke out across Adam's body. What did he do? Why was he being blamed for it?

"You're welcome, by the way, if he'd have stabbed you, you would have just ended up reincarnated into another person, instead of going to your true afterlife like you were meant to." Lucifer said easily, before noticing Adam was panicking. "Oh, I see. I know you don't remember, this must be scary for you. Don't worry, it's time for round two!" Lucifer exclaimed happily, before leaning down, tilting Adam's chin up, and meeting his lips in a deep kiss; one that tasted sweet.

But sweetness only lasted so long, before a flood of memories broke through his mind, thousands of years worth.

When Adam opened his eyes, they are gold too.

And he was angry.

He shoved a laughing Lucifer away from him, spitting onto the ground, sitting up naked in the woods on an altar meant for his death. Him.

He was fucking Adam, and they wanted to sacrifice him? How fucking dare they?

"Son!" His father cried out, reaching for him, but Adam grabbed for the reaping blade.

"Are you going to stop me?" Adam asked Lucifer, eying the cultists ringing him in the woods. Lucifer just made himself comfortable on the altar, crossing his legs.

"You're going to Hell either way. Might as well break some eggs."

No, Adam thought to himself.

They were sinners.

[asm5129]

Sort of an essay, but curious as to your thoughts, this is regarding the idea that Cinder doesn't seem like a serious/believable threat to some, first off:

I do find it funny how the attitude towards Cinder went from "Villain Sue, can't hinder the Cinder!" to "Fail-Villain, I can't take seriously!"

Anyway, the people who feel Cinder lost a step aren't strictly wrong, but it also makes sense for her character. She did everything "right" at Beacon and got completely fucked over. Of course she's not got faith in doing things slowly or carefully anymore, that failed!

She's not stupid, she's traumatized, rattled and angry.

What's more she finally does have sufficient power to force issues, & let's not forget the second she had half of Amber's power she went and bullied Adam into submission. She also kept Roman in line with threats, Cinder was always a very heavy handed, the fall just turned the sultry filter she use off, the force was always there.

I think its also worth keeping in mind Cinder's Haven plan would have worked if not for a couple of factors she couldn't account for.

One being the Faunus militia, which was a whole situation brought about by Adam basically being left to handle things himself by Salem & Hazel. Two being the presence of Yang & Weiss which she may not have known of making the fight less one sided than she intended. Three & most integrally, Vernal was not the Spring Maiden.

Keep in mind if she had been Cinder would have gotten double Maiden powers, the lamp and likely blown Haven up herself. She lost because Salem is rather hands off (With Adam in this regard) and because the intel she received was bad.

As it is, she and Raven were nearly equal, in that both have moments where they got one up on the other and while Cinder was over all losing out during that fight she very nearly won and Raven still felt pressed enough to rely on a trick to get the final blow in.

Some might highlight her initial fall to Penny but I think it is worth keeping in mind again factors she likely couldn't account for. Namely, Emerald's Semblance being useless against Penny's sensors. IE, Cinder charged in with her guard down for a major attack, thinking Penny couldn't see her & got blasted. If she'd known that was a risk she might have been more careful.

I dunno, it does kind of irk me that CRWBY put a lot of thought into Cinder's wins and defeats but it never seems to get much attention.

This doesn't strictly address the potential narrative issue of a villain who can't win, but the thing is this is hardly uncommon, most villains can't meaningfully win. Frankly Cinder probably has a better W ratio than a lot of villains in fiction who might be considered her betters.

Like hell, let's look at Vegeta, that guy spends most of Z talking the maddest shit only to get humiliated time and again but he's still wanked out at the biggest badass ever. MCU Loki fails in functionally every appearance he has, but people still treat him like a mastermind. Yugioh's Marik did nothing but lose with every appearance & his one legit win only happened because his god card had a magic anti activation trick to it meaning Mai couldn't use it after stealing it.

So while I can see why her arguing against Salem, failing when going rogue and generally being impatient does diminish her somewhat, I don't think its nearly as bad as one might think if that makes sense.

I absolutely agree. At one point I had sort of fallen into the groupthink “Cinder is a boring character” but since then I’ve come to fucking LOVE her as a character.

First of all, as Miles said in one of his cameos he sees Cinder as a sort of reverse Shonen hero who gets back up every time even when you think she absolutely should be finished and that’s a FANTASTIC way to create a villain—and specifically an underling that the main villain doesn’t really value beyond their use as a tool for their own gains.

Cinder is a deeply flawed, broken person who sees the world divided into the powerful and the weak. If she is not the most powerful, then she is weak and she cannot accept that after what she went through as a child.

She has this fascinating mindset where she sees herself as the Big Bad, not Salem, and to me all of the above is what makes her losses interesting.

Sure, she loses a lot. But the point of her is very much to be a cockroach that as much as she loses she’s never gone and no matter how much of a threat she might be to the heroes in that moment, you know anytime she’s on screen she will be causing PROBLEMS.

Even after her biggest defeat at Haven, the VERY first thing we see her do in v6 is kill an innocent women just for her clothes. Whether or not the heroes can stop her immediate plans, she is a PROBLEM and I appreciate that about her. I think she’s a very unique villain in that regard and I think it adds to her more than it undermines her.

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Notes: Use of Y/N. Sorry.

Chapter Two - Broken wing

☆☆☆

The moment the seal was broken and Morpheus was able to escape, he took that chance. His time in that glass cage was over.

It had been decades since your death. He had never recovered from witnessing it.

You had been his loyal raven since the very beginning. Way back when he first created the Dreaming, he made you. The Sandman always had a raven. Jessamy came along eventually, but you had been his original raven companion.

Watching you die broke a part of him. You had taken a part of him with you forever. Morpheus knew he would never ever get over this loss.

He wakes up to the sound of a familiar voice calling out to him. Lucienne appears above him and reaches for his hand. He takes it and smiles. It had been too long.

"Lucienne." He whispers her name.

"You're home, my lord."

"I am."

Lucienne helps him to his feet. Morpheus looks around. They are just outside his kingdom. He sets his eyes on the gates and heads that way. Lucienne follows him.

As relived as she was fo see him, Lucienne had a lot she needed to talk to him about. "Forgive me, sir, but the realm, the palace, they are not as you left them."

The gate opens, and Morpheus is greeted by the sight of his fallen kingdom. Nothing is as he remembered it. The Dreaming was falling apart. His palace had deteriorated greatly, and there was not a soul in sight.

"What happened here?" He asks. "Who did this?"

"My lord, you are the Dreaming. The Dreaming is you." With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to decay and crumble." Lucienne explains.

"And the residents? The palace staff?"

"I'm afraid most have gone."

"Gone?" His voice is soft when he asks that.

"Some went looking for you," Lucienne says.

"And the others?"

"They thought, perhaps, you had grown weary of your duties, and..."

"What? Abandoned them? Had they such little faith in me? Had my own subjects not known me?" He looked wounded.

Lucienne could already see his heart had been hurt deeply already, and she knew why. Jessamy had explained everything to her when she returned all those years ago. When she had returned alone.

Except, something had happened. Something neither of them could explain. Now Lucienne needed to tell Lord Morpheus about it. She wasn't quite sure how he would take it.

Before she could even utter a word, Morpheus was already heading toward what remained of his palace. She caught up to him quietly.

"There is one other thing, my lord."

"What is it? What other news could you possibly have for me?" He sounded lost.

"Something happened. Something I can not explain." Lucienne wasn't even sure how she was going to tell him.

"What is it?"

"I... I'm not sure how to tell you, so I'll show you." She goes on ahead, leading the way. Morpheus watches her carefully and follows her path.

They reach the doors to the throne room. Morpheus freezes when he sees Jessamy perched nearby. She looks at him and them bows her head.

"My lord."

"Jessamy..."

He looks relieved to see her, but it also pains him. She sees the way his eyes glaze over. He is remembering that day. Jessamy can't help feeling like she's a painful reminder of what happened last time she saw him, but she hopes things will go well today.

He is home, and he will see that not all is as dire as it seems.

"I am glad to see you," he says.

"As am I, my lord." Jessamy looks at him proudly.

Lucienne places her hand on the grand door to the throne room. "Before we go inside, I want you to know that this is no trick. She came to us shortly after Jessamy returned."

"What are you talking about? Who came to you?" He asks.

Lucienne glanced at Jessamy, who nodded at her. The librarian opens the door. It creaks as it opens wider. Jessamy flies inside while Lucienne leads Dream into the room.

The throne room matches the rest of the palace. There is no longer a ceiling. The arches are broken in places. A lot of the walls have crumbled. It no longer looks as regal and beautiful as it once did.

As Lucienne takes him further into the room, his eyes are drawn to a strange woman he has never seen before. She sits on the steps of his throne, looking at him. As he gets closer, she stands. He would say she looked rather nervous.

"My lord."

"Who is this?" He asks Lucienne.

"Sir, it is important you know that I do not know how this has happened, but this is your raven. Y/N."

Morpheus turns his head to the woman slowly. His expression is intense. He stares at her in silence for several long seconds.

"No."

"Sir?" Lucienne looks at him confused.

"My raven died years ago. She was murdered by that horrible family."

"My lord, we are telling the truth. This woman is your raven. Shortly after Jessamy returned here, this woman appeared, unconscious, outside of the gates. I asked her who she was and where she had come from after she woke. She told me everything she remembered up until the moment she died." Lucienne tries to explain.

"That's not possible."

You look at him sadly. "It's me, sir. I really am here. I... I woke up, and I was no longer a raven. I was so confused and scared. I was worried about you. I remember dying..."

Morpheus looks like he is overwhelmed. His eyes glisten with unshed tears. You can tell just by looking at him that he's not taking all of this so well.

"It can't be..."

"It is. Its me. I'm here. I'm home." You plead with him.

Jessamy lands on your shoulder. "My lord, I promise to you as your loyal raven, this is her. She's human."

Morpheus looks at you for a good few seconds. "Prove it."

"You are Dream of the Endless. The Sandman. You created me back at the start of everything to be your loyal companion. I have gone everywhere with you.

"You met a man called Hob Gadling in 1389. I went with you, but had to stay outside because I was a mere bird. Death granted him immortality.

"I would spend a lot of my free time within Fiddler's Green, enjoying the breeze under my wings as I soured through the meadows. You always knew to find me there."

Morpheus states at you.

"It's me, sir. I don't know why I have returned to you like this, but it's me."

"It is you," he whispers. Only you would know things like that.

"I... I'm sorry I failed you."

"No. You did not fail me. You saved Jessamy, and that was very brave of you. Neither of you have ever failed me."

You and Jessamy look relieved at his words.

"So, you are human?" He asks.

"Well, I have a human form. I... I can transform onto a raven still, but I haven't learnt how to control it yet."

"Transform? You have the power to be a raven again?" He sounds curious.

"Yes, but like I said. I'm still learning."

"I see."

The room goes quiet. You understand that this is probably a lot to take in for him. He's only just returned, his kingdom has fallen, his people are mostly gone, and you're not dead. It's been a long day.

Morpheus turns and looks around his throne room. His mind is full of thoughts about everything.

"I kept a journal for a while," Lucienne says, hoping to distract him a little. "A chronicle of everything that happened in your absence. But slowly, the words began to fade. Sometime after you left, all the books in the library became bound volumes of blank paper. The next day, the whole library was gone."

Morpheus looks at her quietly.

"I never found it again."

"And yet you remained while others fled, the royal librarian of an abandoned kingdom."

"I never felt abandoned," she tells him. "I knew you would return."

"She looked after us," Jessamy says. "We stuck together."

Morpheus glances at you before turning away. He was still trying to comprehend you being alive. He looks down at his feet where a sharp of purple glass sits. He kneels down and picks it up. It's a piece of his beautiful stained glass windows. He holds it on his hand as he slowly raises his arms, trying to summon the power to rebuild his home.

He's too weak to do that.

The debris falls to the ground again, and Morpheus falls with them. He can't rebuild his home like this.

You want to reach out and comfort him, but you feel like that's a bad idea right now. You're not sure he's all that accepting of you being back just yet.

"You need rest, my Lord." Lucienne says. "And food and perhaps a bit more rest, and then you'll be back at full strength."

Morpheus slowly gets up from the floor, his breathing heavy and uneven. "No. Not without my tools."

"Your tools?"

"My sand, my helm, my ruby."

"What happened to them?" You ask.

"They were taken from me. By my captors. And then taken from them. I know not where. Nor what I am without them."

You feel your heart break. They really did strip him of everything he had. Even you.

He takes a seat on the stairs of his throne. You put some distance between you both. Once upon a time, you would be right there beside him, trying to comfort him, but now it feels wrong to do so. You feel like a stranger with him now. He won't look at you anymore.

"There is only one sure way for me to find my tools. I must summon the Three-In-One."

"Surely it hasn't come to that." Lucienne says.

"The Fates see past, present, and future, and they know all."

"Yes, but they speak in riddles. They never tell you what you want to know, only things you should never know," Lucienne explains. "Perhaps just this once you could ask one of your siblings for help. Destiny would certainly know where your tools are, or Desire..."

"My siblings have their own realms to attend to, I have mine. We do not interfere in each other's affairs." Dream states.

"You may not, but they've certainly been known to." Lucienne replies. "Perhaps just this once you could tell them what happened to you."

"I am quite sure tjeu know what happened to me. And not one of them came to my aid."

You drip your gaze to the ground. It hurts to think how abandoned he must have felt. He was trapped for so long.

"The only ones who came to help were my ravens, and even then, one of them was hurt doing so."

You lift your gaze to find Morpheus looking at you. You're unable to read the look on his face, but you know it sets your heart alight. You wondered what was going through his head in that moment.

"The Fates aren't cheap, you know." Lucienne reminds him. "They cost a bloody fortune."

"And at present, I cannot muster enough power to summon them, let alone lay that cost. Unless... Is there anything of mine that remains in the Dreaming? Something I created?"

"You created all of this," Lucienne says.

"No, something that remains intact." He clarifies. "That may retain some fragment of my power within it."

"You created me." You say, stepping forward.

He glances at you. "No."

"Something I can absorb."

You go to tell him you would happily sacrifice yourself for him to regain some power again, but the look he was giving you told you he would refuse.

"There is one thing," Lucienne says.

☆☆☆

Morpheus had left to go visit Cain and Abel. You stayed behind at the palace with Jessamy. He hadn't said a word to you as he was leaving.

"Are you okay?" Jessamy asks, looking up at you through her shiny eyes.

"He didn't seem too pleased to see me."

"Don't take it to heart. A lot has happened all at once. He believed you were dead. It would be quite a shock to see someone you thought had died standing before you, especially since you look human now."

"I know... I just... I just hoped he would be happy to know I'm okay." You look down at thr rubble by your feet.

"I'm sure he is happy. He just doesn't know how to express it."

You don't know what else to say to her. Jessamy senses your sadness and nudges her head against your leg.

"Please don't feel sad. All will come right, I promise."

You really want to believe her.

Lucienne returns to the throne room, and you spot a raven at her feet. She comes over and you stand.

"Lord Morpheus has gone to see the Fates. He shall return shortly. A new companion has joined us in the meantime. This is Matthew."

You look at the raven. Had you been replaced already?

"Lord Morpheus has yet to meet Matthew. Will you show him the ropes in the meantime?" Lucienne asks.

"Yes..."

She picks up on the fact that your response wasn't very enthusiastic. She sighs softly and places a hand on your shoulder.

"Do not feel sad. He will come around."

You nod and watch her go. Your eyes fall to Matthew. Jessamy lands on the ground in front of him and checks him out. "All right, Matthew. Welcome to Raven Class 101."

You chuckle softly.

At least you still had some friends in the Dreaming.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofketterdam - @thoughtsfromlayla -

[rumbelleshowdown]

⭐️

Author: Tabitha Windsock

Group: D: Across the river; magical troubles; werewolf

⭐️

Pure of Heart

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”  Belle lifted her skirts to step over some branches that had fallen across the dirt path, jogging slightly to catch up with Rumplestiltskin’s purposeful strides.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  The Dark One doesn’t get lost.”

“Are you sure?”  She slowed as she pulled up to his side.  “Because I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that particular tree twice already.”

“Excellent.”  Rumplestiltskin rubbed his hands together and picked up his pace even more.  “That means we’re getting close.”

“What?”  Belle frowned.  “How does that work?”  

“The forest is warded with ancient magic, it’s designed to confuse and deter anyone who comes close.  The more it feels like we’re going the wrong way, the closer we are.”

“Oh.”  Belle jumped as a howl sounded in the distance.  “What was that?”

“Sounds like a werewolf.”

Belle gulped and pulled herself closer to him as they walked.  “Werewolf?”  Her eyes darted around, searching for a glimpse of the creatures.  “There are werewolves here?  In the middle of the day?”

“Of course not.”  Rumplestiltskin waved his hand carelessly.  “Just another deterrent.”  

“Right.”  Belle nodded, still a bit wary despite his reassurance.  

They continued their walk in silence until they came across a narrow river blocking their path.  

“Now what?” Belle asked.   

“Now…” Rumplestitlskin waved his hand, conjuring a basket out of nowhere and handing it to her.  “You head over there and pick those ingredients we discussed earlier.”

Belle glanced at the river quizzically.  “How am I supposed to get across?  There’s no bridge.”

“Oh, but there is.  You just can’t see it.” Another wave of his hand produced a plume of smoke over the water, floating away to reveal half a bridge attached to the bank of the river on the side they were on and climbing up to the center of the stream before vanishing entirely.  

Belle blinked.  “How does that help?  Am I supposed to fly off the other end?”

“Amusing as that would be, no.  The whole bridge is there, I assure you.”

“Then why didn’t you reveal all of it?”

“You know, this would go a lot faster if you didn’t stand around asking silly questions.  Trust me when I say you can walk across the bridge.”  

“All right…”  Belle cautiously stepped forward onto the wooden planks.  They felt solid and didn’t shift under her weight like she expected.  When she reached the midpoint she took a deep breath.  Trust him, he’d said.  And she was surprised to discover that she did.  Keeping that in mind she took another step, letting out a small laugh when her foot landed on something solid.  

Continuing on, her curiosity became too much to resist and she looked down, gasping in shock at the sight of her feet standing on thin air, floating over the river below.  

“Preferably sometime this century.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice pulled her out of her reverie and she glanced back at him before facing forward again, finishing her journey across the invisible bridge to land safely on the grass.  

“It worked!” she called back to Rumplestiltskin still on the other side.  “Your turn!”

“No need.”  He held up his hand.  “I have every faith in your abilities.  Now remember, the mushrooms must have a distinctive red circle on their cap and be less than an inch tall for full potency.”  

“All right.”  Belle scanned the area, searching the ground for the mushrooms he’d shown her before they left the castle that morning.  “But wouldn’t it be easier if you just came over and looked yourself?” 

“Perhaps. But why bother when I have a maid to do it for me?” Rumplestiltskin tittered. 

Belle rolled her eyes while her back was turned, before facing him again.  “And what are you doing while I’m looking over here?”

“Supervising.”  He smiled.  “These particular mushrooms only grow on that side of the river.”  

“Wait, this isn’t someone’s private garden, is it?”  Belle paused as the thought occurred to her.  “We’re not stealing, are we?”

“No.” Rumplestiltskin replied dismissively.  

“Yes.”  A new voice joined their conversation and Belle jumped up in shock, whirling around to see a dark haired woman standing a few feet away.  “You are.”  

Belle glanced over the river to see what Rumplestiltskin made of the newcomer.  

“Morgana.” Rumplestiltskin’s lip curled.  “What are you doing here?”

“Awfully bold of you to ask me that when you’re the ones trespassing on my land.” She took a few steps towards him and Belle turned to keep her in sight.  

“Not trespassing, dearie, foraging.”  Rumplestiltskin wagged his finger.  

“And who gave you permission to do that?”

“Why, you did.”  Rumpelstiltskin’s face took on a look of surprise that Belle could tell was feigned, even from across the water.  “When you declared yourself a queen.  Surely you know that the Charter of the Forest permits foraging in all royal woodland.”

Morgana looked distinctly unimpressed by this.  “An outdated law that nobody even remembers any more.”  

“Those are my favorite ones.  So if you’ll just pop off.”  He waved his hands in a shooing motion.  “And let my maid continue, we’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Hmm, no.  I don’t think so.”  Morgana turned her gaze to Belle, who took a few steps back.  “Human test subjects are so hard to come by, but so useful when it comes to perfecting my spellcraft.  And this one looks like she’ll do nicely.  So kind of you to deliver her to me personally, Rumple.”

Rumplestiltskin snarled, which only seemed to amuse Morgana.  “Oh, don’t be like that.  I’m not an unreasonable woman.  I’ll return her to you once I’m done.  What’s left of her, that is.”  

Rumplestiltskin stepped forward and twisted his hand in a familiar motion.  Belle braced herself for the expected swirl of magic, but there was nothing.  

Morgana cackled in delight.  

“Having magical troubles, are we?”  Her tone was mocking.  “You know your spells can’t penetrate my wards.  Perhaps you should come over here and take her back yourself?”

Belle glanced over the river, feeling uneasy at the naked frustration on Rumplestilskin’s face.

“Oh, that’s right,” Morgana continued, clearly revelling in this turn of events.  “Only the pure of heart can pass.  I assume that’s why you sent this lovely creature over in your stead.  Too bad for her.”  

Belle had heard enough and decided now was the time to take her chance.  She ran for the bridge, only to choke as an invisible force wrapped around her neck and pulled her back.  

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she could still clearly see the fury on Rumplestiltskin’s face as he threw himself forwards, crossing the bridge unimpeded. The magic around her neck loosened and she gulped in the air gratefully.  

“How…?”  All of Morgana’s previous bravado drained away as she found herself facing an enraged Rumplestiltskin standing on her side of the river.  

“Seems you’re not as powerful as you thought, dearie.”  Rumplestiltskin’s hand shot out and Morgana gasped, her hands scrabbling at her neck.  

“Wait…”  Belle cried weakly, coughing a couple of times to regain her voice.  “Rumplestiltskin, don’t.”  

“Why not?  You heard what she was going to do.”

“I know, but she can’t. You’re here now.” Belle reached out to touch his arm, causing him to waver slightly.  It was enough for Morgana to break free of his magic and vanish.  

“Please.”  Belle squeezed his arm when it looked like he was going to try and follow.  “Let’s just go home.”  

After a few tense seconds Rumplestiltskin nodded, curling his free hand in the air.  When nothing happened his lip twitched and he guided her back to the bridge.

Once they were safely across he waved his hand again, transporting them both back to the Dark Castle.  

Belle blinked.  “Well, that was a lot easier.”

“Return journeys always are,” Rumplestiltskin replied, seeming distracted.  

“True.  Oh, here.”  Belle held out the basket that she’d somehow managed to hold onto in all the commotion.  “There’s one mushroom left.  Sorry about that.  But thank you.  For saving me.”

“Yes, well.”  Rumplestiltskin took the basket, waving away her thanks.  “Lucky for you, Morgana isn’t as good a sorceress as she thinks she is.  Shoddy wards are easily broken.”  

“I’m not so sure.”  Belle tilted her head to the side.  “I think the wards worked perfectly.”  

Rumplestitlskin snorted.  “Clearly they didn’t, or you’d be in Morgana’s dungeon right now.” 

“They blocked all your spells from getting through, didn’t they?” Belle pointed out.  

“So one part worked.”  He shrugged dismissively.  “But they clearly failed at that ‘pure of heart’ thing.”  

“Perhaps.  But you told me once that most magic has Elvish roots.”

“So?”  Rumplestiltskin frowned at her apparent non-sequitur.  

“So in Elvish the term ‘pure of heart’ doesn’t mean uncorrupted.  It means loving.”  Belle placed her hand on his.  “You have a loving heart, Rumplestiltskin.  That’s why you were able to cross the boundary.”

He made a scoffing noise but Belle noticed he didn’t argue.  She smiled, squeezing his hand before leaving him to consider her words.